#niche enough i can convince myself THAT'S why no one will read it

[meimeiherokitten]

Just kind of tossing it out there because I don't already have enough of my plate and feel like bashing my head against the wall some more, but...

If I were to write a Firefly/OFMD fic, who would read it?

[dvchvnde]

excerpt; best friend's dad | John Price x Reader infidelity. age gap.

He breaks your heart in Greece. Cuts a jagged line down your middle. Spills your wet, sticky blood over the Naxian marble outside of the Temple of Apollo with just a handful of words.

(fitting, you find: you've always considered your aimless pursuit to his heart some bastardised delusion akin to Icarus chasing the immovable sun—)

And you suppose it's kind. Or as gentle as a man like him could ever let himself be. Still gruff, surly. But you've always loved the sound of his voice, haven't you? That sarky growl reminding you of classic muscle cars, American-made; the low, gritty purr of an old Mustang. Enough to make you shiver, even as he's shaping it around these awful, cutting words. It makes you heart flutter, enraptured as he speaks like he's ripping a bandaid off.

Except that now that wound is being filled with salt. Acid. Cauterising itself from the friction burn when the gauze is wrenched off your skin. A permanent scar right in your sternum. A gaping hole spilling all the ugliness out. You wonder if he cares that it's being slashed across his shoes—no sandals, he griped when you teased him in the airport; I hate the feelin' of sand between my toes—that this madness inside of you is finding a home on the hot pavement, rotting under the summer's sun.

"m'thinkin' about marryin' her."

The her in question is ten years older than him. Pettily, you wonder if this is to compensate for the fact that he's nearly two decades older than you. An obscene age gap, you know. But—

It's Price.

Your best friend's dad. The man you've been in love with since you were sixteen. Falling all over yourself after a dumb boy broke your heart, and he offered to drive you home, silent the whole way there before he stopped, a block away from your house, and told you that boys weren't worth your time. Boys. Boys—

Not men.

Foolishly, you let yourself hope. Let yourself become the very thing they talk about in TikTok videos lambasting age gaps and silly little girls who let older men run them into the ground. Why would a man his age have any reason to be interested in a girl yours? Sickening. Disgusting. You're being lead stray, groomed. But you clung to it still, even as you thumbed through the comments on those videos and found pieces of yourself lying among the rubble.

You've always known what they say about girls like that. And you were just delusional enough to believe that you were different somehow.

And now—

"Gettin' older," he grouses out, and you wonder if she finds the ornery lilt to his cadence as comforting as you do. Or if it rubs her all the wrong ways. "Might be time to settle down."

Shamefully, you wish he'd say, but maybe you can convince me otherwise, climb into my lap, and eat this decision from between my teeth until all I see when I open my eyes is you.

But that's not the John Price you know. Mr Price. Single dad. Widower. Untouchable.

Mr Price who sees you for what you are—smarter than them, he'd said when you broke down in his Bronco after a softball game where everyone, your best friend included, went to an afterparty that no one invited you to.

Quiet, thoughtful, even when you spent the evening afterwards (the fight hashed out between your best friend and you; i'm so sorry and me too) thumbing through old vinyl records he kept in his basement, listening to the classics that kids your age just didn't understand, so why the fuck do you?

Weekends spent bonding over golden cinema (movies just ain't what they used to be; there's no romance anymore, it's all so—vapid; you don't talk like a kid; i've never considered myself one, do you? he didn't answer. you didn't expect him to). Listening to music older than your dad. Niche jokes and texts that read like I saw this and thought of you.

Your fault, of course, for thinking you could trick him into loving you if you played your feelings through Johnny Cash, Vashti Bunyan, Fleetwood Mac, and Smokey Robinson. An impossibility you know now.

Mr Price who knows you. Who sees through the thin skin you wear and into the heart, the core of you. Who must have known since you called him in the pouring rain to pick you up when you got too drunk to drive home. A house party in the suburbs. Waterlogged flats he told you to toss.

Said nothing at all when you apologised with your head pressed against the foggy glass. You never told him that your sorry, Mr Price was for kissing a boy and wishing it was him.

But he must have known.

open book. pages spilling out. silly little girl with your heart cupped in your palm—

So he knows. Has known. Hindsight says this is him letting you down gently before you get any ideas about forever with your diploma tucked into your chest like a shield. A trip to Greece with your best friend and her dad to celebrate the rest of your life looming over you like a thundercloud. Your eye slanting sideways, glancing yearningly back at him.

sorry, but no. look the other way—

And you think fine, fine, whatever, so long as this doesn't hurt anymore—but what comes out is, "oh."

What follows is this:

He says he's thinking about marrying her with his hands tucked tight under his arms. He tells you he wants to settle down with his chin tucked against his chest, four lines rucked across the pinch of his brow. An emphasis, perhaps, on just how serious he is.

You taste salt in your throat. Sand between your toes. The sun blisters against the thin straps of this pretty blue dress that match the melting sapphire of his burning gaze. It's heatsickness, maybe. Or just all the years of want building and building, festering and growing, until it can't climb any higher—forever reaching for god that won't spare you a glance—and—

falling down around you. wings of beeswax and bird feathers.

Solemn, he says, "it's what I should do."

(i saw this and thought of you—)

Your fingers knot into the soft cotton of his dress shirt, pulling the fabric taut between your knuckles until it peels back from the seams, curling between buttons.

You've had too much to drink. Whiskey sour. Scotch neat. Somewhere along the walk to the temple, you snatched a puff of his cigar, the nicotine blooming between your teeth. Head full of cotton too thick for you to think. To retreat.

In the morning, when he refuses to look at you, you'll blame it on the drinks. On the sun. On being young and dumb and untouchable under the Greecian sky.

Daddy issues, you can shrug. You have the diagnoses from every single TikTok psychologist embedded between your teeth. See, mine never loved me and now I'm taking it out on you—

But right now, you kiss him.

Or maybe—

Maybe he kisses you.

It's a mess in your head. Everything turned upside down, all askew because when your lips touch his, he shudders. His chest rumbles under your fingers, expanding with the sudden inhale as he breathes you in. Deep. Takes you into his lungs—all salt-slick, and sunburnt—and groans low in his throat, all want. All heat.

He should push you away. He's your best friend's father. Two decades older than you. Dating another woman who's so far removed from the person you are that she might as well be a different species. Mature. Stoic. Poised. Graceful.

The perfect antithesis to you.

Everything about this must be ringing shrill in his ears: abort, abort, do not engage. He should push you off.

And he does.

After a moment of your greedy, unpractised kisses pepper along the bristles hanging low over his lips, he makes another sound. Angry. Whitehot. His hands slip free from the damp prison of his armpits and latch tight onto you. Thick, hirsute fingers curling over your upper arms, and pushing, shoving—

Your back hits the marble pillar. The air in your lungs punched out.

But when you try to siphon more balmy air into them again, you find an obstacle in your way.

His mouth.

Searing, blistering. Slanting hungrily across yours, devouring. Intense, dizzying. Your head cracks against the wall when he shoves his thigh between the silken softness of your inner thighs, blanketed by the dress that made him swallow when he first saw you in it, eyes darkening like a storm.

(bit short, ain't it? he'd groused, and your friend slipped her hand into yours with a huff. stop being such a dad, dad—)

It slots there now like it's owed the right. Thick thigh spreading yours apart on a gasp, a groan. Corded muscle pressed taut to the seam of you that burns hot. Melted wax. Dripping against his leg. He must feel the way he liquifies you, turns you into putty. It drags a sound his chest. The misfire of an engine.

"Fuck," he breathes, all teeth. Salt. He should be saying, no, stop. go back to your hotel room, and we'll pretend this never happened, silly girl. But he pulls you closer instead, his hand looping around to cradle the back of your tender head in the cup of his palm. A small comfort as he delves his tongue between your teeth. "Makin' me lose my goddamn mind—"

The words are growled against your mouth. You taste the tobacco-smoked fury between his teeth when they sink into your lower lip. Angry, maybe, that you're making him do this. That you had to be who you are, and despite that, he kisses you like you're not.

"Price," you whine, arching into his chest when he pulls at your bottom lip still caught between his teeth. Skin tender, bruised. He ruts into you at the sound, nearly purring. You feel it then. The hard press of his thickening cock against you. Mindlessly gyrating against your hip. The turgid length proof of his desire. His want for you. All you. "Please—"

He folds himself over you. Tucks you into the bracket of his chest, his arms. His fingers are iron bars on your skin, holding you tight to him. Unwilling to let go. His hand on your crown; his fingers gripping your thigh, hiking it up his waist. It's good. Better than all of your meagre fantasies combined. You've wanted this since you knew what want was. When he wandered into the kitchen the morning after a sleepover with a towel slung loose around his hips, his hand scrubbing the damness from the wet tangle of his hair, spilling them down his neck where they disappeared into the thick bed of hair on his chest, his belly.

He paused in the doorway when he saw you sitting at the island, eyes wide and drilling holes into his chest.

"Shit," he'd cussed, gruff and mean with sleep. "Didn't think—"

But you did. Over and over again. With your face pressed against your pillow, fingers shoved into the sticky wetness leaking out of your cunt. Thinking of him. Wrong. Wrong. Terrible—

Dad bod, your friend said with a cluck of her tongue that afternoon. And you feel it under your fists as he heaves. As he eats you alive, whole. Because kissing John Price, Mr Price, is a whirlwind. A maelstrom.

He devours. He conquers. He owns.

He licks into your mouth, petting over your tongue, your teeth, until you can't remember anything else except the tobacco and whiskey tang of him. Heady. An elixir you want to sip from for the rest of your life. Damn him—

He tells you he's thinking about marrying someone else. Then whispers, ash-soft, against your chin that he can't get enough of you.

Grunts, "you need to go," as he sinks his teeth down, hard, into the throbbing skin of your pulse. Laying claim as he slowly comes to.

The coarse hair of his beard rubs your flesh raw when he buries his face into your neck. You can feel the thunder of his heart against the knob of your wrist. The heat of his skin burning through you.

"Fuck," he rumbles again, and you know this time it's for good. Ironclad. But the remorse is paperthin. "Shouldn't have done that, should have—"

"I want you," you whisper through bruised, kiss-bitten lips. "I want you so bad. I loved you since I was—"

"Don't."

The sweat beading along his hairline smears across the naked arch of your shoulder and neck when he moves; a shallow shake of his head. Muted and small. Heavy with reluctance.

The man who meets you when he pulls back is frowning with wet, red-stained lips. His eyes are hardened sapphire reinforced with unbreakable obsidian. There's no inch to move. No cracks to squeeze through.

"This—" he swallows. You hope he tastes you still. Whiskey sour. Scotch neat. The drag of his cigar, the one he coached you through, scoffing when you choked, when you cough. You hope he runs his tongue over his teeth and tastes nothing but you. "This shouldn't have happened."

You don't say anything. Can't. The words are staining his lips.

You nod, slow. Cautious. He tells you he's marrying someone else. Thinking about it. Says this shouldn't have happened—

But he holds you like he can't bring himself to let go. Fingers clutching, clenching tight around you. Possessive. Greedy, even he as he slowly unspools from around you. As he pulls away, scouring his hand down his face with a deep, ragged inhale. Rough, worn fingers digging into his jaw until the knuckles under a dense cropping of umber hair turn white, nails pinking under the strain.

"This isn't—"

You nod again. Soft and slow, but you let your tongue flicker out, chasing the smoke drying on your swollen lips. It stings. The burn makes you think of him. Of his hot, heavy hands on your skin.

His eyes drop down to follow the slip of red that teases out between your teeth, blackening as they trace the new wetness left behind. You can feel him twitch against your thigh.

Your name is a broken snarl trapped in the thick of his throat. You've never heard it like that. Never. It does something. Lights you up from the inside out. Supernova in his arms. Icarus burning, crashing down to earth—

Catch me, Apollo—

He pulls away instead. Detaches from you with a heavy groan, as if the distance that now sits between you hurts him just as much.

The silence is broken by the sound of the crowd just beyond the pillar. You can see the moment it settles over him in the flattening of his eyes, the erasure of all affection that bloomed bright in blue. The terse set to his shoulders. The distance, the space, that grows and grows and grows—

He clears his throat. Mr Price once more. Untouchable. Off-limits.

"You should go," he says, and there's not an ounce of give in the rough flatline of his voice. Fixed. Firm. "You should go back to your hotel room. Come on. I'll call you a taxi."

"And you?"

He sucks in a breath through his nose, nostrils flaring. "Don't worry about me. Just—go back to the hotel room. We can—we'll talk in the morning."

"Where'd you?" She asks when you crawl into bed, the starchy sheets rubbing against your sunbitten skin.

There is a deluge of things you want to say. Things like—

I'm sorry. I love him. I—

can't let go.

"I think I just got my heart broken," you say instead, and wonder when the tears are supposed to come. At the wedding, maybe. But right now, you just feel numb. Empty.

The bed creaks when she rolls over, facing you in the dark. "Really? Didn't know you were, you know, foolin' around with anyone."

"I wasn't. It's—" your dad. But you can't say that, can you?

There's something painfully nostalgic about loving a man you're not supposed to want. A man who cannot, should not, want you back. An unrequited love in a foreign land. Unconsummated in the summer's heart. Sticky, bittersweet heartbreak.

Or, that's what it's supposed to be.

They are not John Price, though. Your best friend's dad. And they didn't kiss you back—

But he did.

And you think it's the worst thing he could have ever done.

[beevean]

Yeah, I'm not gonna deny that old ship wars did involve threats, telling other people to kill themselves, etc. But now they do all that and also make it a moral issue

There are many theories that attempt to explain why there's been a sudden shift in mentality on the internet, but for now, the easiest one IMO is that nowadays content is thrown in your face thanks to social media and algoritm.

When I was little, I had to look up ship material. I had to look up porn. I had to stumble upon specific pages like Kink Memes. The worst that could happen was that I browsed the gallery of an artist I liked, and found that they shipped Sonegg :P <- true story

Point is, "don't like don't read" (or see) was the motto for a reason, because it was possible.

Now? Now I see on Twitter how finely attuned the algoritm is to pushing on you the worst material. It's not uncommon that it recommends me posts of people QTing posts about how rapeable Tails and Cream are, and putting their own disgusted comments on them. Which, okay but maybe don't show me that, I'm not interested, I don't follow anyone here. You're making me see content I didn't ask for, and engage with people I want nothing with.

So, first of all, it has become harder to filter content you don't like. Then there is the whittling down of privacy (dash did a thing lol). Again, as a kid, I was more or less allowed to do what I wanted on the internet, including finding "problematic" content (helped also by the language barrier: I learned English very quickly, and my parents did not :P). I can't imagine how it would have been if my parents monitored every place I visited. Of course I'd feel ashamed if I had to restrain myself like that, knowing that my parents would deem me "abnormal" (more than it already happened).

But that's not even the biggest issue. There has been enough talk about how back then, fandom was niche, it was for the freaks, nerds were bullied, girls would be mocked to hell and back for shipping (they still are, as long as you put "straight" and/or "white" lol, but back then you didn't even need to pretend 🙃). Now, again thanks to social media, fandom has become normalized. Much more people are on the internet, and much more people engage in fandom content. And they find the weird shit. And they become the bullies themselves.

The Sonic fandom 20 years ago was a target of mockery for attracting autistic furries, you know, the typical jokes that we all wanted to fuck Big. The Sonic fandom didn't care, and between one discourse about Sonic's eyes and the other, they had fun shipping all the things and being cringe in their corner. Now it has become less socially acceptable to mock autistic furries :P but "normal" people have infiltrated the fandom, and they are demanding normalcy, which results in absurd things like wishing death on Shadria shippers because eww human and anthro or THEY'RE SIBLINGS YOUR HONOR

... now, if you ask me why people (sadly not just teens) nowadays have convinced themselves that fiction is reality, I don't fully know. I do believe in the theory that radical feminism has managed to seep into the fandom and leave some of its core tenets engrained into everyone, even the people who say "punch terfs" or that radfems would despise, such as "engaging in sexual content makes you a deviant", "kinks fetishize my trauma and you're retraumatizing yourself if you indulge in them", and the idea that half of the population is pure and can do no wrong while the other is inherently corrupted and not human...

[a-couple-of-notes]

Lately I've been feeling kind of down about my AO3 stats, even though I generally try to keep my attitude toward those blasted numbers balanced and realistic. (I write femslash ships for small and/or dead and/or male-centric fandoms. Also, they're usually rare-pair. Trust me, I understand that it's a miracle when my hit count breaks 500.) So, as an exercise, here are some things that make me happy about my stats:

This year, I've written over 113,000 words (though 25,000 of those were from a multichapter I started over three years ago, while I was still in college(!!)). Still, that's over 88,000 new words so far, which is about 30,000 more than last year!

I'm still chugging along on the Femslash February prompts, and I've written for 19 different fandoms within that series alone. I've gotten to try my hand at so many different tones and character voices, more than I did while sticking to one fandom and one main ship.

My silly Twelfth Night fanfic about Olivia also cross-dressing to become Orsino's page got 48 kudos, 17 bookmarks, and 8 comments! Who knew Shakespeare was so popular?

17 people also bookmarked my Warehouse 13 fic!

The Dimension 20 stoats-magic crossover that I'm convinced popped into my head as a crack fever dream (and whose title I definitely remember panic-making at one in the morning, back when I still thought I could crank out 29 fics in a month) has 6 lovely comments from people who were deeply touched by it.

The Rogue One fic that I spent a week agonizing over the lore for, but is so incredibly, incredibly niche that I thought it would collect dust forever in the archive? Someone bookmarked it! Someone wanted to save it to read later, or again!

I finished a multichapter! (Not the one I started three years ago, but still.) I am notoriously terrible at finishing anything with multiple chapters, but it's sitting pretty at 3/3 chapters, 5,814 words.

That multichapter that I started three years ago? I updated it for the first time in a year and two return commenters came back! The primary fandom of this fic has literally no other works. And yet. 2 return commenters, 4 subscriptions, and 15 bookmarks. I got 15 people to care about a fic with no others in its fandom.

I still find the lack of comments, at times, very frustrating. Despite knowing why (I keep writing myself into smaller and smaller niches, like a set of nesting dolls; and god knows as a reader I have not been the best commenter I can be), I think this will always be the case. Maybe I'll write about that later.

But for now I'd like to celebrate. I think I'm writing better and better stuff. I'm definitely writing more. I'm constantly improving and trying new things. My stats may not be ginormous, but they represent individual people who have read and enjoyed my writing. They represent people who loved my stories enough to tuck them away for later, or tell me in the comments, or hit the kudos button. Thank you to all of you.

[gotjacobian]

One of my weirdest trans experiences is the fact that people near-universally assume I’m cis and straight now, and therefore that I have knowledge of the associated rituals and practices of cis-ness and straight-ness. This isn’t a thing unique to trans people - I think everyone contends with it to some extent because the expectation of cis/straight-ness is so strong. But I, specifically, had basically no experience “doing” straightness, then suddenly was 23 and expected to be able to do it with an adult’s precision and nuance. and that isn’t something i see talked about a lot. There’s the aspect of this that’s like, I consider myself “culturally” queer. My music taste, hobbies, media consumption habits, cultural referents, etc. are very common for queer people of my age and degree of online-ness. If the signifiers of that subculture ever became common knowledge, I could be clocked just by identifying any 3 of my interests and triangulating. It’s not usually an issue, especially because I hang out mostly in nerdy circles where I’m likely to find some overlap with the people around me. But it can still feel isolating. Like I moved from another country, but nobody knows that, and I can’t explain it without outing myself. This ESPECIALLY bugs me when it comes to people making assumptions about my career experiences, but that’s another post. 

It escalates into a bigger Thing when it comes to dating. I learned to date, essentially, as a lesbian, and with the culture and expectations that come with that. There are things about my dating history and behavior that look really odd if you assume I grew up cis and straight. Like, all my exes are queer, many know each other, and I’m still friends with many of them*.  Totally normal in those circles, eyebrow-raising to people who don’t know I’m trans. 

There’s also a lot of nuance to the expected behaviors of straight men interacting with women, especially if dating is anywhere on the table, that I just didn’t really know.

- I still struggle a lot with the expectation to ‘initiate’ romantically (something that came with a lot of baggage growing up as a Very Obvious Queer Person in a not queer friendly place, ESPECIALLY with my gender presentation.  Again, another post ). 

- I had to get more patient with the early stages of getting to know someone, where the small talk serves as a sort of creep-detection, “can you conform to basic social norms?” check. I’m convinced this is why so many dating app profiles are banal and near-identical. It’s the “Hi, how are you?” of that social realm. My tendency to dive right into niche things I feel strongly about just doesn’t read well to a lot of people in that context! (though in practice, it’s a pretty good compatibility filter, lol). 

 - There’s some degree of shared knowledge of Rituals. What to text when, what you do on a first, third, fifth date, etc. Obviously not universal, and the source of some angst even in people who have been doing it all their lives. but frequently it’s like, I don’t even know the rules to know how to break them or not. 

Once I actually know someone enough to get beyond that, things are great. But there’s a whole dance beforehand that I’ve just never picked up the steps to.

I’m sometimes randomly sideswiped by the complete mismatch of my experience versus how I’m being interacted with. Like, I had a girl admit once that she screens the guys she dates for height and wouldn’t have gone on a date with me if I was shorter. I’m in the 95th percentile of height for my sex phenotype, about as tall as I could possibly be, even if she doesn’t know that. I have no clue how to even model how I was supposed to feel. 

To be fair, lots of cis straight men struggle with similar feelings, though generally for a different set of reasons. I just feel like I can’t talk about it, because the specific experience is uncommon enough that no one can relate. I don’t think I know any other straight trans men. I especially don’t know any straight trans men at the same “stage” of transition as me, years post-hormones and primarily interacting with people who don’t know I’m trans. The ones i see online often have a different relationship to the idea of queerness and their history before transitioning that doesn’t line up with mine. Even in my queer friend groups, or trans support groups, the majority of people have “done” heterosexual dating at some point, usually in either the context of being bi, or doing it before coming to a different understanding of their gender/ sexuality. They have different relationship to it, and experiences to draw on. My “socialization” lacked basically any of that. And I feel even less able to talk about it because of how privileged my position is in a lot of ways. I like people correctly assuming my gender and sexuality without bugging me about being trans. I dated plenty as a visibly queer person too, so I’m intimately aware of how much bullshit I’m dodging. It’s just such a weird and sometimes isolating experience. I don’t have any conclusions to draw, just wanted to try and put something into words. 

*This is a weird post to be making on a blog where 50% of the non-bot followership is people I dated, lol, sorry about that. 

[knivesareout]

take on the world - chapter one

Pairing: Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4.8k

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, bad jokes, flirting idiots and Tom doesn’t exist.

Summary: A whirlwind romance takes you by surprise when Frankie rescues you.

A/N: Well, here is the beginning of what is going to be a BEAST of a fic. There will probably be around 8-10 chapters in total and I’m already working on the next one (aka where the smut is). I will warn you all that this is going to deal with some heavy subject matter as we go along but I’ll put up proper warnings when they come. I hope you all enjoy and you can read it on AO3 here.

INSPO TAG | CHAPTER TWO

___________

There was a special place in hell for people who set their friends up on blind dates.

This wasn’t your first, or even your fifth, blind date in the last year that you’d agreed to go on to appease a happily married friend. This time it was Jessica’s husband’s co-worker who she’d shown you a picture of and you had wearily agreed, nodding as she told you how great he was.

He was in fact, not great, as he was now 30 minutes late and counting despite the numerous texts you’d sent him.

Thankfully the bar you were currently at was only a quick 10 minute walk from your apartment, a small miracle you were glad for. Surely you could stumble back the couple of blocks to your place if you decided to drown your sorrows in shots of tequila, a couple beers, and maybe a fruity drink or two if you were feeling spendy or particularly sad.

The bar was loud and, of course, overly crowded. It was a Saturday night after all.

Most tvs around the room were playing various baseball games at top volume with the season having only started a couple weeks prior. It wasn’t your favorite sport but you knew enough to keep up, eyes fixated on the Red Sox game just to the left of you.

“Need a refill?”

A cough sounds in your ear and you turn, realizing the question was meant for you. The man who’s taken up residence on the bar stool next to you is waiting for an answer, a distressed ball cap tugged low over his face and you wish you could see him better.

“Oh,” you laugh awkwardly, glancing down at the empty pint glass and back up again. When did you finish that? “Yeah, I mean. I need one.”

The man just nods, motioning the bartender over and he wordlessly clears your glass and sets a new one in front of you as well as one in front of the man next to you.

Muttering a quiet thanks to the bartender, you turn to the man in the cap and smile. “Thanks. Didn’t even realize I’d gone through it so fast.”

The man nods with a shrug of his shoulders, a slight smile on his face. “No worries. You looked like you were sucked into the game and figured I could help. I’m Frankie, by the way.”

Giving him your name, you reach a hand for him to shake- which he does. Rough, calloused hands envelope yours in a tight squeeze before he drops them with a cough.

You realize he must’ve been watching you before, if he knew you were with an empty cup.

Normally that was something you would find creepy because you were clearly alone, or at the very least weird but for some reason it’s endearing on this guy. Frankie. Out of the corner of your eye, you try to take in his features without being obvious, his attention now turned to the same game you’d been watching only moments before.

Dark hair curls outside of his baseball cap, a dimple embedded into his cheek on the right as he smiles. Patchy facial hair covers his jawline, bits of grey catching the light as he tilts his head back to take a swig of his beer and you wonder how old he is. At first you would’ve pegged him around your age, but now getting a somewhat better look he might have several years on you.

“Were you waiting on someone?” He asks, turning to you with his voice raised. A group of men are shouting in the back of the bar near the pool table and you wince.

You nod, downing half of your beer and swiping at your mouth. “Yeah. Blind date. I should know better but I can’t tell people no and he was cute.”

Frankie just laughs at your honesty, “So he just didn’t show?”

“Yep. Never had one that just didn’t show up. Figured I might as well get drunk to commemorate the occasion. Or commiserate. Either one.” You bring your glass up to his and cheers, shaking your head incredulously.

“His loss.”

You turn to Frankie with a raised brow, lowering your glass to watch him slowly check you out. You feel hot all over and clear your throat, teeth tugging on your bottom lip.

“What about you then? Here alone or did you ditch someone?”

Frankie presses a hand to his heart, fake wounded at your jab. “You already think so little of me? I was here with friends but they bailed on me,” he explains. “Saw you by yourself and thought we could both use the company.”

His answer puts you more at ease and you finish off your second beer of the night.

“So, figure I gotta ask. How old are you?” It really doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things but if things are heading in the direction you hope they are, you don’t want to make him uncomfortable if you’re too young.

He seems startled by your question, like it’d never occurred to him to ask and he falters before answering. Did it make him uncomfortable?

“You know,” Frankie starts with a chuckle. “Normally, I’d be offended but I’m not. ‘M 42.”

Nodding, you blow out a breath that you didn’t realize you’d be holding. “Newly 30,” you tell him, bringing your refilled drink up to click against his own.

The age reveal doesn’t seem to bother him, at least from what you can tell. You’d never cursed your age before until now, hoping it hadn’t put him off.

You turn on the barstool to face Frankie, hoping to break the tension.

“So I have just one question for you, Frankie.”

He nods, turning to face you and waiting for you to continue.

You hold up a finger and place it on his jaw near his mouth, the one spot not filled up by wiry grey and black hair. His eyes are wide at your touch and he’s tense.

It was something you’d noticed right away when he sat next to you, your attention drawn to it for whatever reason. His terribly patchy facial hair was endearing.

“Why is this the perfect place for a kiss?”

The way Frankie looks when he laughs makes your heart ache in the best way. He tosses his head back, mouth wide as he tries to contain his laughter. His dark eyes crinkle, nose scrunched up at your blunt question and you retract your hand, satisfied with his response.

“How much have you had to drink?” He manages to get out between wheezing while he catches his breath.

“Couple shots of tequila while I stupidly waited. Two beers now, thanks to you,” you nod at the empty glass. “I might be drunk? It’s hard to tell, honestly. I think I’m fine.”

“So you’re just normally like this?” Frankie laughs, tilting his head. His fingers drum on the side of his almost empty pint glass, something you wonder is a nervous tick.

You push your empty glass away, hoping it’ll get the bartender’s attention and it does. Ordering Frankie another beer and a vodka cranberry for you, you turn back to him. “Guess so. If it’s too much though, I can pretend you never came over here and finish the game by myself.”

“Not what I meant,” he’s quick to tell you. “Just wanted to know what I’m getting myself into is all.”

Silently your lips tick up in a smirk and you start on your drink, turning your attention back to the game.

Over the next hour, you get to know Frankie and vice versa. He’s ex-Army; out for the last couple of years and he’s slowly getting back into the real world. Explains how he doesn’t have any family in North Carolina but all of his buddies live here, so he moved.

Frankie’s a helicopter pilot, giving city flyover tours to people coming in from out of town. He doesn’t love it but he loves flying so it’s enough for him, he tells you. You can see it in his eyes how passionate he is about flying and it makes you grin.

In turn, he asks about you. Normally you wouldn’t give up so much information about yourself to someone you don’t know all that well but Frankie has slowly started to feel like anything but and you feel guilty letting him give you so much only to get nothing in return- so you tell him. Maybe too much. About how your job working at a law firm is the most boring thing, especially when you had no interest in law. Which in turn sparks up his question- what do you want to do? That ends up setting you off on a tangent about your love of photography but how hard the industry is to break into to do it professionally or at the least get paid for it.

“Here, hang on.” You tell him, sliding your phone out of your back pocket and pulling up your Instagram. Social media was, normally, the bane of your existence but you used the app for your photos and nothing else, you tell him. He nods like he understands, telling you he isn’t much better technology wise.

Frankie’s quiet as he scrolls through your feed. He’s slow about it too, clicking on a few to see them bigger, and you bite your lip in anticipation at what he might be thinking. It’s nerve wracking to show anyone your passion and you manage to finish off your drink while he’s still scrolling, waving off the bartender as he asks if you want another.

“You’re fucking talented as shit, you know that?”

His response catches you off guard and you can instantly feel yourself getting warm at his compliment. It feels different, coming from him. A stranger who’s slowly becoming something more.

“You’ll have to let me take your picture some day,” you shoot back, kicking your dangling foot against his.

“You don’t have pictures of people on there though,” he’s quick to point out, handing you back your phone.

“Well no, but that doesn’t mean I don’t. It’s hard convincing people to hike with me is all.” Nature photography was your niche but you could already envision photographing a portrait of Frankie on a mountain with the sun illuminated behind him.

Frankie finishes off his beer and sighs loudly, turning to you with his brows raised. “Well, we’ll have to plan something then won’t we?”

You’d known that was coming and still, your stomach fills with butterflies as he all but asks you out. To see you again beyond this dark, crowded bar that smells like smoke and sweat.

“Definitely.”

Frankie asks if he can walk you home once the bar tab has been paid an hour later- he’s even covered yours too, in apology of your ruined date and unintentionally crashing your plan to wallow in self-pity afterwards.

“I’m just a couple blocks down,” you tell him, pulling your jacket tighter around your shoulders to combat the cool, spring breeze.

“No worries. Can’t complain about getting to spend a little more time with you,” he says cooly, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

The line is smooth and cheesy but it still puts a smile on your face, which you’re sure was its intended effect.

You chuckle, turning to him so he can see the roll of your eyes. “Smooth, Casanova.”

Frankie puts his hands out in front of him in defense, scoffing at your jab.

“Cut me some slack, alright. Haven’t even dated a woman in years, let alone spent hours interrupted and talking with one,” he explains, knocking his shoulder with yours.

The little touch is something weirdly intimate and you cough, looking at him with a skeptical eye.

“I find that hard to believe, Frankie,” you chuckle, “You’re a good looking guy. Can even hold a decent conversation. No dates? Really?”

He shakes his head, shrugging. “Wasn’t in the right headspace for it. And now that I am, I just so happen to meet you and who knows. Was it fate?”

You spot the teasing tone of his voice immediately and you shove him lightly as you start to approach your apartment building. “You’re an ass,” you tell him, giggling as you try and pull your keys from your pocket, fingers fumbling and they drop to the ground with a clang.

You both reach down at the same time, heads knocking together and you can’t stop yourself from laughing. Laughing so much your chest aches with it and you can’t breathe, tears pricking the corner of your eyes and you glance over and Frankie’s no better, clutching his stomach as you both sit on the ground around your fallen keys.

“We’re a fucking mess,” you manage to get out between left over laughter and catching your breath.

Frankie lets out a loud breath, trying to calm himself and he nods in agreement. Picking up the keys, he hands them to you and stands, offering you a hand that you gladly take and try to steady yourself once you’re safely back on your feet.

“You alright?” He asks, running his hands over your hair and brushing at the crown of your head. As if he’s inspecting you for any injuries and you hold your breath.

The best you can manage is a nod, eyes flicking to meet his and you search them for any sign that he’s feeling exactly what you are.

He is. Expressive brown eyes that tell you everything you need to know.

Frankie sighs, pulling his hands back from your face and groans. Kicking at the pavement and mumbling quietly to himself.

Has the moment passed? Did you not react how he was expecting?

Turning back to you, he gives you a self-deprecating smile. “We’re drunk,” he explains. His tone is apologetic and you wonder why he’s saying the words if he feels bad about them in the first place.

“Maybe a little,” you agree. “Doesn’t mean I haven’t had, what I’m sure is, a much better date than I would’ve if that guy had shown up.”

You can tell your words mean something to him. It’s like he’s got this loose energy that he doesn’t know what to do with. Like he wants to shout and scream and run down the street. It makes you want to know more about him- what he’s thinking, how he’s feeling.

Bouncing on his toes, Frankie hurriedly pulls out his phone from his front pocket and hands it to you. “I wanna see you again. Put your number in there?”

The phone is old. Flip-phone old and you laugh as you figure out how to program your number in there, adding your name along with a smiley face at the end before handing it back over to him.

“I had a really great time tonight, Frankie,” you promise him, fiddling with your keys. “Thank you for saving me from what was probably going to be a terrible night.”

“Me too,” he agrees, pursing his lips.

It’s like he’s deciding his next move and it catches you off guard when he leans in to press a kiss to your cheek.

Once there’s a fair amount of distance between you, Frankie heads down the sidewalk and waves. “I’ll call you,” he tells you, calling over his shoulder.

“You better,” you yell back.

Your grin is huge and you’re sure he can see it, even as he continues to walk backwards, watching you, and he disappears into the night.

---

Frankie calls the next day.

Phone numbers that weren’t saved in your address book were usually sent straight to voicemail but there was a nagging feeling deep in your gut to just answer it so you move to the edge of the sidewalk and out of the crowd and pick up.

“Hello?”

You catch a sigh and Frankie’s voice sounds over the speaker, bringing a smile to your face instantly. “Hey, it’s uh. Frankie. From the bar last night?”

Laughing a little, you nod to yourself. “Yeah. I remember you. Almost knocked me out when we bumped heads trying to pick up my keys.”

“Oh good,” he sounds relieved and you glance around as you wait for him to speak again, hoping the conversation was more than just chit-chat. “I know we just saw each other yesterday but I was wondering if I could see you again. Tonight maybe? If you don’t have plans. It’s fine if you do, I just thought I’d ask.”

He’s rushing through his words and you can tell instantly that he’s had to psych himself up to call you from his nervous tone through the receiver.

You don’t have plans and you’re more than eager to see Frankie again. Wondering if last night was a fluke and hoping that it wasn’t. Relationships weren’t your forte but maybe this was the exceptiontion. He was the exception.

“Yeah, I’d really like that Frankie. Just wanna meet me outside of my building around 7?” You chew on your lip nervously.

“Yeah,” he tells you. “That- that would be great. I’ll see you tonight?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there,” you chuckle. “Bye Frankie.”

“Bye.”

Suddenly thankful that you were done running your errands for the day, you headed back home with a grin on your face that didn’t seem like it wanted to leave. Cheeks aching, you wondered what and if he had anything planned.

It had been too long since you’d gone on any sort of date. A real date; something planned and thought out unlike the blind dates you were used to. Frankie didn’t seem the type for a typical dinner and a movie, and something about that idea had you even more excited to see him. Everything about the situation with him was unpredictable: the chance meeting at the bar, to the walk home where you laughed harder than you could remember. There was clearly something there between the two of you and it was exhilarating.

The rest of your day was spent cleaning and daydreaming about the night you might have with Frankie. You wondered if this was how it was supposed to feel when you liked someone. The concept was foreign to you, your relationship history basically nonexistent. Was it possible that he was just as nervous as you were?

As 7pm rolled around, a text sounded over your phone and you leaned over on the counter to see Frankie telling you he was outside. Grabbing a light coat on your way out, you took a deep breath and locked the door behind you. No turning back now.

Frankie was dressed similarly to last night. Jeans, a t-shirt and a tan jacket that looked like it’d seen better days. His hat was missing and his hair looked soft, the ends curling around his ears. You greeted him with a smile as you walked out of your building and he nodded, rocking back on his feet.

“This isn’t weird, is it?” He asks, nodding his head as you both started to walk left down the sidewalk. “The fact that we met last night and we’re seeing each other again?”

You chuckled, “It’s weird in the sense that I’ve never done this before. Any of it. But no, to answer your question. I wanted to see you again and I am, so.” Shrugging, you turn to listen to him as you both continue to walk, keeping to the side.

“Yeah, me too. I mean, I’ve met people in bars. Women. But it’s usually a one night kind of thing-,” Frankie stops himself and groans, running a hand down his face in embarrassment. “That sounds bad. Fuck.”

“Ain’t no shame in the game, Frankie. I’m not here to judge you,” you promise, pausing as you wait for the crosswalk sign to turn white so you can cross the street. “Where are we going, by the way?”

Frankie waits to answer until you’re both safely across the street and heading further into downtown, the crowds getting thicker and you push yourself against his side so as not to lose him. His arm finds its way across your shoulders to keep you close and he answers, leaning his head down closer to your ear. “There’s this bar and arcade thing down a couple more blocks that I figured we could spend some time at. Maybe head to the park after that and walk around. See where the night takes us?”

It’s easy to tell he hasn’t quite planned this out and something about that makes your heart race. He really had just wanted to see you, planning this as he goes only so you can spend more time together.

“The park can get a little murder-like late at night,” you point out with a laugh,

“That’s true. Well, we can always just see where the night takes us after we play a couple of games then if that’s alright?”

“That’s the part where you’re supposed to tell me you’ll protect me,” you poke a finger into his side and laugh. “But yeah of course, Frankie. Whatever you wanna do,” you reassure him. “I’m just along for the ride.”

The bar slash arcade was… something. You weren’t sure what you were expecting but it wasn’t what you walked into. The building was packed to the brim; loud noises, slots and different game noises sounding from every corner, and a small bar was tucked in the left corner with a tv playing what looked like The Shining above it.

“Have you been here before?” You raise your voice, balancing yourself on his shoulder to get closer to his ear.

He nods shouting back, “Yeah, once. Came with a couple of buddies of mine. They’ve got some cool retro games in the back that we used to play as a kid. Everyone loves air hockey too, right?”

You can see the air hockey table he’s referring to. The black light makes everything under the table glow and it reminds you of the arcades off of food courts that most malls used to have. The skeptical feeling you had when walking in seems to fade away and suddenly you’re excited, wondering why you hadn’t been here before when it was so close to your apartment to begin with.

“Once the table clears, I wanna play,” you say, tugging Frankie towards the back where you see a racing game that looks familiar.

Frankie exchanges a few bills for tokens while you hold the two racing games and once he’s slid in the appropriate amount, it’s immediately turned into a competition.

As the screen starts to countdown to your race, you turn to him quickly with a proposition. “If I win, you buy me a beer.”

“I was gonna buy you one anyway,” he tells you, shaking his head as if he’d do anything less. “But alright. If I win, you have to give me a kiss right here.”

He annoyingly points to the empty spot on his jaw where his facial hair didn’t seem to grow, that you had drunkenly pointed out the night before, and you can’t help the loud bark of laughter that escapes your lips as you quickly nod. “Deal.”

You’re almost tempted to lose once the race starts, just so you can kiss him there. But deep in your gut you feel like there’ll be plenty of opportunities to kiss him there in the future so you don’t hold back. The routes feel familiar as you and Frankie virtually drive through them and you’re sure you’ve played this game before, years ago.

As you both reach the last lap and the finish line, you just barely win and pump your fists as you cross. The screen declares you the winner in big font, a trophy spinning in circles and you turn to Frankie. “So, about that beer.”

You two end up at the bar for a little over an hour. The barstools surrounding the area are a hot commodity and once you and Frankie are sat down, you’re reluctant to give them up, especially with the bartender keeping your drinks filled without having to ask.

Frankie tells you about his friends. Benny, Will, and Santiago. How they’ve kept him going since returning back to civilian life. He says they’re all one big support group to each other, knowing that even if it feels like there’s no one you could count on, one of them is always around. There’s a tightness to his voice when he talks about them, like he can’t believe his luck that he has such supportive friends. The clear despair on his face has your chest aching, and you squeeze his hand in comfort.

It makes you yearn for a friendship like that. Most of your friends are married and it’s harder to relate to them when you’re single and living in the city while they’re still living in your hometown with a couple of kids. You tell Frankie as much and he sympathizes and points out that you have at least one friend in the city now, shaking off the emotions of such a heavy conversation.

“Looks like the air hockey table is free,” you nod, seeing the table free for the first time that night.

Frankie nods, standing up to grab his wallet. “You grab the table, I’m gonna close out the tab.”

You quickly walk over, grabbing the two handles and knock a few tokens into the machine when the lime green puck pops out. Frankie joins you a few seconds later, grabbing his handle and standing opposite you.

“So, what are we competing for this time?”

You think for a moment, “Well, I don’t think I need another drink. What about if I win, you have to cook me dinner sometime this week? Maybe Wednesday?”

Frankie seems taken aback by your suggestion but readily agrees. “I can do that. And if I win, you have to cook me breakfast Thursday morning.”

His offer isn’t lost on you and you toss the puck onto the table with a smirk as the air starts to push it around. “You’re on.”

The match is filled with trash talk as you two play. You even manage to gather a small crowd of people around you, cheering you both on. It’s close. For every point you get, Frankie’s one step behind you. Your wrist is starting to ache and the countdown starts on the side, signaling the end of your game in the next 30 seconds.

“You’re gonna lose, Frankie,” you taunt, scoring another point and he tosses the puck back on the table and shoots it towards you as you block it, sending it back across the table.

Except you lose. By a point.

There are cheers for Frankie and slaps on the back as another couple takes over the table and you both move to the side to watch.

“I can’t say I’m all that mad that I lost,” you tell him honestly, glancing up and locking your eyes with his own deep, brown ones.

“It was kind of a win-win for both of us either way,” he agrees, nudging his arm with yours. “So, another date Wednesday night?”

You nod quickly, “Sounds perfect.”

--- Frankie walks you home a few hours later.

After the arcade, you both grab slices of pizza from a small place down the block and walk around, grease staining your fingers and tongues burnt from being so hungry.

Most people are tucking themselves back into their beds at the late hour, your watch showing it was coming up on 2am as you both approach your building.

“A successful first date, I think,” you turn to him, arms wrapped around yourself as the wind turns cold around you. You sniff as your nose starts to drip, scrunching it up and Frankie laughs.

“I think you’re right,” he agrees, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you against chest in a hug.

You savor the warmth as you press your cheek against him, then turn your head. “I should go inside. And you should head home, it’s so fucking late.”

Untangling yourselves, Frankie shoves his hands into his pockets and knocks his arm against yours. “I’ll see you Wednesday?”

Nodding quickly, Frankie shoots you a smile and turns, jogging across the street to where his truck is parked.

It’s like seeing him walk away pushes something inside you, itching to see him just once more and you call out to him quickly before he can get in his truck, “Frankie! Wait! I forgot something!”

He turns to watch you run across the street as he stands in front of the driver’s side door, looking at you curiously once you’re stood in front of him.

“What did you forget?”

“This.” And you lean over to press a kiss to the bare spot along his jaw, the sparse hair around it tickling your lips and you pull away with a grin.

Turning to glance both ways before crossing the street you call behind you, “Goodnight Frankie!”

NEXT CHAPTER

[flourchildwrites]

I've been trying to convince myself that jelsie is not a jerza AU, but tonight is the night I give in.

I waited for years to see the jerza arc come to a satisfying conclusion. I was there, Gandalf, for the kiss that wasn't. Or maybe it was. I don't know. It compelled me. Still does.

The point is that I waited patiently. I felt it in my bones that at the very end of it all (and there was a lot going on at the end of FT), I was going to get that satisfying panel of Jellal finally making peace with his regrets and getting with Erza. No more of this, "It's complicated!" bullshit. Some actual character development to cap off the series.

Of course, it's complicated. It has been complicated for years. But I was over garden variety complication. It had gotten old, frankly. I wanted ✨closure✨. I wanted a payoff for investing in jerza, for believing in jerza. At the very least, I thought I could be satisfied with jerza couched in fan service because, let's be honest, I was desperate.

But did we get that? NO! What do we get instead? A mention that Erza is taking very good care of her hair...

No.

I went back to read that part several times to make certain that I wasn't hallucinating.

No.

No way would Hiro Mashima do this to me. No way would he build jerza up like that since the first season, setting the ship up to be a profound expression of forgiveness, friendship and love triumphing, to end the main story with Erza brushing her fucking hair.

You know who does get a pretty good ending? Zeref and Mavis. Zeref and (the Mary Sue) MAVIS SUE.

But, I didn't complain very loudly. I told myself I was going to wait for the anime to make good on what the manga failed to accomplish. Did it? I don't actually know because I found myself so squicked by the prospect of being disappointed again, but in moving color this time, that I just noped out the whole thing.

And then Edens Zero dropped.

Space? Robots? An Epic tale where time itself is bent? 🤲🏻 Yes, this sounds like something right up my alley. And Happy's back. We love Happy. Who doesn't love Happy? Let the healing commence!

But then I met, Elsie Crimson, the armored space pirate, and right after that, we see Justice of the Interstellar Union Army. And there was a part of me that just... No. Noooo. No way would Hiro Mashima do this to me.

Again.

It is one thing to make characters that look like your old characters. They're his. He can do with them what he wants. And I am all for someone writing the jerza AU where Jellal chases Erza across the cosmos, but why does it have to be the damn manga artist writing the AU? He could have just, you know, written the jerza ending I wanted in the first place.

Dammit.

But I also thought, "Hey, Flour. You gotta calm down. They're just fictional characters. This isn't healthy. And just look at Happy. Yes, he's an exceed, but he's also a robot. And just look a Jella- I mean JUSTICE's hair. It's only blue sometimes, and the face-tattoo/ether gear is more or less transient. So there! Not the same. This won't be jerza in space. It'll be jelsie, something new and different. See, they already kissed (as they stabbed each other) which is a hell of a lot more progress that jerza ever made, I think..."

So that brings us to the present.

I had a bad day. No getting around it or denying it. Really bad day, and I have a habit of waiting to watch animes that I know I'm going to like on bad days to turn them around a little. So, I turned on Edens Zero, and what did I hear?

Colleen Clinkenbeard and Robert McCollum. The English voice actors for Erza and Jellal as Elsie and Justice.

Gosh, no! I had to be mistaken.

So, I looked it up, but since my ears are well-trained homing beacons for Collen Clinkenbeard's sweet, sweet voice, I was NOT mistaken.

It's a jerza AU. That particular part of Edens Zero is a damn jerza space AU. And I am... beside myself bitching about it on tumblr, the only place weird and niche enough to tolerate this rambling rant about fictional characters that I care way too much about.

Goodnight, cruel fandom. I just can't right now.

[mvnvgedmischief]

unremarkable days.

summary: sirius black is trying to be a good man, a good brother, a good person. Sirius has a steady job designing book covers for a publishing house, a flat he never leaves, and a traumatized brother who was just removed from the custody of his parents. All in all, it's wildly unremarkable.

chapter:  5/?

characters: sirius black, regulus black, wolfstar, background marauders

tags: tw: canon compliant abuse, child abuse, social services, abuse, eating disorders

read it on ao3 here

read the last chapter here

words: 4.2k

Sirius felt his mind whirring, as usual. God, it was so hard for him to be normal, to cope with the stress and the frustration and the exhaustion. He didn’t know how he was meant to. He remembered just a month ago, when Alice told him he should take a parental leave. Six weeks off he could have had if he wanted them. But he wanted to keep his trajectory undisputed. It was a mistake, in hindsight. He didn’t know then just how difficult his parents would make things. He didn’t know then what he knew now. He would have said “fuck it” to his trajectory if he would’ve been able to sleep. After all, it was the only thing he really wanted. It was the only thing, other than Regulus’s safety. 

He knew that he couldn’t do anything about this Remus situation. It was too dangerous. If he did something, he didn’t want it coming out in court. If he didn’t, Remus would probably never approve a design again. At least, not from him. So he chose to do what anyone would in his position. He called Marlene and looped in Alice. The calendar invite specified the meeting would begin in twenty minutes. He had titled it “Team Touchbase: The Girls are Talking Shit Again” in hopes to lighten the mood. However, there was no way that it would work. Not with the conversation he was about to have. 

He found himself breathing deeply. Trying to muster the courage to do this. They would be upset. He was sure of it. Especially when it was something this earnest, this niche and close to his chest. But Sirius didn’t have any other choice. Not as far as he could tell. So instead, he made plans for all of the inevitable ways they would try to convince him not to do this. But his mind was already made up. There was no going back now. Not when he was already this committed to the decision. 

“I need to be dropped from this project.” He doesn’t even bother with pleasantries. “Alice, please take me off of this project.”

The scoff caught him off guard. In all the time he had spent working closely with Marlene, she had never scoffed at him. Then again, he’d never asked to be taken off either. “You’re gonna let one bad meeting get to you? It’s not that big of a deal, Sirius.” Marlene was looking at him expectantly. As though she expected him to realize that he was wrong and laugh about it. 

“They’ll all be bad. I need to be dropped from the project.” He stated it like a fact. Maybe because to him, it was one. He just kept repeating it because if he said it enough times maybe they would just believe him and drop him from this book, and this chaos.

“What happened in your meeting earlier? I feel like I’m playing catch up.” It really wasn’t fair to Alice that she didn’t know. But Sirius didn't feel like explaining. 

“Sirius wants to get dropped from the poetry book.”

“But—“ Alice paused. She looked like she was sussing something out. “But aren't those your favorite pet projects?” 

“Yeah, but—” 

“So what’s the problem? “ Marlene cut him off again, and Sirius was beginning to lose his will to do this. He knew he couldn’t just not show up to meetings, but it would show them he needed to be taken off this project. 

“Alice, I have so many projects right now where the author doesn’t hate me. I don’t really have the time to be on a project where he does.” He wasn’t even acknowledging Marlene right now, because she clearly didn’t understand. why he wanted to be taken off. And that was okay, he didn’t mind, as long as he could get off this project. 

Marlene and Alice were good people. They weren’t going to make him do this when he reminded them of how much he was doing, how much weight he was actually pulling. He was sure of it. 

“Bullshit. He doesn’t hate you.”

Well that wasn’t what he anticipated. 

Marlene wasn’t having this. She began to extrapolate on her point, and Sirius was only half listening. “He thinks you’re cool and intimidating, Sirius. He was trying not to feel small. It might not be your style to take that on, but he doesn’t hate you and you know it.” Marlene seemed really keen on keeping him on this project. Sirius wondered why for a moment, but he couldn’t be sure. He didn't know how hard she worked to put him on this account in the first place. 

“Marlene, I don’t know how else to tell you this, but,” he could feel his tone rising. He was starting to get upset. “I don’t have the luxury of time right now to redo the last week of work by myself. Especially when he wants it by today. I don’t have the fucking time. All because he doesn’t like me. I don’t have the time. Take me off the fucking project.” 

“I’m sorry what? What even happened in this meeting?” Sirius wished she had just been there. He wished she watched it happen, because the idea of going through all of the gory details all over again made his skin crawl. 

“Her,” It was probably unfair to place that much emphasis on the word, as though it was Marlene’s fault, “client told me to start over, and when I asked him for any feedback, he essentially told me that if I couldn’t figure out what was wrong with it that I should be out of a job.” 

“You’re being dramatic, Sirius! He didn’t say that! He just said that–” She paused, and Sirius assumed it was because that was exactly what Remus had said. “that you were the artist, not him.”

“Marlene, we don’t let our junior designers take project lead most of the time. I know you really wanted him on this project, but one of the reasons that junior designers don’t lead projects is because a team of two designers on one project is less likely to get bullied. Start cc’ing me on all your emails, I’ll be overseeing this project. “ Alice was speaking with conviction and grace, something Sirius knew he lacked.  He knew that lacking in that made him hard to root for, but he didn’t care. 

“Can I clear out my schedule from these meetings? I really don’t want to even look at them anymore.” He wished he didn’t sound like a kicked puppy right now.

“No.” Alice affirmed, “You are not about to let a client bully you out of your job. Besides, I’m overseeing this project, and this relationship. If you’re not there, there is no relationship.” She really had an air about her that made her hard to question. Sirius wished he had that. 

With that, the conversation was over. Neither Marlene nor Sirius look satisfied, but Alice has provided her mentee as good of a solution as he was probably going to get right now. And effectively Marlene got what she wanted. Sirius was still on the project. 

“Both of you, take the day to cool off. I’ll be getting in touch with the client later today to make sure that our client relationship terms are actually being upheld. Something tells me he didn’t read them.” 

Sirius nodded numbly. He felt emotionally tapped out. There was no way that this was going to work. How was he supposed to juggle all of this, on top of his already stressful life. So instead, he logged off, like Alice suggested. He was not going to be logging back on any time soon. He could practically guarantee that. 

Sirius found his way to the couch, with its ever inviting comfort. All of the coziness of falling asleep, none of the bedroom associated trauma. That was definitely a bonus. Falling asleep on the couch always seemed far safer than falling asleep in his bed. There was less likelihood of nightmares, less anxiety, less flashbacks. It was a wonder Sirius ever made it to bed. Today, he didn’t. He sat on the sectional, curling himself into a small ball in the corner, and turned on something low intensity. He put on a documentary series about penguins, which felt like it would be soothing, and before he knew it, he was asleep. 

He was lucky when he logged out of his email, it auto populated his Out of Office message. Or at least, usually he thought that. Today he would have rather died, then have that functionality turned on. Because he was sure it was what prompted Remus to wake him from his peaceful nap with a call. 

Well, peaceful was a strong word. It definitely had its own fair share of thrashing, but Sirius would take thrashing and nightmares he couldn’t remember over this phone call. He dreads it until he slides the accept call button.

“Sirius Black.” He begins, because what is there to say. His voice sounded thick with exhaustion. He could hear it.

“We need to get that meeting on the calendar.” Didn’t Remus know he could just send a calendar invite? This remote thing wasn’t nearly as complicated as he made it out to be. 

“I’m out of office Remus.” His tone was dripping with contempt. He didn’t want this. He wanted to sleep. 

“You’re always out of office. You never answer when i call you, it’s fucking nutty how hard I have to work to get you on the phone.” 

“It wouldn’t be if you could just check the google calendar or get your nose out of my business.” Sirius didn’t know he was feeling this spicy today. But apparently, he was enjoying controlled confrontation.  

“i don’t think that’s—“ 

“Stop asking people why I’m not in office. It’s none of your business.” He wasn't pulling any punches right now. He was going to get this man off of his back. “It’s fucking weird. I don’t know you.”

“I was just–“ Remus wasn’t going to get a word in edgewise. Sirius wasn’t going to let him. 

“And for that matter, it shouldn’t matter whether or not I’m remote. It seems to bother you so much, but you were the one who tried to put me on the project. You were the one who asked Marlene about it. I’ve been remote since before you got picked up, it’s not news to anyone else on the team. It’s weird that you’re so concerned with me.”

“You were the one who—“

“That was a big fucking mistake.” Sirius spit in response. Sure, he wanted to see Remus again when he had asked him on that date. But putting it all in perspective, he couldn’t do that. And he didn’t like that Remus was pressing everyone for the details of his personal life. He would rather cut this off here, not risk the court date and the details being aired out. Especially not since they could be used to take Regulus from him. He couldn’t risk it. 

“What was the point of it then? Why’d you ask me and then pull this?” Remus’s voice sounded small. Like he was going to cry. 

“I liked you until you started prying into my life. I don’t need more people running around trying to dig up information on me.” Sirius shouldn’t have said that. He felt it in his chest, but he couldn’t take it back now. He practically wants to scream, you could have just waited, I would have explained. But he could not do that, because it definitely wasn’t true. 

“Oh.” That’s all Remus said, before he clicked the phone off and hung up. 

Sirius didn’t have the time to think about that. He just didn’t. While six months ago he would have spiralled out of control thinking about what that short “oh” meant, but he couldn’t spend that time right now. Shit. What time even was it? He checked the time when his eyes began to focus again, and took a moment to try to collect himself. It was half past five, and he had no time because Regulus would be home from football in twenty minutes and Sirius needed to have dinner on the table. So he jumped off of the couch, and tore from the living room area into the kitchen. What was he even going to make? How would he even pull this together? 

He was moving at a speed he wasn’t sure he even possessed these days. He was running through what he could make mentally, trying not to come up with anything that would wear on him too heavily or signal a lack of effort to Regulus. It was a fine line that he walked every night. When food was too terrifyingly bland, too ashen in his mouth, and too overwhelming to his mind, how did he settle on something comforting for his brother? And on top of that, he needed to be quick.  He was running out of time.  He grabbed a jar of pasta sauce that he had made earlier in the week, and a box of spaghetti, and hoped that this would be enough. It wasn’t good enough to stand up to the chefs in the Black family home, but then again, he didn’t think Regulus wanted that anyways. 

When Regulus finally walked through the door, Sirius was almost done cooking. He had meatballs in a pan, the pasta was strained, and the sauce was warm. Maybe this would be enough. Maybe he would have done enough for them to just enjoy dinner, and have a normal night. 

“Hey, Siri.” Regulus looked calm for the first time in a long time. Hopefully tonight would be a good night. Hopefully they could have a normal meal, laugh and smile and have a good time. It would be nice. 

“Hey, Reg.” Sirius replies, putting together a bowl for his younger brother. He wanted so badly to just let things be normal. He puts one together for himself as well, and brings them over to the table.  If he needed to do it, he would. He didn’t want to be anything other than a positive force in Regulus’s life. He didn’t want to cause problems for him. “How was school?” 

Regulus looks up, god, when did his eyes start looking so sad. Where did the light he used to have in his eyes go? Had Sirius really missed so much  of his life? “School was fine. Kind of long. They sent me  to the  social worker today. Grilled me on what it was like living with you.”

Sirius felt his eyes go wide. Sure, it wasn’t surprising that they did, but still, it terrified him. 

“I told them everything was awful, obviously.” Regulus chuckled, and for a moment, Sirius’s heart dropped. However, in a moment, he was laughing right along with Regulus. Of course it was a joke. He hadn’t told them that, because he didn’t want to go back. Sirius was terrified of anyone taking Regulus, but Regulus seemed to be terrified of being taken away. At least today, he seemed to be. “I told them it’d be easier to get acclimated if someone stopped mum and dad from taking us to court all  the time.” That statement was smaller, more fearful. It was as if Regulus was afraid he had done something wrong. 

“Mate, I–” Sirius began, but Regulus stopped him, “Siri you can’t stop them. You don’t need to apologize to me.” 

That sentence could have made him crumble. It probably would have, if they weren’t interrupted by a knock at the door.  Sirius felt himself jump, and he watched Regulus do the same. God, Sirius wished they weren’t so fucking damaged. He wished that any noises that they didn’t know was coming didn’t startle them.  He wished they hadn’t been conditioned to be afraid for so many years. But then the key is clicking into the lock, and  Sirius is jumping up. He  doesn’t want this right now. He can’t do this right now. He knows it’s Jamie as soon as the sound of the tumblers click into place.  So he walked over  to the door with speed and a mission. He would keep them out of his home if he could help  it,  because he couldn’t do this tonight. They needed a calm night at home, a night of peace and family time, and Regulus was shifting uncomfortably  in the chair. 

“Jamie, you can’t  be here.”  Sirius began, before he even opened the door. 

“Mate, you didn’t come to the family dinner. We wanted to see you, so we came  to you,” James laughed and when Sirius looked around, it was the team. Including Remus. 

“No,” Sirius puts his foot behind the door,  holding it closed with only  his head poking out. 

“But Sirius it’s been forever since anyone’s seen you,” Peter called from behind him.  

“No, lads. Go home. It’s a school night.”  Sirius wasn’t budging. In fact, he was pleading.

“You don’t have a kid.” Remus called, clearly looking bitter. Sirius wanted to scream that he didn’t know what he’s talking about, because he didn’t.

“Go home, guys. You can’t come in. It’s a school night.” He repeated. They couldn’t. He didn’t want Reg to be so uncomfortable, which he clearly was. 

“Fine.” James looked irritated. Sirius understood why. He understood that he had forgotten the plans James made, but at the same time, he couldn’t juggle this right now. He didn’t have the time for all of this. He knew he had been MIA from his friend’s lives, but this wasn’t forever. It was just until he was done with all of these hearings. Just until his parents would stop. Just until Regulus felt more comfortable. Just until the chaos ended. 

Sirius returned from the door, and sat down at the table again. He didn’t really care to talk about it, but his brother looked so guilty that he felt like he had to. 

“They could’ve come in. I would’ve eaten in my room.” His eyes welled with tears, and he looked so deeply uncomfortable. 

“Reg, this is your house. Not theirs.”  Sirius responded with as much authority  as he could muster, but he definitely didn’t want to scare him. He didn’t want to seem like his parents, he didn’t want to behave the way that they did ever. It was a fine line to walk, and he knew it would get harder when he needed to put his foot down, be a disciplinarian in any way. But for right now, that wasn’t a concern of his. Right now he was much more focused on making this a welcoming environment. It needed to be comfortable for him before they could handle anything else.  

“It’s your house, you can have people over if you want.” Regulus’s voice sounded thick with concern, laced with guilt. Sirius was terrified that he was royally screwing this whole thing up. He wanted to be a good brother, a good guardian, a support system. “I don’t wanna cause problems.” There it was, the sentence before the crumble.  Sirius could see it coming, because it was like looking into the past. Regulus reminded him of himself so much that it hurt sometimes. 

“Reg, mate,”  he started, and then he stood up (and pretended that he wasn’t seeing stars). “You aren’t causing problems,” in just a moment, he was beside his younger brother and his arm was wrapped around the teen’s shoulders. “I’m so glad you’re here. All I’ve ever wanted is to get you out of there. I just couldn’t before. The council wouldn’t let me.” 

“But– but–” Reg was stuttering and spiralling, “If I wasn’t here they wouldn’t be taking us to court all the time, there wouldn’t be private investigators, you wouldn’t have to worry.” His words felt like burns on Sirus’s skin. It felt like a vice gripped his heart, and all he wanted to do was support his brother.  All he wanted was for everything to finally be okay. 

“Reg, look at me.” Sirius’s calloused hand gently pulled his brother’s shoulder to face him. “I want you here. I have wanted you here since I left. I missed having my kid brother around, alright?” 

“Oh,” Reg responded, but he had already become despondent and detached. He wasn’t coming back from the stress and the emotional turmoil tonight. Sirius understood. He had been like that when he first left. Hell, he was still like that. He didn’t have the energy to do for himself what he had done for Regulus, by getting him the best treatment he could, and making sure to keep him together. He was trying to do for Regulus what Euphemia and Monty had done for him. He knew that he wasn’t measuring up to them, but he was trying. He knew that he had taken for granted what they had done, he was re-engaging in behaviors that weren’t healthy for him. Things they had worked so hard to pull him out of. But he was trying, and he didn’t have the time to take care of all of those old behaviors that had flared up. He didn’t have the energy to work on himself, when he had all of this going on. 

Shortly thereafter, Regulus decided to go to bed. Sirius understood, it had been a lot of effort to go to school, and footie, and deal with the stress of Sirius’s friends showing up out of nowhere. And Sirius was thankful in a way, because he was about to rip into James for doing this again. He should know better. Within minutes, he was ringing James and seething. He can barely wait until the phone is done ringing to start going in on him.

“Jamie, you can’t fucking do that to me.” He began, “You can’t just bring people to my fucking house, especially not people who don’t know what is going on. I can’t have people over– they have a fucking PI looking into me, documenting everyone who’s here, when they’re here. I can’t have a bunch of people over on a fucking school night! They’re going to try to take him from me over the smallest fucking thing, let alone having several twenty somethings over in the middle of the week out of nowhere!” He was not even taking a moment to breathe, “How could you fucking do that to me? Why do you want to help them?  I can’t even fucking leave my house without being fucking interrogated about it every two weeks in court! You can’t bring people here!” He reached up to push his curly black hair out of his eyes, and he realized that he was crying. He was really caught off guard by it. 

James waited a moment, before responding. James was always much better about keeping his cool than Sirius had ever been, and if he was honest, Sirius appreciated it. He appreciated that James kept it together when he couldn’t. “Sirius, I didn’t know. I don’t want you to get him taken from you. I’m sorry.”

“Jamie they can’t do it– they can’t take him– I can’t let them–” Now it was Sirius’s turn to spiral. The anger had subsided, and all that was left was his fear. He was terrified that he was going to lose his brother again, and he couldn’t handle that. 

“Siri– a judge would have to be mad to take him from you.” While that might have been true, it didn’t quell Sirius’s fears. 

“They have so much money, Jamie. They have so much power. They can do whatever they want and get away with it. It doesn’t matter if it’s legal.” Sirius wanted to curl up into a ball and disappear. He was so terrified, and there was nothing that anyone could do to make this less terrifying. It was almost terrifying just how much power the Black family actually held. Sirius wasn’t sure that he could do enough to stand up to them. 

“I’m worried about you, Pads.” James let out a sigh, it seemed like this was a conversation he was dreading having. “You’re alone all the time. You never go anywhere. You’ve been lashing out at people— Pads, I can’t remember the last time it was this bad.” He sounded almost as terrified as Sirius felt. 

“I see them more now than I have in years, Prongs. I can’t handle this.” His voice is breaking. He was trying so hard not to lose it, but it hadn’t worked and it probably wouldn’t anytime soon. 

“You haven’t been seeing your counselor.” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. 

“You don’t know that.” He was right, Sirius hadn’t been seeing his counselor. 

“Yeah I do. You’re online when you usually see her. Is it about the money? Me and Lil can help you out with money.” Sirius hadn’t expected to be called out like that. He didn’t have the energy to handle this conversation right now. 

“I can’t do this right now.” Sirius responded, “I’ve gotta go.” He didn’t really, he just wanted to be alone. He just wanted to not talk about it anymore, pretend everything was fine, dissociate for hours. That was what he wanted. It was completely unremarkable. 

[starrybbarnes]

dancing hearts | [b.b]

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: there’s an app that’s all the rage, and Bucky wants no part in it.

Word Count: 1828 (a pretty solid word count, if i do say so myself)

Author’s note: before y’all ask, yes i did made a tiktok one shot. it was like a given. but this one shot is inspired by that trend where you record your s/o looking at you while dancing, and I know that’s something bucky would do. as always, I enjoy the feedback you guys give me ♡

Warnings: centenarian steve doing the savage dance (it’s canon). some tooth-rotting fluff, it’s lowkey sickening. oodles and oodles of fluff, i promise

You knew you shouldn't have succumbed to the pleas of Peter and Shuri. But here you were, downloading an app that rewards people in recording themselves doing funny videos, and dances as well.

At first, you only used tiktok to just watch others, but then you started toying with features. As a SHIELD agent, you would sometimes record videos of you giving tours of the Stark building, and many people enjoyed that content. When your audience found out that you also worked alongside the Avengers, they begged you to find a way to include them in videos. 

It was no easy feat. At first, you would just videotape your friends while they’re working out, or if they had the time, a “day in the life of” type of clip, or you would film an occasional prank video, which the viewers would eat up.

The videos that would garner the most views, however, were the dancing videos. Yes, it is true that you got your ‘very serious and adult’ friends to do funny renditions of Savage and Say So. People could not believe that someone as old as Sam can do the splits, but yet, there he was. 

Another niche that your fans enjoyed was videos of you teaching the Avengers the popular dances. When you taught Steve the dance to Savage, he had stormed off grumbling how it’s ‘indecent’ and ‘humiliating.’ He did come back to finish the dance, though, and might you add, he did slightly better than you.

From duets with Peter, to breaking out in dance at the gym with Natasha, everyone enjoyed doing the dances with you. All except one.

You always knew Bucky was a serious one, but you have seen him crack a smile or two. And you have seen him shimmy once in a while when you played music in the kitchen. But for some reason, he was not fond of this new trend that was making waves throughout the Avengers compound. 

It’s not like you’re secretly recording him or anything. You ask everyone beforehand if they mind being recorded. But it seems like he doesn't want to do it, point blank. Steve says it might be because he’s just not a fan of being the center of attention. Sam thinks it because Bucky’s afraid to admit that he sucks at dancing. 

And today was no exception. It was a day off for the Avengers, so you thought this was prime time for some new footage of your friends dancing. You had decided you wanted to teach one of the harder dances, and just make a video out of the many times he might mess up.

You made your way to the kitchen and started to greet everyone. Your eyes landed on Bucky, who was at the kitchen island, eating Pad Thai. You softly said hello, and Bucky looked up. He had a small grin and politely waved hello. He offered his seat next to him, and told you to help yourself to some of his leftovers, which you happily agree to.

Despite ‘hating’ your ‘antics,’ Bucky was more than happy to hang out with you during lunch time. About ninety percent of the time, he’s pretty cold and broody, but the other ten percent he’s a pleasure to be around.

You kind of wished you knew what went on inside his head, simply on the basis that you like him. It’d be nice to know if you liking him was worth it. 

As you got your fair share of Pad Thai, you asked him if he wanted to do a video with him. A lot of your audience wanted to see the Winter Soldier in action, busting some moves.

Bucky nodded his head, “it’s not my cup of tea, doll. Why would I do something as ridiculous as that?” 

You frowned slightly. “There’s no harm in having a little fun, Buck.”

“Yeah, well, I just don’t wanna do it.” He then left his seat to the island to go sit at the kitchen table to finish his lunch.

You narrowed your eyes towards Bucky, not caring enough to argue over something small. He’ll come around eventually. 

Almost immediately, Steve walked into the kitchen, and your face lit up. You asked him if he was busy. He hesitated while saying no, but it didn’t matter. You told him he was going to take part in a dancing video.

Steve complained slightly, as the other Avengers started cheering him on to do it. You propped your phone against the fruit basket on the island, the camera facing towards the living room and kitchen table, with New York in the background.

You hit record and started guiding Steve along with the song. It was an upbeat song and it wasn’t long that he started to get the hang of it. Recording took no longer than 20 minutes, but you quickly got to editing the video. Once done, you posted it, excited to see your followers’ reaction. 

You took a quick snack break and decided to see the comments of the video. Everyone loved it: comments ranging from adoration to slightly thirsty for Captain America. You showed the comment section to Steve, and he couldn’t stop cracking up. 

Then there was a top comment that was gaining popularity. Steve read it while slightly smirking, and decided to show it to you. “Check it out,” Steve said, “looks like people are spotting an admirer.”

You were confused at what he was talking about, and that’s when you saw the comment:

mary: has anyone noticed Bucky in the background?! He keeps looking at y/n with heart eyes! 

Sure enough, when you went back to look at the footage, you saw that Bucky was feigning eating his lunch, whilst staring at you, albeit with his heart fluttering. 

You thought the gesture was endearing, and it only made you wonder more if Bucky really thought of you in that way. It was time to get the bottom of it. 

 “Hey Buck, is it okay if I record here? The lighting is better, but I just wanna make sure I’m not intruding,” you said with slight concern. 

Bucky smiled at you, “you’ll never intrude on me, Doll. You can have as much or as little sunlight when you’re around me.”

You giggled like a schoolgirl and went on with your plan. You decided to place your phone by a pile of books on the kitchen table where Bucky was sitting, inconspicuously flipping the camera so that it was facing him. 

The song that you decided to ‘record’ was an upbeat and fun one, and you’ve already learned the dance. There had been a challenge going around that you would film your significant other reacting to you dancing said song, and it was very popular. However, you didn’t have a significant other, but Bucky was definitely a close second. 

As the song started playing, Bucky’s eyes started to light up and became very interested as to how you were going to dance to it. His head started bobbing along to the song, mouthing some of the lyrics. 

Then it got to the chorus. You started doing the moves along with the song, and Bucky’s face said it all. He was enamored. He started to cheer you on, mimicking the moves you were doing, and clapping once you finished your little dance number. 

As you finished your dance, your phone finished recording and saved the video to your photo album. You took a seat at the kitchen table and quickly skimmed the video. Your cheeks started burning red as you captured a moment of Bucky smiling really big while you were dancing.

You kept replaying the video when Bucky called your name. “How’s the video looking, sweetheart?” he asked as he tried to read your face.

 Your face started to go red again. You didn’t think you would get this far. Your mind started racing and tried to think of anything, anything, to cover up your true motives.

“I… the video didn’t come out as good as I thought,” you replied in a high-pitched voice. 

“Doesn’t sound too convincing, doll,” Bucky questioned as he got up from his chair and slowly started making his way towards you. 

You hid your phone behind your back, trying to back away from Bucky’s extended hand.

“Doll, I just want to see the video, it can’t be that bad.”

“Oh, but it is, I can’t show you,” you tried to argue. 

Bucky started advancing much faster, and had you cornered by the kitchen wall. He put one arm above your head, and stared right through your lies.

“And why is it bad?” Bucky inquired.

You took a deep breath, while also making the mistake of inhaling Bucky’s cologne. His fresh pine scent started making you dizzy, knees almost bucking at the sight before you.

“It’s just…” you started. “The last video I made with Steve, someone noticed you in the background looking at me, and they said it looked endearing.”

When Bucky didn’t respond, you continued, “I didn’t believe it so I did the challenge where I record myself dancing, I recorded you looking at me dancing.”

“Is that so?” Bucky said as he broke into a small.

“I’m really sorry Bucky,” you replied with a small whisper, “If you want, I’ll delete it immediately. I wasn’t planning on posting it or anything.” 

“Then what exactly were you going to do with the video?” Bucky asked as he raised an eyebrow.

You gulped. Well, it’s now or fucking never.

“.... cherish it,” You said sheepishly, “I thought you looked really cute when you were cheering me on with my dumb dances that you hate.”

Bucky’s face softened. “Didn’t know you thought that fondly of me, doll. Also, your dances aren’t dumb. I just… I’m a bad dancer.” 

You started laughing. “Lucky for you, we both have the rest of the day off to practice… if that’s okay with you?”

Bucky kissed your forehead, “of course it’s fine… after I take on a little dinner date, though.”

“Deal.” 

You and Bucky embraced each other, taking in each other. You gave him a peck on the cheek and then Peter came running in.

“Hey guys! Shuri’s here and she wants to teach you a new dance!” he chirped as he was running out of breath. “It’s called the renegade dance, do you guys wanna take part in it?”

You turned to Bucky, who then flashed his smile. “Of course, kid. But let Shuri know that me and my girl over here are gonna crush you guys at it.”

Peter’s eyes widened and took a glance towards both of you. 

“... uhhhh no. But this is still a lot to process,” and with that he left the kitchen.

“What do you say, Y/N... Can I have this dance?” Bucky asked, extending his arm.

“It’d be an honor, Buck,” you replied, taking his hand and making your way outside.

[ranvwoop]

TALK ABOUT AMERICAN HEALTHCARE I HAVE AN IDEA OF WHY IT'S THERE BUT I WANNA HEAR THE EXPLANATION ALSO THE ONLY HOUSE THAT"S NOT ON FIRE (YET) FOR THE SAME REASON I JUST WANNA SEE THE ANALYSIS:TM: IF U WANT I WANNA SEE IF I GOT IT RIGHT :D

Hi :DDD. Thank u for asking,,,, I have many thoughts. I am sorry in advance. This is one of those things I will put under a readmore because I am into rambling. IT GOT A LOT LONGER THAN ANTICIPATED IM SORRY. Like. a lot. It was 4 pages in google docs because i dont trust tumblr to save my drafts

Okay a lot of my Ranboo thoughts are about the syndicate / boreal trio / peerpressure duo. But you’re probably aware I am a Them enthusiast first and both a dsmp enjoyer and person second. Because. I really like the syndicate. I also don’t have too too many thoughts on the more recent lore past the experiments. Once the in character monologues stopped, so did my brain. I communicate through monologue to monologue communication.

American Healthcare is actually gonna be the main reason why this is so long bc it works Very Much for like three different reasons. One sorta niche and abstracter reason is a stream that was basically never elaborated on back in March, either the day after or very close to the peerpressure Egg confrontation stream. The egg called him a coward (for some reason my brain can Only come up with the “stop saying i look like chicken little. he’s dumb, and a coward, and i am NOT a coward” vine), and he is not a coward, so he decided to make an action plan to bring the server together by acting as a mediator for all parties and try to make sure that everyone is happy, because he’s the only one that can see all sides, or something. This was where he said the big happy family™ line but other than Ranboo Become Dream?? analysis nothing else really happened and everything went along as normal.

(I also always held a little bit of suspicion on this stream actually and thought it might be the influence of the egg, because it says it can give one whatever they want, and ranboo wants to make everyone happy and this was a totally foolproof way of doing that. Sort of in a similar way that BBH is convinced that his plan will totally make Skeppy happy. But also Ranboo is just like that, but this felt a little more on the nose than usual and he did fall into the egg and made his decisions after being egged on by it, buT WE’LL NEVER KNOW, WILL WE?

… also I really wanted to see more egg conflict at the time. Peerpressure rlly got involved in the egg plot for cameos at the banquet and nothing else. I do not blame anyone and respect the ccs for all of their attempts to weave plots together but also. also…. we.. we coulda had so much…)

That was a little off topic from the point, but… he really just thinks he can save the sick… he can see that everyone on the server is unwell and is wrong but, y’know, look inwardly, the unwell is coming from inside the house. And an inherent problem of the way that the server runs. And if this is still lowkey in effect or not (idk man a) ranboo has monologued a lot I simply chose a one off from march to grow emotionally attached to and b) i think that my brain has shut off once ranboo stopped solo lore streams), it would probably go the way that most choosing to change the system from the inside goes. Which is the point of the song and stuff! He will inevitably decide what’s too far, whether he will either admit it’s a choice or just feel that it’s what he has to do. The, uh, dealing with the devil, to be polite.

in conclusion (but we are not close to done here i’m holding you for a bit longer), i think a lot about that stream and i think that shows what he wants to be, at the very least, and continuing down that path would definitely go into being far more trouble than just a noble goal of wanting to help people, from negotiating with corruption (The lobbyists, the Congressmen and lies bit) and that the server can’t really be brought together and saved like that (When things are more and more this way / Sometimes it's like they'd rather die)

THE LESS. vwoop why have you written an unnecessarily long post about one stream in your playlist character analysis reason is both more literal and piece by piece and also Syndicate, My Beloved, you know the drill. We are going line by line because I have a lot of feelings about American Healthcare, apparently.

This also comes back to that everyone on the server is doing Really Badly, all of the time, but mostly his time in L’Manburg. For one, he is pretty complacent in everything and doesn’t really accomplish much in terms of actual change, so like Well people die every day / I wouldn't have it any other way / I just think they should feel good while they are alive. An example of this is Exiled Tommy — who I’d also metaphorically put as the dead man just for funsies, since Tommy’s whole exile thing was one of the first things Ranboo experienced on the server—as he did try to be friends with Tommy and keep him company with his letters, but he still has no power over the actual issue at hand. Just trying to make it a bit more bearable. Similarly is Techno, while Ranboo still participated in the butcher army that was trying to kill him, he helped in the meantime until he “died”.

And then it’s the Realization that participating in the system doesn’t really help much, and the subsequent Everything. It could be getting mad at the whole government system and that he didn’t mean to contribute to the harm, or how he fought with Fundy using hs ideology but not in the way that Ranboo thought. It could also be standing up to his hallucination Dream, in that he doesn’t try this hard to be a good person just to be accused of helping with all of the things that he may or may not have helped with. (That is… a discussion for not right now, I don’t know.) And I think this sort of area is also where it’s like they’d rather die is also relevant, cause Doomsday. Nobody could just set aside their governments and just get along, though Ranboo had his own solution to fighting and things.

And then he joins the Syndicate! And the lyrics of the song are directly Government Bad, because government bad. Canon anarchist, has done things that he’s not proud of as a part of the government. The lines it was the government / … It got louder over the years / Until all that I could hear was flies and all.

But honestly I think in the Syndicate he’s still trying to “save the sick”! Because the Syndicate don’t All fit eye to eye either. He’s the token pacifist, and a vote against violence whenever it comes down to it. Not all anarchists are violent but Techno and Phil will probably react strongly when provoked, due to All the past events, and I live in a world where their trauma and issues get talked about as much as everyone else’s. Since everything is decided by vote it’d probably be split between them and Ranboo + Niki, who is in her healing/no longer resorting to murder arc. He’ll help them negotiate and then everything will Be Okay, ideally.

(Also I just like the idea of Ranboo believing that he is helping the people he’s living with because canonically cc!Ranboo has said he just really cares about his family and the syndicate are included in his family shut up but they also just believe they’re helping him and yes it’s self indulgent. I care them. Particularly Endduo, actually, or whatever they're called, I am not bold enough to think Ranboo looks at Techno and thinks I Can Fix Him, but. Philza Minecraft will one day talk about his feelings. One day.)

There’s also radioduo and beeduo as of recent— really I’m just saying I think that Ranboo constantly has a Need To Help People, believes he can do it, and it will come back to hurt him in the end (except for the Syndicate because I’m in denial. The Syndicate can’t fall out if they never stream together :) ).

THIS CONCLUDES THE AMERICAN HEALTHCARE PORTION OF OUR SHOW.

The Only House That’s Not on Fire Yet !! I like this one. This is also blatantly there cause Syndicate. They are the only faction that is not actively falling apart, and this could absolutely be because they never stream together. But I do not care. However we are also going to go through this one piece by piece because we’re nearing 1500 words here and I might as well embarrass myself more. I am writing an incredibly informal essay about Ranboo My _Beloved (i assume his middle name is My, and he’s just one of those people who write his full full name) and this is the third page. If you’re still reading this, I’m sorry. Here we go.

There are lines that just seem like an unwell but recovering person, and I like to sort of think that way about Ranboo in the arctic during the down time. “I feel knotted up today / But in a most exquisite way” and “I feel strangely regular / But honestly I prefer it to / The usual bizarre” are just! He’s just hanging out. He’s doing good. There is the acknowledgement that he’s usually not doing well, and all of the episodes that he’s had in the past, and it’s probably strange to be doing well in the midst of everything, and there’s probably something impending, but now? He’s doing good!

The verses directly after both of those ones are about uncertainty and trust and such, and I feel like that’s not necessarily about just One relationship but all of them. Will cause problems as long as he has an accomplice. He is not confident but he trusts and loves people.

“This suit doesn’t fit me / I made it conterfeitly” I just like to think about Ranboo in his fancy suit, but it’s just a little wrong because he actually has no idea what he’s doing. I also like to think about Ranboo in a cape to fit in with boreal trio and later the syndicate, and emerald duo had matchy blue outfits from the Antarctic Empire… and trying to fit in with them…. or maybe They make him something.. You know. Much to think about.

“Killing me with déjà vu” I think is like. A little less fun, because despite how well things are going, the enderwalk is still not resolved and he had even less answers when I started thinking “this is a ranboo song”. Just as it relates to having a strange sense of reality and stuff, which goes into specifics of enderwalk headcanons, which would make this far longer. Even though I’ve framed it as a negative, there is also the more positive note of “Oh! I just thought of how to change all the hate / Into love with the old switcheroo / Dancing in my déjà vu / You'll be dancing too” which I’d rather explain broken up but I feel like as it’s a full verse it should be together. The first part is connected to my general thoughts of him explained earlier tbh, he’s trying Very Hard to make everyone happy and fix things. And adding the second part to it is just like! He is trying to make sense of everything, and it’s not so scary as time goes by. Since the experiments where he’s been (questionably) trying to be more comfortable and get more answers.

This was very long. I am sorry. I am ending it here and probably not going to do much formatting to make it readable because it is very late o’clock and also this is four pages and 2000 words I am so sorry. But if you read this far then. Uhhh thank. ^v^.

[thiswasinevitableid]

70 for sternclay, nsfw please :)

70: you’re planning my best friend’s wedding which we find out the day after you drunkenly hit on me at a bar and I reject you.

“God I hope this guy isn’t a jerk.” Dani plays with her hair as Aubrey fidgets with her phone.

“Hey, if he is, you’ve got me as back-up.” Barclay pats her shoulder reassuringly, “plus, like, you two are the brides. You’re the bosses of the wedding.”

“If we really were the bosses, we wouldn’t be working with a wedding planner in the first place.” Aubrey grumbles. 

There’s a knock on the door and Barclay stands, “I’ll get it, you two finish mentally bracing yourselves.”

He opens the door to find a tall, dark haired man with bright blues and a well-cut suit staring at him. Their expressions morph to shock and recognition at the same instant.

“Hi, hic, big guy, what’s your name?” The man’s blue eyes are noticeable even in the dim light of the bar. 

“Barclay.” He turns on his stool, giving the man a once over that he can’t help but notice. 

“You, hic, here, hic, with anyone?”

“Nope.”

“Want to, hic, be?” 

The man is clearly built under his v-neck t-shirt, and Barclay would dearly love to get a closer look at his ass. Trouble is, his ass is having a hard time staying balanced in that chair. 

“Sorry, blue eyes, not tonight.”

The man slinks away before Barclay can even ask if he wants him to call him a ride. 

“I’m looking for Aubrey Little’s residence?”

“You found it. She and Dani are in here.” He ushers blue-eyes inside, doesn’t envy him the look of suspicion he gets from both women. 

“Good afternoon, Ms. Little and Ms. Coulice, I’m Joseph Stern, and I’m here to help your wedding go off without a hitch.”

“Great. Let’s get this over with. Honey, can you go get the notes AH Dr. Harris Bonkers put that down!” Aubrey dives off the chair, grabbing a phone charger from the jaws of the ten pound white rabbit. 

As one bride opens up her laptop and the other re-cages a disgruntled small mammal, Stern turns to him.

“And, um, how do you know the brides to be?”

“Dani’s been my best friend since middle school, so I’m her man of honor and helping with the wedding planning.”

“I see. Oh, thank you Ms. Coulice.”

“Dani is fine.” Dani returns to her spot in the loveseat while Stern sits down in a nearby chair with her laptop. He reads for several moments without comment, Aubrey trading worried looks wh Barclay and Dani as he does. 

“Are these the specific venues you have in mind, or just examples of the type of location you’d like?”

“Mostly examples.” 

“Got it. Would you mind sending me these files? That way I can have them as reference when I’m looking into possible venues.”

“You’re not gonna, like, try to talk us into the Yacht Club or something?”

Stern looks at Aubrey with a warm, polite smile, “Ms. Little--Aubrey--, your father may have retained me, but my job is to make the wedding as close to what you want as possible. I’m not here to undermine you.”

“O-kay” Aubrey still sounds wary, but she and Dani relax as Stern goes over his planning approach with them and works out a tentative schedule of meetings. When he’s done, Barclay offers to walk him to the door. 

Just as he steps outside, he turns, “I, um, I would appreciate it if you didn’t mention our exchange last night to either of them. Or to Mr. Little. It’s not a habit of mine, I just had a bit too much, um, liquid courage.”

“You got it. Kinda feeling like I dodged a bullet myself.”

“Oh?” A dark eyebrow arches playfully. 

“Rather not sleep with the enemy.”

“Wh-did you miss the part where I said I was here to help them?” 

“Nope, but you and I both know it’s a lie. You’re here because Aubrey’s dad has a bug up his butt about this wedding causing a scandal or not being fancy enough or some bullshit, so he called you in to make sure it stays bland.” He sighs, “Look, Mr. Stern, I’m sure you’re a nice guy, but Dani is like a sister and Aubrey is one of my best friends; I’m here to make sure the wedding is actually what they want.”

Stern pinches the bridge of his nose, “is there anything I can to convince you I’m not trying to make them miserable?”

“Yeah. Quit.”

“Not a chance.” Is the immediate reply. 

“Well, there’s your answer then.” With that, he shuts the door. There’s a frustrated huff on the other side, and then footsteps fading away.

--------------------------------

Stern sighs, checks his appearance in the front window as he waits for Dani or Aubrey to open the door. He’s been working with them two weeks now, and while both women (and Dr Harris Bonkers) have warmed up to him some, Barclay remains polite but distant the times they’ve crossed paths. Lord almighty Stern can’t believe he almost slept with him. 

Yes, the man looks like his wet dreams made flesh and yes, Stern would like to ride him like a show-horse, but what a nightmare it would have made this whole assignment. Even if Barclay’s reasons insult him, he’s glad they’ve settled on keeping their distance.

Maybe this more casual look will help the other man see he’s not some stuffed suit out to ruin his friend’s wedding.

“Oh, you’re early.” Barclay opens the door with his usual pleasant but cool expression.

“No, I’m not. It’s three.” 

“Wait, shit really?” Barclay pulls out his phone as they walk inside, “damn, I must’ve lost track of time when I was cooking. Oh. Uh.” He looks at Stern, apologetic, “and I have a text from Aubrey saying she and Dani had a change of plans and won’t be here until seven.”

“That’s not great, but it’s workable. I can leave and come back.”

“Don’t you live kinda far--uh, huh, she says for us to just test out the menu together and leave her and Dani some for dinner.”

“I guess we can manage tha--why are there ingredients and pots everywhere?”

“Because...I’m…Cooking?” Barclay glances sideways at him. 

“What happened to the entire conversation about caterers? When did they change? What’s-”

“Hold on.” Barclay raises one hand, voice calm and deep, soothing over Stern’s rising worries like waves over hot skin, “think you’re mixed up; we’re trying out the food for the rehearsal dinner today. The one I’m cooking. Not the reception.”

“Oh thank the lord.” Stern slumps forward on the counter, “I thought I was about to have a whole day of calling disgruntled employees to tell them to nevermind about a quote.”

“Nope. Now have a seat, look like you’re gonna pass out on Dani’s floor. You want something to drink? We got water, beer, iced tea…”

“Water’s fine, thank you.” He tracks Barclay through the kitchen as he retrieves a glass from an upper cabinet, shirt riding up to show a patch of a dark, fuzzy belly that Stern instantly wants to feel pressed against him as it’s owner pins him to the nearest flat surface. 

Cooking seems to relax the other man enough that he actually chats with Stern, rather than keeping their conversation focused on the wedding. Stern learns he’s a personal chef and cookbook editor, though his original background was in baking. 

“Okay man, I gotta know” Barclay stirs something cardamom scented over the stove, “what’s with the shirt?”

“It’s from the radio station that first broadcast the story of the Michigan Dogman.”

“The what?”

“The Michigan Dogman, it’s a cryptid, um, nevermind” he curses himself for choosing casual clothes, “it’s niche and nerdy, you don’t want to hear about it.”

“Wrong, now you gotta tell me everything.” Barclay grins at him over his shoulder.

So he does, gradually at first in case Barclay regrets pushing this geekery button and needs to change the conversation, but the other man simply listens, really listens, as he cooks while Stern talks about his journey to the radio station and his talk with the DJ who accidentally started a legend. 

They keep talking as they eat, swapping travel stories and book recommendations, Barclay laughing when Stern shares some of the more ridiculous requests he’s gotten while working as a wedding planner. 

When Aubrey and Dani arrive home, they take one look at him and Barclay, stopped mid-anecdote and smiling at each other, and trade a surprised glance. 

All Stern can think is you and me both.

------------------------------------

The planning goes more smoothly after that night, Barclay beginning to trust Stern more and more. Stern also learns that he trusts Barclay’s judgement , and the other man is invaluable in helping him narrow down options to present to the brides, both of whom are overall pleased with his work.

He’s particularly proud of his find for the wedding venue. The Madonna Inn is perfect, brightly colored and fancy but still just a bit kitschy, like the locations Dani originally showed him. Both brides were overjoyed, which is why all four of them came down for the weekend to make preparations and start scoping out vendors for the food and flowers.  Dani and Aubrey went back up to the city Sunday night, but he and Barclay are staying at the inn the rest of the week, Stern in hopes of having everything scheduled and coordinated and Barclay there in case he needs a second set of eyes (he’s working on a new cookbook and his clients are traveling, so taking the week down the coast is no trouble). 

Today has been a work day, but Stern is taking tomorrow off basically because no one has time to meet with him. So after a late afternoon spent lounging on the beach, the two of them go out for a leisurely dinner. On a whim, Stern lets Barclay select and order his meal for him. He doesn’t mean for it to be flirtatious at first, he just trusts Barclay’s culinary instincts and is tired of making decisions. But one look at Barclay’s face, his widening pupils and sudden blush, tell Stern all he needs to know. 

“You gonna be good and eat whatever I give you?” Barclay murmurs, so low he’s almost inaudible under the clank of silverware and hum of conversation. 

“Of course.” Stern puts on his sweetest smile, shores up his defenses against the self-doubt curling up his spine. He’s not fast enough, and so orders another cocktail. 

Halfway through the meal, he notices Barclay watching him, and another piece clicks into place; the cook keeps eyeing his lips and throat as he eats, often shifts in his chair if Stern makes a delighted noise after a bite. When dessert comes, the accidental sounds are replaced by deliberate ones and he luxuriates as he eats his tiramisu, licking the fork to be sure not a drop of cream is wasted. 

Barclay asks for the check, and two more slices of cake to-go, without ever taking his eyes off of Stern. He’s feeling confident, and a bit wobbly, as Barclay drives them back to the Inn, taking the larger man’s hand and pulling him towards one of the beds before he can even get the lights on.

A large, gentle hand on his shoulder, “no can do, blue eyes.”

“But I, hic, we, hic-” the world goes sideways as Baclay unlinks their hands. 

“Go get some sleep, Joe.”

He changes while Barclay’s in the bathroom, huddles under the covers and faces the window so the other man can’t see him burning top to bottom with shame. 

Things get worse in the morning; he’s awoken by a phone call saying the florist has an open slot to meet with him in an hour and so he throws on the nearest nice clothes and dashes out the door. That meeting is followed by a phone call from Mr. Little who is none to pleased with the location choice and Stern spends forty-five minutes convincing him that the Inn is perfectly tasteful and also it’s what the brides want and that counts for a great deal wouldn’t you agree?

His nerves are firing full-strength when he gets back to the room. Barclay, freshly showered and clothed, looks up at him from the bed where he’s thumbing through Cooks Illustrated, reading glasses perched on his nose. 

“Rough morning?”

“ Yes.”

He shuts the magazine “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“No.”

“Do you wanna talk about last night?”

“Also no.”

“Well, I do.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. You simply aren’t interested in me that way and I’ve made an ass of myself twice by misreading the situation.”

“You’re wrong. You’re my type, blue eyes-”

“Clearly not, since-”

“-When you’re sober.” Barclay sits all the way up, “which is why I wanna know why you only flirt with me when you’re so drunk neither of us can try anything.”

“Because...because approaching people like that makes me nervous. I’m already under enough stress as it, running block for Aubrey and Dani against Mr. Little without getting myself fired, and the thought of trying to flirt, it’s, everything starts going wrong, it will all go wrong and-” the panic is back, his composure leaving him and taking whatever respect Barclay had for him with it. 

“Joe, breathe.”

“Breathing is not the issue here!” 

Barclay stands, face calm, and walks over to him. Instead of stepping in front of him, he circles behind, and a hand rests at the base of Stern’s neck.

“Let’s try that again. Inhale, blue eyes, a nice long one.” 

Stern complies, Barclay’s voice carrying no threats but leaving no room for protest. 

“Breathe out, count to four while you do.”

Stern exhales, nerves diverting energy from panic to desire, Barclays fingers on his skin and dominant baritone in his ear. 

“Good boy. Do it again.”

Stern takes another deep breath, then another, over and over as Barclay leads him to the bed and slips off his jacket, followed by his shoes and socks. 

“That’s it Joe, you’re doing so good.” He sits beside him on the bed, stroking his hair and Stern follows his touch, “what do you need? What helps when this happens?”

“Something to, to focus on, until I calm down. Just not work related or too complicated.”

“Hmmm” a thumb brushes over his lips, then down his chin, “I got a few things in mind, but they’re pretty damn dirty. Should we try something else?”

“No, please, I, I want that, want, want to be good for you like that.”

“Okay blue eyes, we can do that. You gotta promise me you’ll say ‘stop’ if something doesn’t feel good, okay?”

He nods, heart shaking his ribs, and Barclay leans and kisses him once, tenderly, before laying back on the bed, hands resting beneath his head.

“Get my dick out, yeah, there we go, good boy, I want you to use your mouth, can you, OH, ohhhhyeah.” His cock bumps Stern’s cheek as his hips tilt, a response to Stern lapping teasingly at the base. He drags his tongue all the way up the shaft, takes the head into his mouth, doing his damndest to lock eyes with Barclay the whole time. 

“Babe, fuck, that’s it, oh fuck you look good like that, knew you’d look good with my dick in your mouth, been thinking about it since that first night.”

Stern whimpers, hungry for more and pushes his head down. Having Barclay’s cock in his mouth forces him to keep his breathing measured, and so he savors it, senses filling with salt and skin and lingering hints of soap. 

“That’s it babe, nice and slow, we got all day. Long as I get to cum sometime before noon I’m happy.”

Stern rolls his tongue over the tip as he pulls off, switches to kisses and licks as he slowly jerks him off. Occasionally he skates up, nudging Barclay’s shirt with his nose--his hands uninterested in leaving his cock--so he can leave deep, longing kisses across his stomach and hips. Every movement elicits a groan or a sigh, every kiss and suck earns him praise. It’s only when his hands are slick with pre-cum and his own saliva that Barclay bucks his hips more intently, growling when Stern takes him back into his mouth. 

“Shit you’re good at this, not, fuck, not surprised, look like you would be, like all you need is for me to take care of you and you’ll open that fucking perfect mouth whenever I ask FUCK, oh you like that, don’t you babe? Fuck, shit, like the idea of taking what I give you?”

He whines, rubbing his thighs together as Barclay’s cock bumps the back of his mouth.

“You got three seconds to decide how you wanna take this.”

Stern locks eyes with him again, and dips down the barest bit more. Barclay’s hands tangle in his hair as he groans “good boy” and cums, bitter and warm, down Stern’s throat.

His hands flop onto the bed, allowing Stern to sit up. 

“Did...was I good?”

“So fucking good.” Barclay thwacks a hand dramatically onto his forehead to wipe it, “do you want to keep going? Or do you want to stop?”

“I want” Stern presses his hand against his cock, as if this will help rather than make him wetter, “please, can we keep going?”

“Yeah” Barclay sits up, kisses each cheek, “pants and underwear off, leave the shirt and tie.”

By the time Stern is appropriately undressed, Barclay is back on the bed with the to-go box and  a plastic fork. He reclines on the pillows, box on his upper chest, “come straddle me, knees about here” he pats the bed near his waist. Stern scoots up into position, Barclay licking his lips as he does. 

“Good boy. Now, you’re gonna show me how you get off, so I can know just what to do tonight to make you cry into the mattress.”

“Fuck.” Stern gasps, fingers already rapidly stroking his dick.

“Mmmm, look at how slick you are. Think that deserves a reward.” He spears a piece of cake, “open.”

Stern opens his mouth, leaning forward so Barclay can more easily feed him.

“You do like being spoiled. I can work with that.” Barclay rumbles, pleased, when Sterns fingers work frantically after a second bite. 

“Please, Barclay, I want to kiss you, please say I can kiss you.”

“Not until you finish.” 

“The, the cake or myself.”

“Yourself, blue eyes.”

He’s panting now, sweat soaking through his shirt, and slowing his hand and hips to take the bites Barclay offers. When he cums it doubles him over, and as he’s bracing his hands on the headboard, trying not to collapse on his partner, Barclay moves everything aside and cups his face, gently guiding him down to kiss him. They stay like that as Stern slowly explores his mouth, tastes leftover cake and laughs when a coppery beard scratches his neck. And when he begins to drop, breath shallow and fingers shaking, Barclay rolls them onto their sides, holds him close. Tells him over and over that he’s proud of him, that he did so well, that he’s right here and he’ll take care of him, give him whatever he wants. 

“Honestly, breakfast sounds better than anything else right now.” Stern mumbles against his chest. 

“I’ll order us some. You still need me to dom you, or are you ready to start calling the shots again?”

“I don’t call all the shots.” 

“Just most of ‘em. Don’t tell anyone, but I kinda like that about you. You’re good at what you do.” Barclay kisses his forehead. 

“I...I think I’d like to rinse off while you order breakfast.”

Barclay offers one more kiss before they roll out of bed, has Stern’s robe waiting for him when he gets out of the shower and brings him the room service tray as soon as it’s delivered. They lounge together on Stern’s bed, watching the Inn come to life as the afternoon draws near. From here, they can even see the spot where their friends will get married.

“The ceremony is gonna be perfect.”

“As perfect as I can manage, yes.”

“You got a date for it yet?”

“No.” 

“You want one?” Barclay smiles at him, the sunlight making him look as if he stepped out of a daydream and into Stern’s bed. 

“Depends; would that date be you?”

“Yep.” Barclay kisses his shoulder.

“Well then,” Stern grins, tips his chin up for a coffee-flavored kiss, “there’s your answer.’

[war-of-the-words]

The Best Friend Trap

Summary:  It's like the Parent Trap but it's their best friends and not their parents. Written Aug 2019 Read on AO3

Ran was just picking up some coffee, because God knows Shinichi will need it, when she saw herself walk into the cafe. Well, it was kind of her. The girl was about her height, maybe a little shorter, her hair much more messy, and her eyes a little darker, but they could have been sisters, maybe even twins. They made eye contact and Ran knew she had to talk to this girl.

 She patiently waited at a table near the door as the other girl ordered her drink, she could tell by the way she kept glancing over that she was interested in speaking to her doppleganger. Ran watched eagerly as the barista handed the to-go cup over the counter. The girl thanked the employee and turned to head for the door, she was still glancing at Ran, no matter how hard she tried to make it seem like she wasn't. "Excuse me," Ran called, making eye contact with the girl, "Can I talk to you for a moment?" The other girl looked slightly embarrassed, but she made her way over. "I'm sorry if this is strange," Ran began as the other girl sat down, "but I just had the feeling that I had to get to know you."

 "Not at all!" the other girl replied. Her voice was similar to Ran's, but she spoke in a more energetic tone. "I was so shocked when I walked in and saw myself, I knew I had to talk to you."

 "I'm glad we're on the same page," Ran giggled, "My name is Mouri Ran, but you can just call me Ran if you like." The girl had a bright smile, she wore all her emotions on her sleeve.

 "I'm Nakamori Aoko, but you can call me Aoko, Ran." In that moment, Ran was certain that she and Aoko were destined to become good friends.

 They talked about everything. Ran talked about karate, which Aoko found awe-inspiring. Both talked about their fear of ghosts, as well as commiserating over their father's profession. Starting on one topic lead to another, which sent them down a rabbit hole into niche topics that they couldn't believe they agreed upon. Ran felt relieved she had decided to wait on buying Shinichi's coffee until after she talked to Aoko, she knew the sleep-deprived goblin Shinichi became during long cases would drink it cold, but Ran liked to maintain some of her best friend's humanity if she could. Speaking of best friends, Ran checked her phone and cursed under her breath.

 "I'm so sorry, Aoko, but Shinichi expected me almost an hour ago now and I'm worried that if I don't see him soon he'll get too absorbed into work again."

 "Shinichi?" Aoko asked, a confused look gracing her face before it turned into a teasing smirk, "Is he your boyfriend?"

 "What?" Ran laughed, not having heard someone refer to her best friend that way in quite some time, "No, nothing like that, he's by best friend, has been since we were kids."

 "Like Kaito and I!" Aoko eyes lit up, "Ran, we have way too much in common. Please don't tell me your childhood best friend is also a world traveling magician."

 "No, he's the opposite actually, he works as a consulting detective with the TMPD, 'just like Holmes'," Ran said, in her best Shinichi interpretation, which made Aoko laugh.

 "I'm glad we have one thing that isn't in common," Aoko said, "Kaito is a magician, like his dad, I'm proud of him, but he only ever comes back to Japan for a few days at a time, I miss him." Aoko's smile turned melancholic as she reached into her bag. "Before he set off on his first tour of Europe, I complained that I barely had any photos of him, 'Phone pictures aren't enough, BaKaito! What happens if something happens to it!'" She pulled a torn, folded photograph out of her wallet, "Then he gave me this, I don't know why he tore it, but this is the happiest I've seen him, ever, I think." Aoko delicately unfolded the photograph, Ran's first thought was of how similar to Shinichi Kaito looked. Her second was how familiar the photo seemed.

 Kaito wore a tailored black suit, there was a red rose on his lapel shiny gold band on his finger. He was seated in some kind of office, which seemed unnatural for his state of dress. Most intriguing was how the photo was ripped; Kaito seemed to be leaning toward somebody toward the left, but there was only the ripped edge. "I have no idea where this was taken," Aoko said, staring at the photo intently, "and I don't know why he's dressed like that, especially the ring, he usually keeps his hands free of jewelry in case they mess up a trick." A light bulb went off in Ran's head.

 She began furiously digging around in her bag, desperate to find her own wallet. Why it took her so long to make the connection, she didn't know. "Ran, is there something wrong?" Aoko's concerned voice asked, but Ran was too focused on her task. She pulled out her wallet and quickly opened one of the small pockets, pulling out a folded up photograph of her own. She quickly unfolded it, revealing the image. Like Aoko's, it was torn on one side, and depicted her best friend, sitting in a fancy suit in some kind of office, a gold band on his ring finger. Delicately, Ran placed them next to one another, the torn edges matching perfectly. They both sat in stunned silence for a moment.

 "I think we have something else in common," Ran said, meeting Aoko's equally as shocked gaze.

 Kuroba Kaito and Kudou Shinichi fell in love, fast. In a whirlwind of emotions, only after half a year of dating they got married. It was a secret affair, too embarrassed to admit to their friends that they had been seeing someone at all, let alone married. They were planning on introducing their friends to one another, but that was for a later time, at least, it was supposed to be.

 Kuroba Kaito and Kudou Shinichi fell out of love, fast. They barely knew one another, they kept secrets from one another, and in a whirlwind of emotion, Kuroba Kaito hopped on a plane and left the country. The divorce papers came soon after. No one had known the two had been married, and the two never spoke about it. If they suddenly made great strides in pursuing their careers, their friends chalked it up to their dedicated nature.

 That was, of course, until Nakamori Aoko and Mouri Ran met.

 "I can't believe that Shinichi would get married and not tell me." Ran growled, "I can't believe that I didn't notice!"

 "It's not just you, Ran," Aoko replied, a murderous look on her face, "I can't believe it either." Ran sighed looking at the photo again. They had matched up timelines of when they thought this could have happened. They decided that it had been several years ago, they looked younger in the picture, before they had thrown themselves into their careers. The point in time when they both dove head first into the thick of their jobs matched up too, Kaito left for Europe at the same time Shinichi took on a heavier case load. Ran felt stupid for not pressing him about it, she knew he looked troubled around that time, but she brushed it off as inconsequential.

 "I'm such an idiot." Aoko interrupted Ran's thoughts. "When Kaito told me he was leaving for Europe, I knew he was upset about something, he had been upset and angry for months, but I never asked. On the day he left, he just seemed sad."

 "They look so happy," Ran looked at her best friend's frozen face, his smile wide and genuine, a light blush on his cheeks, Ran can't remember the last time he smiled like that, "I wonder what happened."

 "I wonder if they miss each other." Aoko added, "Kaito always says he's too busy for love, that he doesn't want to have to choose between work and a significant other, but he always looks pained when he says it. He thinks I don't notice, but I always do."

 "Shinichi's dated, but it never seems to stick, despite his mother's best efforts. This might be why. It's a shame he's too stubborn to admit it and try to make amends," Ran laughed.

 "So we make them."

 "What?" Ran looked up at Aoko, her new friend's eyes alight with a plan.

 "We make them," Aoko repeated. "It they're too stubborn to see one another, we make a reason for them to see one another." Well, Ran was intrigued; she motioned for Aoko to continue. "Ran, we look nearly identical, if I try hard enough I could easily make my hair look like yours, and a bit of roughing up can make yours look like mine, our eyes are nearly the same color and we are about the same height and weight. In order to see if each other's best friend is worthy of the other, and to force them to see one another again, we switch places."

 "You want me to be you?" Ran said, her brain still working out how the whole thing would work.

 "Exactly," Aoko was all confidence, "I'm leaving to meet Kaito in Paris in about a week from now, you go in my place, get to know him, and, when the time is right, tell him who you are. I'll stay here, take your place, spend time with Shinichi, and decide whether or not to get them back together."

 "Aoko," Ran looked at her sternly, "This plan is insane. I love it."

 "Well, I better get good at being you."

 "Ran! What took you so long!" Shinichi whined as his best friend let herself into his library. He had himself draped over the sofa so that he was staring at her upside down, a book resting open on his chest.

 "I was making friends." Ran replied.

 "With the barista? If you're trying to convince them to make you free coffee, let me tell you that it doesn't work. That's why Miki and I broke up."

 "Because you only dated her to get free coffee?"

 "You don't have to put it that way." Shinichi pouted at her. All of his relationships were this superficial, so Ran isn't surprised at his motive especially she was the fifth barista he tried to date. It made more sense now that she knew he had been married. Her best friend looked nothing like the one in the picture, his faced was creased with worry lines and his eyes had permanent bags under them. She was surprised to find him reading instead of working on a case, it was all he seemed to do anymore, when he's not busy hitting on baristas.

 "Come on, sit up," She instructed, making her way over to the couch. "I remembered your coffee."

 "You're the best." Shinichi sat up and greedily snatched the cup. "Ekoda really has the best coffee shops."

 "You can always go yourself you know," Ran reminded him. If she wasn't looking for it, she would have missed the way his body tensed. Kaito lived in Ekoda, Ran had learned, which made Shinichi's aversion to the area much clearer.

 "It's too far to go for coffee, I need to be here in case the TMPD needs me." Ran hummed in acknowledgement. The library was a mess as always. The desk was littered with case files; a few stacks had coffee mugs as the foundation. Loose papers lay nearby sporting Shinichi's handwriting; they were notes on different cases as well as a few doodles, which he sometimes does to help him think. She should probably tidy things up a little while she's here. Maybe probe for information while she does.

 "So," she began, conversationally, "Is there anyone new who hasn't been a barista?" Ran moved the folders off the desk in order to clear away the dirty mugs.

 "Hmm, not really." Shinichi looked bored, he always did when Ran tried to talk about relationships.

 "Not really doesn't sound like a no."

 "My mom is setting me up with someone again, that's all."

 "Well, I can't blame her. I don't think I've ever seen you in a serious relationship, Shinichi. Don't you ever want to get married?" Ran held her breath and studied her best friend carefully, there was a small look of pain on his face that he quickly replaced with boredom.

 "Eventually," Shinichi said, his tone perfectly neutral, "I'm just waiting to make sure it's to the right person." Unlike last time, Ran thought. Whether his ex-husband was a good match or not was still to be determined, but they had clearly made a mistake marrying one another when they did.

 "I get to be your maid of honor, right?" Ran said teasingly, although she was still a bit peeved about being left out on his first wedding.

 "Of course," Shinichi held eye contact, a look of concern on his face; he must have picked up on her anger. "I couldn't imagine a ceremony without you by my side." His sincerity startled Ran a little, she had only meant it as a joke. Which begged the question, what had happened the first time?

 "Aoko!" Kaito whined from the other end of a phone, "What took you so long? You promised to call me hours ago!" Aoko imagined the exaggerated pout on her best friend's face and laughed.

 "I was getting coffee at that little cafe you like so much. I made a friend while I was there."

 "With a barista? If you're trying to get free coffee, those baristas are won't crack, trust me, I've tried."

 "Of course you have. I was also double checking my flight info for next week."

 "I can't believe it's next week! I haven't seen you in forever!" Kaito's excitement warmed Aoko's heart, and made her feel a little bad for lying. She had actually changed the ticket into Ran's name. They might look alike, but Aoko wouldn't risk Ran getting stopped by customs. "Honestly, Aoko, you need to come visit me more often."

 "I'm not made of money, Kaito."

 "I've told you! I will buy your tickets, it's the least I could do!"

 "I'm not going to make you do that Kaito," and thankfully, she hasn't she wouldn't be able to get Ran the ticket otherwise. "I don't care how well off you might be, I can buy the ticket so I will."

 "Fine," Kaito huffed, "All that really matters is that you're coming."

 "Oh? Are you eager to show me your secret fiancée or something?" Aoko could hear the small intake of breath on Kaito's end, unnoticeable if she had been breathing.

 "I've told you, I'm not ready to get married. I don't want to put myself in a position where I have to choose work or marriage." Like last time? Aoko thought. She didn't know why the two of them got married, but it definitely changed Kaito. He used to be a hopeless romantic, despite the image his constant flirting gave off, now he was reserved and wouldn't allow himself to develop feelings for anyone. If this Shinichi turned out to be a bad person, he would pay dearly for what he did to Kaito.

 The next week went by in a flash. The two girls met up every day, for hours at a time. They took notes and quizzed one another about their lives, their likes and dislikes, what words they would use when faced with different situations, it was quite the intensive. They went out one day and bought new shoes, both with a heel, Aoko's a little taller to match Ran's height as closely as possible. They also went to a salon and cut their hair to a matching length to make up for any disparity between them. After that, they practiced styling their hair to look like the other's. It was a startling sight. The night before Ran flew to France, she stayed at Aoko's house, finalizing the other's schedule and doing final checks. Aoko packed Ran's suitcase so she would be wearing clothes Kaito could identify as Aoko's, and Ran gave Aoko half of her own wardrobe, just in case. "Aoko's" trip was supposed to last for a month, so they wanted to be prepared.

 Then the day was upon them. Aoko saw Ran off at the airport, which was strange since they had swapped styles. Aoko had plans to meet Shinichi for lunch that afternoon, and Kaito was meeting Ran as soon as she landed, so they had to look the part. The non-stop flight was 12 hours, so she could only try to get some shut eye, hope the jet lag didn't hit her too hard, and pray that the "Detective of the East" didn't notice he wasn't eating with a stranger.

 Aoko really hoped Shinichi wouldn't notice he was eating with a stranger. They really needed this scheme to last for at least a week, it wasn't long, but they should be able to get a hold on who the ex-husband of their best friend was. Aoko arrived early, per Ran's instruction, but it only allowed her anxiety to fester. Shinichi was some hot-shot detective, not unlike Hakuba, so the bar on disguises was nothing to scoff at. It was also weird to refer to someone she had never met by their first name, but they were childhood best friend's now, so what the heck. Aoko could do this, she had seen plenty of spy movies, and Ran was thorough in the "Mouri Ran Crash course".

 "I'm sorry I'm late." A man sat down across from Aoko. She instantly recognized him as Shinichi, as she now had quite the substantial library of reference images courtesy of Ran. What Aoko was not prepared for, was the intensity of those piercing blue eyes in person. It was like they could see through her, to the rouse she was pulling. She resisted the temptation to come out and admit that she wasn't who she said she was, she had to do this, for Ran, for Kaito.

 "It's fine, Shinichi, really. You say that every time." Speaking in a voice that wasn't quite her own had been a challenge, one that she know held her breath to see if she overcame.

 "I know I do, but I am really sorry."

 Score.

 "Like I said, Shinichi, it's okay. You're busy, I get it, I'm just glad you show up at all." Aoko gave him a warm smile. Ran had trained her in this exact scenario, it seems this is the usual way they start a lunch date. The smile Shinichi gave her in return made her see how Kaito could have fallen for him.

 "Well, at least let me treat you to lunch."

 "I certainly wouldn't protest to that."

 After lunch, which was a delightful meal in a cute little cafe Aoko had never been to before, they went for a walk, window shopping and talking. Aoko remembered all of the stores Ran had said she would most definitely force Shinichi to go in to, the kinds of things Ran said she would stop to admire, the kinds of small talk she would make and how she would respond to the comments Shinichi made, she was incredibly proud of her performance. Until, "Hey, Ran? Can I ask you something?"

 "Of course, Shinichi, what is it?" Shinichi looked at her, his eyes seemed to not look at her, but at the parts of her, like she was a painting and Shinichi was an incredibly harsh critic. Aoko pushed down the panic.

 "You seem... tense today. Is something wrong?" Well, at least he hadn't called her out for not being Ran, she could handle this, she was tense after all. She forced herself to relax and smile at him.

 "I'm just a little stressed right now, that's all, but hanging out with you really helps." That wasn't quite a lie, so far, Shinichi has been nothing but kind, making her laugh, treating her, indulging her fancies with only the half-hearted protest, he made her feel at ease.

 "That would explain the haircut, and all the shopping you're doing, those are new shoes, aren't they?" Well, Aoko wouldn't complain if that's how Shinichi decided to write off the changes in "Ran's" appearance.

 "I just felt like a change, that's all," Aoko pouted and played with a strand of hair.

 "It's cute," Shinichi said with a smile, playfully ruffling her hair, which prompted Aoko to swat his hand away. The small laugh he gave in return really reminded her of Kaito. So did the way his face fell as he turned away from her. They walked in silence for a bit before he spoke again. "Ran, have you been on a date recently?" Aoko was a bit taken aback, but this was a golden opportunity to get the man's opinions about love straight from him, and Ran had prepared her for these sorts of questions.

 "No, not recently, why, have you?"

 "Yeah, my mom made me meet up with some girl the other day. Her dad knows my mom, apparently he owns some fashion magazine and they swear up and down she is going to be the next big thing in the industry."

 "Who is 'they'?"

 "All of them. Mom, her father, her, all of the blogs and articles on her I looked at after Mom gave me her name."

 "Well, how was the date?" Aoko could hear the anticipation in her voice, she was just hoping Shinichi didn't.

 "It was a date," Shinichi shrugged, a bored look on his face, "We had dinner, she talked about her dreams, mentioned how rich I was, gushed about how brave I must be for working in homocide and how she 'could never bear to see another human being who had died in such an awful way.'" The way he said the last part was with as much drama as you could expect from an actress' son.

 "But did you like her?"

 "Well, I guess? I mean, she was a model, so of course she was pretty, and she was polite in conversation, although she did find some way to mention how rich my family was every couple of minutes. I'm going on another date with her next Wednesday, so we'll see if the conversation improves any." A second date? Ran said most don't last a whole one! It was probably just because his mom was making him, but something about the situation didn't sit right with Aoko.

 "You better tell me all about it.  I expect a full report on Thursday."

 "Yes ma'am." Shinichi laughed, but the way it didn't quite reach his eyes was far too much like Kaito.

 Kaito was an absolute bundle of energy. As soon as Ran walked out into the baggage claim, she was swept up into somebody's arms. "Aoko!" the voice cheered, and Ran was glad she was able to suppress her first instinct, which was to take whoever decided to touch her down. Craning her head to the side, she could see the man who had picked her up. He had a brilliant, 100 watt smile and his mischievous eyes were just a shade off of purple. He was clearly Kuroba Kaito, rising star in the magic world, and Ran instantly liked him. "I missed you so much."

 "I missed you too, but you better put me down before I make you." Kaito, unintimidated, gave her another squeeze before gently putting her down. Ran felt bad she had threatened him, but that's how Aoko said she would greet him. She turned to face the magician, once again captivated by how earnestly happy he was to see her, was he this joyful around Shinichi? Did he greet her best friend with such a warm and caring expression?

 "You cut your hair," Kaito stated letting himself look at her properly for the first time as well, "It's short, but I like it." Ran pulled at some strands self-consciously, it had been a long time since she had cut her hair so short.

 "Thanks," she replied, her cheeks flushing ever so slightly.

 "Aw, Aoko, are you embarrassed? You didn't get all dolled up for me, did you?"

 "BaKaito," Ran responded in the fashion Aoko instructed, "Last time I herad, you weren't interested in dating, I got dolled up for all the handsome French boys I'm going to meet."

 "Aoko! You wound me! Am I not a handsome French boy? I've lived here for more than half a decade now. Besides, I can go on dates with people, I just won't get into any serious relationship." His expression changed ever so slightly as he said it, like the joy that was there so effortlessly before had to be forced to keep its place. Ran knew that expression, it was just like Shinichi's when he spoke about romance. Ran hated that look.

 "Well come on then 'handsome French boy', take this girl out to get something to eat, I'm starving!"

 "As you wish." Kaito smoothly brought Ran's hand up to lay a kiss across her knuckles, a teasing look in his eyes, and, yeah, Ran could see how Shinichi could fall in love with him.

 Ran spent two weeks with Kaito before she got the call. It had been a wonderful time, accompanying Kaito to his performances to different venues across France, hanging out afterwords, eating all kinds of new food, visiting museums, it was the vacation she needed. With each passing day Ran fel more in love with Kaito, platonically, of course. He was charming and sweet and just a bit mischeious. Most importantly, in Ran's eyes he cared so deeply about those around him. Not only did he dedicate all of this time to "Aoko", but after shows he would spend time talking with the audience, answering questions, taking photos, being genuinely interested in their lives. He was kind to the store clerks and waiters as well, always smiling with them and making small talk without seeming patronizing or overbearing. He carried joy with him, wherever he went, spreading it to others whenever possible, yet there was still sadness lingering in his eyes, just like Shinichi.

 She saw it there, but only because she was so used to having watch Shinichi for those same signs, the subtle way smiles won't reach the eyes, the melancholy that comes and goes in the blink of an eye, getting lost in thoughts and then brushing off her questioning. He didn't want her to get involved in his sadness. Aoko said he was a hopeless romantic, but the look in his eyes when they would wander to a couple at a different table, the way they would laugh with one another, Ran could see the sad longing in his eyes. Ran suspected he hadn't completely forgotten about Shinichi. Especially considering what happened the day before the call.

 They had decided to spend the night at Ran's hotel, indulging in the luxury of delivery chain pizza and cheap alcohol. They were just relaxing, watching whatever random movies crossed the screen, which Ran couldn't understand so Kaito dramatically translated. It was just dumb fun. Then Kaito had a few too many beers. It didn't matter, he was planning on spending the night in Ran's extra bed, but Ran quickly learned that he was an emotional drunk.

 "How come they get to be in love," Kaito complained, groaning at the couple that was currently making out on screen. He had stopped translating a beer and a half ago, so Ran didn't really know what this movie was about, but the man had just clearly proposed, which then prompted Kaito's rant. "It's not fair! I tried so hard, but did I get a happily ever after? Nooooooooo sir." Then he started crying. Ran was beginning to get concerned. "Aoko," he sobbed, "Did I do something wrong? I did my best, but was I just not good enough?"

 "Kaito, I think you've had enough to drink now." Ran used the gentlest voice she could, the one she saves for children, and an equally drunk and upset Shinichi. "I'm sure you did your best, but maybe it was the other person who didn't try hard enough." Ran didn't doubt that, Shinichi could get sucked into his investigation and ignore everything around him, he could have fell head first into an investigation and blocked everything else out, including his husband, as much as she hated to believe he could.

 "No!" Kaito sat up and stared at her with large, innocent eyes, "It wasn't their fault! Sure, they would forget sometimes, but they would always make it up to me. They tried their best, too. I know they did." Kaito sniffled some more. Ran was shocked, she didn't expect him to defend his ex, but the look in his eyes was clear. He believed in Shinichi, whole-heartedly, and he was still in love.

 "Come on, Kaito. I think it's time we go to bed, what do you say?" She offered her hand to the boy and pulled him up from where he has slumped on the couch. She helped him to the bathroom to brush his teeth, then made sure he didn't collapse before she got him onto the bed. He hit the pillow and was asleep before Ran made it back to the bathroom for her own nightly routine. She let out a sigh, she made her decision a while ago, but this set it in stone. Ran liked Kaito, and she thinks Shinichi is a fool for ever letting him go. She has to at least try to get them to reconcile, she didn't know about fixing their marriage, but it was at least a place to start. Ran decided she could think about it in the morning.

 Ran didn't have the time to think about it in the morning. Ran woke up to the sound of her phone ringing. She had a slight hangover, and it had just turned 10 in the morning. She groaned and pulled her phone over. The caller ID read "Ran". Ran instantly woke up, she hopped up and ran to the bathroom, closing the door gently behind herself as she answered the phone. "Hello?" she answered in a quiet voice.

 "Ran, we have an emergency," Aoko said in a panicked voice on the other end of the phone.

 "What's wrong? Is Shinichi hurt? Was he kidnapped again?" Ran's voice began to rise, panic twisting in her gut.

 "He's fine, but this is worse, in a way."

 "Aoko, hurry, tell me what's wrong!"

 "Ran, Shinichi is engaged."

 "What?" Ran asked, but her voice was devoid of emotion.

 "It gets worse," Aoko continued, "The wedding day is in two weeks."

 Aoko stood in the bathroom, listening to the silence on the other end of the phone. She was glad it was deserted as the patrons of such a high class place might not enjoy hearing about Aoko's current crisis. Really, she just thought Shinichi wanted to treat her to a nice meal to make up for missing breakfast the other morning. That was one of the great things about Shinichi, he always tried to make up for even the slightest inconvenience. It wasn't his fault he missed breakfast either, the TMPD had all of their staff finishing up preparations for a huge drug bust they were pulling off that morning, Shinichi had been in the station for over 12 hours when he called Aoko to apologize for missing the date, just about the same time her dad texted her to complain about having to be brought in to help the team prepare.

 She let out a sigh, Ran still in shock on the other end, and thought about the two weeks that lead up to this moment. She and Shinichi hang out constantly, and if they weren't together, Shinichi was working, or so she thought. She forgot all about the second date that Shinichi went on with the model his mom had set him up with. That Thursday, Aoko went over to have breakfast at Shinichi's before they went to go see a new detective movie that was released early that week.

 "How did the date go?" Aoko had asked that morning, watching Shinichi rub the sleep out of her eyes, hopefully distracting him from the way she fumbled around the unfamiliar kitchen trying to get a pot of coffee brewing.

 "Mmm, fine," was Shinichi's sleep tinged reply. Aoko finally managed to get the coffee maker going and Shinichi moved toward the machine in a zombie like fashion, apparently drawn to just the mere noise of a coffee machine starting. Aoko laughed and waited until he had had a couple of sips before continuing her question. One thing she had quickly learned was just how bad of a morning person he was.

 "No, really, Shinichi, tell me about her," Aoko pressed, nudging his arm in a playful manner.

 "Have I told you she's pretty?" Shinichi began, eyeing Aoko like he really wasn't sure.

 "Yeah, you said she was going to be the next big thing in the fashion industry."

 "No, I said everyone else said she was going to be the next big thing. But, yeah, she has the looks to get noticed, that's for sure, and with the connections her father has, it wouldn't surprise me if she makes it big."

 "So, do you like her?" Shinichi hesitated, obviously mulling something over in his mind.

 "Enough to go on some more dates, yeah. Although she doesn't seem like the type who can handle dating an always busy-law-enforcement-type for too long." Aoko laughed, she knew that life far too well, he dad was almost never home, especially after the return of Kaitou KID, although the thief now barely showed himself and was rarely holding heists in Japan. "She's witty, and can keep a conversation going. She can be a little self-centered, but she's a model, what else could you expect?" Aoko hummed in reply before changing the conversation.

 At the time, she only thought that Shinichi was vaguely interested in her on a physical level. It was clear to her that this model was the materialistic type, and she thought Shinichi could see her real personality better that Aoko could, what with him being the Heisei Holmes and all.

 She had shown up to the restaurant in a nice dress, excited at the prospect of eating some upper-class cuisine, just hanging out with Shinichi. Despite his chaotic schedule, he was fun to be around. He was a little nerdy and liked to talk about books more than Aoko could handle, but he gave her some good recommendations and his discerning eye and dry wit made people watching quite the treat. Despite all that, it was obvious just how emotional a person Kudou Shinichi was. He always felt guilty for making Aoko wait, even if it was for only a few minutes, and when he talked about some of his recent cases, which he apologized for before doing but said he just needed to get it off his chest, he talked about how terrible he felt for the culprit, the man had recently lost his wife in a car accident which caused him to hunt down the man who had hit her. Obviously, he believes a criminal should pay for their crimes, but he also tries to understand the reason behind it, Shinichi never forgets that first and foremost, people are human and flawed. So, yeah, Aoko approved of Shinichi, she was just worried about worried about how flippantly he treated romance, but Ran always talked about what a secret romantic Shinichi was, until just around they predicted their divorce to have happened.

 When Aoko spotted Shinichi, she was absolutely astounded to find a woman already at the table, seated next to him. “Ran!” Shinichi’s face light up when he saw her, and it made her regret not going to see Kaito, just a little, so she could see the joy in his own eyes.

 “Hey, Shinichi,” she greeted, taking a seat across from him, “who is this?”

 “This is Midori Kyoya. She’s the model I told you about.”

 “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Shinichi has told me so much about you.”

 “Likewise,” Aoko replied, a formal smile on her face as she took in this new development. She was pretty, that’s for sure. She had long, wavy, black hair and fair skin. She wore a dress that made Aoko almost embarrassed and she was fairly certain all of the diamonds she was wearing could buy her a house and a half. The thing that really caught her attention was the ring resting on her left ring finger.

 “I invited you so that you could be the first to know, Ran,” Shinichi said, his smile still wide and shining, “Midori and I are engaged!” Aoko felt her heart stop. This was not good. Thankfully, she believed even Ran would be just as shocked in this situation, so Shinichi didn’t think twice about the way she froze, "And I know this is kind of rushed, but we get married in two weeks."

 “Con-Congratulations Shinichi. I- wow- I’m speechless.”

 “I know it’s kind of sudden, but like you’ve said, I need to start taking romance seriously, and then Midori came into my life and it just seemed like fate, you know?” Shinichi scratched his head in embarrassment while his fiancee cooed over him.

 Shinichi, this is not the time to be a romantic. Aoko silently cursed him. “Well, that’s fantastic!” She said instead, she could be quite the actor when she wanted to be. “I’m really happy for you!”

 “Shinichi’s shoulders dropped as he let out a sigh of relief. “I’m so glad you think so, honestly, I was afraid you would be mad at me for making my decision so quickly.”

 Absolutely furious. “Don’t be silly! If this is what you believe is right, who am I to stop you!” Shinichi began to talk about his bride to be, while she herself jumped in to embellish some facts and add dramatic commentary. Aoko allowed herself to be spoken too, maintaining the proper decorum for such a situation, until they had ordered their meals, then she excused herself to the bathroom, which is where she know finds herself.

 “I can’t believe him!” Ran finally answered from the other end of the phone. “This is completely insane! He’s only known her for, what, three weeks at the most? And he decides to get married!? Aoko, I’m coming back and slapping some sense into that boy.”

 "You can't! We have to keep up the ruse; I think it's still our best shot at getting the two to meet back up." Ran was silent for a while.

 "So you think so too? That they are good for one another?"

 "I think?" Aoko let out a sigh, "I don't know how they were in their first relationship, but something tells me that they are meant to be with one another." Ran laughed on the other end of the phone.

 "I'm glad we agree, so, how are we going to get it through their thick skulls?" A devious grin spread across Aoko's face.

 "I'm so glad you asked. You see, they're checking out the hotel they want to have the wedding at this Saturday, and I think we should give them a surprise."

 Ran had a devious smile on her face as she got off the phone with Aoko. It was a wild plan, the only kind the girl seemed to formulate, but it could work, and it would definitely get the boys to see one another. But before she could really get this ball rolling, she had a confession to make.

 "Aoko!" Kaito yelled from the other side of the door, "What are you yelling about so early in the morning? I have a headache." Ran rolled his eyes at his complaint and grabbed a couple painkillers and a glass of water, pushing them on him when she opened the door.

 "Here, you goof."

 "You're the greatest," Kaito said, adoration on his face as he swallowed the pills. "But really, what were you yelling about? You sounded really upset." Curiosity and worry mixed together on his face, and Ran decided that now was the time.

 "Kaito, about five years ago, did you get married?" Shock filled the magician's eyes, and he gaped like a fish for a while before finding his voice.

 "Aoko, what on earth are you talking about? You know I would tell you if I ever did, I wouldn't have a wedding without you! Besides when would I have even met a girl-"

 "But it wasn't a girl," Ran stated flatly, walking over to her purse and pulling out her half of the photo, handing it over to Kaito.

 "Shinichi," Kaito breathed, looking at her best friend's face. His face softened and a nostalgic smile graced his lips before he remembered where he was. "Aoko, where on Earth did you find this? I haven't seen this photo in half a decade."

 "I'm just going to rip the band-aid off, Kuroba, I'm not Aoko." He looked at her confused, then he began to really look at her, and apparently, found the evidence he needed.

 "Oh my God, you aren't Aoko," Kaito said, his voice more in awe than in anger, "You aren't my best friend and I didn't even notice. But if you aren't her," Kaito continued, suspicion now filling his tone, "Then who are you?"

 "My name is Mouri Ran," she said, sticking out her hand, "and half a decade ago you married my best friend."

 Kaito said nothing, walked over to the bed, face planted into it, and screamed into a pillow. Ran thought he was coping with this new information fairly well. After about a minute of that, he sat back up and looked at her. "I can't believe I finally got to officially meet you," Kaito said, wonderstruck. "Shinichi and I always talked about when we should get the four of us together, we wanted it to be this big surprise," he began rambling, his eyes drifting back to the memory, "We were going to introduce you and then ask for the two of you to be our Maids of Honor. We were going to have a big ceremony for our one year, a proper wedding, you know? We just wanted to wait until we could pay for it ourselves, without relying on our parents' money."

 "But you divorced before that happened," Ran finished for him, taking a seat next to him on the bed, "And you cut all contact with one another, then, five years later, those same friends have a chance encounter where they come to quite a shocking conclusion."

 "Of course this was Aoko's idea," Kaito laughed, "Her ideas were always even crazier than mine, but they always seem to work in her favor, but to switch places and have you fly over seas to meet a complete stranger? I'm surprised you agreed."

 "Well," Ran offered, "How could I say no to the man who has my best friend's heart?"

 "Had, you mean. I lost that before we ever got a divorce."

 "I don't think so, I've seen the way he gets lost in thought sometimes, and he hasn't taken any relationship seriously since then, he's become so lost emotionally."

 "You think he's still in love with me?"

 "Somewhere deep down, yeah, I think he does."

 "I'm sorry, Ran," Kaito shook his head sadly, "Our marriage failed because we were never in love, we were just young and stupid, Shinichi made that perfectly clear. We will never be in a relationship again, so if you came out here trying to set us up, it's not going to happen."

 "And that's okay," Ran said, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder, "From what I heard from Aoko, and from my extensive knowledge of Shinichi, I just think the two of you should meet up and make up. Even if you weren't meant to be married, leaving a relationship in such a terrible way is a heavy weight to bear for the rest of your life."

 "You want us to see one another?"

 "Yeah, just meet up, switch us back, and try to resolve whatever left a bad taste in your mouth, I'm not asking you to get back together."

 "'Switch us back'? So Aoko has been hanging out with Shinichi the whole time you've been here? I can't say I'm too surprised. Does he know?"

 "Of course!" Ran lied, he couldn't know about the engagement. "He really wants to make up, too."

 "Really?" There was a hopeful look in his eyes, Ran nodded in confirmation.

 "So, you aren't mad about this?" Ran questioned, the guilt of it all weighing on her mind.

 "Of course not." Kaito looked at her with such tenderness, such kindness, that she knew no matter what happened between him and Shinichi that she wasn't going to let Kaito stop being her friend, if that's what they were, hopefully. "Ran, I've wanted to meet you for years now, the way Shinichi smiled when he talked about you, I knew I would regret it for the rest of my life if I never got the chance to become your friend." Ran felt joyful tears well up in her eyes and she pulled Kaito into a tight hug. "So," he said, wiping a few tears from his eyes, "How are we getting you home."

 Aoko was going to lose. Her. Mind. Midori was the text-book two-face. After she returned to the table, having calmed down after calculating their next move, Shinichi excused himself to the bathroom, giving Midori a kiss before he left, gross.

 "So, are you in love with him?" Midori asked as soon as Shinichi was out of earshot.

 "What? No! Of course not! He's been my best friend since we were little!"

 "Oh, come on," Midori looked at her like she was something that belonged in the trash, "You look like you need his money, and marriage is the perfect way to get to it. I'm sure you were banking on the fact he was never going to get married, so you would just suggest you two do so "as friends". Well too bad sugar, I beat you to the punch."

 "So you only want him because he's rich?" Aoko had to control her anger, she didn't want to make a scene.

 "Oh no, of course not! Not only is he rich, but he's also incredibly handsome. Great arm candy for someone like me. Plus, he's busy so often that he is barely around, meaning I can practically do what I want."

 "You're disgusting," Aoko spat, "There is no way in hell Shinichi is going to marry you."

 "Oh darling, but he is." Midori sat back, a smirk across her lips. "He feels so pressured by you and his family to get married, the boy is desperate, he won't believe a word you say about me." Her voice was sickeningly sweet with pseudo-affection. "My poor Shinichi just wants a pretty wife he can show off to his mama to make her happy. And that's just what I am!"

 "I think I'll go," Aoko replied coolly, standing just as Shinichi returned to the table.

 "Ran, what's wrong, did something happen?" The concern in his eyes made Aoko want to shake some sense into him then and there, but she knew Midori was right, Shinichi was desperate, she could see it in the way he was constantly looking over at her over to make sure he still had her approval, and how he clung so tightly to Midori, as if she would decide to get up and leave any second.

 "No, Shinichi, everything is fine, I just forgot I promised to go see Dad tonight, I'll leave the two of you to a romantic dinner, have fun!" Aoko walked away before Shinichi could stop her, storming all the way back home. It didn't matter whether or not she could convince Shinichi that this marriage was a terrible idea, Shinichi was a grown man, he could decide that for himself, all she needed to do was make him see Kaito again.

 God bless Shinichi and his air-tight dedication to his friends. He, of course, insisted on bringing "Ran" with them to look at the venue for their wedding, which must have upset Midori judging by the constant glares Aoko was receiving, thankfully, she knew how to keep a poker face. She could feel the anticipation of the day welling up, a mixture of nerves and excitement. Now knowing both boys, she was hoping this little reunion ended with at least reconciliation and friendship, not that she would complain if they became something more.

 Shinichi wandered off, leaving the two girls alone, trying to find the person who was showing them around the hotel today. Aoko controlled her breathing, promising herself to maintain Ran's cool composure, even when left alone with Shinichi's vile fiancée. "This is the worst." Midori was the first one to break the silence. "Not only does Shinichi decide on some cheap hotel to hold our wedding in, but he just has to bring along a charity case."

 "I'm sorry?" Aoko replied, the reins on her temper slipping ever so slightly.

 "Oh come on, you know it's true. Why else would Shinichi keep you around? Helping the poor is an easy way to feel better about yourself. He probably just chose this hotel so you wouldn't feel so bad about yourself." She didn't make eye contact with Aoko, just stood there, looking bored, doing something on her phone while she waited for Shinichi to get back. "I'll just make him cut ties after we're married, happy wife, happy life." She muttered the last part to herself, but still loud enough that Aoko could hear. Aoko was about to retort when her phone buzzed.

 Plane landed, be there soon. Thank the heavens, the cavalry was here. Why should Aoko be the one to tear this girl to ruins when she can let Ran do it herself, it would be such a delight. Armed with this comfort, Aoko was able to maintain her composure. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, Midori."

 "I'm back!" Shinichi called, half-jogging his way back over to the girls before either of them could say anything more. "Is everything okay, Midori?" The girl had a pitiful look on her face, classic crocodile tears.

 "It's nothing," she sniffled, wiping away a non-existent tear, "Ran just said something about me just being another fling." Shinichi looked at Aoko with confusion and hurt in his eyes.

 "Ran wouldn't say something like that," Shinichi said, a twinge of doubt in his voice, "You probably just misunderstood something she said, right, Ran?"

 "Of course!" Aoko replied, a bit too defensively, "I said absolutely nothing of the kind to her!"

 "And now she's saying I'm a liar." Midori sniffled some more, achieving in actually producing a few tears. "You don't think I'm a liar, do you Shinichi?"

 "Of course I don't," Shinichi replied, a soft look on his face that Aoko absolutely hated. "I'm sure this was all one big misunderstanding. Now, let's go see that ballroom, okay?" Midori gave a pitiful nod and Shinichi took her hand. Aoko screamed inwardly.

 Ran was so nervous she was going to be sick. Her stomach was twisting in all sorts of knots, but when she looked at Kaito, she knew he had it worse. He was pale, and jittery, his foot tapping wildly in the back of the taxi they were taking to the hotel. He must have looked through his bag five times before he finally allowed Ran to pull him away from baggage claim. Now, he was just talking to himself, mumbling all kinds of undecipherable phrases that Ran thought better then to attempt to understand. Frankly speaking, he was a mess. When they finally pulled up to the hotel, Ran had to physically pull Kaito from the backseat. "I'm not ready!" Kaito shouted, desperately clinging to the taxi door. "I'm not presentable!"

 "That's why we have a room!" Ran shouted back, pulling just shy of full strength, not wanting to pull his arm out of its socket. "But you won't have time to get presentable if you don't get a move on!" That seemed to make sense to Kaito's scrambled brain, as he suddenly dashed forward to reception, all of their bags in tow. Apologizing to the driver and paying the fare, Ran made her way in. Just in time to see the door closing on an elevator with Kaito in it. Fantastic. "Room 412!" He shouted, thinking to give her the room number, but not hold the elevator. What a mess. With a sigh, she walked over to the elevator, requesting the next car, when the other one opened. A woman walked right into her.

 "Oh," the woman said, looking disgusted, "I thought you were still looking at that hideous reception room with Shinichi."

 "What?" Ran eloquently replied, the woman was wearing an expensive looking dress hugging her fit figure, clearly trying to show it off. Her face was scrunched into a disgusting scowl, but it was evident she was  pretty.

 "Of course you wouldn't think so," the woman's face turned to boredom, "Well, if Shinichi is so set on it, I don't care. I just want to get this over with." That informal way of addressing Shinichi, her good looks, the deplorable aura she was giving off.

 "Midori?"

 "What?" The woman snapped. Well, Ran knew her best friend's fiancée now. Ran was thankful Aoko decided they should wear matching outfits today, she hadn't planned on meeting Midori so soon.

 "Nothing," Ran said.

 "Well, go do something useful and go find Shinichi for me." She pulled out her phone and checked her head for stray hairs, completely ignoring Ran's existence. Bless Aoko and her willpower.

 "Sure thing," Ran said, making her way on to the elevator as quickly as possible. Midori stood there for half a beat more, missing the person who came out of the elevator, a messy-haired magician who was looking around guiltily for the person he had abandoned in the lobby, but didn't miss her finace walking toward her, he himself unaware of the other man in the lobby.

 "Babe! There you are! What took you so long?" She cooed, draping herself over the man as they walked into the elevator together.

 "Sorry, Ran was really invested in the kinds of lights that would look best in the room, she went to the bathroom, but she'll come up in a minute."

 "Ah, too bad, guess we'll just have to have some alone time." Midori leaned in and Shinichi kissed her without a beat, when he pulled back, as the elevator doors closed, he could have sworn he saw... No, it couldn't have been.

 Kaito, in his own right, was equally confused. He saw Shinichi, far too early, he wasn't presentable, but Shinichi was also making out in an elevator and looked very confused when he looked up and saw Kaito. He needed to talk to Ran, who was, thankfully walking out of the bathroom at that moment. "There you are," he said, grabbing her hand and dragging her toward the elevator. "Sorry about ditching you, but I'm just really nervous," he kept rambling as they got on, "and I really need to talk to you about something because I don't think you gave me the whole truth there," the elevator dinged and he pulled her out and toward her room, "because I just saw Shinichi and-" and there was Ran, sitting in front of the room, but Ran, when he looked behind him, was also being dragged behind him, a surprised look on her face. Kaito sighed, unlocked the door, and walked into the room. The girls walking in silently behind him.

 "Um, hey?" One greeted as if it was a question, he couldn't really tell which one it was, which made him feel better about not realizing that he spent two weeks with a stranger, but he assumed it was Aoko, the real Aoko. He walked over to the bed and flopped face first into a pillow; this might be the weirdest day of his life. "It's nice to see you, too." A weight settled on the bed next to him, and a hand started running through his hair, yeah, definitely Aoko.

 "You have the worst ideas." Kaito gave her an evil look, which made her giggle. He missed her.

 "I thought it was a great idea, so did Ran." He glared at the other girl now, she was an accomplice after all.

 "Hey!" She said, placing her hands on her hips and glaring at him in return, "Hanging out with me wasn't all that bad, mister 'I didn't realize you weren't my best friend.'"

 "We can't all be a detective!" Kaito retorted. "Speaking of, he doesn't know I'm here, does he?" The girls had the gall to look sheepish. "Well, know it makes sense why he was making out with a girl in the elevator. I can't believe you brought me here when he's with his girlfriend!"

 "Fiancée," Aoko said, voice soft.

 "What?"

 "Not his girlfriend, his fiancée."

 "You brought me here, unbeknownst to Shinichi, while he's here with his fiancée? Why on Earth would you think that's a good idea?"

 "Because she is the absolute worst!" Aoko yelled, flopping down next to Kaito. "She's rude, and snobby, and completely wrong for Shinichi! He absolutely can't marry her!" Ran nodded in solidarity.

 "Shinichi is a grown man!" Kaito sat up, hurt by this new revelation." "He can decide who he wants to marry, and I certainly have no say in his decision."

 "What I said back in Paris hasn't changed," Ran spoke up, "I'm not trying to set you up with him, I just want the two of you to make up." Kaito sat quiet for a moment, letting all of this madness settle in.

 "Fine," Kaito finally said, "I don't like how you went about this, but I'm here now, and it won't kill me to just say hi."

 "I'm glad you agree, oh, and Shinichi doesn't know I'm not Ran."

 "Seriously?" Kaito looked sceptical, "You've spent two weeks with him and he never noticed a thing?"

 "Nope, he just thinks Ran is having an identity crisis," Aoko joked, which prompted a "Hey!" from Ran.

 "Ha! The Great Detective has lost his touch!" Kaito burst into a fit of giggles. "Fooled by the great Nakamori Aoko! He'll retire for sure once you tell him."

 "I can't wait to see the look on his face," Aoko giggled too, and soon, the whole room was laughing at how absurd the whole situation was. They calmed down after a solid couple of minutes of laughter. "I think it's time we go clue in the detective."

 Shinichi was getting worried about Ran, he hadn't seen her since she left for the bathroom, and it had been a little over an hour since then. Midori had begged him to come with her to look at the pool, but he was too distracted to really give it any thought. He was probably over thinking the whole thing anyway; the stress must be getting to him, especially considering he saw... Yeah, the stress was definitely getting to him.

 He sighed, looking around the pool; Midori sat down in a lounge chair and said something about ordering a drink. "I'm just going to take a quick walk," he said, not really hearing her reply. He wandered around the edge of the pool when something caught his eye on the other side.

 Shinichi wasn't crazy. It really was him. Here, in Japan, at this hotel, the very same day he was here with the woman he was going to marry. What were the odds? Staring at him in wonder, Shinichi started making his way through the dense crowd toward him, giving out half-hearted 'excuse me's and not watching where he was going, which, of course, meant he fell into the pool.

 There was a splash, and it took Shinichi a second to realize what had happened. He stood up, thankfully it was the shallow end, and wiped the water off of his face. His suit was soaked, and it would be miserable to walk around in for the rest of the day, the light gray now shades darker. Looking up, there he stood. His eyes as mirthful as he remembered, although that was most likely due to what an idiot Shinichi looked like at the moment.

 "Would you like some help, Great Detective?" he asked, one corner of his mouth pulling up just a pinch more than the other. Shinichi stood there, still in the water, just staring at him, before he realized the other was offering a hand to pull him out. Shinichi took it and was soon face to face with him. "Hey," he said, casually, like they hadn't spent the past five years apart with absolutely no contact. Shinichi was just glad he didn't seem angry.

 "Hey, Shinichi answered back, a smile unconsciously making its way onto his face."I think I need a towel." That made him laugh, a soothing, magical sound, like wind chimes on a bright summers day.

 "Yeah, I think you do." He led Shinichi over to a towel stand, throwing one over the detective's head and scrubbing furiously. Shinichi sat on a chair and relaxed as the other worked his magic.

 "It's been a while," he said meekly, glad the towel hid his face. "I haven't seen you in, what, five years?"

 "Just a little bit over, yeah." He stopped scrubbing and brought the towel down to rest on Shinichi's neck. "It's really good to see you, Shinichi."

 "It's good to see you ,too, Kaito." The name felt strange on his tongue, heavy from the disuse. "Congratulations on the upcoming special."

 "You knew about that?"

 "Of course, it's another step closer to your dream. Just because we aren't together anymore doesn't mean I don't support you."

 "I- um, thank you. That means a lot." A light blush dusted his cheeks and Shinichi felt his heart skip a beat. What was he doing? He was engaged now; he shouldn't harbor these kinds of feelings. Kaito made it clear a long time ago that he didn't feel the same way; they just weren't supposed to be a couple.

 "Oh my gosh!" Shinichi looked over to see Midori, she had a drink in one hand and pushed her sunglasses up with the other. "You're Kuroba Kaito! That upcoming magician! I called your manager, like, yesterday to see if you could be the entertainment for my wedding, but he said you were away on personal business. It is such a coincidence that you're here! And you've already met my groom-to-be! In fact, Shinichi, do you know one another?" Her voice was sugar sweet, excitement coloring her features. Shinichi winced; this was going to be awkward.

 "Shinichi! Are you alright!"It was Ran, concern on her features. Great, now he had to introduce Ran to Katio, like confessing he was married to his fiancée wasn't enough, now he had to admit to his best friend that he had gotten married with her knowledge.

 "That looked pretty bad, Shinichi. You aren't hurt, are you?" Ran said, but Ran's lips never moved. From behind Ran, came...Ran.

 When Shinichi fell into the pool, like the oblivious fool he is, Aoko had to hold Ran back from going to check on him. He had fallen in because he was too focused on Kaito, after all. Aoko hadn't planned for them to meet up like this, but having them interact more naturally was definitely the smarter option. It lead to the two of them talking, and, sure, the girls couldn't hear what they were saying, but it looked like it was going well. They weren't arguing, at least. Then, of course, Midori came over and it was time to intervene. Ran ran over to them first, still concerned about Shinichi's well being, and Aoko followed not far behind. The look on Shinichi's face was absolutely priceless, but the mixture of confusion and outrage on Midori's face, doubly so.

 "There are TWO of you?!" She yelled, drawing a few unsavory looks. "Shinichi, why didn't you tell me there are TWO of them?" Shinichi just looked between Aoko and Ran, his "detective" face scrutinizing each of them thoroughly. Finally, he pointed at Ran.

 "You're the real one," was his eloquent answer. The girls shared a look and burst out laughing.

 "Yeah, Shinichi, I'm the real one," Ran replied through her giggles.

 "Shinichi!" Midori whined, "What is going on! Are you pulling some kind of prank on me."

 "No," Shinichi replied, keeping his eyes on the two girls, "but I think one was pulled on me."

 "Ooo, someone got busted," Kaito teased.

 "I think we should go somewhere else. Midori," Shinichi finally turned to his finacee, "You should go, you can't be late to that shoot this evening, I'm just going to grab dinner with Ran and... the others."

 "Okay, Shinichi," Midori huffed, "just make sure you call me tonight." She pulled his chin up so she could give him a deep kiss before she left. Aoko knew she did it just so she could prove to everyone there that she was the one who was engaged to Shinichi, and Aoko had to suppress the urge to roll her eyes. Once she walked away, Shinichi turned his focus back on Ran and herself.

 "Seriously, we need to talk."

 "Good thing I made dinner reservations," Aoko smirked.

 Aoko, ever the schemer, had decided that the best way for the boys to reconnect was to make them have a romantic dinner. So, of course, she reserved a table at the restaurant atop the Beika tower as soon as she learned Kaito and Ran were flying back to Japan. Ran thought Aoko deserved an award for all of the effort she was putting into this thing.

 "Really, Aoko, we could have just gone to a family restaurant. I don't see why you needed to make this such a big event," Kaito whined, looking very embarrassed by the whole situation. Ran and Aoko had rushed to take chairs next to one another, forcing the boys to sit shoulder to shoulder.

 "Because I wanted something fancy," Aoko said, as if it was an excuse she used quite often, and the way Kaito rolled his eyes and accepted it seemed to confirm it.

 "Well, I hope you know that I'm not going to pay for any of this," Shinichi huffed, his arms crossed and just a twinge of annoyance on his face. "And I still want answers; don't think you can get out of this."

 "We know," Aoko said with a roll of her eyes, "Just let us order first and then we'll explain."

 Shinichi sat, annoyed, until the waiter came by and took their order. Ran hated seeing him look so angry, especially when it was with her. She never wanted to hurt his feelings, she genuinely thought she was doing what was best for him, she still did. As soon as the waiter walked away, Shinichi pounced. "Spill, why do you have a doppelganger and how long have I spent with them? And you," he turned to Kaito, "How long have you known about this?" Kaito put his hands up in a "I had nothing to do with this" kind of way".

 "Well, Aoko and I met at a cafe and got to talking. At first we were just surprised at how similar we looked, and then we got to talking. Eventually, I mentioned you and I showed Aoko this picture," Ran said, pulling out the folded up half of the wedding photo. Shinichi took it from her and unfolded it with a gasp.

 "I completely forgot I gave this to you," Shinichi said, his eyes still scanning the picture of his smiling face.

 "And when I saw that, I showed Ran this," Aoko added, handing Shinichi her half of the photo. Shinichi held the two halves together, looking at the complete photo. Kaito leaned in to look as well, and the expression on both of their faces made it clear just how happy a memory the picture held. It reminded Ran of when she and Aoko first saw the whole photo, it was like something had clicked and they knew that the two were perfect complements. Even looking at the two of them now, it seems so natural to see them together that Ran wondered what it would be like to see them as a couple.

 "Knowing that our best friend had hidden something so huge from us, we had to meet the other, so we came up with a plan. I was leaving to meet Kaito in Paris in a week, so we had to work fast."

 "Wait," Kaito interrupted, pulling his focus back to the girls, "You met each other, came up with a plan, and learned to confidently pretend to be one another well enough to fool their childhood best friend in a week?"

 "What, like it's hard?" Ran asked, her voice innocent. Shinichi burst out laughing and Kaito looked adequately flustered. "Anyway, I left for Paris instead of Aoko while Aoko spent time with you. We got to spend a good two weeks together before Aoko called to tell me that you got engaged. At that point I decided it was the best time to tell Kaito who I was and to fly back here."

 "And for the record," Kaito interrupted again, "Ran told me that you had also been informed, I didn't know you didn't know until earlier today."

 "Yes, and we're sorry," Aoko added.

 "So, did you or did you not do all of this so Kaito and I would get back together."

 "Not," Aoko immediately replied, "Ran and I just felt it necessary to know the person our best friend was married to." Aoko said it with a little bite in her voice and the boys had enough sense to look guilty.

 "We wanted too," Shinichi said, "but after the divorce, we didn't think we would see one another again. It didn't seem like it was important."

 "Of course it was important, Shinichi!" Ran looked furious. "You never told me you were dating anyone let alone got married. Why wouldn't you think that would be important? And then you got so sad after what I now know to be the time of your divorce. Shinichi, I was so worried about you and you told me nothing." Angry tears were pooling in Ran's eyes, so she got up from the table to go calm down in the restroom, Aoko hot on her heels, but not after a scathing look at the two very guilty looking boys.

 "Well, that's not how I was hoping the evening would go," Kaito said with a forced laugh in a feeble attempt to lighten the mood. "I think we really messed up, Shinichi."

 "Yeah, we really did."

 "They really are to smart for their own good," Kaito said with another laugh, this one more genuine. "Of course they would pick the restaurant we had our first date at, although I don't think they knew that."

 "It is one hell of a coincidence, especially since this is the same table."

 "You remembered?"

 "Of course I did," Shinichi said with a huff, "I wouldn't forget something like that,"

 "You forgot a lot of other things," Kaito mumbled, taking a sip of water.

 "I know I did, and I am so, so sorry." Shinichi met his gaze, trying to convey just how genuine he was. Kaito let out a sigh and grabbed his hand.

 "I know you are, and I forgive you, I always forgave you. It doesn't mean it didn't hurt."

 "That's why we got divorced."

 "That among other things," Kaito said lightly, "one of which was my constant use of you as a guinea pig for my new tricks."

 "As long as you acknowledge it, I mean, there was one week where you ran at least five by me every day."

 "Aw, you kept track?" Kaito teased.

 "I kept track of all of your tricks, I still have the notebook with all my feedback if you want." Kaito lost his words, he didn't think Shinichi had actually really cared about his magic career.

 "That would be wonderful."

 "I'm glad," Shinichi smiled, "I'll have to give it to you before you fly back to Paris."

 "We'll have to do something nice for them," Kaito said, gesturing to the empty side of the table, "I don't think I would have ever worked up the nerve to talk to you again if they hadn't done this."

 "You're right," Shinichi agreed, "Not that I'm happy about this whole situation, but they did do it with good intentions."

 "Unfortunately, I don't think they will accept any apology under the value of a thousand dollars."

 Everyone parted in good graces for the night, agreeing to meet back up tomorrow morning at Shinichi's house for breakfast.

 Which, of course, was a disaster because Midori just had to be there. Breakfast was a sacred tradition between Ran and Shinichi, they made sure that they met for it at least once a month, and anyone who knew them knew that intruding without an invitation was an egregious sin. When Shinichi opened his door to her, it was obvious that he hadn't invited her, yet he still let her in. This ticked Ran off more than anything else the girl had done.

 "Good morning, everyone!" Midori said with a sugar sweet voice. "I hope you don't mind me joining you! Shinichi told me you guys were meeting up this morning and as his fiancée, I just have to know more about his friends." Ran glanced over at Aoko and Kaito, who were sharing one side of the table, Kaito had a courteous smile on his face while Aoko made no attempt to hide her eye roll.

 "It's a pleasure to see you again Ms. Kyoya," Kaito said, although the formality was strange to Ran's ears. It was clear Kaito didn't feel comfortable around the woman. Midori was, of course, completely oblivious and quickly took the seat across from him, leaning in to his space.

 "Midori," Shinichi said, almost pushing the woman out of Kaito's space with what looked to Ran like a worried look in Kaito's direction. "Kaito is still a bit jet-lagged, try to go easy on him." The smile he gave his fiancée was one he would give a small child, trying to tell them what they were doing was impolite.

 "I was just chatting, Shinichi," Midori wrinkled her nose at him, "I want to know why you would invite a magician to your 'special breakfast', but not your beloved fiancée?" Midori batted her doe eyes at Shinichi with a pout in her lip.

 "It's not that I didn't want to invite you," Shinichi said, averting his eyes from Midori's, a tell Ran recognized as him not telling the complete truth, he probably just forgot about her, "the four of us just have some things we still need to discuss."

 "Well, whatever you need to discuss can be after breakfast," Midori said in a huff, "I am starving, what we are having?"

 Breakfast was dominated by Midori's ceaseless chatter. The topics pertained to things Midori was interested in and the other people only responded when Midori prompted them. They weren't able to get a word in otherwise. After breakfast, as Ran told Aoko, Ran and Shinichi went shopping together, just wandering around a mall or street as they saw fit. And, of course, today was no different. Shinichi was just mentioning this to Midori when Kaito spoke up. "Shinichi, I'm really sorry, but I think it's about time I got going."

 "What?" Shinichi said with a looking like a kicked puppy, although Aoko doubted he himself knew it.

 "You clearly didn't know I was coming, and I don't want to bother you anymore than I already have. I think I could get a flight out soon, so I'm going to get out of your hair."

 "No!" Ran and Aoko stood and shouted at the same time. They shared a look, they knew something like this could happen, so they had made some plans.

 "You can't just tell me no," Kaito crossed his arms, a look of annoyance on his face, "I'm a grown man, I can make decisions for myself."

 "I disagree," Aoko crossed her arms and gave Kaito an equally as annoyed look. "Last time you made a decision without me you ended up leaving the country after having your heart broken."

 "I wasn't heartbroken." Kaito said, a blush rising to his cheeks, as well as a short glance at Shinichi.

 "I agree with Ran," Ran said, her voice falling into Aoko's cadence. The look on the boys' faces told her their plan would work.

 "At least I have Aoko on my side," Aoko said, walking around the table to give Ran a hug.

 "You too playing this game isn't going to stop me from leaving." Kaito said, his eyes darting back and forth, revealing that he doesn't actually know who is who.

 "No," they said in unison, "But us having this will." They held up a passport bearing the name of one Kuroba Kaito, magician extraordinaire.

 "Hey!" Kaito protested, standing up from the table, prompting the girls to hurry up the stairs and into the Kudou library. By the time Kaito caught up with them, he didn't find two girls in the library, he found one. Copy and pasted into an identical person. The clothes, hair, facial features, the girls had perfectly combined their two looks to make it impossible to differentiate between the two. Shinichi and Midori were on Kaito's heels and the looks on their faces made the girls feel all the more confident in their plan. "Give me back my passport." It was a command, and Kaito's voice was clearly angry.

 "Not until you can tell us apart," the girls said.

 "And I would be careful," Aoko smirked, "if you try to pick it off the wrong one, well, I'm not a karate champion for nothing."

 "Shinichi," Kaito turned to the detective, who was still searching the identical twins before him, "Can you please stop this nonsense."

 "I can't," Shinichi replied.

 "What do you mean you can't?"

 "I can't tell them apart."

 "Seriously detective? You could always see through my tricks but you can't tell two girls apart?"

 "I was only able to see through those tricks because I had time to think about it. Your tricks were elaborate, complicated puzzles that I had to take a lot of time to crack, compared to them," Shinichi gave Kaito a smirk, "these amateurs will be nothing."

 And so, it was decided that Shinichi would take the girls shopping in order to more closely study them. Midori, of course, wanted to tag along claiming that she could help. They made their way to a shop lined street that Ran and Shinichi frequent. He probably expected to pick out Ran from how she responded to different shops and items, but shopping habits had been one of the many things the girl's had trained on for their switch. Some things both responded to in a Ran way and others they did like Aoko, ensuring that Shinichi would still be confused.

 Shinichi kept leading them around to different shops, the girls revealing no hint as to who they are, Midori persuading Shinichi to buy something for her, and continuing to the next one for over an hour until Shinichi decided he needed a break. He wandered off to the nearest public restroom, leaving the twins and Midori by themselves. It was quiet for a moment before Midori shot the two a scathing look.

 "I have no idea why the two of you are doing this, it's quite pathetic."

 "I'm sorry," Ran asked, probably just to say something before Aoko could.

 "How you're desperately clinging to these guys? It's pathetic."

 "They're our friends," Aoko steamed.

 "Oh, sweetheart, you can drop the act in front of me, I mean, with how famous, and no doubt rich, Kuroba is, it's no wonder why you would so desperately try to keep him in the country. I'm sure you could just make him pay you for his passport. I'm still not quite sure why he's here and why Shinichi knows him, but it sure did seem like he wanted to leave. And as for Shinichi, well, I get it, he's quite the meal ticket, but I already have him in my pocket, so I'd really appreciate it if you girls would leave him alone."

 "I've known him since preschool," Ran said in a cold voice, "I'm not going to stop seeing my best friend just because he got married."

 "Honey, you need to understand," Midori gave Ran doe eyes, as if they could sugarcoat all of the vitriol coming out of her mouth, "Alongside such a high-class item like Shinichi, you're just an eyesore. I mean, you aren't rich or famous like the family Shinichi comes from, you just detract from his value."

 "Oh? I think the idea of increasing someone's 'value' by being associated with them is nonsense, but if I did, I definitely think I add more worth than you," Ran said with enough bite that it made Aoko shiver, "What do you think, Shinichi?"

 It was then that Aoko noticed Shinichi walking back over to their group, hanging up his cell and something Aoko hadn't seen before stirring in his eyes. Ran also produced her cellphone, showing the fact that she had just been on a call with Shinichi.

 "Darling!" Midori cried, already falling into character, "Can you believe these nasty girls would manipulate me like that? You know I would never say anything so horrid." Midori fluttered her lashes at him as if they would cast him into a trance, but the look of pure anger on his face held fast.

 "Midori, I could handle you only thinking of me as some kind of get-rich-quick or just some arm candy, but the fact you would try to pry the people who actually care about me out of my life is the line."

 "I would never! Shinichi, you can't think that I-"

 "I know exactly the kind of person you are. The only time you're being sincere is when you talk about money or about your career. Every time you attempt to compliment me or look interested in what I'm talking about, you twirl your hair and look down left. Quite a simple tell, really, you're far too used to relying on your looks to be able to have a good poker face." Midori's face was frozen in shock as she tried to start a coherent sentence. "I'm calling off the engagement." And with that, in the classic Kudou dramatic fashion, he motioned for the girls to follow and they left.

 Kaito was waiting just inside when they came back. He smiled when he saw Shinichi, but it quickly turned into a frown when the passport thieves trailed in after him, then it became slightly confused. "Where's Ms. Kudou-to-be?"

 "Gone," the girls said in unison, completely on accident this time.

 "What?" Kaito looked to Shinichi for answers.

 "I called off the engagement, it turns out I have and always will be terrible with relationships."

 "Oh, Shinichi," Kaito said in a soft voice, resting his hand on Shinichi's shoulder, "It's not your fault she was completely awful and superficial."

 "So you knew too?"

 "You didn't?"

 "I guess I just tried to overlook it," Shinichi sighed, flopping down on the couch."

 "Well, there's your problem," Kaito followed him over and sat on the arm of the sofa, gently running his fingers through Shinichi's hair, "You always try to find the best in people, even if it means overlooking the worst in them. I mean that's what you did with me."

 "Kaito, that wasn't the 'worst' in you!" Shinichi bolted upright, "I knew you had your reasons and you wouldn't-"

 "AHEM!" Aoko coughed, gaining the attention of the boys who had clearly forgotten where they were. "You still haven't won."

 "My passport!" Kaito suddenly remembered "Well... I don't think I can figure it out quite yet...maybe...I should stay a while?" Kaito asked, looking toward Shinichi.

 "Yeah, I think you should." The smile on Shinichi's face was more at ease than Ran had seen in a long, long time. And the look that passed between Ran and Aoko was one of knowing.

 Months later the same look passed between them as they stood on opposite sides of an altar. It only took a few weeks for Kaito and Shinichi to start dating again, with better understanding of who they were as people and how best to navigate a relationship, and only a few months after that they got engaged. And of course, this time, they actually asked Ran and Aoko to be their Maids of Honor. And so that's where Ran and Aoko stood while their two best friends walked down the aisle, in matching suits. Aoko had fussed at them that they had to wear something different or no one would be able to tell them apart. This, of course only made them laugh. And as the two reached the altar and looked at their best friends, they had the absolute audacity, fuss with their hair and switch sides, making everyone in attendance laugh at their antics and the two Maids of Honor groan at the knowledge that they would never let them live down the best plan in all of history.

[lessthanthreeman]

Personal Post

I just wanted to write this because it’s been on my mind and I find it frustrating how few resources there seem to be about it. With Cinco de Mayo coming up, and Latino media being all around, I’m reminded that I’m technically of mixed descent, which to be clear, I’m pretty proud of. I was raised by my mother and her side of the family who are white through and through so for a majority of my life that’s what I identified as and where a lot of my mannerisms and cultural understanding comes from. I imagine it was probably for the best, particularly growing up on Long Island, especially considering I am VERY white passing.

I never met my father (who was Puerto Rican [though later DNA tests on myself reveal that genetically speaking he was predominantly Spanish, so white Hispanic)] and have no desire to. Literally, the extent of my knowledge about him is that he was ethnically Puerto Rican to some capacity. I genuinely believed that women just got immaculately pregnant on their own until I was 7 as I just assumed I didn’t have a father (it’s somewhat embarrassing to admit, even if I was young and how was I supposed to know? I didn’t understand what was so special about the story of Mary for a long time to put it mildly.).

I remember the night I found out so vividly. I was at a sports practice and the kids were talking about their dads. I proclaimed that I didn’t have one. One of the older kids informed me that that was impossible. I was honestly offended and went to our coach, who I assume didn’t know how to respond or why I would even ask (I don’t blame him), so he told me that I definitely have a father. Again, outraged, when I got back home I asked my mother about it who told me that I did have a father.I asked “Well if I have a father, that means I must be half something else” as she had grown up telling me her half and that the other half was “American” because I was born in America (lmao). She told me that I was Puerto Rican, which I didn’t have a problem with. I didn’t even know where that was (and I guess by some technicalities, she wasn’t wrong in saying I was “American”, just “American Territory”) so that was of little impact to me. I was furious that whoever my father was chose to have no part in my life and I felt nothing but bitterness, so when she asked if I wanted to know more about him, I said no. I still like to keep it that way if I’m being honest. I am still bitter and if the little snippets I’ve heard in hushed tones from my other family is any indication, I don’t want to know more about him even if I wasn’t.

So, I continued to consider myself exclusively white because that’s what other people considered me, that’s how I was raised, that’s what I look like and likely subconsciously because I was bitter and it did benefit me on some level. As it turns out though, my mother has a thing for Hispanic guys (a little weird I guess, maybe a bit fetishistic [I don’t know the extent and I don’t want to know so I can’t say for certain], but good for her I suppose) and she soon after got involved with another guy, my now pseudo-step father in all but legality really. He’s of Mexican and Puerto Rican descent, his father lived in Mexico (and has since gone back of his own volition), his mother (IIRC) lived in Puerto Rico, etc. He’s not deeply associated with his roots, he’s definitely “assimilated” having grown up in New York and California. He speaks broken Spanish, perfect English, and really is an American through and through, save for some more traditional cultural vestiges (which isn’t bad to be clear). He loves chihuahuas, sombreros, maracas, Mexican cuisine, Speedy Gonzalez etc. It’s somewhat superficial and a bit stereotypical, but I understand why he feels a connection to it as a very American man. It’s an easy way for him to very clearly connect to his roots, even if they’re not pieces of great cultural significance. Whether or not it’s problematic, I’m glad it gives him some of the connection he wants to his culture and it makes him proud.

Growing up around him and his kids, I felt a bit like an outsider, and I’ll probably admit, initially I was arrogant. I grew up being an only child (which definitely was a big shift to begin with) and couple that with the fact that I was still at that time an academic golden child in traditionally very (BIG quotes here) “polite” (Read: white) environments, I didn’t really jive with my brothers for a long time. As things went on though, I had my golden kid breaking point, crashed out a bit, eventually my mom moved in with him bringing me in tow, and I mellowed out a bit as I got over some teenage angst. During that time, I never fully connected with the heritage because it wasn’t mine, I’m not Mexican, but I understood and appreciated it. I can earnestly say, it is one of the cultures that I am the most fascinated and captivated by. I can go on and on and wax poetic about the historical achievements of Native peoples of Central America, their food, their ability to weather adversity, and their faith that things will get better. The culture is so much deeper than the “illegal immigrants” and cartel ties that we’re constantly shown in media, and I’m glad that to an extent things are slowly shifting to show the humanity of the people. But anyway, tangents aside, I’m still very culturally white and white passing, albeit with a better understanding of Latino cultures.

As more and more time goes on though, I am starting to feel like I’m a bit disconnected from a part of my culture and heritage, but I feel uncomfortable claiming it. Not because I don’t want people to know that I’m Hispanic, I have no issue with that, in fact I love whipping out that I’m sleeper Hispanic with a Hispanic family when people think they’re safe to be a little racist with me before I call them out on it. The reason is just because I don’t feel Hispanic enough and I’m too white, and it’s something I’ve struggled with for a while, but it becomes more and more obvious to me as time goes on. I understand that this is a really common issue for people of mixed races, particularly for those with mixed heritage upbringings. They feel adrift between two worlds and people are always looking for a way to categorize them into their preexisting schemas of how we view race in America. Some of what these people say when I’m looking for it resonates with me, but a lot of it also doesn’t. It’s not because my life is harder or I’m special or anything, but it is a very particularly niche scenario. I grew up almost exclusively white, it’s difficult for me to convince a lot of people that I’m more than white, I grew up with white privilege, and I never really had a Hispanic/Latino experience.

I want to be clear, this isn’t me crying about being white, particularly also being male, cis, and generally het. It’s been a privilege for sure that’s opened up a lot of doors that wouldn’t have otherwise been open to me, I’m sure, and I wish I could extend those same rights, opportunities, and safeties to everybody. That said, I feel like a complete outsider to those roots and feel dirty claiming them. Like I’m taking it away, diluting, or appropriating those cultural celebrations from the people who really deserve them. My experiences with the people and the culture is that they’re ecstatic to share it and have people take an interest in it. It’s generally very inclusive, friendly, and they love to treat you (or at least me as a very small boyish looking man) like family. It’s genuinely awesome. I can’t not think of myself as the generic white dude who works a boring office job and says every Spanish word with the whitest accent possible (to be clear I do work an office job, but I do a pretty solid job of pronunciation with EXCELLENT R rolls, trills, etc.) invading a space not made for me.

It’s a really complex topic, one that’s hard to fully articulate, which is what I’ve seen is a consistent thread in writings from mixed race individuals talking about their experiences. I’m friends with a surprisingly large amount of white passing Puerto Rican mixed race people and you’d think I’d talk about it more with them, but no. I probably should, but it’s a personal and somewhat intimate topic to just suddenly spring on people. For now though, I suppose I’m content to observe and appreciate Latin-X culture and people “from a distance” and amplify their voices as much as I can as a white passer.

[lostlitany]

ANOTHER!

7: Were there any ideas you had for "Damn Straight Gay" that you couldn’t make work? What were they?

11: Which OC of yours do you think is the most similar to you? Which OC is the most different? Why?

23: What’s one piece of advice you would give to anyone who wants to start writing or posting their writing online?

Ayyyy another~!! This got pretty heckin’ long soooo

7. Damn Straight Gay ideas that couldn’t work

I’ve long since deleted my draft doc for that fic, but I remember there were a bunch of scenes I had planned out that never made it to the final cut. I had originally planned for the chapters to switch perspectives back and forth between Bakugou and Kirishima- but I wrote the first two chapters from Bakugou’s point of view and ended up deciding to keep the whole fic like that.

Obviously with the deletion of Kiri’s POV, there comes the loss of all the dates he and what’s her face were supposed to go on (what did I even name that extra? Like Yuuna or something? Idr). Either way, Kiri’s chapters we’re supposed to center around the actual relationship and the growing toxicity between the two of them. I imagined they would go places and Kirishima would keep bringing up going to those places with Bakugou, which is why we see a lot of Bakugou reminiscing throughout the story. I wanted the story to have Bakugou or Kirishima reminiscing about their past, through either Bakugou’s moping, or Kirishima’s dates, and for that to be kinda solemn and off, and then kinda re-envision those same areas with the two of them being awkward around each other and regretting the breakup.

Another big thing that got scrapped was that I had actually originally planned for Yuuna and Bakugou to meet! I wanted them to hate each other immediately- Bakugou of course would’ve played cordial because he’s a simp for Ei, but Yuuna was going to act more along the lines of “I don’t like you hanging out with him- you should stop talking to him for me”

But, without writing the dates, there really was no need for Yuuna to have an onscreen character. So I kept her separate from Bakugou and all we know about the toxic girlfriend is what Bakugou hears from other people who have met her.

I think it worked better because the story was meant to be focused on Bakugou and Kirishima’s relationship, and having Yuuna like actually around and present may have distracted from the boy’s relationship and put more spotlight on her relationship with Kirishima- So I think it’s a good thing I ended up scrapping so much. It made for a better structured story-

11. Which OC is most similar / different - Why?

So as far as my published work goes, the only OCs I think I really have- are Kirishima’s family. And I definitely haven’t really written enough of them to say much more than I’m most like Satori, the badass mom who teases Kirishima the whole time Bakugou’s over- and I’m least like Mei, the pleasant, sunshine and rainbows cutesy type who giggles warmly at her family’s antics and enjoys sitting back and watching the show.

Just to be obnoxious and not answer the question properly- I will also say this because my characterizations are based off of cannon, but are decidedly not- I am most similar to the way I write Bakugou and least similar to the way I write Kirishima. In both Damn Gay and The Exception, Bakugou and his situation have been practically directly ripped from my life. Some of the words exchanged between him and other characters are real conversations I’ve had with different friends and acquaintances. Kirishima on the other hand, is vastly different. His characterization has been a mixture of my three best friends over the years- and one very special detail that I force onto him that quite a few other authors don’t- is that I make him quite easily manipulated. In Damn Gay he gets caught up in a toxic relationship and gives up everything he actually cares about to force himself to life with this girl that he only got with once Mina accidentally convinced him to move on from Bakugou. In The Exception the same thing happens where he finds something that makes him happy, a couple things go wrong, and he easily leaves Bakugou behind when Mina suggests it. In cannon, I think despite his doubts towards himself, he’s a lot more sure of his friends. But in my portrayal of him, he’s a lot less weak willed when it comes to bumps in his relationships and friendships. I write Kirishima as an easily influenced ray of sunshine who aims to please people, and as soon as things start to go south, he shuts himself up and drowns out his own thoughts, turning to other people around him to make harder decisions for him because he doesn’t trust himself to do it. This is in contrast to Bakugou who makes stupid decisions and jumps to moronic conclusions all on his own, who when things get tough, jumps at the opportunity to push through it as fast as possible just to get over it and get past all the emotions, thoughts, and feelings that would otherwise hold him down. Kiri dwells on it much longer and drags those rough moments out inadvertently, by waiting for his problems to go away on their own.

22. Writing advice for beginners of writing or posting

New writers- Write what you want to read. As I’ve said before I have a whole plethora of OCs that I’ve created and written stories for. I made characters and relationships to fill in my own self indulgent fantasies, and that got me hooked. I wrote for myself and that was it. I wasn’t planning on posting it anywhere, I was too embarrassed to show my friends, I wasn’t aiming to please anyone. I wrote forced story plots and 2 dimensional characters that made me happy. It established writing as a fun pastime in my head. If you go into this looking for follows and kudos and comments, it’s going to get very depressing very fast, and you’re most likely going to stop before you even get started. So ignore the world. Write for you first, and when you figure out how to make you happy, then start writing for real. If you want that shot of straight serotonin that comes from constructive feedback- bug me. Text me. Email me. DM me. Idk. Find me and share with me what you’ve written. We all have to start somewhere and building a solid foundation on your own can be very difficult. If this is something that you want to really do, I’m no professional, but I want to help. Write for you, then find a beta, or a friend. Someone who can gush over your characters and such with you. Create a strong link between writing and happiness in your brain. Hack your mind to make writing fun and rewarding, so later down the line when you’re good enough to get hate, it can’t affect you.

New posters- Don’t doubt what you’ve made. There are 7 billion people on this planet. If you’ve written something really niche and small and overly self indulgent and you think nobody else is going to like it- remember the phrase one in a million. If you are one in a million, there are 700 other people out there like you. That self indulgent fic that you wrote specifically for you? Post it. Because there may be 700 other people looking for exactly that. You never know what people are looking for. You never know what people are willing to try out. 50 Shades of Grey was a fanfiction.......

Are they not part of a fandom? Are they your original characters? Cool, Steven Universe is filled of original characters. So is Avatar. Oh! And My Hero. Every fandom started off as a collection of Original Characters. I’ll read about your kids if you’ll read about mine.

[darklingichor]

Gone With the Wind by Margaret Mitchell

Buckle in kids, this one has my analytical muscles flexing!

I always said that I absorbed some of this epic through osmosis. GWTW is my mom's favorite book and one of her favorite movies. I remember wandering in and out of the living room at least once a year while she watched it. I would listen with half an ear as I played in the other room. A movie so long as to have an intermission just couldn't keep my attention as a kid. Of course I knew the story, just like I knew the story of a lot of fairy tales that I'd never actually had read to me. I didn't actually sit down and watch the movie in it's entirety until I was in my 20's. I liked it. It was well made, the acting was great and the story for all it's wince worthy moments and the surface polishing of such an ugly period in american history, was compelling.

I've never been able to get through the actual book. The reasons are going to sound a little silly. When I was younger, I thought : Why read it? I know the story. Tara is a plantation pre civil war, Scarlett lives at Tara, she's spoiled, she marries out of spite, gets widowed, Atlanta burns, she and her family become poor after the war, "As God is my witness, I shall never be hungry again" she works hard, almost loses Tara, she marries for money, saves Tara, works hard, is widowed again, marries again, rocky relationship, a child passes, "Frankly my dear, I don't give damn", end credits. In between she pines over a guy she can't have, and manages to be all around an unpleasant person in general. Done and done.  I was probably too young to read it then anyway.

When I got older and realized that a book could be complex with horrible things in it. I thought I should read it. But, every copy of the book I seemed to find had tiny tiny print and no paragraph breaks (the later being a a typical writing characteristic in the past). Even with my glasses I have a hard time reading a book in that format. I skip lines, reread lines, I always end up,with a,pounding headache. No matter how good the story it's hard to get into when you can't physically read it. I had the same problem with Little Women. I eventually got through it but it was difficult.

Well, now there's audible. For once, I didn't have a book I was chomping at the bit to listen to and I thought: Why not? I listened to other books I couldn't get into for whatever reason. So, one credit and 48 hours (spread out over the last three weeks) later. I made it through.

Let me say, this novel is rich in language, as in it is well written and has much to analyze. But every time the n-word was said I flinched. Every time a black person was infatlized, or threatened, I felt angry, I was pissed off by the caricatures and happy slave narritive. Everything I have read about the author points to her evolving her views on black people after her novel, which is good. However, it doesn't make the characterization of black people any easier to read. There are racist things in the book, writing about a bunch of well to do people in the antebellum south, I'm not sure how an author could avoid it without Clorox-ing history, which honestly, she did enough of with her mythical view of the way enslaved people were treated and felt. It was a narrative I often heard in school, in the PNW, in the 90's.

The story went that depending on where someone fit into the hierarchy of slaves, some were well treated and loved. Because of this, when emancipation came, some slaves were afraid to be, or didn't want to be free. This of course served the purpose of making an awful period in US history seem softer than it was. "Sure it was bad, but it wasn't that bad."

As I studied more, this viewpoint was replaced with a "Nope, this was just bad, as in monumentally criminally bad."

I think Mitchell, when she wrote the book, thought she was being accurate, but considering she learned her history from veterens of The Confederacy, it is not surprising that she was wrong.

Because of the one dimensional way that black people were written, it's hard for me to really dig into the symbolism of their characters. I'm only marganially good at this, as you will soon see.

I will say this: I liked the book for many of the same reasons my mom gave me for loving it. For it's descriptions and it's style, for it's symbolism. I like it for it's depiction of a culture in flux, of the impact of war for those on the home front, of the all too human condition that one never sees one's self as the bad guy. I do not like it for the characters. Rhett is an asshole, Ashley has a lot in common with a wet towel, only less interesting. Melanie is okay but can at times, give one a toothache. Scarlett is a brat. The glorifying of a time when people owned other people is disturbing, full stop.

It was those parts that made me profoundly uncomfortable and I had to remind myself over and over that this was a novel about civil war Georgia and the rich people that inhabited it before, during, and directly after. This was how those people would think, talk and behave. It was wrong then, it's wrong now.

Now, I'm going to look at the symbolism in this book because I found it facinating.

Gone with the wind is far more complex than I thought when I was a kid or after I watched the movie. The collective consciousness holds Rhett Butler and Scarlett O'Hara's romance to be the heart of the story... But it's not. Scarlett herself is the heart of the story. Honestly, Rhett driffs in and out when Scarlett needs either a dose of levity, a hard dose of truth, or a leg up on a hard fight. He doesn't rescue her, he helps her get the tools, and shows her the path to rescue herself.

Scarlett is an odd character. She has so many good points and bad points that she is nearly neutral. She's self-centered, but will fiercely care for and look after those she considers family, or as she calls them "my own". She will, on the surface ( for as the book says, it was all surface with her) resent every step taken, dollar spent, or moment given but she will keep doing it. She's opportunistic and ruthless with it, but she doesn't do it for the hell of it, she does it when backed into a corner. She's inpatient with her children, but her actions show that she loves them. She wants to do right by the social customs she was raised with and that the South cling to even after the war, but she's far too practical to pay them any more than lip service unless they fit her purposes.

Katie Scarlett O'Hara *is* rural Georgia. The colors that are always used to describe the land and Tara are red, green, black and white. In Scarlett we have described, red lips, green eyes ("without a hint of hazel"), white skin and black hair. She often wears these colors as well. Scarlett grows and changes along with Georgia and in fact, the reader is treated to the change of Georgia in a way that makes it more important than the changes of the characters. There are long stretches of discription of Georgia, especially Clayton County where Tara is. Long passages of the feelings of Georgia's people, before, during and after the war. Scarlett's life story from age 16 to age 28 are placed in between, and I have to think that the composition of the book was deliberate (I've never read any literary analysis GWTW, this is just me rambling). 

Scarlett is told by her father, early in the book, that an Irishman's land is like his mother. Gerald O'Hara, an Irish immigrant, goes on to tell her that this kinship to the land is the same for anyone with a drop of Irish blood. In Scarlett, this goes further, for not only is the land her mother, she is,truly it's daughter.

Since she only swims in the shallow depths of her mind, she is unaware of her deeper waters. She does have them, she just pays no attention to what lives there. Weirdly, what lives there is what truly moves her. Early in the book the reader is told that although she didn't know it, she loved Tara, she was at peace there.

Nature is neutral,nature doesn't care about wars, politics or customs. At her core Scarlett doesn't care about these things either. Throughout the book the reader is told, that Scarlett doesn't care about anything that didn't directly affect her. This is true, and she is called out  fairly often by other characters for being self-centered. However, her selfishness has a different feel than say, Bella Swan, Veruca Salt, or various other literary brats.

Scarlett feels less like one only,out to further her own interests and more like one who is trying to maintain her niche in her environment. For a living thing to thrive, their environment must support them. When an environment changes, the living thing either adapts or dies. Scarlett adapted.

Unable to convince Ashley Wilkes to break his engagement to Melanie Hamilton, being more obvious about her feelings for him than she thought, facing shame and questions to her reputation that would devastate her social standing and also possibly damage her family, she took swift action. She married Charles Hamilton, Melanie's brother. Why? It would shut up those who thought her in love with Ashley, thus saving her reputation. Plus, she figured it would hurt those she saw,as a threat to her. Like a river wearing a path around a tree, she avoided the obstical and continued on.

So if Scarlett is Georgia what about our other big characters?

Rhett is change, and time, like Scarlett he's nearly morally neutral.

Ashley is the past, he's the southern gentleman that the culture out grew.

Melanie a sheltering force. She reads as sweet and proper, but is always supporting Scarlett, even when her choices do not line up with the social system.

So, let's look at each of these characters in relation to our green-eyed force of nature.

I’m going to start with Ashley. Scarlett is fixated on him from the beginning. One can make many arguments as to why. He’s the only man not falling all over himself to get her attention, he very much represents the white knight to her, having “fallen in love” with him when he rode up to Tara after being away from Twelve Oaks, the reason as old as time, because she can’t have him, and her father says he’s not a good match for her. All of these are true, but to look at it from the symbolism angle:

Scarlett is Georgia,. The land and the plantation culture, she’s comfortable in her world at the start of the book. She doesn’t care at all about the war. It’s something that’s happening around her, something she is dreadfully bored by. Ashley represents that comfort, being with him means keeping things the same, staying the girl who only has to worry herself with parties, and being a plantation wife. Life would be slow and easy.

Time goes on, when everything goes wrong and Tara falls into poverty, Scarlett adapts. This girl who only a few years before married a man to save face, had never expected to work, now has to bust her tail trying to keep everyone fed. She wants Ashley, still, because she desperately wants to go back to that past, to where things were simple, to where hunger was not an issue.

The problem is that, Scarlett views Ashley through a haze of sentimentality, and Ashley is, himself, the embodiment of rose tinted nostalgia. He is not like Scarlett, longing for that time, but functioning in reality. He cannot exist outside of it; he’s not wishing for a time when all he had to do was talk books and philosophy with Melanie, he is of that time and he can do nothing when its gone.

Ashley Wilkes is an embroidered cloth of the antebellum south. He's the neat picture that faces outward, the pleasent part that the one weilding the needle wanted people to see. What is hidden is the web of threads criss-crossing each other, the nests of string, the knots and the things those messy parts tell of. The pricked fingers, the broken threads, the bent needles, stitches that were undone, tangles. The work and the pain that went into making that pretty picture look effortless. In short, he's what Scarlett and others at the start of the book thought of their culture and society. The work of the slaves was just simply there, what mattered was the result. Scarlett, like the society at large, had to let that go, face what it was. Not a shining example to return to, but an impractical relic of the past.

Rhett on the other hand sort of drifts in and out of the awareness of the main characters, He is always sort of there. He sees the writing on the wall, knows that many of the social conventions are on their way out and nudges Scarlett in the direction she wants to go in anyway.

After Charles dies, and Scarlett is in mourning, tradition dictating that she wear black, Rhett buys her a green hat and tells her he will take it away if she has it dyed.

When Tara is about to be lost, and Rhett refuses to give her money, Scarlett, without shame and with ruthless practicality, steals and marries her sister Suellen's suitor.

Why? Because she knew that Suellen would not have used any of the money she might have come into to save Tara.

Scarlett then takes over her new husband's business. She has a talent for it, and does well. Rhett encourages this unconventional behavior by lending her money to buy a sawmill which she runs.

This loan is interesting because it has a condition. He loans her the money as long as it isn't used to help Ashley.

This could be seen as an opportunity that would only really work if not given over to the conventions of the past. This plays out some what when it turns out that Ashley really sucks at doing... Well anything useful, really.

When Rhett and Scarlett eventually marry, he is proud to have a smart wife.

Rhett, as change, sees that Scarlett can and should break free from the social expectations that hem her in, when she does, she tends to do well. They are prosperous. What gets her in trouble is her constent looking back, pineing for Ashley, for the past that never was what it seemed, and the lost future that never would have been what she thought. Case in point, Scarlett and Rhett have Bonnie, who Rhett adores, Scarlett seems contented in her marriage. Then what happens? Ashley tells Scarlett that he is jealous of Rhett. And Scarlett promptly demands that she and Rhett sleep in separate rooms.

Later, we continue to go all soap opera when Scarlett and Ashley share an embrace and Ashley's sister, India, spreads a rumour of an affair. Melanie kicks her out of her house, but Rhett has heard. Enticements of the past impeding the progress to the future.

Rhett is near his breaking point with Scarlett and her focus on Ashley. He forces himself on her. Change trying to force itself on the culture through a vile and violent act. That is not a way to move forward, however.

Scarlett becomes pregnant, argues with a fed up Rhett, and falls down the stairs, losing the baby. Scarlett doesn't want anything to do with Rhett after this happens, understandably.  A lot of change made in violence is resented and rejected. This leaves Rhett at a loss.

When Bonnie dies (it could be argued that she represents a new south, one that is not held back by convention, but is ultimately killed by the strong hold that those conventions had on the culture) Rhett is broken. And just when Scarlett is willing to embrace change, Rhett decides to leave, to find his own version of south that Ashley had been clinging to. This could be interpreted a couple of different ways. It could be seen as, that change  is brought about by time and acceptence, and that the lack of the latter means that the former will not be effective and pass you by. Or, and this is the interpretation that I prefer, the fact that time, in regards to culture, repeats. Every generation has experienced this. You spend your youth laughing at the way things were done “back in the day” maybe even proclaiming that when you’re older, you won’t talk about “Kids these days…” but then one day you find that everything that was familiar to you has become outdated and you don’t understand, and therefore don’t like what is happening now and you find yourself wishing for the time when you were so sure and you understood everything. Ashley represents a past after a major upheavel, Rhett, is simply the march of time that every now and again will turn around and walk backwards to see where he’s been. Now, one could argue that Rhett is going to end up like Ashley, afterall, he’s looking for his past again. But I feel that Rhett is retreating into the past because of the trauma he experience in losing Bonnie and giving up on Scarlett. It’s a respite, rather than a permanate state of mind, like it is with Ashley. Ashley’s mind was always in the more idealized place, no matter the circumstsnce. It was the war that rattled his viewpoint of the world. Rhett is grounded in reality, he just wants to go home. Ashley is a rerun of an old tv show, Rhett is a nostaligia inspired reboot.

And Melanie. Ahh, Melly, silk wrapped iron, she is.

If this book has one "good guy" it's Melanie. If Ashley is pulling Scarlett (Georgia) back and Rhett is marching her forward, Melanie is a sheltering force, and  Scarlett's counter point. Melanie has a streanth of her own and it is a perfect compainon to Scarlett's straightforward determination. While listening to this book, the phrase "speak softly and carry a big stick" kept coming to mind when it came to Melly. There are times that a soft spoken assurance, a politely worded insistence can be more powerful than anything else and Melanie shows that. The two prop each other up. When Scarlett kills the Yankee that invaded Tara, she helped bury the body. When Scarlett is demanding and short-tempered in regards to work being done around Tara during the lean times, Melly backs her up, but sweetens the tone. It takes a quiet fortitude to keep the peace in a way that still allows for getting things done and  Melanie enables Scarlett to do just that. She knows the ins and outs of society rules and can weave her way through them with more ease than Scarlett. As such, she recognizes when Scarlett has to bend or break those rules to ensure the family's survival and knows just the right way to phrase it to give her sister in law enough wiggle room to keep her on society's good graces.

She Dances with Rhett for the cause even while in mourning? Melly insists she's doing it out of memory of Charlie. She does more than sit and home and be a widow? Melly points out that Scarlett is young and should be allowed some leeway.

Ashley's sister spreads a roumor about Scarlett and Ashley while the former is married to Rhett? Melly banishes her from the house.

When Melanie dies, Scarlett realizes how much she has meant to her and I would argue that it is her sisterhood and partnership with Melanie that is central to the story, rather than Scarlett's relationship with Rhett.

Each of these main characters are either rejected or leave just as Scarlett's deeper motives and thoughts float to the surface where she pays attention to them.

Melly dies when Scarlett is finally ready to stand on her own, because the social rules are being phased out, she doesn't need Melanie's gentle protection any more. With the phasing out of those rules, Ashley  is outdated and unappealing and finally, Rhett and time move on, now that they have had their effect. And what is left standing is a changed Scarlett O'Hara in a changed world.

[landlordrecords]

Bassline (& 2020 in general): Re-e-wind

 What a strange year, as everyone, everywhere has said a million times… Writing-wise, I’d been doing Record Collector magazine since 2014, and uDiscover (the Universal Records online mag) for not much less, & that all just seemed to (understandably) stop dead with the onset of the pandemic. Since then, I’ve polished off my chapter on the work of Simon Morris and the Ceramic Hobs for Palgrave, & that’s about it, so you’re more likely to find me over on Twitter at Sniffy (@philblackpool) / Twitter these days, blurting out the odd sentence. I hence thought it might be time to revisit a very old piece…

Like many, I’ve been working from home for much of the year, and although I’ve occasionally wanted to pull out my own eyeballs, it has generally been very pleasant for a voracious music-lover. I started by catching up on the vast majority of my insane, years-deep second-hand vinyl buy piles, and then chomped through a load of ‘long listen’ stuff I’d had on the backburner forever (including, astonishingly, eventually getting through something like 40 hours of Pan Sonic live sets someone had dumped online). I graded hundreds of releases for sale on Discogs, and revisited umpteen musical thangs extensively, including 90s gabba, Sun Ra, music hall, Schoenberg, dancehall reggae, the acknowledged worst albums ever, happy hardcore, Italian house, bounce and makina (I’ve lost track of how much time I’ve spent checking out youtubes to try to identify a couple of most-wanted bounce and makina tunes), Britpop (!), cosmic disco, and Belgian popcorn. It’s been an extraordinary year, packed with cultural discovery and rediscovery. In amongst this, in no way ashamed of my abject love of Discogs, and already having used and edited it for many years, I read the entire guidelines and decided to go hard on sorting out stuff I care about on there. Seeing they’d finally added various more recent ‘styles’, I’ve spent the last month and a half doing a ridiculous amount of edits on a dozen or so niche genres of importance in recent times (footwork, Jersey Club, yadda yadda). My tweakings around Bassline and UK Funky eventually drew me to the attention of UK Garage legend Karl ‘Tuff Enuff’ Brown, a fellow Discogs obsessive not so keen on the editing side of the site, who wondered if I might give him a hand sorting out the mess of his own and his label’s (2Tuf 4U) discographies. His entertaining phonecalls were enough to convince me.

I dug out all my stuff related to Karl’s label to listen to along the way, and found myself noticing how much UKG has been back in the spotlight of late (key, and brilliant, article here: RA: Like A Battle: The Push For UK Garage's Future (residentadvisor.net) ). While by no means unaware of this (I’ve had some lovely promos from Kiwi and the like of late, plus some moodier bits from various El-B worshippers), my status as a confirmed middle-aged semi-retired raver had hidden much of this from me. This leads me onto one of my big philosophical points of recent years: I listened to dance music avidly before I ever went out dancing, and listen to it now in lockdown, and in semi-retirement. There is far too much an emphasis among ever-rejuvenating dance music correspondents on ‘the club’ as the only way to enjoy dance music, but we know that OG disco fans are 60+ and unlikely to be out every weekend these days – is their experience now worthless? Online fans talk up their love of dance music for exercise soundtracks, bedtime calming soundtracks, etc: this is reality. Dance music is as valid to all these people as rock is to people who haven’t been to a gig in 40 years.

The style I felt myself most drawn back to was bassline (largely via Karl’s low-key issue of some DJ Q material). My love of UK Garage and all its offshoots largely stems from how physically removed I have been from it from virtually its entire history. Only my 2000-03 stint in Essex perfectly matched the garage waveform, and that was the 2-step era, quite the opposite of bassline. Despite being largely a northern phenomenon, Blackpool is largely untouched by bassline, being all about punk and bounce to my mind. An instant love for me circa 2007, bassline feels like one of those genres with unfinished business, but remains one I’ve rarely danced to. Cut off in its prime, it is now back, enormously popular, and rightly so, but, due to the vagaries of the digital music world, some of its key material remains tough to access in any decent form.

I originally wrote the piece I have butchered for this one in March 2008, on Myspace (remember that), in reaction to the exciting waves of bassline and UK funky then reinvigorating the world of UKG. It looks a bit embarrassing now, with more writing experience, although I continue to applaud my own willingness to be open about my innocent appreciation of things I love but am not truly part of.

 The most notable misstep in my original piece was the presumption that bassline would become the latest enormous chart sensation. Like happy hardcore before it, the ball was, in reality, fumbled. Instead of hoped-for freaky innovation, the producers also opted, as many in years gone by, for smoothed-out commerciality (in unholy alliance with low-grade grime crossovers), although the main adversarial issues seem to have been police crackdowns and the London-centric ‘cool police’. Although I was long aware of such problems with Niche in Sheffield (the genre’s spiritual home), it appears that the police interference had a devastating effect across the board ( Banned From Sheffield: How Jamie Duggan fought for bassline… And won (ukf.com) ). This largely explains why many of the bassline producers gravitated towards the largely wack bass house/house & bass style so beloved of teenyboppers in recent years. Thank heavens that era is now largely over.

Niche reputedly specialised in an arguably unholy mixture of dated late 90s speed garage and ‘bassline house’ (think ‘Let Me Show You’ by Camisra, and MK’s ‘organ house’), way past their sell-by date (I still only really like a handful of Shaun Banger Scott bits in this style, one single 2009 Brummie CD EP, and one Virgo remix). Ultimately, though, this experiment unexpectedly created something magical. The crucial element here is the 4/4 beat. While undoubtedly skippy, the vast majority of the material favoured had a firm 4/4 beat, always favoured across all key scenes in the north of England from northern soul onwards. When they ran out of tunes to rinse, in time-honoured fashion, they made their own. Long, rumbling walls of bass, organs, and hoppy-skippy beats, with raggafied samples and gunshots over the top. Popular in Birmingham as well (pretty much the centre of a vinyl glut at the time, and now notable in the popularity of DJs such as Chris Lorenzo and Hannah Wants), B-side titles hinted of coke overload. Disenfranchised by London’s movement away from the holy 4/4 (despite a slight revival in the early noughties), and via messenger services and the like, northern producers began to exchange a new hybrid in the mid-00s which took these speed garage and bassline house influences and updated them with current R’n’B bootlegs, with influences from grime (regional grime producers were key here) and, most notably, with rococo basslines. Its most obvious comparison point was Sticky’s garage productions, concurrent with the early grime era. Southern producers such as Agent X, Delinquent (who featured Gemma Fox on their magical 2006 ‘Boxers’), and Dexplicit (Fox again, 2005’s ‘Might Be’) ran with that, and the north lapped it up. Key early pointers also included DJ Narrows’ superb 2001 4/4 tune ‘Saved Soul’, and early 00s DND work (Artwork, later part of dubstep supergroup Magnetic Man). A notable increase in output came in 2006, and 2007-9 were the genre’s original glory years. And the bulk of producers and up-&-comings delivering serious anthems to the scene came not from London and the south-east, but from Leeds (T2, Wittyboy, Nastee Boi), Bradford (TS7), Manchester (Murkz, Burgaboy, Subzero), Nottingham (Virgo, IllMana), Leicester (JTJ, H20, FB & Zibba), and Wolverhampton (EJ, TRC, Brett Maverick). EJ’s Ejucation mix series (all up on Soundcloud) is a good place to start, beginning as the bassline house began to be overtaken by the pure bassline numbers.

Distribution for serious UK garage music has often been woeful, with only high street compilations & the chart singles (‘Heartbroken’ by T2, ‘What’s It Gonna Be’ by H20, etc) making it all over the country, and this helped stymie the true development of bassline, although vinyl prices, dreadful video promos, and the leap to digital in some ways didn’t help. Years on, as an incorrigible vinyl fanatic, I still only have handful of bassline 12”s. Yes, you can now access this stuff the world over via Youtube etc, but decent, high-quality copies of full-length tunes (they are often hacked about to great effect, but in a way which obscures the original intentions, in the mix) are not always the easiest to come by, although the classic producers are increasingly putting out digital compilations of their original work. Material that would, for previous genres, be fiended after, is lost to being just more online links. At the time, I looked high and low for 12”s, succeeding only rarely, largely on the flip of UK Funky releases. The (mixtape) audience, going by comments online, were often extremely young, are probably now still only in their mid-twenties, and are seemingly happy enough with this chaotic model. Bassline originally, as all rave genres, largely ran off mixtape boxsets, and a 2007 ‘Pure Bass – Fantasy’ box from Stoke remains my key document of that era: seven bassline CDs, with many tracks repeated, but packed to the gills, with most tracks only lasting a minute or two in the mix. As with all rave mixes, it has taken me years to suss the majority of the track IDs. In the Resident Advisor piece linked above, DJ Q (from Huddersfield) talks about thousands of lost bassline tunes, the bad side of the digital revolution. My recent Discogs ferreting suggests more bassline tunes than one might imagine did make some sort of decent release, but too many only made white labels, promo CDs for commercial releases (before being snipped from the main release), mix CDRs, or Youtube’s grainy depths. Classics such as TS7 featuring Bianca’s ‘Seems Like’ appear to never have had any decent release whatsoever, despite TS7 going on to be a big name in bass-oriented house, and Bianca Gerald having kept at the vocal turns ever since.

T2 hit biggest, with ‘Heartbroken’, a gorgeous, smashed-vocal garage dub so popular that it even inspired a Jersey Club refix. His catalogue was immediately deep, although I get the impression he has stopped adding to it. One complaint about bassline, including some of the T2 work, regards the untutored vocals, which can sometimes be rather flat, and certainly lacking in dynamics compared to the dazzling US vocalists featured on some earlier UK garage pieces (I refer here, as always, to TJ Cases’ remarkable ‘Do It Again’). I kinda like that - it shows amateur enthusiasm not far removed from punk, and most obviously links to lover’s rock, as does the production at times: it gives a feeling of melancholy entirely suited to the vocals. Other bassline heroes include TS7, who briefly brought to the fore sassy female garage MC T Dot. His productions also include ‘Smile’, one of my very favourite bassline tracks, full of that Simon Reynolds-quoted 'weird energy’ possessed by DJ Hype & co in the early nineties. Male bassline vocalists such as Ideal also remain unfairly forgotten, although some of the female vocalists have gone on to work in related genres since bassline’s peak.

Paleface, an ex-member of London garage rap crew Stonecold GX, runs Northern Line Records (FB, TRC, Wittyboy, Nastee Boi), something of a quality mark for bassline productions, while also making highly successful UK Funky tunes as part of Crazy Cousinz, and later progressing into commercial house territory. He chronicled much of bassline’s high-water mark (including being married to Kyla, since sampled by Drake). Wolverhampton-based Northern Line signing TRC proved particularly adaptable, spewing out a legion of original tunes and remixes before retreating for a while to grime. Leeds’ Nastee Boi was a favourite of mine at the time, with his pitch-black gangsta bassline tunes, but pushed on towards a mixture of underwhelming R’n’B vocal cuts and nursery grime toons. Wittyboy started similarly punishingly but also went smoother, unbalancing the classic bassline rough and smooth combination.

Now that the dubiously poisonous rep of Niche has been dispatched, the key bassline acts have returned to their key battleground, and the genre seems in full throttle again. Much of the new material seems a little one-dimensional to me: producers invariably big up Bristol’s My Nu Leng as, I suppose, a bridge from bro-step to 4/4. Everything, as acknowledged by the DJs, is huge drops and nothing much else. It still sounds pretty hot though – not the updated lover’s rock of a decade ago, but worth supporting. Bassline is NOT finished!