#why is it that I come back on pride month with implied homophobia and why does that feel on brand

[mismatched-sockss]

Say something

» Summary: You and Emily have been seeing each other for a couple of months now -without anyone knowing -, but can't keep being her secret. » Pairing: Emily Prentiss x fem!BAU!Reader » Word count: 3,9k (omg, when??) » Warnings: angst, it's implied that reader is outed - Emily isn't, allusions to intercourse in the beginning, mentions of (internalized) homophobia, mentions of coming out (forced coming out is mentioned, one (1) small implication of conversion therapy like stuff (it's only talked about, no details or anything close)) and unsupportive family, mentions of Emily's mother probably not accepting her sexuality (like Rosa Diaz' mother/parents in Brooklyn 99, and a thing or two my own mother said), Emily is kind of mean ig?, cheating but not really?, cm typical stuff is mentioned (not detailed), kind of open but definitively more leaning to a sad ending; please let me know if i missed anything! » A/N: written for @imagining-in-the-margins' Pride Challenge, i used the “It’s never felt like this before. I've never felt like this before.” dialogue prompt; also based on Say something I'm giving up on you by Sam Redden; tenses? i don't know her here; no body description --- pls take a look here for more info about my reader descriptions in general

⚶ masterlist ⚶

The euphoric bliss that had flooded over you just moments before, leaves your body with every passing second, and the more it wears out, the more the dreadful empty feeling that had slithered its way into your heart not too long ago takes its place. Your breathing is still going fast and your heart hasn't had enough time to slow down yet, when you narrow your eyes while looking at the ceiling. Why did you do this to yourself? Again. This couldn't go on like this.

"I can't do this any more."

You can hear Emily move next to you, turning her head to look at you. She is breathing fast and her warm breath hits your bare shoulder. "What do you mean?" She brushes a few stands of her hair back that had fallen over her eyes.

All of a sudden everything is getting too much. The sensation of sweat running down the back of your neck, the air Emily is exhaling and how it is hitting your skin, over all her presence next to you in the bed. Her bed. Naked.

With a scoff you sit up and bury you face in your hands before you slide them up, racking your fingers through your damp hair. "This. Us. I just- I can't go on like this, spending my nights with you and act as if I haven't touched every inch of your body the next day."

Today is not the first time you had said it out loud and talked about it with her, about wanting to be able to hold and kiss her around other people. It is not the first time you are thinking about this, about leaving because nothing changed event though she had promised and her reasons – excuses , really, at this point – had been valid in the beginning, but now, every time she comes up with a new one they sound more and more made up. Honestly, you can't remember the newest one to a full extent – it had been so absurd –, but it had something to do with her shoes. Like, come on, really? Shoes...?

For a short moment it is silent except for both your breathing. You wait, and when she doesn't say anything you get up to get dressed. Nothing more than your name leaves Emily's lips, and not louder than a whisper, as you walk around the room to pick up your clothes and put them back on. “What?” you say flatly, but you don't look at her. You close the button of your pants and look around the room for your second sock.

“It's good what we are having. I like it how it is.” She shuffles closer, crawling over to edge of the mattress. “And sneaking around is exciting, isn't it?”

You crouch down to pull the missing sock from under the bed and bite down on your lip as your heart clenched painfully. Sneaking around?

“Is that what this is to you? Just... Sneaking around? That's all it is, huh.” A dry laugh leaves your lips as you slip the sock over your foot and then turn to walk out of the room.

“Oh c'mon, Y/N. It's fun, isn't it?” – Fun?! So this was just fun for her? – “You and I, we... It's enough how it is, don't you think?”

With one step out of the bedroom, the other foot still inside, you look back over your shoulder. “All this hiding is enough for you?” You don't fully turn around, you don't want to face her and look into her eyes. Don't want Emily to see the tears that are starting to pool in your eyes or how much her words are breaking your heart.

“I'm not hiding”, she says, defending herself, totally ignoring what you really meant.

You shake your head and leave the room, picking up your bag from the couch in the living room as you walk past it. “You are. And I get it, you're not out and that's okay.” Emily gets up from the bed and quickly puts on a bathrobe before she follows you out, watching you collect your things and walking to the front door. “You shouldn't come out unless you are ready. But at least be honest with yourself-”

“I am. not. hiding”, she interrupts you, her voice sounds strained and as if she is speaking through gritted teeth. The soft pat pat of her bare feet on the floor stop just two meters behind you.

Something in you snaps. "Yeah well, you are hiding me and I'm sick of being your god damn dirty little secret! I love you for fucks sake!"

You freeze as soon as the words leave your mouth, in the middle of putting on your jacket, and for a moment neither of you says a word, the silence seems louder than anything else, louder than how loud you just yelled those words. It was the first time either of you had said those three words to the other and the timing could not be any worse.

"You... What?"

You shake your head, breaking out of your frozen state and bend down to put on your shoes next. "Forget it. I'm done." is what you say. We're done is what you mean.

You wish she would at least say something, but Emily stays silent and when you reach for the door and open it, she doesn't keep you from walking out. When you close the door behind you, she doesn't open it again to call out for you. And when you reach the stairs at the end of the hallway and take the first steps down, the door stays closed and she doesn't run after you.

She let you leave like it was nothing, like you were nothing. Like all the time you had spent together meant nothing to her. All those days and nights full of hushed voices whispering sweet nothings to each other, full of soft touches and even softer kisses. Emily let you walk out of her apartment, her life, as if you never meant anything to her, like the last six months indeed were nothing more than fun to her.

From the moment you step out of the door of Emily's apartment building, to the moment you walk in and close the door of your own, you feel numb and you operated solely on autopilot on your way home. If someone were to ask you what route you had taken home or if you missed a red light even, you wouldn't be able to tell them.

As if a it hasn't been enough for one night, you get called into work just 30 minutes later; the body of a young woman had been found, tortured and mutilated, and another young woman had been abducted only five miles from where the body was found.

When you arrive in the round table room you greet your team mates grimly and you are relieved that you got in before Emily. When she enters minutes later, you don't turn around, you don't say hello and you do your best to ignore her. The tension in the room is palpable and judging by the looks the others shoot between her and you, they know that something had happened between you two.

They didn't know that you were dating – hooking up? What ever the fuck it had been to her anyway –, but you didn't have to be a profiler or even know either of you personally to see that something was up. Hotch is kind enough to not team the two of you up, sending you to the disposal site with Rossi instead.

The days since you walked out of Emily's apartment turned into weeks. The days turned into weeks since you last talked, like really talked. You had kept your distance to her as much as you could, trying to sort out your feelings and trying to see if she would take a step in your direction, to see if she even cared at all.

But, slowly but surely you had to accept the fact, that everything pointed to her not caring about you. Every conversation with her was strictly professional, talking about the cases was the only time you spoke to each other. Not a day goes by when you don't wish she would say something more to you, something personal, something deeper. Something emotional. That she would say something that would keep you from giving up on her. But she never did.

You should have known from the start that this was how it would end, that the only outcome from getting involved with Emily would be that you would end up with a broken heart. Naivety couldn't even begin to describe why you had even wasted a single thought about having a future with her, a happy ending; with Emily, a woman who hasn't come out, a woman with a mother who would be more okay with her daughter being the side chick of some married man, maybe even multiple, than to accept her daughter to be in a relationship with another woman; a mother who says, that she “doesn't care who her daughter ends up with, as long as it isn't someone of the same gender”.

Ever since the night you broke up with Emily – if you could even call it a break up when you weren't even a couple, officially speaking – you cry yourself to sleep and your feelings are bouncing back and forth, scrambling your mind and heart in to a broken, confused mess.

On one side, you are drowning in the shattered pieces of your heart; the pain getting stronger every time you see Emily, the longing and yearning strangling you harder every time you are left alone in a room with her, the floor under your feet crumbling away stone by stone with every day that passes without her reaching out to you. You miss her, you miss her so fucking much, and way more than you would like to admit – even to yourself, which is kind of hypocritical, considering you had told Emily to “be honest to herself”.

On the other side, you are cursing yourself for unintentionally giving her an ultimatum of some sort; not only for going public about your relationship, but therefore also for her to come out, even if only to your team, your friends. It was far from your intentions to pressure Emily into anything she didn't want to do, into something that she wasn't ready for. You never set a time or anything like that, but the implication was there – intended or not – by wanting to go public.

It is scary; coming out... As a woman who loves women, a man who loves men or either loving both. It doesn't matter if you come out as transgender, non-binary or gender-fluid, asexual or aromantic, or … or. ... or ... It doesn't matter who you are or what you feel or who you love: it is hard and scary either way and you never know how the person in front of you will react, even if you think you know.

Coming out to people, to friends, who you trust and know on a deeper level – even when you already for a hundred percent are sure that they will accept you no matter what – is hard enough. Coming out to your family is another kind of scary uncertainty: hoping they will still love you, that they will accept and support you; the fear of them turning their backs on you, cutting you out of their lives and on top of all this, hoping that if this was the case, that this was all they would do, hoping it would stay the lesser kind of evil and that they wouldn't go to any extreme measures to try and “fix” you. It was already hard enough to come out planned and willingly at your own pace. But having to do it for what ever reason? Unimaginable. Cruel.

On more than one evening you dialled Emily's number, your thumb hovering over the green button and ready to press down. Ready to apologize for how you had reacted and what you had said, for pressuring her. Maybe even apologizing for telling her that you loved her –

Wait. What?

Yes, maybe you should swallow your pride and call her first and ask her to talk; but apologizing for your feelings? No, you were done with shoving your feelings down and taking what you could get and stay in a one-sided relationship – letting the person use and play with you while they were stringing you along. For them to give you a slither of requited affection whenever they could feel you slip away, depending on your soft heart and that you would stay in hopes they will requite your feelings, your love, someday. No, you were done slowly dying for unrequited love.

The ball is in her court and it is on her to throw it back or to keep it.

Being around Emily has gotten unbearable these last six weeks. You had never felt like this before, never felt like this for anyone else until you had met her. It was all overwhelming and too much, but not enough at the same time, the feelings overpowering you in the best and worst kind of ways; pushing and pulling at your heart, slowly tearing it apart but also glueing it back together in a wild storm of emotions. You felt like you were just starting to learn how to love, but also knowing exactly how to do it – how to love her, in the right way and with everything you had; heart, body and soul.

But it doesn't seem like your love is enough; enough to save what ever you and Emily had been having, to find your way back into each others arms.

The last straw, the rotten cherry on top, was on a night out with the team to celebrate a successful case at a bar near the FBI building and you walked in on Emily making out with someone else in a dark corner near the restrooms. It was too dark for you to fully see the other person. And for a second you aren't sure what would hurt you more: if she was making out with a man, or with a woman.

You get your answer rather quickly, when Emily sees you and pushes the person away. They stumble back a step or two and then turn their head to follow Emily's gaze. And... it's a woman.

There are no words to describe how you are feeling as the realisation sinks in; leaving you cold and numb. How could you have been so stupid? It had never been about her. Not about the hurtful and homophobic things her mother always says to her, not about her outing, not about her feelings. It had nothing to do with not being ready to come out and go public about your relationship. It had to do with going public about being with you. The problem, her problem, is and always has been you.

Is she really embarrassed about you, about being with you? That's a new one... You wonder if she ever even liked you in the first place.

It feels like an eternity before either of you move again, after just looking at each other.

“W- what are you doing here?” Emily mutters and you see her wince when she realises how stupid that question was.

You scoff and narrow your eyes at her. “Looking for the exit”, you answer her, deadpan, before turning on your heels and walking back to the table where you and your team were sitting to get your things. You don't answer any of their worried questions about what was wrong, you just down the rest of your drink and grab your purse. You get your wallet out and throw a couple of bills on the table to pay for your part of the tab before you walk out of the bar without another word.

You make your way to the office right after you walked out. Last week, you had gotten the offer to transfer back to the IRT again; well, unofficially offered actually. You had only been on Hotch's team for four years; before then, you had worked under Jack Garrett for quiet some time. Occasionally, maybe twice a year, you travelled with them for consultations. So when Matt Simmons goes on paternity leave in a couple of days, you are the first person Garrett asks to come back for the time being and you were happy to do so. Garrett had called you and as you spoke you joked about feeling hurt that he only wanted to keep you for one month. And even though he was joking too when he said he'd be happy to have you back permanently, you knew he meant it.

Just last week you hadn't been sure if you wanted to stay with your current team or go back. The stack of forms that were needed to request a permanent transfer were already sitting in a drawer of your desk, all filled out. The fact that you had filled them out right after the call ended should have told you then, that you already had made up your mind.

When you reach the sixth floor, you hear the ding of the elevator softly echo through the empty halls. You make a beeline to your desk in the bull pen and fish your keys out of your purse to unlock the drawer. Just when you took out the envelope with all the forms and reach down to close the drawer again, you hear the soft ding again, followed by the sound of the doors sliding open.

Your back is turned to the doors so you don't know who walks out of the elevator; you guess it had to be someone on their way to the crime lab or something.

Until you hear your name that is, and you immediately freeze. How the fuck did she know you would be here?

You turn around and see Emily standing in the bull pen, but keeping a distance to you. “Can we talk?” She slowly walks closer and her gaze falls on the envelope. “What are you doing?”

You press the tip of your tongue to your cheek and take a second before you answer. “Paper work.”

“Paper work?”

“Yes.” You pick up your keys and start to walk towards Hotch's office. You don't want to hear what she has to say.

She says your name again and grips your arm to stop you from walking away. “It's not what you think.”

You laugh at the cliche reaction. Of course it's not what you think. It never is, isn't it?

“Okay, what is it then? Tell me”, you challenge her as you turn to look at her, your tone cold and the corners of you lips are twitching to form a bitter smile, “Go on, tell me. Because it seems pretty obvious to me.”

You twist your arm out of her grip and before she even has time to say something, you bite out: “You know what? We're not even together, I don't care what you do and who you do it with. Fuck who ever you want for all I care. Start with your- who ever she is.”

“I don't want to talk about her.”

“Oh, you don't? Too bad. What else is there to talk about then?”

For a moment she opens and closes her mouth, ending her answer before she even spoke it out loud. “I-. I want to talk about u- about you and me.”

When you don't react she nods her head, like she is confirming that you had hear right and that it was indeed what she wanted.

“Really? Now, you suddenly want to talk to me, about us?” She nods again, her eyes wide and she is giving you the best pleading puppy dog eyes she can do.

“No.”

For a moment she is taken aback and she blinks a couple of times. “No?”

You take a step back and cross your arms over your chest. “No. I don't want to talk. The only reason you want to talk, now, is because I saw you. It's too late. You had six weeks to talk, but you didn't. You're too late. I would have followed you anywhere, you know. Wherever you would want me to go. I would have followed you to the end of the fucking world and would even walk farther, falling over the edge into the abyss. I would walk through fire for you and I'd do it with a smile.”

You couldn't stop yourself from spilling it all out; and just like you can't stop the tears that started to run down your face, you can't stop talking. “You're it for me, you are the one I love. And it’s never felt like this before. I've never felt like this before.” You sniffle and bite down on your lip. “You are the one. And if I am not to you, and you don't love me back that's fine but then at least have the balls to fucking tell me, instead of making up excuses why you don't want to tell anybody that we are seeing each other.”

She had put on a mask while you were talking, hiding her true emotions. Yet again, you wait for her to say something. And yet again all you are met with, is silence.

“Say something...”, you say, almost begging. “Just... Say something...”

Nothing. Emily stays silent and just looks at you, a vacant and unreadable expression on her face and in her eyes. The small part in you that is still wishing upon a star and is hoping, that she would come through, waited for her to talk. But it is no use. She stays silent, like all the other times in these last weeks. So much for her wanting to talk.

“Figures”, you scoff, a bitter smile stretching on your lips, and you wipe your nose with the back of your hand. “I should have given up on you way before I even kissed you”, you say under your breath. You aren't sure if she heard you, but in all honesty, you don't care.

Without wasting another second you turn around and walk up to Hotch's office. You place the envelope with the filled out forms for your immediate transfer in the middle of your Unit Chief's – well, ex Unit Chief's– desk. His signature being the last thing you needed before you could file the request.

You walk out of his office, not sparing even one last look at Emily, who hasn't moved. A few steps after you passed her you stop for a moment to say something for a last time, before you cross the rest of the bull pen and walk out through the glass door; leaving the BAU behind. Leaving her behind.

Two small words, nothing more..

“Goodbye Emily.”

» A/N 2: i really hope i did this justice, especially the (not) coming out parts, tbh i don't think i myself ever really came out, like 'officially', but i have always been open about being bisexual (no idea if my parents ever really connected the dots, but we're no contact either way for different reasons, so what ever) so i'm not sure how well i portrayed it; ...

🌈 Always remember, no matter if you are in the closet or not: you are worthy, you are loved and you are perfect the way you are! Stay safe. 🖤🤎🤍❤️🧡💛💚💙💜

[maybeimamuppet]

the rainbow road

hello everyone!! 

happy priiiiide i actually genuinely did not plan having this be the first fic i posted in pride month but daaaaang it worked out lol

this was requested by OnlyHere4TheFandoms on wattpad. here it be yay :))

quite possibly the longest list of trigger warnings i’ve ever had haha oops 

pre-coming out misgendering/deadnaming 

trans/homophobia

child abuse

abandonment

bullying 

outing

self harm 

suicide attempt/ideation

implied ed

dslur

happy pride once again. whether you realized it like these kiddos or much later in life. whether you’re out and proud or watching from the closet. much love <33

enjoy!

—————

Janis still remembers the first time she thought something was up with her best friend. 

They were six years old. Having a play date at Janis’ house. Dana’s mom had come to pick her up, but they begged and pleaded and managed to get their mothers both to agree to another two whole hours while they had some coffee and caught up. 

They decided to play their favorite game, knights and princesses. Dana is always the knight. Janis doesn’t mind so much. She likes being the princess. Her old pink princess Halloween costume doesn’t fit so well anymore since she’s grown so much, but she can pretend it’s not so tight and itchy. It’s as easy as pretending the crown on her head isn’t plastic and standing on her dresser is as scary as being locked high away in a tower guarded by a fearsome dragon.

“Fear not, fair maiden!” Dana says, brandishing her sword against Janis’ puppy, Molly. “I will slay this foul beast and save you from your… uh… jail!” 

“Imprisonment, Dana,” Janis says with a roll of her eyes. She giggles as Molly chomps down on the foam sword and shakes her head, trying to steal the toy. 

“Hey! Molly,” Dana giggles, wiggling it gently to wrestle it back.

“You’re not supposed to eat it, Molly,” Janis laughs. Molly’s dragon hat is falling off, so she hops down and adjusts it. 

“Hey! You’re not supposed to get down! How am I supposed to save you now?” 

“I guess the princess saved herself this time,” Janis says with a shrug. She rolls on the ground to wrestle with the delighted pup and eventually rips off the dragon costume. “The beast is… vanished!” 

“Vanquished!” Dana admonishes.

“That’s it!” Janis nods. 

“We gotta read more storybooks, I think,” Dana says as she starts pulling off her foam armor. 

“I’ll ask for more for my birthday soon.” 

“Oh, yeah!” Dana nods eagerly. Janis pulls off her hot, itchy dress, but decides to leave the crown on. “Janis?”

“Yeah?” 

“D’you ever wish you could be a boy? And not just for dress up?”

“Mm… no,” Janis says. “Well, sometimes I wish that girls could kiss girls like boys get to. But I don’t think I wanna be a boy.”

Dana is quiet, running her finger over the new teeth marks in her sword. 

“Why?” 

“Nothing. You wanna play spacemans?” Dana says, dropping her sword on the floor. Janis will definitely be in trouble later if she doesn’t clean up, but that can wait. Spacemans comes first. 

“Yeah!” she says, conversation forgotten. 

—————

They were ten when they learned there was a word for everything. 

Dana had been deemed old enough to inherit her dad’s old work laptop after he got a new one. She quickly discovered the wonder of the internet. And a few of the horrors. 

Janis came over for a sleepover. They watched a few pirated PG-13 movies. Janis had to be talked into it, briefly fearing the police would find out and come to lock them up for good. Or worse, their parents. God knows what they would do. 

Dana reassured her that she had done this before and no police nor parents had ever found out. They’d be fine as long as they didn’t fess up. Janis was pinky-sworn to secrecy and let herself enjoy a few movies. 

“D’you remember when we were little and you said you wanna kiss girls?” Dana asks as the third one’s credits scroll on the fuzzy old screen. 

“What?!” Janis gasps. 

“Hey, you said it,” Dana says. 

“I did not! I don’t wanna kiss anyone!” 

“You did so!” Dana insists. 

“And besides, girls can’t kiss other girls!” Janis huffs. “It’s illegal.” 

“No it’s not,” Dana giggles. “It’s just illegal for girls and girls and boys and boys to get married. But my mom says they’re gonna change it soon.” 

“Oh,” Janis says. 

“So you can kiss girls if you want to.” 

“I don’t! Gross!” Janis groans, burying her face in her pillow. 

“Not even Regina George?” Dana teases. Janis rears up with a gasp and whacks her with a pillow. 

“You’re horrible!” 

“Ow, hey!” Dana laughs. “You’re horribler.” 

“That’s impossible,” Janis grumbles. 

“But I’m your best friend! We got the necklaces and everything!” Dana gasps. 

“They say cousins, Dana,” Janis says with a roll of her eyes. 

“My mom read the package wrong. At least they match,” Dana huffs, closing the laptop and rolling onto her back. 

“Why’d you ask me that?” Janis asks quietly, lying on her stomach next to her. 

“Ask you what?” 

“About the… kissing girls thing.” 

“Oh,” Dana says. “I found a website. I think it’s bad. But there’s a word for girls who kiss girls. Called lesbian. And another word for girls who wanna be boys.” 

“Really?” Janis asks. “We’re not the only ones?” 

“I don’t think so.” 

“Huh. What’s the word for you?”

“Transgender,” Dana recites immediately. She’s clearly done a good bit of research here. 

“Like Transformers?” Janis asks. 

“I think so. Cause they… transform.” 

“Into a boy?” 

“Yeah. But it can go the other way, too. Some boys wanna be girls,” Dana says in disbelief. “Who’d ever wanna be a girl?”

“I dunno. Girls are prettier. And they smell better,” Janis says. 

“When I’m a boy I’ll still be pretty,” Dana says. “And smell nice.” 

“You can turn into a boy?” Janis asks. 

“I’m gonna ask my mom soon. And my dad always says he wants a son. They’ll be happy,” Dana says. 

“Cool. Can I come when you transform?” Janis asks. 

“Duh!” Dana says. “You gotta make sure they’re not actually gonna turn me into a truck or something.” 

“Oh yeah,” Janis giggles. 

“Do… you think you’ll still be my friend? When I’m a boy?” Dana asks quietly. 

“Duh,” Janis retaliates, poking her best friend in the belly. “We got the necklaces, after all.” 

“Good. You wanna go watch Mulan in the basement?” Dana asks. 

“I’ll get the popcorn!” 

—————

Janis noticed how uncomfortable her friend looked being called a ‘she’ or a ‘her’ or ‘Dana’ after that day. Always a grimace or a wince. She’d fold her arms over her chest, almost like she was trying to keep down the things she knew were doomed to come. 

She never did around Janis, though. Something about their history together, Janis supposed. 

Then Dana’s dad left. 

They were eleven. 

It was November. They’d gotten home from school a few hours earlier eager for three extra days off of school for Thanksgiving break. 

Janis was playing in the backyard with her almost-five year old little sister when she heard two car doors open and close from the other side of the house and the doorbell echoing from inside. 

She continued pushing her sister on the swings, figuring it must be someone trying to sell something or convince them to find Jesus. Janis hopes that whoever this Jesus guy is, his family find him soon. Sounds like they’ve been missing him for a long time. 

“Janis, Julie, time to come in,” their father says. Janis looks up and shudders a bit at the dark look gracing his features. 

“But-” Julie begins to protest. 

“Now, girls.” 

“No fair!” Julie whines, climbing off the swing and moping inside. Janis has been bored for a while, and it’s getting dark and cold. She heads in with nowhere near as much complaint. 

She freezes when she sees her best friend crying at the end of the hallway and their mothers talking frantically in hushed voices. 

“Mama? What’s going on?” 

“Oh, Janis!” her mother gasps. “You scared me. Why don’t you go get Dana set up in your room, dear?” 

“Um… okay?” Janis says in confusion. “What’s-” 

“I’ll explain later. You two go get settled in. Dana’s spending the night tonight.” 

Janis knows the tense look in her mother’s brow means now is not the time to push. She gently tugs on Dana’s sleeve to get her to follow her upstairs. Dana sags onto Janis’ bed like a thousand pound weight is sitting on her shoulders. Janis has never seen her cry like this. 

Janis leaves her to her feelings while she gets a sleeping bag unrolled on the ground next to her bed and grabs a spare pillow. She hesitates briefly before she sits down next to her best friend. “What happened?” 

“I… I told them,” Dana chokes. 

“Told them what?” 

“That-that I want to be a boy.” 

“Oh.” Janis says quietly. “You still want to?” 

“Not anymore,” Dana growls. “Not if this is what people do.” 

“What do you mean?” Janis asks sadly. Dana turns to look at her head on, and Janis gasps when she sees the red, almost glowing, hand-shaped welt on her cheek. “Dana!” 

“Can-can you not call me that? Please?” Dana begs. 

“Okay. What-what should I call you instead?” Janis asks, pausing her concern for the briefest of moments. 

“I don’t know. Anything but that.” 

“How about… D?” Janis asks. Dana nods frantically. Or, D does. “D, who hit you?” 

“Dad,” D chokes. 

“Your dad hit you? He can’t do that!” Janis says. 

“He did anyway,” D sobs. 

“Why?” Janis asks, desperately trying to understand. 

“He-he called me a freak. He said I was confused, but I told him-him that I’ve been-been thinking about-bout this for a really-really long time. And then he… he hit me. And he left.” 

“He can’t do that!” Janis repeats. “Your mom better talk to him when he comes back.”

D looks at her sadly. She’s quiet for a minute before whispering, “He-he’s not coming back, Janis.” 

“What do you mean?” Janis asks, feeling her chest go cold. 

“He packed his stuff. He said he wasn’t gonna-gonna stick around if this is how I was gonna make-make him live. He said it wasn’t right.” 

Janis blinks in confusion. D’s dad was always a little scary. But she never would’ve thought the man who grilled them delicious cheeseburgers on nice summer days while they played in D’s backyard, the man who made them pancakes for breakfast after sleepovers, the man who sang embarrassing karaoke with them at D’s tenth birthday, the man who gave them sparklers on the Fourth of July and birthday presents and new stuffed animals… would do this. 

“I’m sorry, D,” Janis says, not knowing what else to say. “I’ll be right back.” 

D looks up in confusion as Janis says this and watches as she runs out of the room. Their moms have moved to the living room, and Janis’ stepdad is putting Julie to bed down the hall. Janis runs into the kitchen to grab an ice pack and a towel for D’s face, and some ice cream with two spoons. 

“Janis, sweetheart,” D’s mother says. “Did… did Dana tell you what happened?” 

Janis nods solemnly. “She wants to be called D now, Mrs. Leigh.” 

“D?” she questions. She nods tightly. It’s quiet for a moment before she says, “Thank you for being there for her, honey.” 

Janis just nods. She lingers for a second. Nobody says anything, so she takes a few steps back towards her room. When nobody stops her, she runs the rest of the way back. 

“Here,” Janis says when she makes it back. D jumps as the door slams open, still on edge from what happened earlier. She smiles just a little as Janis shows off the ice cream. 

They lie side by side, D holding the ice pack against her cheek and sniffling periodically as they silently enjoy their favorite chocolate chip ice cream. 

Eventually, Janis’ mom knocks quietly on the door. Janis looks to D, who nods hesitantly. “Come in.” 

Janis’ mom steps in and shuts the door behind her. “How are you doing, Dan- uh. D?” 

“I’m okay,” D says quietly. 

“Poor girl,” Janis’ mother tuts. D tenses. 

“Mama, don’t call her a girl anymore,” Janis scolds, noticing her friend’s discomfort. 

“I don’t wanna be a her either,” D mumbles softly. 

“What do you wanna be then?” Janis asks. D shrugs. 

“Do you want to be a he?” Janis’ mother asks kindly. D shakes her head frantically. 

“What else is there?” Janis asks. 

Janis’ mother mulls this over and says, “Could be a they. Somewhere sort of in between.” 

“You wanna be a they, D?” Janis asks gently. D ponders. 

“Could we try it out? Just for tonight?” they ask quietly. 

“Of course,” Janis’ mother says kindly. “Have you had dinner, D?” 

“Yeah,” D nods. 

“And we got ice cream, Mama,” Janis says. 

Janis’ mother chuckles. “Of course. Just don’t eat too much, you know it’ll make your stomachs hurt.” 

D and Janis share a look that says they’re definitely going to finish the entire thing. Janis’ mother rolls her eyes. She inhales heavily before she gently says, “D, sweetheart, I couldn’t… help but notice your hair.” 

D instinctively reaches a hand to the back of their head. Janis somehow missed the huge chunk missing of their formerly long, beautiful chestnut brown hair. 

“Do you want me to help you fix it?” Janis’ mother continues. 

D hesitates, the hand they have wrapped around the spoon shaking. They put it down and grip their thighs to stop it. “Um… maybe later?” 

“Of course. Let me know if you want, alright? You two have fun up here. Julie’s asleep, so keep the noise to a minimum, please.” 

“We will,” Janis sighs. 

“Thanks, Mrs. Ian,” D adds politely. Janis’ mother smiles before she leaves them to their ice cream, clicking the door shut behind her. 

“What happened to your hair?” Janis asks. 

“I cut it,” D says sheepishly. 

“No duh, stupid,” Janis snorts. “Why?” 

“I don’t want it long anymore. That’s how my parents found out,” D says, pushing some of the ice cream around the rapidly emptying pint before hesitantly taking another bite. 

“My mom’s good at hair. She does my stepdad’s all the time,” Janis says. “She still won’t let me dye mine, though.”

“But your hair is so pretty!” D gasps. 

“That’s what she always says,” Janis huffs. 

“Why do you want to dye it?” 

“Regina wants us to match,” Janis shrugs. “Kinda like a uniform.” 

“You’d look nice as a blonde,” D nods. “I like your hair dark, though.” 

Janis shrugs again. “It’s what Regina wants.”

“But what do you want?” 

“For her not to hit me again,” Janis chuckles. 

“She hit you?” 

“Yeah. Not hard. It’s fine,” Janis says. 

“Friends shouldn’t hit you, Janis,” D says. 

“I know that, Da- D. She didn’t mean it, it’s fine. Let it go.” 

D eyes her oddly, but doesn’t mention anything again. The handprint on their cheek fades as they huddle together under Janis’ pink duvet and watch The Little Mermaid. 

“D’you think your mom will still do my hair?” D asks softly, fiddling with a stray thread on the blanket. Janis checks the clock on the computer and sees it’s past midnight now. Her mom might be asleep. They’re definitely supposed to be. 

She shrugs. “If she’s still up, she probably will.”

They both roll out of the bed and head off to find Janis’ mom. They hear raised voices coming from the kitchen.

“Wait here,” Janis says when they reach the top of the stairs. D looks at her in confusion, but sits and watches Janis go down. Janis heads down the hallway and stands there, listening. 

“I just don’t want Janis hanging around those kinds of people, Ettie,” she hears her stepdad say. 

“And what kind of people would that be, Greg?” her mom responds. 

She can practically hear her dad’s grit teeth. “You know damn well.” 

“They’re eleven years old. Nothing is-”

“Exactly. Eleven is way too young to be exposed to that sort of lifestyle.” 

“How is a child living in a way that makes them comfortable a lifestyle?” Janis’ mother questions. 

“It just isn’t natural, Ettie!” her father insists. “What if she influences Janis to be… like that?” 

“You know damn well nobody can influence Janis into anything she doesn’t want to do,” her mother huffs around a sardonic laugh. “If Janis does come out as something, she will still be my daughter. And I’d hope she’d be yours too.” 

It’s silent after that. Janis shows her face from behind the wall and tries her best to make it seem like she didn’t hear their whole conversation. “Mama, D wants to know if you can help with their hair now.”

“Now? It’s late, don’t you two want to get some sleep?” her mother responds. She forces a smile, but Janis can still see the strain behind her eyes and the tension held in her brow. 

“Mama,” Janis huffs with a roll of her eyes. 

Her mother chuckles. “Of course not. Go get her- them set up in the bathroom, I’ll be right up.” 

“Mmkay,” Janis says. She heads back up to her best friend, trying to forget what she just heard. “D, come on.” 

D follows her to the bathroom and winces a bit as she flips on the light, having gotten adjusted to the darkness of the hallway. Janis’ mother comes up after a few minutes with a stool from the kitchen. She sets it in front of the mirror and tells D to sit down on it. 

“How short do you want to go? I can just even it out with what you cut, if you want, or I can go shorter if you want… something more masculine,” she asks as she snaps the hair cutting cape around D’s neck. 

“I think just even it out, please,” D asks sheepishly. Janis can see their hands moving under the cape and sits on the counter so they can see each other. 

“You sure?” she asks. D nods. 

“Alrighty then,” Janis’ mother says. She takes her hair cutting scissors and goes to work, occasionally turning D’s head this way and that to make sure it’s even and looks nice. Long chunks of brown hair fall to the tile around them as she continues. Eventually, D’s hair is all about even with their chin. It frames their round face, and D looks at themselves with a smile. 

“What do you think?” Janis’ mother asks as she brushes some stray hairs off the back of D’s neck. 

“I like it a lot,” D says. “Thank you, Mrs. Ian.” 

“Of course, hon.” 

“Now me!” Janis says eagerly, watching how D’s hair bounces and twirls at this new short length. 

“You?” her mother chuckles. “I don’t remember asking if you wanted a haircut.” 

“But I’m telling you I want a haircut,” Janis responds. “Pleeeeease?” 

“We have to match,” D adds, knowing they have more sway with their friend’s parents than Janis ever could. Janis’ mother rolls her eyes, but pats the stool. 

“Yes!” Janis says, eagerly plopping herself down. She panics a bit as her mom snips off the first chunk and she hears the scissors slicing through her hair. Her mother leaves her hair a little bit longer, but she does lose a good few inches. Janis’ is about even with her shoulders by the time her mother is done. 

“Matching enough for the two of you?” she asks, brushing Janis clean of stray hairs. D and Janis look to each other and nod eagerly. 

“Your hair is so curly, D,” Janis chuckles. 

“Yours is too!” D responds with a giggle. 

Janis’ mom rolls her eyes as they both reach out to tug on each other’s newly short hair and it naturally devolves into playful fighting. She tidies up and goes to grab her camera. 

Janis and D pose against the wall in the hallway, arms around each other and matching smiles on their faces. Janis’ mother snaps a few sweet photos. 

“Alright, you two, to bed with you. Just because you’re on break doesn’t mean you get to stay up all night,” she says when she’s satisfied with what she’s gotten. 

“Fine. ‘Night Mama,” Janis says. 

“Goodnight, baby girl,” her mother replies. She kisses her forehead and sends her off to her room. 

“Goodnight, Mrs. Ian,” D says sheepishly. They get a matching forehead kiss. 

“Goodnight, sweetheart. Sweet dreams, you two.” 

D curls up in the sleeping bag on the floor while Janis gets comfortable in her bed. Molly trots in and curls up at her feet, but it feels… off. Janis tosses and turns, feeling the minutes drag by and by. Sleep doesn’t come. 

Eventually, she flops onto her side to peer off the edge of the bed at her best friend. “Psst.” 

“What?” D groans exhaustedly. 

“Are you awake?” 

“No,” D grumbles. “Whayouwant.” 

“I can’t sleep,” Janis whines. 

D rolls over and squints at her in the darkness. “What do you want me to do about it?” 

“Can we still cuddle even though you’re not a girl anymore?” 

D rolls their eyes and clambers their way out of the sleeping bag. Janis winces at the icky metallic rustling noise it makes, but smiles victoriously as her friend climbs into bed with her. “Goodnight, D.”

“‘Night, Janis.” 

—————

Things are okay until seventh grade. 

Dana’s family adjusted to not having their dad around. It took time, but she and her mom were actually thriving after a few months. D’s mom went back to nursing school and took a job at the hospital, and Dana started a support group composed of kids with absent fathers to help them cope with the new change. Things were weird, but… good. Good weird. 

D flipped back and forth every day (and sometimes hour to hour) on how they wanted to be referred to. Some days are she-days and Dana days. Other days are they-days. Janis cackled the first time they referred to these as D-days. 

They had one he-day about a month ago just to try it. D was anxious. Janis didn’t mention anything, but it was the happiest she’d seen her friend in a long time. 

Regina stopped spending time with Dana. She said they dressed weird and didn’t fit with the group anymore. D actually seemed relieved to be out. Janis was still in, though, and Dana was fine with that. 

Until one brisk March morning. 

Janis is, as always, the first one at school since both her parents work early mornings. It’s cool but not too cold outside today, so she sits on the concrete steps outside the main doors and sketches out Regina’s birthday card. She’s turning thirteen next month. The party is sure to be a big one. Janis can’t tell if she’s excited or completely dreading it. 

She looks up when she hears clicking footsteps on the pavement next to her. Regina is there, surrounded by a flock of the half-popular girls who managed to get into Regina’s good books for today. 

“Janis, I just wanted to tell you that I can’t invite you to my birthday party.” 

Janis frowns in confusion and tucks her pencil behind her ear. “What? Why? I-I’m your best friend.” 

“I can’t invite you because I think you’re a lesbian,” Regina says. “It’s a pool party and there’s gonna be girls there in their bathing suits, I can’t have a lesbian at my party.” 

Fuck. Janis knew telling Regina she had a crush on Rapunzel in that new Disney movie would come back to bite her. She feels a burning behind her eyes and bites her lip to stop it trembling. Don’t be a baby. Not now. 

“I mean, are you a lesbian?” Regina titters. The girls behind her echo her like some sadistic flock of birds. “What are you?” 

Janis feels like she’s going to be sick. Something she’s never felt before is writhing and squirming in her gut. It rises, and rises, and… “I am a space alien and I have four butts!” 

Regina blinks at her for a second. Neither of them are quite sure what to make of what Janis just said in earnest. But Regina breaks first. She bursts out into that fakey pretty laugh that’s all she ever does now. Janis scrambles to grab her things and runs into the building, only letting a sob escape as the heavy metal door slams behind her. 

She debates running to the office to call home and ask to be picked up. But if she leaves, people will notice. People will ask. People will tell Regina. Regina will win. 

She can make it through today. Through this year. It’s already March, she only has about two months left. She can handle that. Even without who she thought was one of her best friends. Forever. 

Janis spends the morning hiding in a sneaky corner in the girls’ bathroom, not able to care if she gets marked absent or tardy in her classes. She doesn’t do anything. Doesn’t sketch or play games on her iPod or do anything. She just thinks. Counting off every time the bell rings. 

She can hear the rabble outside signaling lunch time. A few girls come into the bathroom to touch up their makeup or hide away from the tempting food they’re trying to avoid even though they’re already pencil thin. None of them see her, but Janis sees them. 

“Did you hear about Janis?” one of them asks. 

“Regina’s friend?” the other responds, sounding like she’s trying not to touch her lips together as she touches up some gloss. 

“Yeah.”

“No, what did she do?” 

Janis rolls her eyes. Of course those two-faces immediately assume she’s the one at fault. That she’s done something wrong here. Has she? 

“She’s a lesbian.” 

“A what?” 

“A lesbian. It means she wants to bang other girls,” the first says. 

“Gross!” the other groans. “We have to share a bathroom with her!” 

“I know! She’s probably been spying on us changing in the locker rooms all this time and we were none the wiser!” 

No, I have taste, Riley, Janis thinks to herself. And I don’t even want to bang girls anyway. Well, kiss some, maybe. But everyone wants to do that. Right? 

“Someone should tell the principal. She shouldn’t be allowed to be around other girls.”

“Right? It’s so creepy,” the other girl says. 

Janis doesn’t come out from her spot until she hears their heels clacking off down the hall and the door slamming shut after them. 

She almost doesn’t recognize herself in the mirror. Her blonde hair falls just past her shoulders. Her curls have stretched into more of a loose wave from the damage the bleaching has done to it. Being… forced straight. She looks like a clone of Regina George. 

She wants to claw her skin off beneath the pink polyester dress she’s wearing today. It feels like poison against her skin, seeping slowly into her bloodstream. It itches. It hurts. 

Does everyone know? Janis asks herself as she splashes some cold water on her face and tries to make herself look tough. Does everyone think… that? 

She jumps as someone else comes bursting in. “Janis! Oh, thank god, there you are.” 

“D? What are you doing, you’re not-”

“Have you been to your locker?” Dana asks frantically. 

“No. I’ve been in here all morning,” Janis says, holding herself protectively and looking down at her ballet flats. Despite all of Regina’s best efforts, she hasn’t gotten the hang of heels yet. Maybe she never will, now. 

D looks at her sadly. “You… you should come with me.” 

Janis eyes them suspiciously, but does grab her bag and finally leaves the bathroom for the first time that morning. “Where are we going?” 

“You’ll see,” Dana says with a grim tone. She winds through the hallways until they’re in the science hallway. Janis’ locker is here. 

She can spy it from a mile away. The normally blue metal is covered in neon sticky notes. Janis hesitantly steps closer. 

The post-its say various things. Go away, dyke and Lesbo and Pervert and Creeper. Some crude drawings scatter the mix, of things Janis doesn’t ever want to know. 

They outline something scrawled in Sharpie, directly on the metal. Space Dyke. 

Janis could recognize Regina’s handwriting anywhere. That swirly, excessive, frilly cursive. Janis always had a hard time reading it, but she understands this full well. 

This time, she can’t bring herself to be strong. The tears start to fall as she slowly picks off every little note stuck to the metal. She knew these people weren’t her friends, but for them to hate her this much… 

D stands a few feet behind and watches her, unsure what to do. She isn’t using new pronouns or a different name at school. Everyone thought she and Regina just had a falling out. They’ve never been through something like this themselves. 

Janis pulls the last note off with shaking hands and reads it. We know what you are. Leave us alone. 

She breaks down sobbing, dropping the notes at her feet and running as fast as she can towards the office. 

“Janis!” Dana calls, grabbing their things and running after her. 

The secretary looks very concerned as a crying girl comes bursting into the office at high speeds, rapidly followed by someone else. 

“I need- my mom,” Janis spits out, trying and failing to breathe through her sobs. The secretary nods and gestures to the phone on the desk for students to use to call home in emergencies. 

She passes a box of tissues across the desk as Janis picks up the receiver. Janis takes a few and tries to convey her thanks without speaking, knowing that if she tries she’ll only start crying harder. 

Her hands are shaking so hard she misses the first number of the area code. Her knuckles are white around the receiver and she bites her lip to try to force her body to cooperate with her. 

D gently takes the phone out of her hand. “Let me call. You sit down.” 

Janis wants to protest, but she knows she won’t be able to get across what she needs to in her state. She sits on the itchy seats and tries not to growl at a visitor staring at her. She wipes her eyes with the scratchy tissues. The school doesn’t even have the budget for real Kleenex. The tissues might as well be printer paper for all the good they’re doing for her skin. 

“Mrs. Ian? Uh, hi, it’s D. Um, something… something happened at school. Janis is really upset, she needs picked up.” she can almost make out Dana saying over her loud sobbing. 

Her mother says something on the other end. D absentmindedly raps their knuckles against the granite of the desktop. 

“I don’t really know the whole situation, Mrs. Ian. But it’s bad, from what I’ve seen. She really needs to go home,” Dana continues. “I’ll tell her. Bye.” They turn to see her. “Jan, your mom says she’ll be here for you in fifteen minutes.”

Janis nods and tries to breathe. It doesn’t work. She tries to distract herself from the whirling thoughts inside her head by looking around. Wooden table in the corner. Four chairs. Big windows. It’s nice outside today. That’s where Regina-

She shakes her head to snap herself out of it and looks back to the desk. She jumps when she sees D isn’t there anymore. Her stuff is, but not her. 

“Your friend asked to speak to the principal,” the secretary says, coming around the desk to restock Janis’ tissues and give her a bottle of water. 

“P-principal?” Janis chokes. 

“She said he needed to know something urgent.”

Janis puts her head in her hands. Now she really is going to get kicked out of school. Why would Dana tell on her? Did Janis really manage to lose both of her lifelong best friends in one morning?

She’s just about worked herself to the precipice of another downward spiral when Dana comes back with the principal. “Janis, may I speak to you?” 

Janis wants to say no, but she’s probably already in enough trouble. She stands and follows him back to his office. He sits at his desk and motions for her to sit as well. Janis hesitates before sitting down in the cold plastic chair. 

“Your friend told me something happened this morning. Can you help me fill in some details?” 

Janis shrugs and hugs herself, like if she does it tight enough she might just squeeze herself right out of existence. She sniffles and refuses to look him in the eye. 

“Can you tell me your version of events?” he asks. His voice is gentle, but Janis still doesn’t trust it. 

“I-I-I was sketching out-outside,” she begins shakily. He has to lean across his desk to hear her soft voice. Janis doesn’t care. “Re-Regina came… and… she said she could-couldn’t have me at-at her birthday party.” 

“And that’s why you’re so upset?” 

“Be-because she thinks I’m a lesbian.” 

She finally dares to glance up and sees the shock written across his face. “O-okay. Please continue.” 

“She said there were gonna be girls there in-in their bathing-bathing suits so if-if I’m a lesbian I can’t-can’t come. But I’m not! I-I’m not lesbian, I haven’t been-been watching the other girls! Not-not like that. I swear, please-please don’t kick me out of school!” 

“We aren’t kicking you out, Janis, I just need to know what happened so we can figure out the best course of action. This is a very tolerant school, I’m sure you know. Being a lesbian, even if you were, is not valid grounds for expulsion.” 

“O-oh,” Janis sniffs. “She… told everyone I am. I thought it was a bad thing.” 

“Some people believe it is,” the principal says. “I’m not one of them.” 

“Oh,” Janis says again. 

“Can you keep going? With what happened?” 

Janis nods shakily. “Everyone’s been-been talking about me. Saying I’m a gross lesbian a-and I’ve been peeking on other girls in-in the locker room-rooms. And that I-I want to have… um… with… with-with all of them but I don’t! And-and someone… someone wrote space dyke on my locker.” 

“Wrote what now?”

“Space dyke.” 

“Why would someone do that?” the principal asks. Janis shrugs. 

“Can I- can I go now?” 

“Of course. I’ll be speaking to Regina and some of the other girls this afternoon. Is your guardian coming to get you?” he asks. Janis nods. The principal pulls out a notepad and starts writing frantically as Janis turns and leaves. 

Her mom is waiting for her in the office with her backpack and the books she can’t fit into the little designer thing. Janis bursts into tears anew and runs in for some much needed comfort. 

“Shh, baby girl,” her mother hushes. “Let’s go home and get you calmed down. We can talk about what happened later. It’ll be okay.” 

Janis growls in the back of her throat. How can her mother say that when clearly nothing will ever be okay

ever 

again.

—————

The next couple years are a blur of traumatic experiences for the both of them. 

D finally settled on they/them pronouns and going by D all the time. No more Dana, no more girl. Janis still thinks they’d be happier as a he, but she doesn’t mention it. 

D started having panic attacks when they turned thirteen. They got their first period, and their body started changing in ways they weren’t comfortable with. Nobody knew what to do. 

Nobody but Janis. 

Janis was the only one who could talk them out of their panics. She managed to piece together that D felt like they were running out of time. Neither of them knew what they were running out of time for for a good long while. Until Janis put together that this all started along with puberty. 

D was put on hormone blockers a few months later to delay any further development in areas they weren’t ready for. Lo and behold, no more panic attacks. 

Janis didn’t have quite as easy of a time finding her solution. 

She tried getting in touch with Regina. She texted her desperately saying she wasn’t actually a lesbian and since she wasn’t actually a lesbian she could still be trusted at a pool party. 

Regina never answered. 

Janis cried the entire day leading up to Regina’s birthday. She was finally deemed old enough for social media that year, and her entire Instagram homepage as far as the eye could see was every other girl getting ready for a party Janis could never go to. 

D showed up to rescue her and took her out for ice cream and karaoke. Janis almost managed to forget the party as she begrudgingly belted out Disney songs and listened to D’s one-man performance of Fiddler on the Roof. 

But while everyone eventually forgot about the party, nobody forgot about the rumors. Everyone still gossiped about her in the hallways. In the restrooms. Locker rooms. At lunch. In class. 

Things escalated after a while. Janis knew Regina was the puppet master behind it all, playing the whole school like her sick little marionettes. 

She’d orchestrated some clever story to make herself look like the victim in Janis’ story, so she never had any repercussions for anything. She was free.

Free to tell the football team to use their strength to shove Janis into lockers and trash cans. 

Free to tell the other girls to give Janis a wide berth in the hallways and giggle at her clothes behind their hands and hold their breaths as she walked by so they wouldn’t catch anything. 

Free to tell the nerdy kids who sat behind her in class to jab her with pencils and rig her books so all the papers would fall out when she picked them up and leave cruel notes slipped through the slats of her locker. 

Free to tell anyone who could to re-write space dyke on her locker door whenever the school cleaned it off. Even when Janis got a new locker assignment. Even when she got another. Even when she had to start keeping her books in the office because her having a locker was doing too much damage to school property. They found a way. 

Janis couldn’t take it anymore. She started cutting herself over the summer leading to eighth grade. 

She knew it was bad. She knew she shouldn’t do it. She knew how it was bound to end. She knew the statistics she had learned in health class in sixth grade. 

But she couldn’t stop. 

Something about the burn of the blade being dragged through her pale flesh made the thoughts in her head less loud. For a while, all she had to focus on was the glint of the silver metal in her hand. The vibrant, almost glowing, red of her blood against her pallid skin. Watching it flow into the sink or the bathtub and slowly

slowly

stopping. 

It hurt so bad she couldn’t think about anything else. She decided the pain was worth it. 

She wore long sleeved dresses that went to her knees to hide the marks on her arms and her thighs. When too much scarred over she moved somewhere else. Her stomach, her chest, near her shoulders, her hips. 

She was fine. 

She stopped eating. 

She stopped sleeping. 

She lost weight. 

She looked tired. 

She was tired. 

So tired. 

She found a bottle of sleeping pills in her mom’s bathroom. 

She waited. 

She wrote notes.

She looked at the pills. 

She waited some more.

She took them all. 

Her mom found her. 

That scream won’t ever leave either of them. 

She spent a week in the hospital. 

She got her stomach pumped and her arms stitched up.

She stopped going to school. 

She was sent away to an inpatient intensive counseling facility. 

She hated it.

But it helped. 

When she was deemed to no longer be an active risk to herself, she was sent back home. 

The medicine cabinet was empty. The knives were locked in a cabinet she couldn’t reach. She wasn’t allowed to shave her legs anymore. Her dad’s tools were on a high shelf. The door to her bedroom didn’t lock anymore. 

Her dad looked at her with disgust in his eyes. 

Her mom looked at her with pity in her eyes. 

Her sister looked at her with betrayal in her eyes. 

Janis still needed help. She was kept out of school for eighth grade and started homeschooling with online tutors. She went to a pediatric therapist specializing in juvenile depression and self-harm. 

She discovered art. 

She really liked painting. 

Watching the paint flow across a canvas was much nicer. 

Seeing colors other than red. Other than bright, electric pink. 

She didn’t have friends anymore. 

Only D. 

D was there when she woke up in the hospital. They were there the night before Janis went to inpatient. They came to every visiting session. They cried every time they had to leave. 

They screamed at her. How could she do that to herself? Didn’t she think anyone loved her at all? What was she thinking? 

Janis cried and screamed right back. Called it healing.

D was there the day she was released to take her home. 

D was there to tell her every stupid thing Regina and everyone else got up to at school. Janis didn’t really care. D told her anyway. 

In a strange way, they held each other together. Two broken kids patching each other up bit by bit, and swapping little pieces of each other for themselves in the process. Growing together. 

And they changed, and they healed. 

—-

The real catalyst for everything came when they were thirteen. D finished eighth grade. Janis was in the crowd cheering at the top of her lungs at their graduation. They went out for ice cream with their moms and Janis’ sister on Janis’ last day of homeschool to celebrate. 

Their moms posed the idea there. 

A local Pride parade was being thrown in a couple of weeks. Their mothers thought going might be a good idea for both of them. Help them realize they aren’t alone. 

D agreed to go in a heartbeat. Janis was nervous, wary, but if D was going she just had to. They do everything together. You can’t have one without the other. 

They dressed for the heat and packed a bag of stuff they might need. D did some online research first and provided their moms a very helpful list. 

“Are you excited?” Janis’ mom asks when they’re on the way. 

“Yeah!” D says eagerly. Janis nods and wipes her sweaty hands on her pants. D wore shorts, but Janis still has things she’d prefer to keep hidden. 

It takes forever to find a parking spot, and it’s a long walk to their spots to watch the parade. D holds her hand and drags the both of them to the front so they’re close to the road and can see the whole thing. 

Janis jumps as a local school’s marching band kicks off and leads the whole thing. It’s loud, and colorful, and bright. People dance on floats and in the street. All sorts of things are thrown at them. Janis catches some things and dodges a few others. 

A person in nothing but a tutu and some sort of leather harness comes up to personally deliver them some plastic beads. D happily puts theirs on and almost chokes Janis forcing her into hers. 

Janis has never seen so many colors. So many people. People like them. It’s… amazing. 

The parade eventually comes to an end, and the crowd watching scatters to find various activities and foods and things for sale. Their moms trust them to walk around on their own, as long as D keeps their phone on. They head for a nearby field and wander aimlessly for a while. 

A couple doing the same thing catches their eye. They’re older, maybe in their early thirties. Holding hands. One isn’t wearing a shirt and has visible lines on their chest. The other has bright purple hair, a leather jacket with spikes, big black clunky boots, and heavy, dark makeup. 

They notice Janis and D staring at them after a few minutes and come to see what’s up. Purple hair greets them with a, “Hey.” and they both jump. 

“Sorry! We-we didn’t mean to stare at you!” D says frantically. They both laugh. 

“It’s okay. You get used to it looking like we do.” 

“I like your jacket,” Janis says shyly. The person wearing it chuckles. Janis sees she has a pin saying ‘she/her’ on it. 

“Thanks. You wanna touch the spikes?” she says. Janis nods eagerly, so the woman crouches down to let her gently run her fingertips over her shoulder. 

“Is this your first Pride?” her partner asks. Janis and D nod. “Fun! I was your age when I came the first time.” 

“Are you dating?” D asks. They both nod. 

“Are you?” 

“Eww, no!” D and Janis exclaim at the same time. They laugh again. 

“Friends are good too,” the woman chuckles. 

D is still looking at her partner. Specifically at their chest. They notice the looks and gently bring it up. “These are my top surgery scars.” 

“Top surgery?” D questions. 

“I’m trans. I was born female. Or, assigned female at birth, whatever. I had my breasts removed when I was in college and started my transition to help with the dysphoria.” 

D tilts their head. 

“Dysphoria is… hard to describe. But I couldn’t stand living in a female body. I got really depressed. I probably would’ve… wouldn’t have made it much longer if I hadn’t transitioned.” 

“How… how did you know? That you were all the way trans?” D asks softly. 

“That’s a good question,” they chuckle. “You can call yourself whatever you want. Being non-binary fits under the trans umbrella. But I spent a lot of time thinking about what I wanted my future to look like, and my past and what I wished I could change about it.

“I always kinda dreaded the idea of growing up and marrying a man, having kids and being a mom, things like that. I didn’t have any interest in being an aunt or a grandmother or… a woman. So I started thinking, and really liked the idea of marrying a woman if I got the chance, and being a father, or an uncle or grandpa. And I realized most of my memories with the most hurt from my past were moments where I felt… too feminine. Stuck, kinda. You know what I mean?” 

D nods shakily. The woman reaches out and squeezes their hand. “You have plenty of time to figure out who you want to be, hon. Take some time to explore. It’s okay to flip flop and change your mind all the time. It took this one more than twenty years to come to terms with who he was. The most important thing you can do is try your damndest to love the person you are enough to grow into the person you want to be. You’ll be just fine.” 

D nods again. Janis squeezes their hand too when she sees tears brimming behind their eyes. 

“And it seems like you’ve already got one person in your corner,” the man says. “You can’t control what the people around you do. Finding people like your friend here is really important. I lost a lot of people I really cared about, but finding people who love the real me and getting to love my body and who I am is so worth it. I promise.”

D seems too emotional to speak. Nobody asks them to. Everybody understands. Janis looks back to the woman. “How’d you get your makeup like that?” 

“Loads of practice,” she snorts. “You like it?” 

Janis nods. She’s never seen someone like her before. All the makeup she’s seen has been light and feminine. All she’s been allowed to wear has been pink and natural and dewey and glossy. The woman reaches into her pocket. 

“Here. I’ve never used this before. Consider it a… celebration gift. Something to get you started.” 

Janis opens the fingers she curled around it and sees a tube of lipstick. She untwists the lid and sees it’s the exact same dark purple color the woman is wearing. “Really?” 

“Of course. Happy first Pride, you guys,” the woman says. With a ruffle to their hairs, the couple is off. 

Both Janis and Damian are thinking the same thing. 

I wanna be them someday. 

——————-

D comes out as trans for the second time when he’s 14. They/them pronouns are no more, swapped for he/him. Janis and his mom helped him buy a whole new even more masculine wardrobe. Mostly flannels. Janis got a few too. Sue her, they’re comfy. 

He gets a haircut. Nice and short. Just long enough to still curl on the top, but buzzed everywhere else. A boy’s cut.

Janis shaves the side of her head in solidarity. Again, matching enough for them. But shaving her whole head is a bit much, she thinks. He agrees. 

He also starts experimenting with new names. He decided to stick with D as his first letter. Darius, Dante, Darcy and Darby all lasted about a week respectively. His mom suggested Darwin, which was scrapped almost immediately. 

Janis obviously only suggested the most ridiculous names she could find on baby name websites. Donatello, Delbert, Diesel, Dijon. And, of course, Dick. None of her suggestions were taken. 

It took months and probable hundreds of different names before he found the one that stuck. 

Damian. With an A, because Damien with an E just has the wrong vibes. 

He was Damian. 

Janis doesn’t think she ever saw her friend happier than when he finally got to be Damian. He smiles with his eyes again, something Janis hasn’t really seen in almost five years. He dances and sings and found a local theatre troupe to be part of in addition to all the school shows he’s in. He still gets cast as female roles, but he doesn’t seem so bothered by it anymore. Now that he knows he’s Damian, he’s just… pretending. His femininity is more like a costume he can alter to his will. 

Janis is glad for him. She still doesn’t know what the fresh hell is going on. 

She does think a lot about the woman from the Pride parade. How confident she seemed. How easy it was for her to be her. To be queer. To be happy. She said people stared at her all the time because of the way she dressed and did her hair and makeup. Janis slowly pieces together her own look. 

A jacket she found buried in the attic that belonged to her biological father. She left it hanging on her easel in her bedroom when the inspiration hit her and she started painting the jacket itself. Eyeballs, general swatches of nothing, demons and big bright handprints and even Frida Kahlo on her shoulder after one particularly interesting history class. 

Piece by piece, brushstroke by brushstroke, the jacket comes together. Becomes… hers. 

She buys t-shirts and fishnet tights from Hot Topic with cool designs and bands she’s started listening to. She distresses a few and leaves some plain. She buys denim shorts with spikes on the pockets and gems and frayed hems and puts designs on the backs and so much more. 

A hot day comes in the middle of summer. Janis can’t wear the long pants she usually does to hide the pink scars lining her thighs. She panics and putters around her room to find something she can wear to Damian’s first appointment.

She tries a few dresses, but none are long enough. Her shorts are even shorter. 

She’s about to give up and call her friend to let him know they’ll have to celebrate another time when her hand wraps around the swirly black tights with a design in lace in her underwear drawer. 

She tries them on underneath one of her pairs of shorts. She looks bitchin’. She smiles and grabs a random shirt to go with it and hopes she can make it through the day with her jacket on. Hiding her arms is a whole other monster. 

She runs outside when Damian texts her letting her know he and his mom are waiting for her outside. He’s up in the passenger seat, so Janis slides into the back and buckles herself in. 

“Hi, sweetie,” Damian’s mom greets. 

“Hi, Ms. Hubbard,” Janis says, panting a bit in the heat. 

Damian chatters eagerly the whole way about how excited he is to finally start his hormone therapies, even though it means getting frequent shots. He quite literally skips into the doctor’s office once his mom finds a parking spot. Janis doesn’t blame him. It took almost a year before they got the go-ahead to start hormone replacements. Janis did a lot of googling and found Damian was one of the lucky ones. Some people wait decades. 

Damian is bouncing in his seat in the waiting room a little bit, like a child who can’t sit still. Janis is a little more concerned about what’s about to happen to her friend, but she smiles at his antics and has to run to keep up with him once he finally gets called back. 

The nurse explains roughly what he can expect. To needlephobe Janis, a huge needle going into his poor thigh. But to Damian, it’s everything. Everything begins today. He starts the journey to become who he… is. To get his body to match what they all see him as and what he so desperately wants and needs to be. 

Damian’s entire future is contained in such a small vial. The nurse distracts him as she prepares the needle and the area it’s going into by talking about what he can expect. 

Soreness in his leg, obviously. She tells him it will take a while, but his voice will eventually start getting lower. He won’t have to force it artificially anymore. His body fat will rearrange slightly, again, over a very long period of time. He might even grow facial hair after a few months. 

Janis wonders how long it will take. How worth it this will all feel after three months, six, twelve. But Janis has also seen the hurt her friend has been through. How much he struggled and suffered as a girl. How much pain it brought him. 

She holds hand and his mom holds the other as the needle goes in. Damian’s face pinches briefly at the poke going into his leg, but he looks… relieved. After a single dose he looks like he could get hit by a bus in the parking lot and die a happy man. 

He’s patched up with a bandage and quite literally dances his way out of the establishment. Janis rolls her eyes affectionately and follows after him. His mom stays to get all the information she still needs before rushing to the parking lot after her stray children. 

“How you feeling, hon?” she asks as she slides into the driver’s seat. 

“Amazing!” Damian says. 

“That needle was huge,” Janis says, shuddering at the memory. It didn’t even go into her. 

“I didn’t look at it for a reason,” Damian replies. 

“Y’all want ice cream?” his mom asks.

Damian shouts, “Yes!” so loud Janis’ eardrums rattle. 

—————

Janis goes back to public school in ninth grade. 

It’s a new school, they’re in high school now. A new building. New faculty, some new students. Some old ones too, but she’s hoping either she’s changed or they’ve changed enough that the year will still go okay. Her goal is a month. Anything beyond that is a bonus. 

It’s a new start. 

It’s a nice feeling. 

She dons her new favorite outfit, fishnet tights underneath a dress she painted a design on yesterday to get ready for her first day. She adds her new denim jacket. She started painting it, but it’s still not as busy as she wants it to be. It just needs a little work. 

Her mom drives her since it’s her first day. They stop by to pick up Damian on the way, and he comes prancing down the driveway in all his flamboyant glory. 

His fashion sense actually hasn’t changed all that much since he started physically transitioning. He still wears lots of rainbows, theatre stars, and drag queens on his clothes, they’ve just gotten the more recent additions of flannels and jeans actually purchased from the men’s section. The drag queens are newer too. Damian made Janis watch the entire first season of RuPaul’s Drag Race at their most recent sleepover. Janis still sees all the sequins whenever she closes her eyes. 

Janis’ hands start to shake as soon as she sees the building. She’s been here for orientation and a special event just for incoming freshmen that the seniors put on, but knowing she’s here now for school… it’s different. Knowing there’ll be kids who know her there. Who knew the old Janis. 

She’d like to say she’s a whole new person now. But the truth is, under all her new makeup and the dark roots of her hair that are finally starting to show through the bleach-blonde and her huge jacket is the same petrified little girl in a pink dress that left that day in seventh grade and never came back. 

She’s literally shaking in her boots as she pauses outside the main doors. Damian squeezes her hand. 

“We’ll be okay,” he says softly. We. They’re doing it together. Janis nods and pushes her way in. 

Janis had to come one extra time to get to know the people in the guidance office after they saw her medical history and learned about the two months she spent as an inpatient. They worked some of their guidance counselor magic and got her and Damian the same schedule, and made sure she didn’t have a single class with Regina. They couldn’t do anything about lunch, but Janis isn’t worried too much about that. The cafeteria is big. She’ll find somewhere to hide. 

Damian goes to his locker first since it’s a little bit closer to the front of the school. He dumps his binders for the afternoon inside before following Janis as she tries to remember where her locker is. 

She pauses as she sees it. They haven’t even been in the building for twenty minutes and her locker already says space dyke in bold, black Sharpie. God, why couldn’t people just forget? 

It’s not Regina’s handwriting this time. Someone else did it. Maybe Regina moved on. Found someone else to torment. Maybe this is the work of someone else. 

Don’t get your hopes up. 

She sighs and shakes it off as best she can. Her books for the afternoon get shoved in unceremoniously and she follows Damian, slightly slower than they were going before, to their first period study hall. 

“You okay?” he asks gently. Janis nods and kicks a pebble someone dragged in to the side of the hallway. 

“Yeah. She doesn’t scare me anymore.” 

Damian nods too. “Tell me if anyone bothers you.” 

“You’re not my big brother, Dame, I don’t need you to protect me,” Janis sighs. 

“Oh, bitch, are you kidding? I could never, look at me,” Damian retorts. “But if you need me to tell someone. I will.” 

Janis nods, more an involuntary jerk of her head than much else. “I will.” 

Damian blessedly drops the conversation as he holds the door to their classroom and sits next to Janis at their desks. 

—-

Things don’t fall apart until lunch. 

She and Damian find part of a table in the furthest corner, blocked in by some juniors and seniors. They look at them oddly, for more than one reason, but there’s a group that seems to realize these kids need to be where they are and willingly sit close. Janis hopes everyone in their grade is that mature by the time they’re juniors too. 

They start to relax. Lose some of their hyper vigilance they haven’t noticed they’ve been holding all day. 

And then people around them start chattering. 

One by one, like they’re doing the wave at a sports event. It picks up volume, louder and louder… and then Regina is behind her. 

“Janis? Oh my god, is that you?” 

Janis bristles. Feels the hair on the back of her neck stand up like she’s just walked into a haunted house. She turns around just enough in her spot so Regina is in her line of sight, but not enough to make her vulnerable to any kind of attack. “Yeah?” 

“What are you doing over here, come sit with us. We got the good table in the middle,” Regina says. Janis… laughs. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” 

“What?” 

“We haven’t talked in a year and a half, is what!” Janis cackles. “You ran me out of school!” 

“You totally overreacted, it was not that bad, come on,” Regina huffs. 

Janis can’t believe what she’s doing as she rolls up her jacket sleeves. Regina bristles and stares at the still bright pink marks lining up and down Janis’ forearms. That’s not even close to half of them. “Wasn’t it?” 

Regina recoils in disgust. “On second thought, stay here. Freak.” 

Janis sighs and sits back down, picking at her rubbery pizza and trying to ignore every single person in the vicinity staring at her. 

Part of her wants to stand on the table and yell. Say so what if I used to cut myself? Say you’d do the same if only you knew what she did to me. Stomp and scream and rule the school. 

Another part of her almost said yes to Regina. 

And Janis is violently thrown back in time. 

Back to seventh grade. Before her life fell apart. 

Blonde waves falling down her shoulders. Pink dresses and glittery makeup and lip gloss and too much perfume. 

Following Regina around like a lost puppy. Carrying her books. Doing her bidding. 

Falling head over heels for that blonde girl who somehow had her pinned under her heel and wrapped around her little finger at the same time. 

She can’t stomach anymore. 

Regina 

was

right. 

—————

Janis stumbles around until the end of the day when it’s time to be picked up. She tries not to stare at every girl she sees. 

She takes quick glances. Compares them to the boys in her classes. Who would she rather date? Rather kiss? Rather hug and cuddle and- well. 

She comes to a rather hasty conclusion. Boys are still gross. 

She’d thought, being the mature age of fourteen, that she would’ve gotten over not wanting to be with a boy. Apparently not. 

She consults Damian in art. 

“Do you still like boys now that you’re a boy? Or do you like girls?” 

“I dunno,” Damian shrugs. “I haven’t really thought about it.”

Janis hasn’t either. She started to, she did. Back when Regina first did everything in middle school. Janis definitely had a lot to think about. But she was hurt, and then spent all that time in therapy and decided to put it off until she was better suited to handle such thoughts. 

Nice going, dumbass, now what the hell are you?

“I think… I might actually like girls.” 

Damian nods and pokes at his lump of clay he’s trying desperately to form into an ashtray. “That’s cool.”

“It is not cool! That means Regina was right all along!” 

“So?” Damian shrugs. “She wasn’t right about everything. Like her hair color. Ew.” 

“She’s blonde, what do you mean? You know what, never mind.” 

Damian just shrugs again. “It’s not a bad thing if you are. Don’t let Regina scare you out of it if you think it’s actually who you are.” 

Janis sighs and goes back to her painting. She has a lot to think about.

—-

And think she does. The next month is spent researching and looking and comparing and testing and everything she can think to do. 

She still doesn’t want it to be true, but the more she finds, the more lesbian feels like the right label. She’s still not sure, though.

One thing is definitely true, however, and that is that she likes girls. Even the girl she hates most in the entire world seems… like she’d be a good kisser. Gross. 

Now she has to tell people. 

It’s what Damian did. He realized something, and told his family. It’s how it goes. This isn’t something she can just keep to herself. 

She sits her mom and stepdad down on the couch after dinner that night. Julie’s in her room playing before bed. She can come later. Janis still doesn’t know how to explain this in a way she’d understand. 

“What’s up, sweet pea?” her mother asks kindly. Janis fidgets with her hands and looks down. 

“I… I think… Regina might have been right,” she mumbles.

“About what?”

“I like girls,” Janis says in one quick breath, forcing herself to look up at them. She can see the shock strewn across their faces. 

“You’re a dyke?” her father asks. Janis freezes. 

“Greg!” her mother chides. “Don’t call her that!”

“What, I can’t call it like it is? We’ve raised a dyke, Ettie! Look at her,” her dad insists. Janis looks desperately at her mother. 

“We have raised a girl who likes other girls and nothing more,” her mother growls, standing and stalking over her dad. “Now you leave her alone.”

“Or what?” her father retaliates. 

“Stop it,” Janis begs around a sob. “I-I’m sorry, I-I-I won’t-”

“You’ll shut your trap is what you’ll do,” her dad growls. “And you’ll get out of my house.”

“This house is in my name, you ass,” her mother retaliates. “If anyone is leaving, it’s you. I’m not letting you speak to our child this way.” 

“I’m talking to her the way she needs to be talked to. Do you want her corrupting Julie?!” 

“She’s barely a teenager! She can’t corrupt anyone, she’s not doing anything wrong!”

“Daddy, please,” Janis begs. 

“Don’t you go calling me that now. I clearly didn’t do enough. I’m not your dad anymore.”

“Get. Out.” her mom growls furiously. 

“I’m taking Julie,” her dad insists as he stalks off to pack a few things. 

“Like hell you are!” her mom says. 

“This is your fault, you little freak,” her dad says, pointing a rough finger into Janis’ chest. Janis sobs and tries to step away. Her dad looks at her for a second. Time moves in slow motion. 

He growls, lifts a hand. Brings it down across Janis’ face with as much force as he can muster. Janis gasps as she hears the impact. The pain takes a few seconds to hit her. The hit was hard enough to numb the sensation for the briefest of moments. 

She wails when it does and steps away. She wants to run, but she can’t leave her mom alone with this man who used to call Janis his daughter. 

Her mom swings without hesitation. Evidently she can handle herself just fine. 

“Have you gone crazy, woman?!” her dad yells. “Goddamn!”

“I told you to get out,” her mom says. “You’ll get a second black eye to match that one if you stick around.” 

Her dad spits on the ground near where Janis is cowering before he stalks off without another word or any of his things and slams the front door behind him. 

“Oh, baby girl,” her mom hums desperately, rushing to pull Janis into her arms. Janis tries to be strong for her mom, who seems to have just lost her husband for good, but all she can bring herself to do is cling to her mom and cry into her shoulder like a broken child. 

Broken child. 

That’s all she is.

“Should I call Damian’s mom?”

Janis can only nod.

—————

Janis doesn’t come out to anyone else until she’s almost seventeen. 

Nearly three years spent trying to crush down and destroy any feelings she has for any girl is miserable. 

But she can’t lose anyone else. 

Damian sees the way she looks at some of their classmates. At Regina. 

He knows. Janis doesn’t tell him, but he knows. 

In the time since Janis’ latest incident, he’s come out as gay, too. He said an experience at his arts camp the summer before their sophomore year confirmed the entire thing. 

Janis consoling him after Philip cruelly rejects his Edible Arrangement just feels like par for the course for the both of them at this point. 

They both know. They don’t ask. They don’t tell. 

They can’t. 

—————-

Junior year is almost too much for the both of them. 

It starts out so strong. A few really good days without a single taunt from Regina. Enough for them to hope she’s finally given up some of her grip on the school, eased off on her reign of terror. 

And then 

comes

Cady.

Some part of Janis deep, deep down inside knows she’s going to be an issue. 

Damian knows Janis is in love as soon as he sees the little redhead in the bathroom stall and the way Janis looks at her. 

Some part of both of them knows this won’t end without heartbreak. 

They’re right.

Things start falling apart spectacularly before they even reach winter break. Janis’ plan to have a sneaky spy infiltrate the Plastics and report back has completely backfired. By spring, Cady’s totally brainwashed. Lost. Hypnotized by the pink sequins and popularity. 

Janis hasn’t cried this hard since seventh grade. Not even when her stepdad left. 

Damian holds her together with one hand and putters the Jazzy home with the other. Well, technically he drives to his house. But it’s always felt like a second home to Janis. 

His mom gives her a good squeeze and gentle advice before shooing them up to Damian’s room with the promise of milkshakes to help lift their spirits a little. 

Janis disassociates and sips at her cookies and cream milkshake all through Mulan. She’s lost track of how many times she’s done exactly this. Sat cuddled under bed covers with Damian and watched this exact movie on this ancient laptop. In all their various forms over the years. 

She cries some more when the movie ends and she doesn’t have anything to distract her from her sadistic thoughts. 

Damian holds her close. He cries a little too. They talk. Damian refuses to let her sleep in the sleeping bag on the floor in her state and aggressively spoons her until they both drift off dreaming of happier times. 

And those times do come. 

The clouds part. 

So does Regina’s spine.

It helps, but not as much as Janis thought it would. 

The biggest change is Cady. She comes storming into the gym at Spring Fling in her Mathletes uniform and Janis knows in that moment that Cady has her heart and Janis would happily break it for her. 

Janis stares as Cady wins Spring Fling Queen and holds that stupid plastic crown in her hands and gives the most beautiful speech she’s ever heard. Damian gasps behind her as she snaps the crown into as many pieces as she can and tosses them to anyone within reach. Regina, Gretchen, Karen, even Kevin. Damian gets one. 

And then Cady is in front of her. The last piece is still in her hands. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Janis says, her chest aching. Cady reaches up on her tippy toes and puts the rest of the crown on Janis’ head. Janis flashes back to ten years ago. Playing princess with Damian. 

It feels even more real now. 

Cady apologizes. They dance. They leave early and go get pancakes. They cry and apologize some more. 

And for the first time since September, Janis has hope for her future. 

—————

Janis still thinks about those moments well into her adulthood. She doesn’t know that she’ll ever stop. That the moments will ever leave her.

She doesn’t know that she wants them to. 

She and Cady get married when they’re 23. Damian finally gets his top surgery later that year, and has two of his favorite people there to support him through his recovery. 

Cady is the one who goes with him to finally get his name and gender changed on all his important documents. She throws a party when it’s all over, a sort of late ‘gender reveal’ with a blue cake and confetti and streamers. 

Aaron comes. 

He and Damian get together when they’re 24. It’s a beautifully ironic thing, that Janis and Damian wound up with who they did instead of it being the two of them like it always was and Cady and Aaron together. 

Cady and Janis become mothers when they’re 28. 

Damian is the best uncle to their twins. Janis doesn’t know that she’s seen him happier than when he’s cuddling with his boyfriend and his nieces. 

The girls are flower girls in his and Aaron’s wedding. 

Damian and Aaron adopt three children when they’re 36. 

They celebrate Pride as one huge family. The kids all love the parade and seeing other kids from queer families they can play with. Seeing other people like themselves. 

Cady takes the twins to a craft setup for younger kids. Damian’s youngest goes with them while the oldest two follow Aaron to get food. Janis and Damian are left wandering around on their own for a little while. 

Damian taps Janis and points surreptitiously at some kids staring at them. Janis smiles widely and follows him over to them. They crouch down to their height. 

“Hi,” Damian greets kindly. “What are your names?” 

Janis knows in that moment.

They made it.

—————

thank you for reading!! 

i think i would be remiss if i posted this without acknowledging that our trans and non-binary siblings are under attack in my country right now. there is no LGB without the T and if you think otherwise. piss off. if you can do anything at all, please look into how to support queer communities in your local area. 

also, while i am non-binary, i don’t ID as trans. i based this off of some of my own experiences and those of a few of my trans friends i’ve been blessed to witness over the years. and also just… what i think it was like for these two growing up. it’s my own personal headcanon. if your journey was different, that’s okay. if your destination is different, that’s okay. queer people are not a monolith. we’re all walking this rainbow road together, but we’re all our own folks. 

anyway. rambling over lol, happy pride and thank you again for reading!!

lots of love,

ezzy

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Pride

Dear nonnie who requested that I write something for Pride month, I'm so, so sorry! Somehow this got lost in my inbox and I didn't see it until I started working on 'Bargain' this afternoon. Please accept this humble ficlet and my deepest apologies. <3

I'm kind of nervous about this one. I know coming out is a deeply personal experience and I'm not sure I wrote it terribly well. Please know that you are loved, valued, cherished, and accepted just as you are. I know for many people the struggle is so much greater than what I wrote in this ficlet. You are all amazing. <3

cw: Internalized homophobia, homophobic parents (happy ending)

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

June 12, 1999

"Hey!" Harry said, bursting into Draco's room like it was his own.

Draco looked up from the essay he was writing, the last one he needed to finish for his eighth year at Hogwarts. "Hi," he replied and he couldn't help but admire the dimple that stood out on Harry's cheek as he smiled at him.

"Some of us are heading down to Hogsmeade for the pride celebration they're having there tonight," Harry said. "Did you want to come?"

His brow furrowed, "Pride? Like house pride?"

Harry laughed but not unkindly like it would have been prior to this year, "No, like gay pride. It's to celebrate people who are lgbtq+, to affirm their dignity and worth as human beings, you know?"

Draco felt his cheeks flushing hot, "I'm not," he managed through the way it felt like someone had closed off his airway, shaking his head, "I'm not gay!"

"Err," Harry said, scratching the back of his neck, "Right, I wasn't trying to imply anything. Just," he shrugged, "I think I'm bi, and there's GInny and Luna," he continued, stumbling over his words.

"But I'm not!" he protested

"Right," Harry repeated, brow furrowing, "We just thought..." he trailed off, "Ron, who's like as straight as they come is coming too, to show his support."

"I can't," Draco said. "I've got all this work to do, I just-"

"It's okay," Harry said, shaking his head and holding out a hand, "Totally fine, sorry to have bothered you," he added as he quickly fled the room before Draco could say anything else.

(Continue reading below the cut)

He stared after him, still feeling panicked and full of regret at the same time.

Malfoys aren't gay. Malfoys aren't gay. Malfoys aren't gay.

And in spite of the fact that he'd told Harry he needed to finish his essay, he spent the rest of the night trying to get his heart to slow down, his breathing to come easier, and his mind to stop spinning.

The essay remained untouched.

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

June 9, 2000

Draco was having murderous thoughts.

They had a tradition on Fridays that everyone who lived in Grimmauld sat down together for dinner and if you were dating someone, you were allowed to bring them home with you for dinner. Draco never brought anyone home because the women he dated were so unattractive to him that he just couldn't bring himself to see them for more than a date or two.

Harry, on the other hand was always bringing someone home. He had men and women there with him every week. Usually, it was a different person every week and that didn't bother Draco all that much. But he'd been seeing Conor for six weeks now and the way the other man was always clinging to Harry, always laughing and batting his eyelashes at him; it made Draco feel ready to kill him.

"So I was thinking," Harry said when there was a lull in the conversation, "The Leaky is having a Pride Night celebration tomorrow. Maybe we should all go together?" he asked hopefully.

There were murmurs of approval all around the table and Draco dropped his gaze to his plate, his palms started to itch. Malfoys aren't gay. Malfoys aren't gay.

"What about you, Draco?" Conor asked, all toothy smiles as he rested his arm around Harry's shoulders.

He couldn't help but look over at Harry who was suddenly watching him in that way that made him feel like he was being held under a magnifying glass. People thought that Harry was oblivious but Draco knew they were wrong. Harry knew everything about Draco just from watching him.

Draco swallowed, "Yeah," he managed. "Yeah. I can come for a bit."

Harry smiled at him then, soft and sweet, his dimples showing, "Yeah?" he asked.

And Draco was fairly certain there was nothing he could have said no to when Harry asked like that, so he nodded.

"Great!" Conor enthused and the moment dissipated like fog in the sun. "It'll be so fun to have all of your friends there, babe."

"Err," Harry said, looking over at Conor, "Yeah. Totally." Then he turned back to look at Draco once more, "Yeah," he said again.

-----------

June 10, 2000

Draco had made a mistake.

Malfoys aren't gay. Malfoys aren't gay. Malfoys aren't gay.

"Hey!" Harry said, appearing out of nowhere and wrapping an arm around Draco, "I'm so glad you're here."

"Me too," he lied.

"Come on," Harry said, "Let me introduce you to some people."

Draco spent the next hour meeting all sorts of people, he listened to people telling their stories, people who were claiming their own lives and destinies, and all he could feel was loss.

Every person he listened to felt like another stone tied around his neck, their joy and freedom made him feel even more trapped. Harry went to fetch drinks as he listened to a trans woman named Jocelyn talking about how difficult it had been to come out to her family. And it was the final straw, he lost it. Tears slipped from his eyes and before he could do anything, she was hugging him, "We've all been where you are," she whispered.

He shook his head and pulled back, "I'm not-" he covered his mouth, he couldn't quite force out the lie.

She nodded knowingly, "We've all been there, too."

"I've got to go," he managed, rising on shaking legs and making his way out of the bar as quickly as he could.

When he got outside he bent over, resting his hands on his knees and trying to catch his breath.

"Draco!" he heard as the door opened and he wasn't ready for this.

"Don't," he said, standing up and holding out his hands to stop Harry from coming any closer.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked, eyebrows furrowing in concern and Draco hated it.

"Malfoys aren't gay!" he exploded.

"What?" Harry asked as though his words hadn't been perfectly clear.

"Malfoys aren't gay," he repeated.

Harry tilted his head at him, "Alright."

"So you can stop this," he said, gesturing at the door. "I don't need help coming out. I'm not gay," he spat.

"I'm not trying to help you come out," Harry said, his voice measured and calm in a way that told Draco just how hard he was working at not getting emotional. "I just wanted to introduce you to-"

"Bull shit," he hissed. "Every person you 'introduced me to' told me about coming out."

"It's Pride, Draco. They're," he stopped and corrected himself, "We're celebrating coming out. We're celebrating not hiding who we are anymore. If you think it's about you, well," he shrugged a shoulder, "You probably have more in common with us than you want to admit."

"I'm not gay!" he shouted, shoving Harry away from him.

There was a flash of hurt across Harry's face before he put his hands on his hips and that fire that Draco so remembered from Hogwarts filled his eyes. "No one said you were!" Harry shouted back. "And if you were so afraid of having people think you are, why did you even come in the first place?"

"I guess I shouldn't have."

Harry took a step back away from him, shaking his head, "I guess not." He turned on his heel and stalked back into the bar, leaving Draco standing on the sidewalk, shaking as the adrenaline flooded through him.

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

June 11, 2000

It wasn't quite morning when Draco heard a soft knock at his door.

With no small amount of effort, he reached for his wand and cast a spell to open it. Harry was standing in the doorway and Draco huffed, "I've already packed," he said. "I'll leave in the morning."

"What?" Harry asked, sounding panicked, "No!" he said, stepping across the threshold of Draco's room and moving to the chair across from Draco's bed. "No," he repeated. "Draco, please don't leave. I'm sorry. Alright?" Harry said. "I shouldn't-"

"You're sorry?" Draco asked, sitting up and staring at the other boy, "No, I'm sorry," he said, quickly. "I was awful and I didn't le-"

"No," Harry said, shaking his head, "It's my fault. I shouldn't-"

"I'm gay," Draco blurted and then realized what he'd just admitted. He covered his mouth with his hand and his eyes filled with tears.

"Hey," Harry whispered, climbing onto the bed next to him and pulling Draco into his arms, "It's okay."

Draco shook his head but couldn't manage any words around the sob that was choking him.

"It's okay," Harry soothed, stroking his fingers through Draco's hair and rocking him. "I've got you," he breathed. "You're safe," he said, "You're safe," he repeated. "You're loved and you're accepted," he told him, "I've got you."

Draco sobbed, all of the fear, and the guilt, and the shame was built up high in his chest and he felt like he couldn't breathe around it.

"Okay," Harry soothed, "Slow breaths with me, yeah? Just try to match your breathing to mine," he said, his hand rubbing soothingly over Draco's back.

He sucked in a deep, gasping breath that burned all the way down into his lungs.

"That's it," Harry encouraged, "You're alright."

He continued breathing slowly and Draco tried to mirror it until his sobbing was just the occasional hiccup and the tears were just trickling out of his eyes.

"Okay," Harry breathed. "Better?"

Draco nodded and pulled back, "Sorry," he murmured, then he caught sight of Harry's shirt covered in tears and snot and wished that the earth would open up and swallow him, "Salazar, I'm sorry," he said, reaching for his wand and casting a hasty drying charm followed by a cleaning charm.

"It's fine," Harry said, reaching out to still Draco's motions. "It's fine," he repeated. "Look, I didn't mean to pressure you into coming out," he said. "I won't tell anyone," he added hastily.

He shook his head, "It's eating me up inside." Draco wiped the tears off his face, "I'm going to die alone."

"Don't say that," Harry said.

"Well it's true!" he said, "What am I supposed to tell my parents?"

Harry took his hand, "It's up to you," he said softly. "I won't pretend to understand the challenges you're facing. My parents are dead."

"Oh, thanks. Play the dead parent card."

Harry huffed a laugh, "Shut up. I'm trying to say that I can't imagine how difficult this is for you. It's not an easy decision and I want you to know that I am here for you, that I support you, no matter what."

His eyes filled with tears and he let out a groan, "Stop it."

The other boy wrapped his arms around him, "No."

"What is this?" he asked, from where his face was buried in Harry's neck.

"Affection."

"Disgusting," he murmured.

"Want me to stop?"

He shook his head because when Harry wasn't hugging him everything felt a little too big and a little too close.

And he had no idea what he was going to do but when Harry was holding him it didn't seem quite so scary.

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

A few weeks later, he and Harry had started dating in secret. Harry was very sweet, very patient as Draco struggled against years of deeply ingrained negative thoughts. Draco still felt like he was a bit of a burden but Harry always insisted he wasn't.

Just over a month after that, Hermione had figured it out on her own, Pansy had tricked him into confessing, and Ron had walked in on the two of them making out on Harry's bed.

And the world didn't end.

Slowly, over the course of the next seven months, they told all of their friends. Everyone was supportive. Everyone was happy for them, happy for him that he'd decided to walk in the truth.

Truth be told, he was happy too. His anxiety still got the worst of him some days and his fear was sometimes bigger than anything else but he got through those days and those days slowly became fewer and fewer.

He got comfortable with Harry; comfortable holding hands, comfortable with casual kisses, comfortable with bickering that turned into flirting, just comfortable in his skin.

One chilly March morning, he and Harry were out to breakfast and they were laughing and teasing each other, like they always did and Draco was happy all the way down to his toes.

He looked across the table at Harry, "You've got whipped cream on your mouth," he laughed.

Harry stuck his tongue out and missed completely.

"Here," he said with a laugh, "Let me," he added as he grabbed the front of Harry's jumper and pulled him close so he could kiss it off his grinning face.

He was pulling back to check that he'd gotten it all when he heard a gasp that he would have recognized anywhere. Draco would never be quite sure what his face and body language were saying at that moment but Harry was instantly on alert, scanning the room for danger. "Shit," he breathed.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy," his mother hissed. "What in Merlin's name do you think you are doing."

"Don't make a scene, mother," he said and even he was surprised at how calm the words came out.

"I don't think that I am the one making a scene, Draco."

"Mrs. Malfoy," Harry said, "Why don't we go somewhere more private for this conversation."

"Oh no," she said, "I don't think there is any conversation to be had. Draco, we'll be leaving. Right this instant."

Draco looked at her, at the woman who had dried his tears, who had sacrificed for him, who had given him life and his heart yearned for her. He longed to reach out and hold her hand like he had when he was young, to let her reassure him that everything would be alright. And it could be. He knew if he walked away with her today, he'd go back to living the life that had been planned for him.

But then he looked at Harry and all he could see was freedom. His heart expanded as he remembered the late nights talking over a bottle of wine, the early mornings as the sun filtered in through Harry's window and painted him golden. He remembered the cuddles on the couch and the evenings spent cooking dinner together. And he knew that he could never go back. He could never live a life of duty and obligation knowing that this one was possible.

"I love you," he said softly as he stared at Harry.

The other man blinked before his mouth curved up in a grin, his dimples showing, "I love you, too."

He reached for Harry's hand to ground himself as he turned to his mother, "You know that I love you," he said to her, "but I can't live a lie. I can't be the boy that you wanted."

"Draco you are being ridiculous."

"Maybe," he replied. "But I never knew what it was like to be free before these past few months with Harry and I won't give them back."

She cast a belated muffliato. "There are plenty of Purebloods who are gay, Draco," she said, keeping her voice low, "You still have your obligation to have a pureblood heir. Marry a nice girl and take a lover if you must, but you will continue your bloodline."

He laughed, it sounded a bit hysterical even to his own ears. "Do you hear yourself?" he asked. "The Malfoy line can die with me. I'm not marrying some woman just to please you."

"Draco-"

"No," he said sharply. "No. I can't do this, mother. I can't be what you want me to be. I'm done." He shook his head, "You can accept this, accept me or not. Either way I am done."

She straightened her spine and smoothed the emotions from her features and Draco knew the decision she had made before she started speaking. He clasped Harry's hand tighter in his. "Very well, then," she said. "Good day," she murmured before she walked away without a backward glance.

They sat in silence for a moment before Harry asked, "Are you alright?"

"I don't know."

"What can I do?" he murmured, squeezing Draco's hand again.

"Can we go home?"

Harry nodded, "Yeah, love. Of course."

He apparated them back and they spend the afternoon cocooned in Harry's room until their friends came to find them for dinner.

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

June 9, 2001

This year it's Draco who asked about going to the bar to celebrate Pride.

Harry smiled and pulled him in for a long kiss before nodding and getting dressed.

When they arrived, Draco slipped his fingers through Harry's holding his hand tightly; proud of Harry, proud of how far they've come, and proud of himself for how much he's grown and how brave he's become.

Several of the people he'd met the year before remembered him and are quick to congratulate him and welcome him again. The night was full of music and dancing, of listening to stories and starting to tell his own, it's everything Harry had made it sound like.

And he thought he might be happy, in spite of that little bit of his heart that always ached for his parents.

They're about to head up for another round of drinks when Harry tugged on his hand. "Look," he murmured, pointing to the door.

Draco followed his pointing and saw that there was a woman standing in the door who looked remarkably like his mother. "What?" he managed.

But Harry was already waving to her and nudging Draco forward.

"What?" he repeated when he was standing in front of her.

Without a word she wrapped her arms around him, enfolding him in the comforting feel and scent of his childhood.

"Mummy?" he whispered.

"Yes, darling," she replied, voice equally thick with tears.

Harry cleared his throat, "I'll fetch us some drinks. What can I get you Narcissa?" he asked.

"Whiskey neat," she replied without releasing her hold on Draco.

He pulled back after one more moment, "What are you doing here?"

"Where else could I be?" she asked. "When we didn't see you for your birthday last week," she shook her head. "Well, I knew that I was making a mistake."

Harry returned handing them their drinks and nodding toward a table nearby.

They headed over and she sat next to Draco, "You're my child, Draco," she said. "And I love you more than you can imagine."

He nodded once but didn't say anything. This sounded too much like the start to one of the 'I love you and if you love me, this is how you should act' talks.

"Fortunately, your Mr. Potter has sent quite regular correspondence."

"What?" Draco said, whipping his head around to look at Harry.

He nodded once but before Draco could question him his mother continued.

"He invited me to come tonight," she continued, "To support you. And I've missed so much already, how could I say no?"

"This isn't a phase," he said. "I'm not going to change my mind or be cured one day."

She nodded, "I know."

"Does father?"

She hummed, "We're getting there." She took his hand in her's, "For now, won't you introduce me to some of your new friends?"

--------

Two years later, when he and Harry got married, both of his parents were there, sitting right in the front row and cheering them on.

---------

Thanks for the prompt! I don't quite know what you were hoping for so I hope this is okay! <3

[bluejayblueskies]

philautia

n. a love based on deep connection to one’s well-being and built upon a love for one’s self; a centered wholeness

Words: 2.3k

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Relationship: Sasha James & Tim Stoker & Martin Blackwood & Jonathan Sims, Past Tim Stoker/Sasha James, Minor Jonathan Sims/Martin Blackwood

Characters: Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood, Jonathan Sims, Sasha James

Additional Tags: AU - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Fluff and Humor, Statement Fic (but not in the way you expect!), Aromantic and Asexual Characters, Implied/Referenced Homophobia (very minor), Implied/Referenced Arophobia (also very minor)

Summary:

SASHA

So, according to Tim, I’m supposed to be recording a statement on, quote, my “most swashbucklingest experience as an esteemed member of the LGBT community.” He left this recorder on my desk and stole my scone. Timothy Stoker, I will not forget that.

---

Statements of members of the archival staff at the Magnus Institute, London, regarding certain facets of their aspec identities. Statements compiled by Timothy Stoker on 10th June, 2016. For personal use only.

Ao3 link in reblogs

Or read below:

[CLICK]

 MARTIN

 —really don’t think this is necessary—

 TIM

 Aaaaand we’re recording!

 MARTIN

 (exasperated) Tim.

 TIM

 Oh, come on Martin, it’s more fun this way!

 [MARTIN MAKES A NOISE OF DISAGREEMENT]

 TIM

 You cannot look me in the eye and tell me that this doesn’t appeal to your, and I quote, “retro aesthetic.”

 MARTIN

 (reluctantly) It… might.

 TIM

 See! So it’s perfect!

 …

 [HE SIGHS]

 Obviously you don’t have to if you don’t want to, Martin. I just thought it might be nice—to have something to look back on when we’re all old and sick of each other, you know? Here, I can go first.

 MARTIN

 Tim, you don’t have to—

 TIM

 (overlapping, adopting the ‘Archivist’ voice) Statement of Timothy Stoker, regarding the first time he went to Pride with his brother, Danny. June 10th, 2016.

 (cheekily) Statement begins.

 TIM (STATEMENT)

 (in his normal voice) I realized I was into blokes too when I was 15, you know. Think it took me a while because of the whole ace thing, though that took me until I was in uni to really figure out. I was still fine with sex, you know, always enjoyed it when it came up, just… never really wanted it with anyone in particular. So I suppose I’d assumed for a while that the things I was feeling toward other guys weren’t romantic because I never had the sexual parts to go along with them. (with wry humor) Almost ruined a few relationships that way, actually.

 But I’m getting a bit off-topic. Can’t be one of those rambling statement givers Jon hates. God, I can see his face now, that thing he does with his nose—Martin, you know the one, the- the way it looks like he’s just smelled something really, really rank.

 MARTIN

 I thought you said you weren’t going to ramble.

 TIM

 Cheeky, cheeky. Okay, where was I. Right.

 TIM (STATEMENT)

 Mom and Dad weren’t real big on the whole bi thing, so the first time I got the chance to go to Pride was in uni. The first time I got the chance to go with Danny was after he turned 18 and got his first modeling gig. At least, I think he was already modeling back then. Point is, we were both out of the house, and Danny had been dying to go to Pride with me ever since I sent him pictures of me and Sasha eating an entire box of rainbow-colored donuts that first year. I’d figured out I was ace by then, but it had been pretty recent, so when we got there, I found one of the vendors selling those big flags you drape over your shoulders and got an ace one. Felt a bit weird having the ace flag instead of the bi one like the other years, but I had worn that pink, blue, and purple button-down Sasha got me for Christmas once, so overall, it felt all right.

 And Danny—god, he loved it. Pretty sure he ate his weight in fried food that day.

 [HE LAUGHS]

 Almost got the aro flag he’d borrowed from Sasha dirty, actually, when he—

 (quickly changes course) Ah, nothing! Sasha, if you’re listening to this, absolutely nothing happened to your flag, and I definitely did not have it laundered before I returned it to you.

 TIM

 Aaaaand that’s it! Statement ends, I guess.

 See—easy! (a bit more seriously) But really—you don’t have to record one if you don’t want to, Martin.

 MARTIN

 …

 No, I- I want to.

 TIM

 Are you sure? I don’t want you to do that thing where you just do something because you think someone else wants you to.

 MARTIN

 I do not—!

 …

 Okay, okay, fine. Point taken. But yeah, I- I’m sure.

 [RUSTLING AS THE TAPE RECORDER IS PASSED FROM TIM TO MARTIN]

 MARTIN

 (with an audible smile) Statement of, er, Martin Blackwood. Regarding… a crush. No, no, wait—god, that sounds so juvenile. Regarding himself, and a person who- er, someone whom he—

 [HE SIGHS]

 Fine. Regarding a crush. Statement given June 10th, 2016.

 Statement begins.

 MARTIN (STATEMENT)

 I’m always a little embarrassed to tell people that I’ve never dated anyone before? Okay, a- a lot embarrassed, actually. I try not to bring it up, but people will say things like, oh, you know how it is to shop for a partner or meeting her parents is definitely nerve-wracking—which is wrong on, er, two accounts, actually—and then I feel more awkward not telling them that I don’t know, actually, because I’ve never been in a relationship longer than a week or so. Then, they’ll get all sympathetic, like it’s some- some tragedy that I’m not involved with someone, and that’s worse, because then they’ll offer to set me up with people, or say that they don’t understand why I’m single because I’m a catch or whatever, and I have to give them some excuse about not interested at the moment.

 It’s not that, not really. Dates with strangers, they- they just never work out for me.

 I think I fall somewhere on the aromantic spectrum? I didn’t think about it much until Sasha mentioned it once over drinks—I think you were there, Tim, although you were (laughs) very drunk by that point. I told her I hadn’t had a crush on anyone since sixth form, and she threw around a bunch of terms. I- I honestly don’t really remember, it was kind of overwhelming and (laughs) I was also pretty drunk as well. But yeah, it… it sounds about right.

 (hesitantly, as if bracing himself for impact) So… this person. Who I, er. Recently, that is, who I…

 [HE CLEARS HIS THROAT]

 It’s really strange, that’s all. And a- a lot. I—heh—I don’t really know what to do about it.

 MARTIN

…

 Uh, statement ends? I guess? I, uh, don’t really have anything else to say. (jokingly) It’s not like there’s any, er, follow-up or whatever. (to Tim) Was- was that okay?

 TIM

 (audibly smiling) Yup! Most excellent, Marto. (more seriously) You felt okay, right?

 MARTIN

 (huh) Yeah. Yeah, I- I did. A bit nice, actually. (quickly) As- as long as this stays in the archives, though. It… it is staying in the archives, right?

 TIM

 Oh, definitely. Right next to the section on love potions, I think.

 MARTIN

 Tim!

 TIM

 (laughs) Yes, Martin, it’s staying in the archives. Pinkie promise. Just you, me, Sasha, and Jon. (in the tone of a man who knows a great secret and wants nothing more than to share it) Speaking of Jon—

 MARTIN

 (quickly) Uh, recording ends!

 TIM

 (undeterred) —is he the—?

 [CLICK]

.

 [CLICK]

 SASHA

 Right. So, according to Tim, I’m supposed to be recording a statement on, quote, my “most swashbucklingest experience as an esteemed member of the LGBT community.” He left this recorder on my desk and stole my scone. Timothy Stoker, I will not forget that. It was white chocolate raspberry, and I’m stealing the money it cost out of your wallet.

 …

 Anyway.

[SHE CLEARS HER THROAT]

 Statement of Sasha James, given 10th June 2016. Subject of statement is… hmm. Let’s say… (laughs) A brief relationship with one Timothy Stoker.

 Statement begins.

 SASHA (STATEMENT)

 Tim, I know you’re listening to this, and I just want to preface this by saying that yes, it was Italian that we had for dinner that night, not Greek. You’re thinking of a different friendship-turned-hookup-turned-awkward-aftermath-turned-friendship.

 [SHE LAUGHS QUIETLY]

 Anyway, I guess the best place to begin with this whole thing is by saying that I’ve known I was aro since I was 16 and that I’ve never been very good at talking about it. I’ve ended plenty of tried and failed relationships with the it’s-not-you-it’s-me talk because I didn’t know how to explain that I just… wasn’t interested in romance.

 I wanted to explain it to you beforehand, Tim, I really, really did. We’ve had this conversation, I know I know—I won’t rehash it over tape.

 [SHE SIGHS]

 But the important thing is that I like you so, so much, and—god, this is stupid—I guess maybe I thought that it wouldn’t matter with you? That you could like me romantically and I could like you platonically and it would be fine. Like I said, stupid, but you asked me out to that Italian place—yes, Italian, for god’s sake, I had the chicken parm and you had some sort of lasagna abomination—and I just… couldn’t say no. And it was nice, really. I had a lot of fun.

 And then we slept together. And… that was really nice. But then, the next morning, the… the guilt set in. Because I felt the same as I always had about you—which is to say that I loved you, just not in the same way you loved me—and I became convinced that I’d gone and ruined the whole thing.

 Ignoring you for a week was probably not the correct response. (quieter) Yeah, definitely not my finest moment. But I’d gotten it in my head that the moment I told you that I didn’t feel that way about you and that I would never feel that way about you—or about anyone—you’d hate me. And you don’t have to say that you’d never hate me—I know you wouldn’t. I think I knew it then, too. But fear is a powerful thing.

 …

 Anyway, you know how it all turned out. You finally dragged me out to coffee and I finally told you why I’d been avoiding you and it was really, really awkward for about a month after that and then it just… wasn’t anymore. (audibly smiling) And you’re still my best friend, Tim. Even if you did steal my scone.

 [THE SOUND OF PAPERS RUSTLING AND A CHAIR ROLLING BACKWARD]

 Recording ends.

 [CLICK]

 .

 [CLICK]

 ARCHIVIST

 Statement of Kyle Henning, regarding a strange mushroom he found growing in his garden. Original statement given April 15th, 2011. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.

 Statement begi—

 [DOOR OPENS]

 TIM

 Hey boss! Got a moment?

 ARCHIVIST

 (irritated) Tim, please at least knock when the door to my office is closed. I was just about to record a statement.

 TIM

 (unbothered) So if you were about to, that means you’re not recording one right now, which means you do have a moment.

 ARCHIVIST

 (flatly) Shut the door on your way out, Tim.

 TIM

 (brightly) Right you are, boss! Juuuust going to leave this here on your desk. Bring it back whenever you’re done!

 [PAPERS RUSTLE AS SOMETHING IS PLACED ON THE DESK]

 ARCHIVIST

 (dryly) I’m fairly certain that I’m the one who assigns you tasks to complete, Tim.

 TIM

 That you do! I guess I better get back to them then. Have fun!

 ARCHIVIST

 (firmly) Tim—

 [DOOR CLOSES]

 [HE SIGHS]

 ARCHIVIST

 Right. Well, given that this recording is essentially useless now and I hadn’t even gotten to the statement, I may as well start over. (mutters under his breath) Bloody waste of tape and my time—

 [CLICK]

 .

 [CLICK]

 [PAPERS RUSTLE. FOR A MOMENT, THERE IS ONLY THE SOUND OF BREATHING. THEN, JON SIGHS.]

 ARCHIVIST

 Before I begin, I would like to make it very clear that this is not an appropriate use of working hours or the tape recorders, which should be used for statements that won’t record digitally as per Elias’s request.

 …

 That being said, I am… not entirely opposed to this project. So, I suppose…

 [HE CLEARS HIS THROAT]

 Statement of Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London, regarding… regarding a black ring worn on the middle finger of his right hand. Statement recorded by subject, June 10th, 2016.

 Statement begins.

 ARCHIVIST (STATEMENT)

 I’ve often been told that I am not a very open person. I don’t necessarily intend to be closed-off, but I’ve also never found the need to disclose every aspect of my personal life to everyone I come into contact with. And yes, Tim—because I trust that you and you alone will be listening to this tape—that is a perfectly respectable way to live one’s life. Not everyone needs to know what I ate for breakfast that morning or who my favorite primary school teacher was.

 …

 I… will admit, though, that in certain circumstances, I… could probably stand to be more transparent regarding aspects of my personal life. Perhaps that’s why Georgie bought me the ring.

 It wasn’t a special occasion. She just brought it back from the shop one day, a few weeks after a… particularly illuminating conversation about certain sexual identities, and dropped it atop my copy of Wuthering Heights. Honestly, I had no idea what it was at first. I- (heh) I tried to make a joke about unorthodox proposals, but I- I don’t really think it landed. Georgie just looked at me and said that she’d seen it on one of the online forums, that it was called an ace ring, and that she thought I might like it. I think I was more surprised about the fact that the ring fit perfectly than at the fact that she’d bought me the ring in the first place.

 So I wore it. And it felt… nice. Understand, I don’t keep quiet about my romantic and sexual identities out of shame or embarrassment or indecision; I simply don’t feel the need to announce them at any given moment. So I’ve always been fond of small things—pins and stickers and such—that I can incorporate into my life, insignificant enough that they aren’t readily apparent to anyone but me, as they’re for me more than for anyone else. My ring is one such thing.

 [THERE IS A MOMENT OF SILENCE. MORE WORDS SIT IN THE AIR, WAITING. EVENTUALLY, HOWEVER, HE SIGHS, AND THE WORDS REMAIN UNSAID.]

 ARCHIVIST

 Statement ends.

 …

 Right.

 (with something that might be a smile) As for your other request, I do have a prior engagement with Georgie and Melanie this weekend. Though if you’re willing to accommodate two more, I’m sure they wouldn’t be opposed to coming along. Georgie’s always telling me that Pride is more fun when you’re with a group, after all.

 End recording.

 [CLICK]

[gameofdrarry]

Wizards Hearts Recs: Canon Divergent

Wizards Hearts was a four-month-long Drarry reading fest. Players were given a playing deck of 52 tropes, and were asked to find 52 different fics to read and comment on to fill their decks. To prevent the same few fics from being read, fics were restricted to only being used for the game three times before being considered ineligible for further points. The tropes and submissions list can be found here.

Check out the masterlist of fics for this trope below the cut!

📜 Evitative by Vichan Rated:  Teen Words:  222,452 Tags:  Slytherin Harry Potter, Re-sorting, Dark Arts, Slow Burn, Dark!Harry Summary:  In the summer before his fifth year at Hogwarts, Harry is drawn to a room in Grimmauld Place. Like the Gryffindor he is, he enters the room without fear. The room is a library, and Harry is surprised to find that he’s eager to learn. Then he gets the bad news: he’s been accidentally expelled from Hogwarts, and he needs to be sorted again. Everyone is confident that he’ll go straight back to Gryffindor, but with what he's been learning, Harry’s not so sure. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 The Secondary Task by ProfessorFrankly Rated:  Mature Words:  50842 Tags: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death, Book 4: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Swearing, Frank discussion of teen sex, No actual teen sex, Canon-Typical Violence, If you've read GoF you know the last bit's where the violence and stuff is, Most of this fic has a "T" rating, Quantum Bang 2020 Summary:  When Harry Potter’s name comes out of the Goblet of Fire, Draco Malfoy decides the Boy-Who-LIved needs a friend, whether he wants one, or not. With his mother’s backing, Draco sets out to make sure Harry knows he has someone in his corner, for now, and if Draco has his way, for always. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Outtake: The Second Task by MickeySLee Rated:  Mature Words:  30824 Tags: Secret Relationship, Book 4: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Hogwarts Fourth Year, Triwizard Tournament, Hostage Situations, Draco Malfoy is a Good Boyfriend, Harry Potter is a Good Boyfriend, Plot Twists, Romance, Fluff, Homosexuality, Homophobia, Good Draco Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy's A+ Parenting, Lucius Malfoy Being an Asshole, weekly updates!, Hogwarts Era, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Bashing, POV Hermione Granger, Hurt/Comfort, Consent is Sexy, Fairy Tale Elements Summary:  Part of the series Outtakes and A Hard Story. Fourth Year. The Triwizard Tournament. The Second Task. What would happen if Dumbledore made a different decision when it was discovered Draco is who Harry would miss most? Instead of covering it up and declaring Ron to be Harry's hostage, Draco is the one at the bottom of the lake. No one could have foreseen how much trouble that caused. You may want to read A Hard Story or Throughout the Twists to Times first. This story is completed and will be uploaded one chapter per week on Sunday. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Parades, Pansy, and fuck I’m too gay for this by false_heteros Rated:  General Words:  2227 Tags: Pride is at the end :), A lot of pureblood bullshit, Loneliness, Draco is Sad, Harry Needs a Hug, Pride, Pride Parades, Modern Era, Sirius Black Lives, Mentions of past child abuse, Cedric Diggory Dies, past homophobia, Gay Harry Potter, Gay Draco Malfoy Summary:  After the war, Draco, who had been staying at home like a fucking hermit till Pansy came along, finally finds out about the LGBTQ+ Community, he dives head first into research and is amazed at what he finds. Harry wanders muggle London once every few days. Blending with the crowd and not feeling different for once. He comes along a group of people with beautiful colours around them. “What are they doing?” ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Closure is a state of mind by Quicksilvermaid Rated:  Explicit Words:  12229 Tags: Morally Grey Draco Malfoy, Inappropriate medical/therapist relationships, Dubious Consent Due To Identity Issues, Lies, Self-Esteem Issues, low key stalking behaviour, Loneliness, Guilt, Therapy, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, taking advantage of a grieving person, Death of a Spouse, Character Death, (not Drarry), Disfigurement, Scars, Brief Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts, Drinking, First Time, Polyjuice Potion, Sex While Using Polyjuice Potion, pensieve sex, Voyeurism, wanking, Concealed Identity, Bittersweet Ending, H/D Hurt!Fest 2020 Summary:  After Harry's husband Charlie is killed, his Mind Healer recommends a Polyjuice therapy company, so Harry can see 'Charlie' again and find closure over his death. Draco, whose life over the last ten years has gone from bad to worse, gets assigned Potter's case. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Harry Potter and the Yuletide Waltz by LakeWitch Rated:  General Words:  3042 Tags: Yule Ball, Dancing, Hogwarts Fourth Year, six years later, Awkwardness, Meddling, Oblivious!Harry, more dancing, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Christmas, Holiday Season, Canon Divergence Summary:  At the fourth year Yule Ball, Draco Malfoy asked Harry Potter to dance. Six years later, Harry Potter just might ask him why. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 When It's All Over by Erebeus Rated:  Mature Words:  9292 Tags: Rape/Non-con, Unhealthy Relationships, Self-Hatred, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con (not between main pairing), suicidal/death idolization, Hogwarts Sixth Year, Non-Graphic Violence, Spy Draco Malfoy, Loneliness, H/D Hurt!Fest 2020, Betrayal, Attempted Murder, Brief flashbacks and moments of panic mentioned, non graphic torture, Azkaban (brief), Off screen therapy Summary:  If killing you makes Harry happy, you really don't mind. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Catch 22 by jad Rated:  Explicit Words:  49895 Tags: Romance, Fluff, Humor, Complete, Letter!fic, Sexual Content Summary:  As if NEWTS weren't enough, Dumbledore's gone and had another one of his 'bright ideas.' If all ends well, the Houses will be getting along in no time. Or according to Harry's correspondent, an Apocalypse will be in order. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 (I don't know) what's right and what's real anymore by Ladderofyears Rated:  Mature Words:  2101 Tags: Harry Potter and the half blood prince, canon divergence, no septumsempra, guilty Draco, pov Draco, ghostly Myrtle, attracted Draco, pre-slash, pre-relationship, Harry is a hero Summary:  An alternative sectumsempra scene from Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Kiss by xErised Rated:  Teen and Up Words:  10764 Tags: Hogwarts Era, Light Angst, Mutual Pining, Secret Relationship, Getting Together, Kissing in the Rain Summary:  For the second task of the Triwizard Tournament, it's not Ron that Harry rescues from the Great Lake, but Draco Malfoy. Hogwarts-era. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 It’s Not Christmas (without you) by LittleBozSheep Rated:  Explicit Words:  79213 Tags: Fluff, Family Feels, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Getting Together, Christmas, Slow Burn, Serious Slow Burn, Everyone ships Drarry, Apart from Drarry, Divorced Draco Malfoy, Divorced Harry Potter, Kid Albus, kid scorpius, Everyone makes a camo, side wolfstar, Besides the last chapter it's rated G, Christmas Fluff, 25 Days of Harry and Draco, Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, Minor Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Drunkenness, Drunken Shenanigans Summary:  Maybe agreeing to host everyone for Christmas wasn’t Harry’s best idea. Luckily Albus’s best friend’s dad is an events planner who agreed to help, only issue, turns out the dad is Draco Malfoy. Sarcastic and grumpy to everyone but his son. Will Harry managed to catch him and keep Christmas from being a complete disaster? ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Leaves by TheLostLibran Rated:  Teen and Up Words:  1190 Tags: Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff without Plot, Healing, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Post-War, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence Summary:  A lot of work goes on underground, invisible to the naked eye. Though it doesn't mean that no development is occuring, the hopes of a huge, fully grown tree standing strong in the near or distant future only start sprouting when the leaves do. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Okay But That’s Hot by Fuschaslime Rated:  Explicit Words:  3640 Tags: Anal Sex, Riding, Dirty Talk, Frottage, Lapdance, Slut Shaming, Established Relationship, Friends With Benefits, Enemies to Lovers, Teasing, Begging, Safe Sane and Consensual, Bets & Wagers, Poker, theyre both over 18, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Banter, Perverted Harry, Slight fluff, Shameless Smut, AU where Lily Potter defeated Voldemort for good, and now everyone at hogwarts is kinda cool with eachother, apart from house tensions, Verbal Humiliation, Kinda Summary:  Draco immediately regrets agreeing to a certain bet made at poker night when he realises he’ll actually have to hold up his end of the deal. Harry is ecstatic. OR Draco Malfoy bets Harry Potter a lapdance. He loses. ❤️ Read on AO3

[polyamoryinfandoms]

Monthly Fic Roundup!

Hey gang! I’m posting the fics that were recommended on our last surveymonkey poll; thanks for everyone who recommended fics. Please note I did not get to read every fic on here and depended on your responses and the AO3 tags to mark for any triggers or story notes, so please read with caution if you’re worried about any content warnings!

If you want to recommend more fics, I’ll be posting another roundup poll later in the day today! 

Under the cut are 32 fics from: 

Agents of Shield (1) 

Bill & Ted (1) 

Castlevania (1) 

Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (1) 

DCU (2) 

Ferris Bueller’s Day Off (4) 

Game of Thrones (1) 

Harry Potter (1) 

Leverage (1) 

Mission Impossible (1 -- series) 

Sanders Sides (1-- series)

Sense8 (1)

Sherlock (1-- series) 

Star Wars (1) 

Stranger Things (8) 

The Man from U.N.C.L.E. (1) 

The Untamed/CQL/MDZS (2)

Teen Wolf (2) 

White Collar (1) 

Agents of Shield: 

is it chill that you’re in my head? by lazyfish 

Pairing: Lance Hunter/Bobbi Morse/Alphonso Mackenzie

TW/TAGS: PTSD, Referenced Torture

Summary: It doesn't take long for Mack to realize he's in love with Bobbi and Hunter and has been for a while. Other realizations take slightly longer.

Bill and Ted (movie):

Our Home, Our Family, Our Love by CaptainWeasley

Pairing: Bill/Ted/Elizabeth/Joanna

TW/TAGS: slurs, implied/referenced child abuse, internalized homophobia, self harm

Summary: A series of firsts in Ted's life, as he slowly comes to terms with his sexuality and learns how to handle being in love with both his wife and his best friend. When Billie and Thea come out as trans, each in her own way, he does everything he can to help them be who they are.

Castlevania: 

Deliverance by cricketsong1985

Pairing: Trevor Belmont/Sypha Belnades/Alucard

TW/Tags: Blood kink, explicit sexual content,  gore, trauma, angst

Summary: Adrian is beginning to think that Wallachia will be a smoking pile of ash long before he, Trevor, and Sypha can stop Dracula’s war on humanity. They’ve been chasing the castle for months, but each time they get close, it vanishes. Traveling with such genuine and trustworthy allies has been unexpectedly pleasant; Adrian doesn’t mind that Trevor and Sypha are involved with each other, but he is taken entirely by surprise when they open their relationship to him one evening. Hopelessly in over his head, his heart keeps urging him forward, even when he’s forced to confront the darkest aspects of his nature. Adrian must learn to swallow his pride and let himself be vulnerable if he wants a chance at happiness. Unfortunately, there isn’t much time for looking within when the world is drenched in blood and magic, and the path to victory may destroy him completely.

Chilling Adventures of Sabrina: 

We will be judged by the courage of our hearts by MagicClem

Pairing: Harvey Kinkle/Sabrina Spellman/Nicholas Scratch

TW/TAGS: mention of an abusive parent 

Summary: It's been a month since the 13 almost destroyed Greendale. Now a full Witch, Sabrina tries to move on, with the help of one Nicholas Scratch.But one night, Harvey arrives at the Spellman's house and everything becomes complicated.

DCU: 

not for the faint of heart by pasdecoeur

Pairing: Hal Jordan/Bruce Wayne/Clark Kent

TW/TAGS: Explicit Sexual Content 

Summary: Clark opens a door that was meant to stay closed. Things spiral. or, What Not To Do When You’ve Fallen in Love with Batman: A Guide by Hal Jordan & Clark Kent.

All Good Things Come in Threes (Legends of Tomorrow) by IncendiaGlacies

Pairing: Gideon/Rip Hunter/Miranda Coburn

Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting

Summary: “Two is a couple, three is a crowd,” Gideon stated. In which Gideon navigates her polyamorous relationship with Rip and Miranda. Domestic slice of life goodness.

Ferris Bueller’s Day Off:

Pairing for all of these are Pairing: Cameron/Ferris/Sloane and are written by @fbdo1986

it’s enough to be whiplash

TW: death mention (no character death), drowning

A/N: To put it plainly, I took a few tricks from John Hughes’s earlier scripts of the film, which were more surreal and up-front with discussing death and end of the world scenarios. It was inspired by a concept that I couldn’t seem to shake after I thought of it: what if the pool scene was just a bit more high stakes?

all the things I never told you 

Summary: It’s Sloane, Ferris, and Cameron’s first afternoon alone at the Bueller residence in months. The busy twenty-four year olds who’ve struggled to find time together as their lives unfold in front of them try to think of what to do for the day when Cameron decides to let them in on what he’s been keeping from them.

bye bye love 

TW: Death mention (none of the main characters)

Summary: A hopefully angsty number that details Sloane’s, Cameron’s, and Ferris’s journey through heartbreak and loss after their Sophomore year in college. The title is named after a song by The Cars by the same name!

firestarter

Prompt #5: Where it doesn’t hurt with the OT3

Game of Thrones: 

Constellatory by blueandbulae

Pairing: Theon Greyjoy/Sansa Stark/Margaery Tyrell/Robb Stark (polycule, NO incest) 

TW: Some canon typical violence

Summary: It’s strange and messy and maybe nobody else will ever understand them but it works. It’s theirs, and theirs alone, and nobody can take that from them.Or: Robb and Theon storm King's Landing, rescue the princesses, and save the kingdom. Then comes the hard part.

Harry Potter: 

Unconventional by silver_fish

Pairing: Harry Potter/Ron Weasley/Hermione Granger

Summary: A few years, now, have passed since Hedwig’s death, and Hermione thinks it’s time Harry got a new pet. What sort of pet, though, neither she nor Ron know. Not until Harry himself offers her the perfect solution, that is.

Leverage: 

for better or worse (we change together) by idkimoutofideas

Pairing: Alec Hardison/Parker/Eliot Spencer

TW/TAGS: Canon typical violence

Summary: The moment Parker saw the stranger standing by the elevator, a dozen alarm bells went off in her head. She froze, and Hardison nearly walked into her as he entered behind her. It took her a moment to realize that while half of the alarm bells were telling her to get the fuck out of there, the other half were telling her to look closer. Or, Eliot Spencer is a recent war veteran who just moved to Portland in an attempt to lead a calmer lifestyle. He ends up with some weird neighbors, but it's Portland, everyone's a little weird.

Mission Impossible: 

Polyamorous Spies (series of 2 fics) by MagicClem

Pairing: Benji Dunn/Ethan Hunt/Ilsa Faust

TW/TAGS: Blood & injuries (2nd fic) 

Sander’s Sides: 

Love and Other Fairytales by SoDoRoses (Fairychess)

Pairing: LAMP/CALM (Logan, Roman, Virgil, Patton)

TW: violence, major character death, no NSFW in the main fic but there is a side series with NSFW, animal death, description of rot, nonconsentual control of another person, 'like death' state of being

Sense8: 

Crazy Life by MagicClem

Pairing: Kala Dandekar/Wolfgang Bogdanow/Rajan Rasal

Summary: Rajan would admit that this past few years had been crazy and life seems determined to make it crazier and crazier.Or: This is "Amor Vincit Omnia" from Rajan's perspective.

Sherlock: 

Lorem Ipsum by Saathi1013 (series) 

Pairing:  Sherlock Holmes/John Watson/Sarah Sawyer

TW: Abduction

Star Wars:

so just pull the trigger by Darnaguen

Pairing: Han Solo/Qi'ra/Lando Calrissian

TW/TAGS: Alcohol use 

Summary: “Oh, don’t pout Haan.” Lando lounges back, licking his newly berry-tinted lips with a lazy grin. “You know all you have to do is ask.”(Qi’ra’s eyes are glinting and her smile is dagger-sharp. Han knows the look: it’s one she wears whenever she has a winning hand.The dice on the table are mediocre at best. He shakes his head and drinks deep.)

Stranger Things: 

All pairings are Steve Harrington/Jonathan Byers/Nancy Wheeler

The Hawkins Three by nonymos

TW: Some canon typical homophobia and slurs

Summary: It's two weeks after the Snow Ball, Nancy's officially with Jonathan, and Steve is trying to move forward. If only he wasn't on a path that keeps circling back to the both of them.

lovers in a dangerous time by diogxnes

TW/TAGS: Briefly: panic attacks/PTSD, parental neglect

Summary: “So,” says Robin, sitting back in her chair, “what’s the deal there, anyway? With the whole you-Nancy-Jonathan thing.”The question makes his mouth run dry. Why would she ask that? Can she tell, possibly, how much he’s been thinking about Nancy these past few days? How starstruck he was when Nancy showed up at his house? Does she know about the mysterious warmth in his stomach when he thinks about Jonathan? “What do you mean, the whole me-Nancy-Jonathan thing?” “Come on, Steve. She’s your ex and he famously beat you up two years ago and now they’re dating each other and all three of you somehow ended up a part of this weird little monster-fighting club together. There’s gotta be a story there.”“I don’t know, Robs,” says Steve, rolling his eyes, relieved beyond measure that that’s all she meant. “You pretty much just covered all of it. There’s not much more to tell.”

Have Happened by cortexikid

TW/TAGS: Homophobia

Summary: "I overheard you. You were talking in your sleep.”Steve's heart fluttered nervously.“It was a little funny at first,” Nancy admitted, her tone a mix of teasing and apologetic, “you were moaning my name and I thought it’d be kinda funny if Mike accidentally overheard you having a sex dream about his sister—”Steve couldn’t control the guffaw that escaped him. “But then you said Jonathan’s name. Right after mine. All in the same breath.”

it’s a risk, it’s a gamble by nondz (pinkjook)

TW/TAGS: NSFW

Summary: “I think we should pretend to date,” Robin says. "What?" Steve answers.

still turning out by scoutshonor

TW/TAGS: Homophobic language

Summary: Steve knows senior year's supposed to be tough, but seriously?Not only does his dad want him to take over his business, but he lands himself into a fight with his best friend leaving him friendless and booted out of his inner-circle, gets stuck watching a bunch of kids after school because of a missing credit, has to repeat eleventh grade history, and, oh yeah. He has the minor issue of having no idea what he actually wants to do with his life.But it's not all that bad: not the kids he has to watch, and certainly not Nancy Wheeler and Jonathan Byers, two friends from his history class. Friends. Just friends. Yeah, he and you both know that's bullshit.Steve's got a lot of figuring out to do.(or: HSAU Stoncy with Steve as a senior, doing his best)

(Following Stoncy fics are by @pterawaters​) 

Now and For Always 

TW/TAGS: Explicit, Sex where one party is drunk and the other isn't

Summary: Between graduating from college, starting new careers, and planning a wedding, the summer of 1990 is a busy time for Nancy, Steve, and Jonathan. When a war starts in the middle east, Jonathan gets called away just three weeks before the wedding. He’s determined to make it back in time, no matter what it takes.

It's not like people live like this

TW/TAGS: Car Accidents, Period-Typical Homophobia, NSFW

Summary: Concerned that Steve's less-than-stellar grades might have been making them look bad, his parents hired him a tutor, Jonathan Byers, they were sure he wouldn't find as distracting as his last one. Sure, Jonathan had good grades in school, but he really wished he didn't have to take the extra work to help his mother put food on the table. After all, everyone knew Steve Harrington was a jerk. Right? It turned out, not so much. After an impromptu study-session-turned-party and a game of spin the bottle, Steve and Jonathan both found themselves dating Nancy Wheeler. And that wasn't even the strangest thing that happened to any of them that week.

Mr. Sandman (series) 

TW/TAGS: Canon-typical violence, Explicit scenes

The Man from U.N.C.L.E.: 

Simmer On Low by canardroublard

Pairing: Illya/Napoleon/Gaby

TW/TAGS: semi-implied consensual voyeurism, whump

Summary: Scenes from five kitchens.

The Untamed/CQL/MDZS: 

inclusions by keiyashi 

Pairing: Sòng Lán | Sòng Zǐchēn/Xiǎo Xīngchén/Xuē Yáng | Xuē Chéngměi

TW/TAGS: NSFW

Summary: “I guess I feel left out. And I’m asking you to show me how not to?”“Show you?” Xue Yang laughs, easing the tension the only way he knows how. “Daozhang, if you aren’t careful, I might think you’re implying something quite forward.”Xingchen blinks at him. “Xue Yang, I feel like you’re trying to embarrass me, but that is what I was implying.”

melting the glacier by keiyashi 

Pairing: Lán Huàn | Lán Xīchén/Mèng Yáo | Jīn Guāngyáo/Niè Míngjué

Summary: Wanting to be with Nie Mingjue is something Lan Xichen accepted about himself long ago. He wants only happiness for his friend, no matter what form it takes. Even if that form is quite lovely and possesses an enchanting mouth.

Teen Wolf: 

Feels Better Biting Down by callunavulgari, hiza-chan (callunavulgari)

Pairing: Stiles Stilinski/Derek Hale/Lydia Martin

TW/TAGS: Blood

That I See You by FiccinDylan

Pairing: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski/Jordan Parris

TW/TAGS: NSFW, abo, m-preg (non graphic), werewolves, triads are normal

Summary: Deputy Jordan Parrish and Chef Derek Hale are in the prime of their lives and ready to take the next step in their relationship by courting an omega. Everything seems to be progressing smoothly until the new omega (aka Stiles Stilinski, the sheriff’s son) surfaces some unresolved tension from Jordan’s past. Jordan originally had the benefit of amnesia to block out his harried background, but now with his amnesia behind him, will he be able to resolve his past before he ruins his future?

White Collar: 

Always Starts the Same, with a Boy and a Girl by lightgetsin

Pairing: Neal Caffrey/Peter Burke/Elizabeth Burke

Tags: AU 

Summary: Summer, 1998. Neal Caffrey robs the gallery where Elizabeth O'Dell is working late, and comes away with a lot more than art. Agent Burke has no idea what's about to hit him.

[ineverlookavvay]

bisexual-aliens-in-arms

Isobel drags Michael to Planet 7 for pride night. It goes far better than expected.

Bi Visibility Day - Day 7 of Michael Guerin Week 2020

cw: alcohol, referenced child abuse, internalized homophobia

Read it on Ao3

“No, “ Michael said, aiming for firm.  “I don’t have time, Iz.”

Isobel scoffed.  “What, are you going to be working on cars all night long?”

There was actually a fairly big backlog of cars to work on, and Michael found he needed the distraction more often than not recently.  Life was complicated, increasingly so, and cars were simple, designed to be a certain way and logically never stray from that.  People sucked a lot more than cars, objectively.  

“Maybe I am.”

“Michael.”  Isobel leaned down onto the hood of the car he was trying to work on, annoyingly in his way.  She was giving him her ‘cut the bullshit’ look, which he was historically not very good at escaping.  “It’s one night, and it’s important to me.  Please come out?”

“I don’t do theme nights.”

Isobel scoffed again, rolling her eyes and trodding directly onto his ego.  “Come on, Michael.  This is my first pride month and you’re supposed to be my bisexual-alien-in-arms.”  She changed tactic abruptly, making the most irritating pouty face he’d ever seen.  “You’re not really going to make me go alone, are you?”

Michael sighed, wiping grease off his hands onto his jeans.  Fucking hell.  “Fine, but you gotta leave me alone for at least a few hours, okay?”  Isobel clapped gleefully.  “You know, some of us work.”

“Let me know if any of those people want a job,” Sanders cut in, ducking in on his way out, looking at Michael’s progress skeptically and ignoring Michael’s scowl.  “Do some damn work.”

“Hell does it look like I’m doing?” Michael called out as Sanders left, still scowling.  Michael fixed a tight smile on Isobel.  “Later, okay?”

She shrugged.  “Fine, but be ready to go at eight.  And try not to look so…” she waved her hand at his general appearance, “mechanic-y.”

Michael wanted to protest that he always looked ‘mechanic-y’ on account of he was a damn mechanic, and besides, the grungy blue-collar cowboy look was still popular as far as he could tell; but seeing as he’d already caved, he would certainly end up losing this argument, too.  So instead, he turned his attention back to the cars.  Michael liked working with his hands, he liked fixing things.  Sure, he might fuck up every relationship he’d ever had, he might break the things in his life constantly, but he could take a broken car and make it a working car, and that was something.  

He was not so secretly dreading the evening, though.  He let himself drift far enough into his work that he wasn’t actively panicking about going to a damn pride night at the local gay bar, which he’d never actually been to, no matter how many times Isobel tried to convince him how great it was.  It’s not that Michael was ashamed, he really wasn’t—but he’d experienced enough bigots and assholes in his life to know that he didn’t need to paint an extra target on his back, either.  

Who he fucked was his own business, and that was how he preferred to keep it.  Isobel was reveling in her newfound sexuality, and he wasn’t about to ruin that for her, but he also knew that a rich white woman was a lot less of a target than a trailer trash cowboy.  He also had an existential dread of any place that resulted in Isobel leaving at the end of the night dripping in glitter.    

Michael didn’t do glitter, and he didn’t do pride month—or at least he hadn’t—and he’d much rather just spend a night with Isobel at the Wild Pony celebrating themselves quietly with a drink that didn’t have anything in it besides the liquor.  Hell, they could go there and celebrate themselves raucously, as long as no one had to know the reason for the celebrating.  

His attempt to distract himself resulted in successfully losing track of time, which meant Isobel was already standing in the junkyard tapping her foot when he went inside to shower and change.  

“You don’t have anything cuter than that?” she asked skeptically when he emerged, clean and dressed in a black button-down.  Isobel was wearing a purplish iridescent crop top that probably came out of her closet circa 2010 and incredibly tight dark blue jeans, with multiple strings of shiny necklaces around her neck.  

“Sorry, I don’t own anything that shiny.”  

That got him a smile at least.  “Listen, Michael, the whole point of pride is to look hot,” he was pretty sure that wasn’t true, “get laid,” he was sure that one was wrong, “and be out and proud while doing it.”  She looked so proud of herself right then that Michael didn’t have the heart to argue.  “Plus, the bi flag has really nice colors.”

Michael smiled in spite of himself.  “Iz, you got me to go with you, you really want to jeopardize that by shit talking my clothing?”

Frowning slightly, she shrugged.  “Fine, but this is why no one thinks you’re the fun alien.” 

“Hey!  I am definitely the fun one,” he argued, striding towards her car and settling in for an inane but companionable argument.

Michael liked bars, in general.  He liked the dark corners and the dirty floors and the smell of alcohol and the down home music and the bluster of it all.  He liked sitting at a bar nursing a drink and feeling like a part of something just by virtue of drinking beside other people.  But Michael hated Planet 7. 

First of all, the whole damn place was trying too hard.  It had far too many lights, all of them overly complicated and flashing stupid colors.  It had a DJ instead of a jukebox, which Isobel implied was something special, that he should be pleased to be experiencing, much to his chagrin.  It had more glitter and confetti littering the floor and on the bar and on the tables than Michael had ever hoped to see in one place.  All the drinks were obscured by ridiculous garnishes.  There was someone sitting at the end of the bar stenciling with face paint on people’s faces, another thing Isobel assured him was a fun and exciting theme night thing.  But most of all, it didn’t make Michael feel safe, or comfortable, or known; this wasn’t his place.

Isobel looked like she’d just walked into her surprise birthday party, though, grinning and strutting in like she owned the place.  “Come on, I’ve been dreaming about their drinks,” she said, beaming, and Michael reluctantly followed her over to the bar.  Michael realized quickly that she hadn’t been dreaming about the drink so much as the bartender.  Which, fair enough. 

Michael let her talk and flirt and took the time to look around again, hoping to find something to be complimentary about so Isobel wouldn’t feel she had to prove how great it all was to him.  It was his own fault then, when he accidentally saw Alex across the room, leaning against a wall, deep in conversation with someone that looked suspiciously like Kyle.  Michael’s stomach did a flip and he turned quickly away, back to Isobel and the bar, half hoping Alex hadn’t seen him.  Michael knew that Alex was single again, or at least that was the last he’d heard, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be caught staring outright. 

“Here,” Isobel thrust a drink into his hand that had a little light-up rainbow color-changing cube masquerading as an ice cube at the bottom of it.  Michael rolled his eyes.  “So what are you feeling?  Wanna dance?  Or I think they’re painting pride flags on people’s faces?”  She sounded giddy, her cheeks flushed and her hair already covered in a ridiculous amount of glitter.  

Michael didn’t have the heart to let her down by telling her he’d rather eat sand than dance or get his face painted without at least a few drinks in his system.  “Whatever you want.” 

Isobel beamed at him.  “See, I knew this would be fun.” 

“Yep,” Michael said, plastering a smile on his fast as she led him over to the person doing the face paint, “cause I’m the fun one.”

By the time he was sitting on a bar stool with someone striping color across his face, Michael was on his second drink, and Isobel's face was already a melty palette of pink, blue, and purple. 

“Isn’t this great?” Isobel said, standing over him and dancing to some unbearable pop song, shaking glitter out of her own hair all over Michael’s head and shoulders.  He could feel it falling onto him like tiny raindrops, securing itself to his shirt and hair and skin with some invisible, terrible glitter power.  He wondered idly how many showers it was going to take until he could walk around without constantly catching the glint of it out of the corner of his eye.  

“Yeah,” Michael agreed, standing up as the face painter proclaimed he was done.  His cheek felt strange, stiff and cold, and he couldn’t get the last of the alcohol out of his glass around the giant fake ice cube.    

“Hey, we have to take a picture,” Isobel said, grinning wider and pulling out her phone while she dragged their faces close enough together to fit into the selfie frame.  She pulled back to look at the picture, nodding with happy satisfaction.  “We are hot,” she proclaimed, “and proud.  Two badass bisexuals.” 

Michael nodded distractedly.  He needed another drink, or maybe just some fresh air, or for the DJ to turn down the goddamned bass, or something.  He hated the feeling of the face paint, and he hated the selfie, he hated how unlike himself he looked, glittery and colorful and trying to smile in a crowd.  Michael stumbled backwards, turning around to face the bar in what he hoped was a mostly intentional-looking maneuver.  He needed another drink.  

The bartender nodded at him and Isobel, bringing over two more glasses of whatever they were drinking.  “Lookin’ good,” she said, and Michael’s chest felt tight. 

It was too loud, and too warm, and Isobel was talking but he couldn’t make out what she was saying.  He drank almost frantically, trying to get enough alcohol into his system that he stopped caring about any of this shit.  Michael glanced around the bar, at all of the people laughing and smiling and looking like they fit in perfectly, and Michael had never felt more like an alien.   He needed to get out, just for a moment, just to catch his breath.  

“I’m, uh, I’m gonna find the bathroom,” he said, coherently enough, and pushed past Isobel towards the back hallway.   

The bathroom was thankfully empty, and quiet as the door swung shut behind him, the music that was so pervasive in the bar just a tinny echo.  Michael braced himself on one of the sinks, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against the scratched mirror.  It was just all so much, and it should have been easy, and the fact that it wasn’t was creating a cacophony of different feelings in his mind, all of it blending together into something like panic.  Michael opened his eyes, willing himself to stay in control.  

He looked at himself in the mirror, and he hated the frantic look in his eyes, hated the smear of color across his cheek like a brand, hated that he could be so comfortable with himself and yet so shaken.  He could feel the urge to push it all away, violently, to shove and shake and break—the only way he had now to make the noise in his head stop.  Michael gripped the sink and thought about tearing the room apart.  He could see it, sinks and toilets tearing out of the wall, tiles slamming against one another into dust, the mirrors cracking and shattering.  The vision of destruction filled his mind, and he was in the middle of it, silent in the eye of the storm, caught in the tornado of his own making—

The door to the bathroom swung open, and Alex stepped through it, looking concerned.  “Are you okay?” 

The vision dropped away from Michael’s eyes, leaving him with only himself, standing in a public bathroom feeling terrified and self-destructive.  He watched in the mirror as Alex twisted the lock on the door and took another cautious step forward. 

“Are you okay?” Alex repeated. “Because you looked not okay.”

“I’m fine,” Michael said, even though his voice sounded thin and shaken.  Alex stepped towards him again and Michael pressed himself forward, closer to the sink, like he could climb into the mirror and avoid this interaction.  It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk to Alex, because he did, badly, but he didn’t want Alex to see him in a moment where he felt weak.  “You didn’t have to follow me.”

Alex shrugged, the cracks in the mirror keeping Michael from seeing the nuances of his expression.  “I wanted to see if you were okay.” 

It was meant kindly, but somehow it made Michael feel worse.  Michael stopped watching Alex and focused on his own face, frowning when he saw the painted colors again, loosening his grip on the sink to press uneasily on the skin of his cheek.  He swallowed and dropped his hand quickly, lowering his eyes to the stained white porcelain of the sink.  “I think this paint might be toxic,” he said wryly.  He could tell from Alex’s silence that he saw through the remark. 

“It looks good,” Alex said quietly.  “You look good.”

Michael looked up sharply at Alex’s reflection again.  Alex had his own face painted, a rainbow of stripes adorning his cheek.  “You do, too,” Michael said, meaning it.  Alex did look good—happy and proud and like he wasn’t constantly looking over his shoulder.  It made Michael feel boundlessly happy and endlessly sad, knowing that they’d spent their time together hiding, that they could both be here on this stupid pride night—with Alex looking secure and hot and comfortable—and yet not be together.  Usually Michael would fight or fuck those maudlin feelings away, but that wasn’t really an option tonight.  He sighed.  “But I just don’t…maybe this isn’t my scene.”

Alex was close enough to put a hand on Michael’s shoulder, and he did so cautiously, like he wasn’t sure if Michael would let him.  Michael hoped that someday Alex would be able to touch him without worrying.  He let Alex turn him away from the mirror.  

“Maybe,” Alex said, carefully.  “Or maybe you grew up with assholes telling you this part of you was wrong, that it should be shuttered if you can’t destroy it.” 

Michael’s instinct was to argue that he was fine, and none of his shitty foster parents had gotten to him like that, but he wasn’t sure it was entirely true, and he wasn’t sure that Alex wasn’t saying it for his own benefit as much as for Michael’s.  Alex’s hand was still resting on Michael’s shoulder, and it felt grounding; Michael felt stable under Alex’s hand, under Alex’s unwavering gaze.  He took a deep breath, and as he let it out, Alex seemed to visibly relax, too.  

“You can wash it off, if you want,” Alex said, “and it wouldn’t mean anything.”

Michael shook his head slowly.  “Isobel—” he started.

“We didn’t get the same ‘strong woman, love yourself’ stuff that Isobel did,” Alex interrupted, reaching around Michael to snag a paper towel from the wall dispenser.  “It’s okay.” 

“Isobel would be disappointed,” Michael said numbly, his chest tight with unspoken gratitude, but he didn’t take the paper towel.  Then more quietly:  “Everyone’s always disappointed.”

Alex looked at Michael for a moment, and then shrugged and smiled, like he didn’t know what Michael was talking about, like he wasn’t one of the people Michael kept disappointing.  “This whole thing is supposed to be about celebrating yourself the way you want to, so fuck ‘em.”

Michael smiled back weakly, his hand tracing lightly over the stiff lines of the face paint on his cheek.  He so badly wanted to want to leave it there. 

“It looks better on you,” Michael said, impulsively, reaching out as if to touch Alex’s cheek, and then drawing his hand back at the last moment.  He held his breath as Alex met his eyes and stepped carefully forward, bringing his cheek to Michael’s hand, leaning into his touch far too easily.  “You’ve always looked good with stuff like this.”  He was thinking of Alex as a teenager, with liner painted across his eyelids, and it made Michael ache with nostalgia.  He wanted this—he wanted to be able to tell Alex how the only good memories from that summer were of Alex, to be able to say all the stupid, romantic things he had never gotten the chance to say, to be able to dance with Alex at pride night and have neither of them care who saw.  

“I wish I’d been able to be this with you,” Alex said, his voice raw and quiet.

Michael let out a breath that was almost a laugh, running his fingertips lightly across Alex’s rainbow cheek.  “You’re here now,” he said without thinking about it.  Now was enough.  Michael thought that if he leaned forward and kissed Alex, Alex might let him, that it would be okay if it only existed here, in this moment.  But they owed each other more than that—more than a secret kiss in a bathroom, more than rushing in without talking, without taking enough care that neither of them got hurt, this time.  God, but Michael wanted there to be a ‘this time.’

“So are you,” Alex said pointedly, licking his lips absently in a way that sent Michael’s entire internal equilibrium shifting, like his body was trying to tip him towards Alex.  

The door clattered as someone tried to get into the bathroom, and both of them laughed awkwardly, aware again of their surroundings.  It steadied Michael, kept him from crashing towards Alex the way he desperately wanted to.  Waiting would be smarter; dropping his hand, pulling away and swallowing everything he was feeling, putting on a smile and walking out of the bathroom would be smarter, but he hesitated.

Alex met Michael’s eyes and slowly lifted his own hand and pressed his fingers lightly to the paint on Michael’s cheek, almost exploratory, a gentle caress.  Michael felt his breath coming far too quickly, his earlier discomfort nearly forgotten under the soft way Alex was touching him.  

“You really do look good, Guerin.” Alex said quietly.  “And this place?  This bar?  It’s not my favorite either.  And it—it isn’t home, but it’s safe.  You know?” 

“Where’s home?” Michael asked, somewhat facetiously, his fingertips still barely brushing Alex’s cheek, leaning his cheek into Alex’s touch, unable to stop himself.  Michael knew both of them had been facing the same thing recently—the growing sense that all of the places that had felt comfortable or familiar didn’t feel that way any more, the fear of what it would take to find the places that would feel that way in the future.  

Alex met Michael’s eyes, meaningfully, like he was trying to get Michael to understand something without saying it.  “I think I’ve almost got that figured out,” Alex said finally, and Michael was hit by the realization that Alex wasn’t talking about the bars or the city or the buildings they lived in, but something entirely different.  He thought back to every time he’d ever heard Alex say the word home, with something like longing and questions laid into it, and wondered if maybe he’d been talking about them the whole time.    

Michael was trying to form a response that wouldn’t feel like a deflection, that would convince Alex to actually say what he was saying, when someone banged loudly on the door and Alex pulled away abruptly, leaving Michael’s fingers caressing only air.  Alex smiled apologetically and dropped his hand away from Michael’s cheek.  “You shouldn’t spend the whole night in the bathroom,” Alex said, starting to move towards the door.  “I’ll save you a dance.”

“Didn’t see you dancing before,” Michael said, to take focus from the fact that the image of Alex dancing, and happy, was enough to make every bit of him openly ache with wanting.    

“I wasn’t.”  Alex said, raising an eyebrow.  “But I will with you.”  

Michael exhaled heavily, his voice stolen by the casual way Alex said it, like they’d already decided.  Then again, what was there even to decide?  

Alex licked his lips, hesitating between Michael and the door, then abruptly turned back and crossed to where Michael was standing.  Alex pressed himself into Michael’s space, his hands cradling Michael’s cheeks as he brought their lips together in a quick but searing kiss.  Michael let out a sound halfway between surprise and a moan and kissed Alex back fiercely.  He’d barely gotten his bearings before Alex was pulling away.

Smiling with satisfaction, Alex unlocked the door and slipped through into the noise of the bar.  Michael side-stepped out of the way as someone rushed past him to one of the stalls, watching the door like Alex might come back. 

When he didn’t, Michael turned back to the mirror, staring at himself skeptically for a few minutes, trying to see himself the same way he saw Alex, like someone who was strong enough not to feel foolish, but proud.  He shook his head at his reflection—it was too much, too much to ask of himself at that moment, but he realized that he still didn’t want to leave the bar.  Not when Isobel wanted him there, not when Alex wanted him there.  

It was Alex’s voice, Alex’s smile, in Michael’s head as he decided not to wash the face paint off.   As he decided not to listen to the words in the back of his mind that he tried to pretend he’d forgotten, to brush off with bravado, the ones that came from the screaming foster parents who carried bibles and belts, the ones who told him he was nothing before he was old enough to know anything about himself.  Alex didn’t see Michael that way, any more than Michael saw Alex as any of the things his asshole father had thought of him.  Alex wanted to dance with Michael, wanted to kiss him, and that was reason enough to stop thinking about the colors on his face and leave the bathroom. 

This bar was never going to be Michael’s place, it was never going to be less annoyingly loud and glittery, and it was never going to serve drinks that didn’t make him roll his eyes.  But it could be the first place he’d let Isobel drag him to a pride event, it could be the first place he’d kissed Alex, that Alex had kissed him, since they’d tried to ignore how they would always feel.  It could be that, and that could be enough, even if he hated the damn face paint.

Taking a breath, Michael left the bathroom with his breathing almost back to normal.  He found Isobel quickly, dancing on the edge of a throng of people, and she brightened as soon as he appeared, beckoning him over.

“Thought you might have left,” she said close to his ear when he reached her, almost yelling to be heard above the music.    

“Almost did,” Michael replied distractedly.  He scanned the room, which had gotten significantly more crowded in the short time he’d been gone, until he found Alex, leaning against a wall, clearly watching Michael, too.  He tilted his head, gesturing Alex over, and saw him nod and push slowly away from the wall, 

“What did you say?”  Isobel yelled, and Michael flipped his attention back to her, grinning.  She looked happy, and tipsy, and like she actually wanted him there, and all at once Michael felt lighter. 

“I said fuck you,” he said stridently, louder and closer to her ear.  “Bisexuals-in-arms, right?”

Isobel’s answering smile was brilliant, and Michael realized he hadn’t made a mistake by coming here just for her, because she’d asked him, intentionally, to be there.  And there wasn’t anything wrong with staying for Alex, because neither of them would usually be caught dead in a place like this, and there was something about just showing up that mattered.  

Alex came up beside them, putting a hand gently on Michael’s elbow, just enough to let Michael know he was there.  It felt like a lot more than that, though.  

“Alex!”  Isobel was clearly at the drunk stage where she was friends with everyone.  “Look, we match!”  She gestured happily between her face and Michael’s, and Michael hated that it made him feel even a tiny bit better about the stupid face paint. 

Alex grinned.  “It’s great,” he said and Isobel beamed.  The song changed fluidly to something new, and Alex slid his hand down Michael’s arm until their fingers were clasped together.  Michael couldn’t think of a time he and Alex had held hands in public, not ever.  It felt nice.    

Isobel danced next to them with abandon and Michael let himself sway awkwardly with Alex, trying to actually loosen his grip on his control instead of just slipping into the comfortable persona of someone who didn’t care.  He did care.  He cared that Isobel wanted them to have this connection—something that she and Max didn’t have—even if her way of celebrating it wasn’t entirely in line with his ideal evening.  He cared that Alex wanted to dance with him, that he was holding Michael’s hand in public, even if it was under the guise of dancing, that he cared enough to follow him into the bathroom and knew him well enough to lock the door.    

Isobel paused her dancing to give Michael a very obvious and unsubtle thumbs-up, and Michael didn’t even resent it when Alex laughed.  Michael grinned up at her sparkling, painted face, his hand tightly knit with Alex’s, and let himself enjoy being part of something loudly, even if it was just for the night.  Maybe, Michael reflected, this was what Alex meant by home.  

[teacupfulofstarshine]

but i make these high heels work

summary: roman has something new that he wants to try out, but he’s nervous about his family’s reactions. he needn’t be; they’ve always got his back. 

(OR: a birthday fic for roman sanders, set in my moxiety dad au)

a/n: i’m jumping on @notveryglittery‘s “giving the gay everything he wants” agenda. happy birthday roman sanders!!! 

cw: anxiety, mild angst, fear of homophobia

wordcount: ~1.8k

read it on ao3!! 

Roman carefully smooths his hands over the fabric spread out across his bed. He knows that no one else is awake yet. Not even Logan, who routinely wakes up early because apparently he can run on crumbs of sleep and nothing else. Not even Dad, the earliest riser out of all of them, since he doesn’t have any pressing appointments. No one is awake but Roman. 

He’d tossed and turned all night, barely snatching a few hours. He knows he’s going to regret that later, but he also knows that there’s nothing particularly important happening today, so Papa and Dad will be more lenient if he decides to nap. So, rather than waiting until later to roll out of bed, Roman gets up a good hour before anyone else. He makes his bed - properly, this time, pulling off the excess of blankets and pillows and stuffed animals and tucking his thick quilt in. He never has the time or the willpower to make it in the mornings, but today. 

Well.

Today, he has anticipation thrumming in his chest like caught lightning, and he needs something to do with his hands. 

Roman showers, quietly. The bathroom is between his room and Logan’s, and there’s always the off chance that the water running will wake up his lightweight-sleeper brother. He holds his breath, keeping in all the melodies that usually bubble from his mouth in the shower, and is rewarded with no signs of wakefulness from his brother. 

He doesn’t bother to wash his hair, so he doesn’t have to worry about blow-drying his fluffy curls. Instead, he spritzes them with dry shampoo he stole from his Papa and combs through them with his fingers. It takes him about fifteen minutes to get them to just the right state of artfully tousled, but it still doesn’t waste nearly enough time. 

Which brings him to here, sitting cross-legged on his perfectly-made bed, staring at the fabric spread across his quilt. It’s plain, compared to what he usually wears, but he supposes that’s the trouble with borrowed clothing. Adding to all that, it’s not real clothing; it’s an old prop he’d salvaged from a box of costumes destined to be torn apart and repurposed. He kind of wishes he had the courage to ask Dad or Papa to take him to the mall to buy a proper one, but he’s never been that kind of brave. 

Roman fiddles with the hem of the skirt between his fingers. 

It’s red, at the very least, but not the proper shade of red. It’s garish and bright, like a firetruck, like a cartoon bloodstain. It comes down to about Roman’s knees, hanging in loose folds, and it’s not the most comfortable thing he’s ever worn, but he loves it. He loves the way the fabric feels when it swishes around his knees, he loves the way it flares out when he spins in circles, he loves the way it feels to smooth the fabric beneath him in a single fluid motion when he sits down. 

He’s terrified to wear it out of the comfort of his bedroom, but he figures that today, June first, the first day of pride month, is as good a day as any to come out of the closet. Roman sighs, curling his hands into loose fists on his thighs. 

His phone pings with a notification, and Roman almost falls off his bed as he scrambles forward to snatch his cell phone off his desk. He takes a moment to smile at his home screen photo before answering the message: it’s a picture of himself and Janus from last year’s pride festival. They’re wrapped in a rainbow flag like a cape, leaning their heads together and laughing. Janus has a genderqueer flag painted across his cheek, and Roman has rainbow star stickers across his nose and a rainbow bandanna tying back his hair. 

Roman thumbprints his phone open and checks his messages. It’s from Janus himself. 

[7:41 am] snoyfriend (snake boyfriend): you’re going to do wonderfully, dearest. your family loves you, and they’ll support you no matter what. and even if they don’t, i support you no matter what. i love you <3 

Roman wiggles his feet back and forth eagerly in a gleeful stim as he taps out a response. 

[7:43 am] me: thank you, snove (snake love). ily2 <3 

[7:44 am] snoyfriend (snake boyfriend): are you ever going to stop calling me snake-themed nicknames, beloved?

[7:44 am] me: sno (snake no) 

[7:46 am] snoyfriend (snake boyfriend): i hate you <3 

[7:47 am] me: i snove (snake love) you too <3 <3 

*~*~*~*~*

Someone knocks on his door around 8:45. “Ro? Are you coming down to breakfast? I’m making pridecakes!” Dad calls. Roman’s stomach growls at the thought; every year, Dad makes multiple colors of homemade pancake batter and draws pride-flag pancakes on the griddle.

“I’ll be down in a minute!” Roman says. 

“Okay, kiddo!” 

Roman takes a deep breath. He slides off his bed and shimmies out of his pajama pants. Rummaging around in his drawers, he pulls out a white t-shirt with a swooping golden outline of the Disney castle on the front. Carefully, he steps into the puddle of skirt and tugs the red fabric up over his hips. It’s not a perfect fit, but it comes down to his knees. Roman studies himself in the full-length mirror on the inside of his closet. 

“It’s going to be okay,” he sighs, reaching for the rainbow bandana on his desk. He folds it and ties it to form a headband which he uses to push his bangs off his forehead. “It’s going to be okay. Dad and Papa aren’t going to hate you. Thomas and Logan aren’t going to hate you. It’s going to be okay.” 

Roman waits until he hears Logan and Thomas go downstairs before he leaves. He picks up his phone, glances at the photo of himself and Janus one more time, and then steps into the hallway. 

He lurks on the stairs for a moment, glancing into the kitchen. Logan is sleepily gnawing on a bagel slathered with jam. Papa is pouring coffee into a row of mugs while Thomas helps Dad with the pridecakes. Roman grips his skirt tightly in his hands, watching his family, and then he steps into the kitchen. 

“Morning.” 

“Good morn - oh!” Dad whirls around, holding a spatula which he quickly foists off onto Thomas. He hurries forward, taking Roman’s shoulders, eyes scanning up and down his outfit. “That’s new! Where’d you get it?” 

“It’s an old costume skirt,” Roman says. “Is that - am I - do you -”

Dad smiles, eyes crinkling up as he leans in to kiss Roman’s forehead. “I think you look wonderful, Roman. No matter what you choose to wear.” Roman smiles, hugging his dad tightly. He feels Dad reach up and press a hand into the back of his hair, rocking them back and forth a little as they hug. 

When Dad pulls away, Roman’s eyes jump up to Thomas. He grins, flashing a thumbs up, and Roman shakily offers one back. “Nice skirt,” Papa says, wrapping an arm around Roman’s shoulders and pulling him in. Roman feels Papa press a kiss to the top of his head, and he fights to keep himself from crying. 

Roman turns, looking at the only family member who hasn’t said anything yet. Logan is still placidly chewing his bagel, watching Roman with his typical calmness. “Logan?” Roman hates the way his voice shakes a little. “Do you like it?” 

Logan swallows and sets his bagel down. He scans over Roman’s outfit with a strange critical expression and says, “No. It looks completely wrong on you.” 

Roman’s heart sinks to the bottom of his chest. Logan stands up, scanning over Roman repeatedly, frowning as he stares at the skirt. “Logan,” Dad says warningly. 

Logan keeps talking. “That is the wrong color for your skin tone. It does not compliment the tan you always achieve in the summer months. The shape is unflattering on your body type, and the material is -” Logan reaches out and rubs the material between two fingers, shuddering. “- is entirely unpleasant. This skirt is completely wrong for you.” 

Roman recognizes the glint in his brother’s eye as he examines the skirt with a critical eye. It’s the way he looks at pieces of clothing that the theater department asks him to help tailor. “You would look much nicer in a circle or handkerchief style skirt. That red is hideous, you need a darker shade. I think that dark green would also look nice on you.” 

“You . . . aren’t mad about me wearing a skirt?” 

Logan blinks at him. “To quote that Avatar show you like so much, ‘Pants are an illusion and so is death.’ Gender is a social construct and clothing should not be dependent on the genitalia you were born with. I do not care if you wish to wear a skirt or not, Roman. Why would I care?” 

“I was nervous about wearing a skirt because I thought you would judge me.” Logan takes a few steps closer, offering a small smile, and Roman feels his heart start to swell and rise like a balloon.

“I was not judging you for wearing a skirt, Roman. If you would prefer to wear a skirt, I will support you, always. I did not mean to imply otherwise. I merely meant to offer my assistance because that skirt looks uncomfortable.” 

“It really is,” Roman sighs. “I stole it from a box of outgoing props.” 

“Go put comfortable clothes on,” Logan tells him. “I am going to the fabric store with Dad later today. I will take your measurements and you can come with us to find a fabric you like. I will make you a skirt that actually fits you.” 

“You’d do that for me?!” 

“Skirts are relatively simple garments to sew, provided you get the measurements correct. I cannot promise that it will be perfect, but I will work to make sure that it is comfortable and flattering on your form.” Roman bounces eagerly. “Can I hug you?” 

Logan tilts his head, considering. “Ten seconds,” he decides, which is more than enough time. Roman pulls his brother into a hug, feeling Logan’s hand flap back and forth against his bag as he happily stims. 

“I love you, Logan,” Roman says, squeezing him tightly. Logan hums at the pressure, pushing closer to his brother before leaning backwards to signal that he’s done being hugged. Roman lets him go, settling down at the table. He can change after breakfast. 

(Two weeks later, Roman comes downstairs in a dark red circle skirt embroidered with golden stars and detailing. Logan hums, flapping and rocking happily when he sees Roman twirl around and show off the way the skirt flares around his thighs. 

“It’s perfect, it’s perfect, I love it so much!” Roman squeals. “Thank you, Logan!” 

Logan flaps even more in response.) 

[cthulhuliet]

my high hopes (are getting low)

3.9k words [total 13k words] (part one) (part two) (part three) | AO3 Link | warnings: homophobia, use of slurs, dubious morality, completely unnecessary religious references, implied/referenced self-harm

'Cause my High hopes are getting low because these people are so old The way they think about it all If I tried I would never know

Light Yagami's world view is shifted after a conversation with his father concerning L's sexuality. Anger in his veins and unconfessed feelings bubbling to the surface, Light and L enact a plan of revenge against the homophobic views of the task force.

~

Out of the task force headquarters for the first time in months brought him a certain amount of joy, an extreme weight of his chest- or rather weight off his wrist. With his memories back, himself and Misa cleared of any suspicions thanks to the fake rules he constructed in the Death Note, Light had won.

Of course, there was still much work that needed to be done. This roadblock had lasted longer than Light wanted or anticipated, but no matter. To achieve everything the world needed was going to take time and effort- time and effort that he alone could commit to. He needed to be rid of L as well. Foolish, stupid Misa forgot his name, so that was simply another obstacle he would need to pass. But no matter, tonight was for celebration.

The celebration at a bar only miles away from task force headquarters is not exactly where he would have chosen, but Ryuzaki insisted that if the task force were going out into the public to to celebrate they were to not stray far from headquarters. Light idly looked around the lowlights of the bar, shaking his head into his beer. He wouldn’t be surprised if L had every shop within a 5 mile radius littered with cameras and bugs.

“Attention everyone,” Soichiro stood up, hold his glass out to the detectives, “I would like to make a toast: this is to all your hard work, the long hours, the uncertainty of tomorrow, the progress we made, and-” He pointedly looked at Light , “To the clearing of names.” He raised his glass, “To Light!”

“To Light!” The detective’s echoed, Matsuda softly clapping, and Aizawa giving him a sock to the arm.

“How’s it feel to be a free man?” His father asked, eyes shining behind his glasses.

Light chuckled, “Father, this is the best I have felt in a long time,”

“Here, here!” Mogi agreed.

“Fresh air, sun on your face,” Matsuda mused, “Boy, that Ryuzaki really doesn’t get out much, does he?”

“Can you imagine him coming out to a bar like this, or even a restaurant or gym?”

“No wonder he is so skinny,”

“And pale,”

Light shook his head, “Hey now, no need for any of that,” He took a quick sip of his beer, “You guys may know him, but I was chained to Ryuzaki, ok? Talk to me when you get kicked in the face by him,” The table roared with laughter, Light smirked to himself. “Might just get a kick of PTSD when I eventually do get to cuff Kira,”

Soichiro shook his head, smiling, “We are closer than ever, I can feel it. The real Kira is in our grasp, now that we are all cleared,”

Light huffed dryly, “Well, some of us aren’t fully in the clear,”

Soichiro sighed, resting his chin in the palm of his hand. Light looked into his father’s eyes: determination but exhaustion were swimming behind his pupils- Light hates L for causing his father so much stress. Even the hardest working, most respectable men need time stress free. God himself created a day of rest for a reason.

“Ryuzaki will come around, I am sure of it,” He idly scratched the stubble on his cheek, eyes on Light but mind elsewhere, “I am not exactly sure what more proof he needs… The young man’s pride is getting in the way of his deductive skills,”

“He did say at one point he did want Light to be Kira…” Matsuda chimed it.

“Precisely,” Soichiro took a long drink, “He will come around, I am sure of it. I mean, look at us now. Even a few weeks ago, and outing such as this was completely out of the realm of possibilities,”

“I am more surprised Ryuzaki himself didn’t come with us just to keep tabs on what we are talking about,”

“Matsuda, you are insane if you believe that he wouldn’t find out some way or another,”

“Ahh, yeah. A small part of me wishes Ryuzaki would come out with us, though. I do have to admit that I am mildly curious as to what he would drink,” Matsuda shrugged.

Soichiro grunted, shaking his head, “I am sure each of us wishes that we knew Ryuzaki just a little bit more. We simply have to make our own interpretations based upon the small bits of information and hints he drops us,”

Light nodded, a small smile on his face, “That man would probably be an even longer investigation than the Kira one,”

The table nodded, but Aizawa drummed his finger on the table, “You guys say that, but I already know everything that I need to know about that little freak,”

Aizawa took a long sip of his whiskey, the detective’s eyes narrow and angry. It had been obvious to most of the task force that he never liked Ryuzaki: Aizawa’s short temper and L’s aloofness often clashed, but there also seemed to be something else bubbling under the surface- and itch that needed some sort of external validation to be scratched.

“What do you mean, Aizawa?” Light probed the detective. If he for some reason and somehow got more information about L…

Aizawa looked around, now holding the full attention of the table in the palm of his hand. He rubbed behind his earlobe, his voice sharp and intense, “I was talking with Wedy and Aiber after the arrest of Higuchi. Just idly chatting. I was curious about their history with Ryuzaki. What kind of criminal would endear themselves to the most prolific detective? When did they even get close enough to be on call for him?” Aizawa idly cracked his knuckles, looking down at the stain wood of the table, recounting the events from that night, “It seems as though those two know Ryuzaki better than we do,”

Light’s skin felt as though it was on fire. He had never had much interest in the detective, but his attention was solely focused on Aizawa. Whatever it was, whatever Aizawa found out from the two con-artists, he simply had to know, his need and curiosity were going to burn him alive if the normally straight-forward cop didn’t speak faster.

“What did you find out,” Soichiro frowned, “Like, his history or name or something,”

Light wanted to scream.

Aizawa shook his head, sipping the brown liquid, “No. Nothing like that, just some taboo information that our good friend Ryuzaki opted not to tell us,”

Matsuda frowned, “Taboo?”

“Yeah,” He scoffed, tapping the glass with the palm of his finger- eyes hard and jaw set. His eyes quickly darted from one side of the nearly empty bar to the other, now staring down his whiskey. “Let’s just say,” He spoke in a low voice, “I am certainly glad Ryuzaki doesn’t go to the gym. I would pity any man who had to share a locker room alone with him.” Aizawa threw the rest of his drink down his throat and loudly set the empty glass on the table, the silence thick and palpable.

No one said anything for a long time. No one moved their drinks or spoke. Light looked down at the table, eyes hard, waiting for someone to break the silence; someone had to release him from this torture, and he couldn’t be the one to speak up.

When Soichiro scoffed, picking up his glass, all eyes turned to him, “Well. I can’t say I am surprised,” He grumbled. The rest of the squad nodded in agreement, all going back to their idle actions.

“I mean, I always had my suspicions,” Matsuda said, “He is a pretty weird guy and something always seemed a bit off when we were alone together. I just chalked it up to Ryuzaki being Ryuzaki but now that I know- like I know ...” He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, hand coming up to rub the back of his neck, “Uck… I need to go home and have a shower,”

Soichiro then locked eyes with Light, “Light, if that Ryuzaki ever made a pass at you or made you feel-”

“Father, I promise you everything was fine,” Light muttered, responding to his father but his head was elsewhere, “I never even knew, or considered it a possibility, actually,”

Aizawa frowned, tapping the table harshly with his index finger, “With the chain, when you had to shower, or use the restroom, what did you even-”

“There was a hook in the bathroom, so there was at least some semblance of privacy,” Light opted to keep the fact that there were cameras covering every inch of the bathroom to himself.

Soichiro seemed unsatisfied with that answer, “I was never a fan of that chain situation, none of us were, but we all trusted Ryuzaki. Now- now that I know my son was chained for months on end to some pervert…” He steady his rising voice but Soichiro was gripping his glass so hard, Light was worried it would shatter under his hold.

“It is just wrong,” Aizawa chimed in, Mogi nodding along, unenthusiastically, “Morally, completely wrong.”

“Here, here,” Matsuda echoed, cheerlessly. “Those are the kinds of people Kira should take care of,”

Light’s eyes widened, shaking his head, “Matsuda, don’t talk like that,”

Aizawa shook his head, a short emotionless laugh was followed with an omission from the other detective. “This may just be the whiskey talking, but instead of FBI agents and business men, maybe Kira could work on keeping those kinds of people out of society. I don’t need queers around, I have 2 kids,”

Soichiro nodded, “It is a pity. Can’t imagine how Ryuzaki’s parent’s must feel. Maybe they know and that’s why he is the way he is,”

“Pity the pair of them,”

“Yeah,”

Light said nothing. Soichiro continued, “Glad I don’t have to worry about that. Sayu talks about that Hideki Ryuga on too many occasions to count, and that Ms. Amane is more than treating Light here well,”

Eyes hard set on his Father, Light asked his dad a question that had been on the tip of his tongue since Aizawa’s information had been revealed. “Father, what would you do if-”

Cutting him off, Soichiro looked at Light seriously, “If that happened, I wouldn’t need some magical notebook. I’d take my marksman training and deal with it myself,”

Light smiled, chuckling, “Of course, Father,”

Light’s fingernails were gripping the inside of his palm, the force at which was nearing the point of drawing blood. He was doing his best to remain cool and collected, but the more the men talked the more his anger was becoming all consuming: a threat that was rearing its ugly head and threatening to crawl out of his throat with an ear splitting cry of rage.

“I think I need the restroom,” Light stood up stiffly, 4 pairs of concerned eyes on him. He gave them a curt nod, “Gentlemen,” And walked quickly to the other side of the bar.

The restroom was a unisex single stall that Light opened with more forced then neccesarry and locked the door. He stumbled over to the sink, switching it on the coldest setting. Balling up his fists, he slammed them down onto the dirty ceramic, a frustrated cry erupting from him.

“Son of a bitch!” Light choked out. Neat fingernails gripped the sides of the sink, chilling water splashing and threatening to soak the edges of Light’s expensive button up, but he barely noticed that fact, as he was mentally steeling himself to not allow the hot tears he felt bubbling to spill. Crying in any capacity was wasted energy, and even more so, he didn’t want to have to explain the tear tracks on his cheeks to any of his much older colleagues.

“Geez, you look like a mess,” A gravelly voice phased. Light looked in the mirror in front of him and saw Ryuk’s wide eyes staring back at his reflection.

Light scoffed, looking away from the mirror, “Welcome back, where have you been, Ryuk?”

Ryuk floated closer to the sink, casually wiggling his fingers, “I was nagging some cherries from the bartender. Not as good as apples but I’ll take what I can get,”

“Does fruit even taste different to Shinigamis?”

“Oi oi, what is that supposed to mean,” Ryuk frowned.  Light shrugged his shoulders, sighing. Ryuk put a thumb to his chin, “It is clear I missed something. You going to fill me in, Light?”

For the first time since entering the bathroom, Light felt about 7% calmer. He took a deep breath, studying the brown eyes of his reflection. Still rimmed with red, but not nearly as dam breaking as before. He turned around to face the Shinigami, casually leaning against the sink, arms crossed.

“Aizawa just told me some information,”

“Eh?”

“Information about L,”

Ryuk laughed wildly. Flipping himself upside-down, he continued to cackle, “Isn’t that just interesting. What did he say? Is your plan going to be a little easier?”

Light crossed his arms, refusing to look at Ryuk’s animated movements, and instead inspected a cracked tile in the otherwise pristine floor, “No. Aizawa told me that L is gay,”

“Eh?” Ryuk flipped himself upright and stood on the floor normally, curiously looking at the human, “Well, I suppose that is fine… Though I guess that means it isn’t with you. I didn’t realise that you were uh, what’s the human word for it...” Ryuk scratched his hair, and Light quirked up an eyebrow, “Oh. Didn’t know you were homophonic,”

Light frowned, “What?”

“Homophonic. You don’t like gay people,”

Running a hand through his hair Light sighed, “It is homophobic, not homophonic. Homophonic has to do with music,” Light turned back to the water that was still running and rolled up his sleeves, idly washing his hands, “I didn’t think you would get this much stupider after being away from me for so long,”

Ryuk defensively put his hands up, talking to Light’s reflection, “Hey, don’t look at me. You humans are the weird ones, making up gender and sex and all these words we don’t have in the Shinigami realm. It’s confusing sometimes, ok?” Light didn’t respond as he pulled some paper towels from the holder and dried his hands, “Either way, I didn’t know you were homophobic. Hyuk, probably makes you want to kill L more, doesn’t it,”

Light’s eyes flashed red, and in an instant, he kicked the plastic bin across the room in a blind rage of fury, “Of course it doesn’t!” Dried towels littered the ground, Ryuk slapping one away from himself as it floated onto his shoulder, “But apparently if you don’t fit into the perfect straight mold that we have been told, all morals go out the window!” His back hit the wall, and Light sunk down onto the floor, Ryuk still standing in shock, “All of the detectives out there said that they would want to rid the world of anyone who was different. No matter how hard working, or what they do, or how much they are worth to society, if you don’t fit that mold, you are better off dead. They said they L would be better off dead, that-” He paused, picking at a loose string on his pants, tugging on it and idly throwing it away, “My own father said he would kill me,”

Ryuk stood next to Light in stunned silence, only a couple times before had he seen the man lose his temper and each time he was unsure of how to respond to it. He began picking up the towels littered on the ground, “So, Light, are you saying that you’re…”

Chuckling dryly, Light shook his head, “I thought this kind of thing didn’t matter to Shinigamis?”

“No, but it matters to you humans. Besides, this is very interesting,”

Light rested his head against his knees, staring at the crack in the tile again, “I don’t want to label myself, not really. Like you said, it is a dumb human thing.” Biting his thumbnail, Light thought for a moment about what he wanted to say, “I was about 13 when I realised I couldn’t relate to my friends. I thought I was smarter than them for not caring about kissing girls and spin the bottle. I pretty much wrote off relationships altogether. It wasn’t until Misa that I realised what was wrong,”

“Eh? Misa?”

“Yeah, I know,” A rare smile formed on Light’s face. Rare because he was talking about Misa, someone who he regarded as one of the banes of his existence, “She was rambling on one day, and told me that she also likes girls in the way she likes me. Granted, she immediately went on to say she would never leave me, and we were soulmates, but those words kept me up because I never even realised it was an option.

“I did some research and some of the greatest minds on Earth were also queer in some capacity. Alan Turing, Julius Caesar, Ihara Saikaku- all great people who made waves in history. And yet,” Light made fists with his hands, “Some people, some idiots would believe they were better off dead just because of who they choose to lay with.

“I may have a personal bias, but if the Gods never cared about gender and sex, then why would I when passing judgement? You said it yourself, Ryuk: it is merely a human constructed concept. I am far above viewing people as just that. It is simply an aspect of yourself, not who you are. Your actions are far more important. Be a useful, moral member of society and why does it matter who you sleep with?”

Ryuk finished cleaning up the towels and sat on the floor across from Light, “Heh, and the detectives don’t share that same sentiment?”

“Yeah,” Light’s voice dripped with venom, “They told all of us multiple times to not pass judgement off of one action, and yet my father said he would put a gun to my head and if I kissed a boy he would shoot me dead,”

Ryuk tilted his head to the side, “Guess we finally found the greyness in your morality,” He cackled wildly, but Light was not amused.

Light sat up straight, looking Ryuk straight into his eyes, “I don’t need those kinds of people in my world,” He spoke with finality, and tapped open the secret compartment of his watch, the small corner piece of the Death Note blank and ready for him.

“Light, wait,” Ryuk’s eyes widened and he took a couple steps towards him, towering over Light. He frowned, red anger brewing in his pupils, “I am not supposed to help, not really, but please think, ok? For one, this is your father we are talking about, you can’t-”

“Ryuk, he said he would kill me!” Light stood up and shouted, all care for staying calm left him, “He said I would be better off dead, how am I supposed to take that?”

“Alright,” He responded, the almost 7 foot Shinigami felt very small all the sudden, “What about this? You and the task force leave headquarters for the first time in months. You disappear to the bathroom and all the task force is dead except for you. What conclusion is L going to draw from that, hm?”

Light threw his pen across the room, hitting and marking the wall it connected with, “So what should I do, then, huh? Just let them all walk around, making judgements about those who didn’t do anything?” He made fists with his hands, not paying any attention to pain, fury and rage was all Light felt now. Drops of blood trickled down his palm and under his nails- he finally broke the skin. “They don’t deserve any of that, so why did my father say that? Why do they get to decide what is moral? Where is the justice for them!” His breath got more and more ragged, to the point of hyperventilation. Light suddenly felt very, very dizzy.

When he was a young child, after he just learned how to swim, Light would go off the diving board and teeter at the edge of it, testing gravity. Challenging it. He wanted to fly. He thought he could cheat it somehow. If he ran quick enough, if he closed his eyes, if he acted casual as he stepped off the board, but everytime the wind on his face and the unforgiving coldness of the pool water let him know that Light had failed. Getting the Death Note was the closest he felt to defying gravity. Light could step off the board now and simply float; floating high above the gravity that pulled him down, and high above the water that wanted to engulf him.

However, for the first time since he got the Note, Light was no longer floating: Light was drowning. Gravity was forcing him underwater, suffocating him. It was filling up his lungs and choking him. Is this the grim misfortune that Ryuk said to him? Is this how it feels like to be held underwater- thrashing and crying and begging for the element to relent? To release it’s hold and breathe? Light can’t imagine the real thing feeling any other way.

A knock on the door brought Light back to land. He stayed silent as he listened to the voice outside the door, “Light? You doing ok in here? Your dad is worried about you and…”

Matsuda trailed off. Light paused for a moment, and walked himself to the other side of the bathroom, raising his voice, “Yeah, I am ok. Just, uh, the drink I had before the beer was pretty strong, and I didn’t eat beforehand so, uh, y’know,”

“Oh, are you ok?”

“Yeah,” Light struggled to keep his voice even.

“Something always seemed a bit off when we were alone together…”

“I am all good, Matsuda,”

“Uck… I need to go home and have a shower…”

“I appreciate your concern,”

Matsuda stayed silent for a minute before responding, “We are about to head out. Do you want us to wait or-”

“Go on ahead,” Light responded immediately, “I’ll get Watari to call me a car or something,”

Matsuda sighed, “As long as you are sure, but just let someone know when you get back. I’ll tell Soichiro you aren’t feeling well,”

Light listened to the detective’s retreating footsteps. He closed the lid on the toilet and put his head in his hands, “I want to kill them,” Ryuk cackled wildly, causing Light to look up, “What? Unless you have something helpful to contribute I-”

Ryuk floated, spinning himself above Light, “You could kill them, that is easy. Killing is like breathing to you, Kira,” He laughed again, “But trust me when I say that there are much more creative, much more fun forms of punishment,”

Light’s interest was piqued, he looked at the Shinigami with curiosity, “What exactly are you thinking?”

Shrugging, he began to phase through the wall, “I am not going to tell you what to do, that is all up to you, Light. However-” Ryuk’s head was all that was remaining in the room, a smile even more wicked than his usual one plastered on his face, “-maybe you should talk to your pal, L, about what you learned today,”

Cackling, Ryuk left the room, but Light alone with his thoughts. It didn’t even take 3 minutes for Light to come up with a plan.

[taekooktimeline]

1 : I disagree with the anon who thinks tae has a hard time dealing with his sexuality and jk does not. In the earlier years, tae said very conservative things but since a long time now, he has been the loudest supporter of lgbt of the entire group, answers harshly to delulu fangirls and even implied he wanted to sing his love christmas song only with a man because he chose to not release it when a big hit producer made him sang with adora instead of jimin.

Disclaimer - please keep in mind the below is our opinion / theory on the topic at hand. The timeline is separate from asks and we strive to remain credible, and driven by facts, there. In asks we more freely theorize. Thank you!

Sara: These are my rough thoughts as of 9th of November 2020. General Disclaimer - I could easily change my mind about anything that I say that isn’t included in the actual Timeline due to the extreme level of insight or subjectiveness that asks usually require which can only be answered with opinions in development and insufficient pondering / research. Well, this turned into a discussion which is good :) I do agree that Jk also struggles with his identity and is afraid to be outed without being prepared, which is natural. This would fall in line with him saying he didn’t want “a kiss from a boy” as he panicked in his coming of age day back in 2016 when he already knew he liked Tae (the famous day joon called for tae to kiss him). Mind you, on that same trip Tae said it was weird to hold a man's hand in public when he saw JK and hobi holding hands in the streets of Europe. I don’t think Tae said that due to jealousy. I think it was his internalized homophobia speaking (meaning self-rejecting feelings that are so common within lgbtq individuals where they are affected by what society considers correct. That’s where self-hate comes from). Both Jk and Tae deal with internalized homophobia and they’ll probably deal with it their entire lives to some extent, because it doesn’t necessarily disappear in its entirety even if you come out and “accept” yourself, especially if you live in a conservative environment. I can tell they’ve both come a long way though and they are much more comfortable in their own skin. It’s beautiful how Tae has embraced gay culture and clearly feels part of the lgbtq community. I think Tae seeks for belonging while Jk is much more “independent” and I personally think the idea of “a community” doesn’t resonate with him as much. I don’t know if it’s due to him being a huge introvert or what but not every non-straight person needs to be immersed in the gay scene. There was a time that Jk repeatedly mentioned Troye Sivan as his top 3 favorite singer (while he was self-discovering), recommended “memo” by years & years, etc, and we don’t know what he enjoys in his private life so...at least we know he did find solace in gay public figures during an important period of his life. I love Tae being sassy and shutting down fan’s fantasies, but Jk playing along is innocent and his way of being “friendly”. Jk is the opposite of what toxic masculinity looks like so I don’t see him going out of his way to look straight. He does whatever he wants. He uses women’s perfume, unironically fixed his long hair up into 2 cute ponytails while eating out, enjoys cosmetics and does his own makeup, owns pink items, etc. I’m just saying he doesn’t have a fragile masculinity. Saying bro is just for laughs and to sound cool and american. Him saying he didn’t think he could fall for a guy was a joke to overly compliment hobi while not outing himself. It’s not that serious. He didn’t have the need to joke about crushing on hobi, but he did so VOLUNTARILY. To me it seems like he is pretty comfortable with himself as of now, but remember they are closeted and in a delicate situation.

Kayla - hi anon! The beauty of discussions is each is entitled to their opinion. Respectful discussions are fun - thanks for being kind in your ask☺️I personally think Jk referencing “I’m still me” then taking the time to draw it in artwork speaks volumes. It was around the time Joon recommended a song from the movie and it’s a famous quote so to me, that’s not a coincidence, though you’re entitled to discard it if you wish. I also think we need to consider the context of Jk calling Tae bro - an interview in which he looked at his lips at one point, and caressed his back as he said that word. Those two were pretty affectionate through the overall interview. For some, the bro comment is proof TK aren’t together. For me, context is critical. That moment never dissuaded me on them being “real”. I know some will disagree on that so please know that’s simply my interpretation of that moment. Plus my UK friend said soon after that moment she calls her partner “bro” jokingly so I second Sara it may be as simple as that in why Jk said it. As far as the Hobi comment, I feel like that statement alone shows Jk is part of the lgbtq community. He flat out is saying he fell for a man … and I anticipate one would argue he’s joking but, for me, there’s truth in jest. He didn’t have to say that comment yet he did. I just want to leave it as I don’t agree Jk wants to come off straight at all. I mean don’t forget this is the same guy who also said grapes were more interesting than the girls at the shoot...and this was in his teenage years so🤷🏻‍♀️some may say he was just nervous around the women and that is, of course, totally okay if they interpret it that way. I just view that comment differently. And he’s wearing genderless clothes this year (2020) and changed the lyrics of “savage love” to be genderless, so he shows support, it’s just not in a bold way like Tae. He’s worn a paper clip earring and suppprted lgbtq artists so he does acknowledge the community. I think it just comes down to some people place greater weight on others knowing their identity.

I think Tae wants people to know, hence why he’s expressed loud support in various ways, whereas Jk doesn’t really feel like he needs to address it. My take is Jk genuinely just doesn’t care how people perceive him, and that’s why he isn’t as vocal as Tae, who seems to indicate he really wants people to know his identity. Jk is fortunate to have a progressive family (an example being during his vlive he said, “Anyway, my parents were like that. When I was young, no matter what I did, they let me be and do whatever I wanted to do”), he has loving and supporting members - that support system must have helped greatly as he went through his exploration and struggles. He absolutely struggled, and I agree on that, but I think it was easier for him in some ways because of his environment / support system, and who he is personality wise. Jk is a man of action, not as bothered by the opinion of others (again, we can look to his tattoos as a big indicator of this) whereas Tae seeks validation, even this year, from ARMY. Him saying during pride month, after reading the CMBYN monologue “I want to be happy too🥺” to me shows he still struggled with public perception. Personally, based on private talks I don’t want to get into too deeply in this public setting, I think Tae came more to peace with himself this year. But I do personally think Tae had a harder time coming to terms than Jk did (and has alluded as much when he’s mentioned his struggles with school and puberty, plus some of his solo work). Let me be clear, both struggled, and as Sara says both dealt with internalized homophobia, and I don’t think anyone would disagree with that, but Tae’s overall loudness, for me, shows he wants people to know. That’s why he’s loud. Jk not being loud doesn’t mean, to me, he wants to come off straight. Jk has done an amazing job over the years of smashing others’ preconceived masculinity beliefs and he does it comfortably. For me, it shows he’s just not bothered as much by public perception. He is who he is and it doesn’t matter what people see or think. I’ll agree that Tae definitely is the most vocal member, and seeing him happier and appearing at peace makes me happy, and I definitely don’t think he has any issue with people speculating. I really think it’s important to him for us to know, and i think he wants us to know. As an aside, I know I’m just a fan but I'm super happy for Tae seeming to be more accepting of himself. I know a lot of people, including myself, are touched by him, as well as the other members, for the various ways they’ve shown support to the LGBTQ community.

PS - thanks again for being respectful in initiating further discussions on this topic Anon💜sometimes checking the inbox makes me anxious so I immensely appreciate when people can hold a respectful and kind debate on various topics.

[arowrimo]

AroWriMo 2020 Writing

Here’s a masterpost of the 36 works from Aromantic Writing Month 2020 (under the cut)

Do share, like, and comment on the works you enjoy!

Poetry:

Screams by @exhausted-queer

Prompt: Self-love Language: English Words: 464 CWs: self harm, depression, death, grief, abuse, sex, sexual abuse

Let Me Be by Anon (via ask)

Theme: Loveless Prompt: Acceptance Language: English Words: 86 CWs: Ableism, Aphobia

Ballrooms and Waves by @aro-ace-and-hungry

Theme: Loveless Language: English Words: 655 CWs: Romance mention, Anxiety 

Loveless by @soph00bear

Theme: Loveless Language: English Words: 207 CWs: Aphobia mention, Arophobia mention

Am I A Monster? by @wish-ful-thinking513

Theme: Loveless Language: English Words: 157 CWs: Arophobia, Blood, Aphobia, Gore

Short stories:

Loveless by @kitkatt0430 Ao3 link

Original fiction Prompt: Acceptance Language: English Words: 753 CWs: Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Unhappy relationship, Gaslighting,  Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Amatanormativity Summary:

She’s never been in love.  It’s an odd realization to have as she’s packing her things and he’s given up on asking her to stay. Now he just obstructs her on occasion, arguing that things which are hers are really his.

Some things are worth the effort to fight for. Others are not.

He is not.

Two by @junietuesday Ao3 link

Original fiction Theme: Subverting romantic tropes Prompt: Community, Acceptance Language: English Words: 953 CWs: Sex References (character is aroallo), Homophobia, Brief Mentions of Racism + Ableism, Internalized Amatonormativity Summary:

The girl is a loner.

Of her own will and desire, of course. Not because she’s a little too open about her opinions (particularly about romance), and a little too closed-off when they ask her why she has them. Not because she’s terrified what her fellow ninth graders will do to her when they realize she has no soulmark. Not because she figures that she might as well just push them away first, before they can push her.

To Unmask A Witch by @agnezztealeaf

Original fiction Language: English Prompt: Friendship Genre: Fantasy Words: 4457 CW: Discussions around amatonormativity and heteronormativity, references to blood and violence

Summary:

It wasn’t that the cottage at the outskirts of the village was actually run-down or dilapidated, but if you squinted and looked at it through your eyelashes in dim light, you could imagine that it could be. It wasn’t that it was a ruckle, it was that the children thought it should be one.

You see, if a witch lived in a cottage, then that cottage should be falling apart, its windows murky with mould, the roof broken and roof shingles scattered on the garden path and in the flowerbeds, and the garden a mess of weeds and rotting greens. It felt insulting, the children thought, that an otherwise perfectly scary and threatening witch should live in such a charming and well-kept little house. So, when they hid in the forest near the cottage, staking it out, or walked past it on their way to a friend’s house, they squinted and imagined what should have been there, instead of what really was.

Annie of Anglesey by @writelikeanaro

Original fiction Language: English Theme: Subverting romantic tropes Prompt: Self-love Genre: Historical fiction/folk tale Words: 4,676 CWs: Past marriage, Unwanted romantic interest, Public proposal, Grief

Summary:

Annie is living quite happily alone in the mountains, when the king comes to her for aid in a competition. Hoping to get something for herself out of the situation, she agrees to help him.

Seed of A Memory by @skylights422

Original fiction Language: English Theme: Subverting Romantic Tropes, Fantasy Prompt: Friendship Genre: Fantasy, Drama Words: 1907 CWs: Brief mentions of racism and arophobia

Summary:

Fiera Casales takes a stroll with her pretend boyfriend and ponders the importance of things like love and memory. 

Should Auld Acquaintance Be Forgot by @wellintentionedbibliophile

Original fiction Language: English Theme: Subverting Romantic Tropes Prompt: Friendship Genre: Fiction Words: 1088 CWs: Breakup, End of the World, Neopronouns

We’re not quite a gang (more like a strange family) by @amanita-cynth Ao3 link

Original fiction Language: English Category: Short Stories Prompt: Friends and Pride Genre: Superheroes/Slice of Life Words: 5232 CWs: Background romantic relationship mentioned, discussion of aphobia and amatonormativity, bomb mention

Summary:

Some scars aren’t physical and can be all the worse for it. But maybe a woman brimming with her own hard-won self confidence and the new friends they pick up afterwards can help Allen overcome the hurtful words from his past. After all, if a dozen new friends think you’re great and a literal god chose you as a Champion it shouldn’t be so hard, right?

“Oh.” He blinked. “People usually say it’s weird that I don’t want people- women- flirting with me.”

“Boundaries are boundaries.” She waved a hand dismissively. From the depths of her hood, her eyes gleamed with light from a passing car and briefly lit up more details; the casual ease of her expression, her slightly lidded eyes, the soft curves of her warm, brown face. Shame it didn’t do much for him beyond the realisation that she really was that nonchalant about it, and also quite beautiful.

And A Monster Steals Your Children by @arosnowflake

Original fiction Language: English Prompt: none/belonging (loosely) Genre: Fantasy Words: 2170 CWs: heavy ableism (including internalized ableism), off-screen child murder, ableist language, mild amatonormativity.

Summary:

It is said that, in a tower rising above the valley, a monster lives, and that it steals children’s souls. Netel, one of those stolen children, goes to kill it.

Untitled by @wish-ful-thinking513

Original fiction Language: English Genre: Sci-fi Words: 951 CWs: Needles, injections

Summary:

This is a short story based on a prompt from @lgbtqwritingprompts. I don’t usually write sci-fi, so this was a fun change… I feel like it was obvious that science isn’t really my thing though. I tried to keep stuff vague (ie: are clones human??? The more I thought about it, the less sure I was)… well,  I tried my best!

November: The Hell Week to End All Hell Weeks by @eadrey-the-iptscray Ao3 link

Fandom: Pacific Rim (2013) Language: English Theme: Subverting romantic tropes Prompt: Community and acceptance Genre: Slice of life Words: 2,776 CWs: Bigotry mentions, light marital romance

Summary:

The Shatterdome baristas meet the regulars. Teasing, pranks, and awkward small talk ensue.

Traditional by @amanita-cynth Ao3 link

Fandom: Leverage Language: English Theme: Subverting romantic tropes Prompt: Acceptance Genre: Character study Words: 1393 CWs: References to sex (aro character is aroallo), romantic relationship in the background and referred to, marriage mentioned

Summary:

Eliot doesn’t so much fall in love as come to the realisation that he’s going to die for them.

Or: How Eliot learns some new things about himself and Parker and Hardison learn just how to stay with him.

February - Leap Year Sucks by @eadrey-the-iptscray Ao3 link

Fandom: Pacific Rim (2013) Language: English Theme: Subverting romantic tropes Prompt: Family and self-love Genre: Slice of life Words: 2,866 CWs: Lingering grief over a parent’s death, light marital romance

Summary:

The Shatterdome baristas and regulars slog through a soggy February with all kinds of struggles. At least they've got each other to commiserate with.

Skywalker by @kitkatt0430 Ao3 link

Fandom: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy Language: English Prompt: Family Words: 2,964 CWs: Major character death, indentured servitude/slavery

Summary:

Rey’s family was never coming back for her.  In learning to accept this and move on, Rey builds herself a whole new family, one choice at a time.

A Place to Start by @kitkatt0430​ Ao3 link

Fandom: Supergirl (TV 2015) Relationships: Kara Danvers/James “Jimmy” Olsen Language: English Prompt: Acceptance Words: 2,993 CWs: Break up

Summary:

“I’m doing that thing again,” Kara told the duck. It ignored her for the corn. “Always happens. I was trying so hard not to do it this time, but there it goes. Happening all over again.”

(In which Kara doesn’t need Alex to tell her that dating James is making her miserable.  But she does wish someone would tell her why every time she starts dating someone, her romantic feelings fizzle out shortly afterwards.)

The Only Trope for Me is You by @tommytonebender​ Ao3 Link

Fandom: The Venture Bros Relationships: Billy Quizboy/Pete White Language: English Theme: Subverting romantic tropes Genre: Supernatural, character study Words: 4,338 CWs: Discussions of amatonormativity, non-explicit sexual humor, most references are there to make fun of fanfic tropes, language, brief heavy themes.

Summary:

Supernatural forces ensnare our heroes, forcing them to… have a grown-up conversation? [A fake episode B-Plot]

April - Confessions and Epiphanies by @eadrey-the-iptscray Ao3 link

Fandom: Pacific Rim (2013) Language: English Theme: Subverting romantic tropes Prompt: Friendship and pride Genre: Slice of life Words: 2,261 CWs: Martial affection and love confessions

Summary:

Finally, communication!

Miss You by Dain Ao3 link

Fandom: Star Wars Original Trilogy Language: English Prompt: Friendship Words: 484

Summary:

Luke huffed. “Maybe I don’t want to leave.”

“You do,” Biggs said. “You know it’s worth it. You’ll do fine.”

Baby I’m Not Made of Stone, It Hurts  by @emjenwrites​ Ao3 link

Fandom: Peaky Blinders BBC Language: English Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Character Study Words: 22.6K (only the first 1.7K on tumblr, follow the links to AO3 for the rest) CWs: romance (character is demiromantic), implied/referenced sexual content, implied/referenced pedophilia (basically the same level of implication as canon), implied/referenced suicide, one instance of antiziganism, internalized arophobia (so much internalized arophobia), arophobia, self-hatred, canon-typical language, child abuse, parentification, codependency, prostitution, kidnapping, emetophobia, PTSD, traumatic brain injuries, headaches and migraines

Summary:

Things with the Russians and Section D had started bad and ended worse, and that was before Polly, Arthur, John, and Michael went and got fucking arrested. Or Tommy Shelby grapples with loneliness, guilt, health issues, and romantic orientation in the aftermath of s3.

Unease by Dain Ao3 link

Fandom: Star Wars Original Trilogy Language: English Words: 1,227 CWs: One-sided attraction, Unwanted romantic interest

Summary: Beritt was new, and not in Luke’s squadron, but you got to know people. There’d been barely anything to do for the last week but mingle.

Which would have been enjoyable, if not for the fact that Beritt was…interested in Luke.

July - Come Back Home, And Soon by @eadrey-the-iptscray Ao3 link

Fandom: Pacific Rim (2013) Language: English Theme: Subverting romantic tropes Prompt: Belonging and comfort Genre: Slice of life Words: 1,271 CWs: None

Summary:

Summer break means quiet days at The Shatterdome and the same old conversations with family.

The Only Demons Here are Mine by @amanita-cynth Ao3 link

Fandom: One Piece Language: English Prompt: Belonging and Comfort Genre: Character/Relationship Study Word count: 3048 Content warnings: Mental health issues including dissociation and suicidal thoughts and ideation. Medical/bodily things discussed. Spoilers for Law’s backstory and violence therein.

Summary:

But he’d said it, hadn’t he, at Dressrosa? That if it all went wrong Law wanted to die by his side. Naturally, it had been 80% about Doflamingo, but there had been a part of him screaming: he’s here and in danger because of you, because he does the right thing just because he can, because he is selfish and insanely determined about those he calls friends and you knew that and still let him get close, because he looked at you and called you a good man and the least you can do for someone like that is die alongside them.

Or: dealing with a pirate war and a sudden lack of life goals is bad enough without trying to figure out confusing new feelings.

Chapter 2 of The Coffee Shop AU by @theinvisiblegurlz

Fandom: Assassin’s Creed Movie Language: English Theme: Subverting romantic tropes Genre: Coffee shop AU CWs: Amatonormativity mention Summary:

A non-romantic coffee shop AU.

To Our Future by Dain Ao3 link

Fandom: Star Wars Original Trilogy Language: English Word count: 999 Content warnings: Grief, Anxiety

Summary:

Luke couldn’t keep the smile off his face.It was such a simple expression; the flexing of a few muscles, and not nearly enough to give full voice to his soaring, unrestrained joy, the lightness and fullness of spirit that made him ache until he thought he might burst with the strength of it.

Microfiction:

Rain by @wellintentionedbibliophile​

Original fiction Language: English Genre: Science fiction Word count: 319 CWs: none

Novel:

The Crystal Heart  by @twilight-lukos

Language: English Theme: Fantasy Genre: Speculative Fiction / Fantasy

Excerpt 1


Word Count: 931 CWs: Feeling pressure to choose a romantic partner

Summary:

Prince Haraq visits Princess Chareith, who has a reputation for being difficult to suitors. The two bond over a legend Chareith loves about the lost Crystal Island. Haraq expresses interest in her opinions but shows no romantic interest.

Excerpt 2

Words: 695 CWs: none

Summary:

After Chareith expresses her frustrations, Haraq suggest the two sneak out for a day and do some exploring. Chareith agrees, thinking to find some interesting relics in the nearby desert and marsh, maybe in relation the legend of the Crystal Island.

Excerpt 3

Words: 587 CWs: feelings of forced romantic normalcy or amatonormativity

Summary:

While on a secret outing, Chareith is abducted by a sorcerer and taken to an isolated tower with a mysterious history. The sorcerer tells Chareith that she has magical potential. Finding this to be true, she wonders what this means for her now.

Excerpt 4

Words: 846 CWs: none


Summary:

While on a secret outing, Chareith is abducted by an invisible, flying creature. Haraq sets out to find her. The stone fragment he and Chareith found has led him into a strange place, bordered by mist. A/N: this occurs before Excerpt #3; I wasn't going to post this but I've had it all nicely prepped to go since early February and I did want to share it, even if it's vaguer about the aromantic angle in-story

Non-fiction:

Aromantic Writing Month! by @anonymousaroace​

Language: English Theme: Acceptance Words: 487

Kricket’s First Zine by @autcore​ Direct link

Language: English

Summary:

Super short aro perzine about questioning and being lonely whilst aro

Game:

To Be Aspected (WIP) by @anonymaceally​ Latest update itch.io game link

Ally submission Language: English Theme: Fantasy Prompt: Mythos, fables Genre: Friend sim/Fantasy CWs: Some unwanted flirting. Discussions about gender and sexual identity. Adult language and situations like taxes. Content might be unfinished.

Summary:

The reader walks into a tavern owned by a squad of Aces called “Queen Anne’s Ace” . The reader stays for a week and enjoys has interesting conversations with the patrons there.

[hellomynameisbisexual]

I’d go so far as to say that the nomination probably saved the site, in fact. For those who need a little background: despite being a small voluntary project the site was nominated for the 2014 Publication of the Year award by Stonewall, the UK’s largest LGBT charity, just nine months after its inception. This was a landmark step in Stonewall’s positive new direction on bi issues. To the best of my knowledge, this was the first time Stonewall had specifically nominated a specifically bi publication or organisation for an award. At this point my co-founder, who was taking care of the business side of things, had recently jumped ship and I was seriously considering packing the whole thing in. I won’t lie, I was astonished to read the email.

I’d worked on a publication which won the award under my editorship a few years previously. Unlike Biscuit, however, g3 magazine – at the time one of the two leading print mags for lesbian and bi women in the UK – had an estimated readership of 140,000, had been going for eight years and boasted full-time paid office staff and regular paid freelancers. Biscuit, by contrast, was being dragged along by one weary unpaid editor and a bunch of unpaid writers who understandably, for the most part, couldn’t commit to regularly submitting work.

Little Biscuit’s enormous competition for the award consisted of Buzzfeed, Attitude.co.uk, iNewspaper and Property Week. We didn’t win – that accolade went to iNewspaper – but the nomination was nevertheless, as I say, a huge catalyst to continue with the site. I launched a crowdfunder, which finished way off target. I sold one ad space, for two months. Then nothing. I attempted in vain to recruit a sales manager but nobody wanted to work on commission. Some wonderful writers came and went. There were periods of tumbleweed when I frantically had to fill the site with my own writing, thereby completely defeating the object of providing a platform for a wide range of bi voices.

The Stonewall Award nomination persuaded me to keep going with the site

The departure of the webmaster was another blow. Thankfully by this point I had a co-editor on board – the amazing Libby – so I was persuaded to stick with it. And here we are now. I don’t actually know where the next article is coming from. That’s not a good feeling. But, apart from for Biscuit, I try not to write for free anymore myself, so I understand exactly why that is. As a freelance journo trying to make a living I’ve had to be strict with myself about that. I regularly post on the “Stop Working For Free” Facebook group and often feel a pang of misplaced guilt because I ask my writers to write for free, even though I’m working on the site for free myself, and losing valuable time I could be spending on looking for paid work.

Biscuit hasn’t exactly been a stranger to controversy, in addition to its financial and staffing issues. Its original tagline – “for girls who like girls and boys” – was considered cis-centric by some, leading to accusations that the site had some kind of trans/genderqueer*-phobic agenda. Which was amusing, as at the height of this a) we’d just had two articles about non-binary issues published and b) I was actually engaged to a genderqueer partner, a fact they were clearly unaware of. Now the site is under fire from various pansexual activists who object to the term “bisexual”. To clarify – “girl and boys” was supposed to imply a spectrum and, no, we don’t think “bi” applies only to an attraction to binary folk. The site aims the main part of its content at female-spectrum readers attracted to more than one gender because this group does have specific needs. But there is something here for EVERYONE bisexual. Anyway, it’s a shame all of this gossip was relayed secondhand, and the people in question didn’t think to confront me about it (which at least the pan activists have bothered to do). We damage our community immeasurably with these kinds of Chinese whispers.

Biscuit ed Libby, being amazing

Whilst trying to keep the site afloat, I’ve also been building on the work I started right back when I edited g3, and trying to improve bi visibility in other media outlets. I’ve recently had articles published by Cosmopolitan, SheWired, The F-Word, GayStar News and Women Make Waves and I’m constantly emailing other sites which I’ve not yet written for with bi pitches. Unfortunately, although I am over the moon to be writing for mainstream outlets such as Cosmo about bi issues, it’s been an uphill struggle trying to persuade some editors out there that they have more readers to whom bi-interest stories apply than they might think. It’s an incredibly exhausting and frustrating process.

Libby and I are doing our best with Biscuit. I can’t guarantee that I would be doing anything at all with it if Libby hadn’t arrived on the scene, so once again I would like to mention how fabulous she is. But we desperately need more writers. We need some help with site design and tech issues. We need a hand with the business and sales side of things. We can’t do it without you. And if you know any rich bisexual heiresses who read Biscuit, please do send them our way. 😉

Grant Denkinson’s story

denkinsonpanel

Grant speaks on a panel chaired by Biscuit’s Lottie at a Bi Visibility Day event

So first of all, explain a little about the activism you’re involved/have been involved in. 


“I’ve been involved with bisexual community organising for a bit over 20 years. Some has been within community: writing for and editing our national newsletter, organising events for bisexuals and helping others with their events by running workshop sessions or offering services such as 1st aid. I’ve spoken to the media about bisexuality and organised bi contingents at LGBT Pride events (sometimes just me in a bi T-shirt!). I’ve helped organise and participated in bi activist weekends and trainings. I’ve help train professionals about bisexuality. I’ve also piped up about bisexuality a lot when organising within wider LGBT and gender and sexuality and relationship diversity umbrellas. I’ve been a supportive bi person on-line and in person for other bi folks. I’ve been out and visibly bi for some time. I’ve helped fund bi activists to meet, publish and travel. I’ve funded advertising for bi events. I’ve set up companies and charities for or including bi people. I’ve personally supported other bi activists.”


What made you get involved?

“
In some ways I was looking for a way to be outside the norm and to make a difference and coming out as bi gave me something to push against. I’ve been less down on myself when feeling attacked. I’ve also found the bi community very welcoming and where I can be myself and so wanted to organise with friends and to give others a similar experience. There weren’t too many others already doing everything better than I could.”

How do you feel about the state of bi activism worldwide (esp UK and USA) at the moment?

“There have been great changes for same-sex attracted people legally and socially and these have happened quickly. Bi people have been involved with making that happen and benefit from it. We can also be hidden by gay advances or actively erased. We still have bi people not knowing many or any other local bi people, not seeing other bisexuals in the mainstream or LGT worlds and not knowing or being able to access community things with other bis. We are little represented in books or the media and people don’t know about the books and zines and magazines already available. The internet has made it easy to find like-minded people but also limited privacy and I think is really fragmented and siloed. It is hard to find bisexuals who aren’t women actors, harmful or fucked up men or women in pornography designed for straight men. We have persistent and high quality bi events but they are sparse and small.”

What’s causing you to feel disillusioned?

“I’m fed up of bi things just not happening if I don’t do them. Not everything should be in my style and voice and I shouldn’t be doing it all. I and other activists campaign for bi people to be more OK and don’t take care of ourselves enough while doing so. People are so convinced we don’t exist they don’t bother with a simple search that would find us. We have little resources while having some of the worst outcomes of any group. I don’t want to spend my entire life being the one person who reminds people about bisexuals, including our so-called allies. I’m not impressed with the problem resolution skills in our communities and while we talk about being welcoming I’m not sure we’re very effective at it. I’m fed up with mouthing the very basics and never getting into depth about bi lives and being one who supports but who is not supported. I’m all for lowering barriers but at a certain point if people don’t actively want to do bi community volunteering it won’t happen. Some people are great critics but build little.”

What do you want to say to other activists about this?

“Why are we doing this personally? I’m not sure we know. How long will we hope rather than do? Honestly, are there so few who care? Alternatively should we stop the trying to do bi stuff and either do some self-analysis, be happy to accept being what we are now as a community, chill out and just let stuff happen or give up and go and do something else instead.”

Patrick Richards-Fink’s story

085d4de So first of all, explain a little about the activism you’re involved/have been involved in.

“Mostly internet – I am a Label Warrior, a theorist and educator. Here’s how I described it on my blog: “One of the reasons that I am a bisexual activist rather than a more general queer activist is because I see every day people just like me being told they don’t belong. It doesn’t mean I don’t work on the basic issues that we all struggle against — homophobia, heterosexism, classism, out-of-control oligarchy, racism, misogyny, this list in in no particular order and is by no means comprehensive. But I have found that I can be most effective if I focus, work towards understanding the deep issues that drive the problems that affect people who identify the same way that I have ever since I started to understand who I am. I find that I’m not a community organizer type of activist or a storm the capitol with a petition in one hand and a bullhorn in the other activist — I’m much better at poring over studies and writing long wall-o’-text articles and occasionally presenting what I’ve gleaned to groups of students until my voice is so hoarse that I can barely do more than croak.” So internet, and when I was still in school, a lot of on-campus stuff. Now I’m moving into a new phase where my activism is more subtle – I’m working as a therapist, and so my social justice lens informs my treatment, especially of bi and trans people.”

What made you get involved?

“I can’t not be.”

How do you feel about the state of bi activism worldwide (esp UK and USA) at the moment?

“I feel like we made a couple strides, and every time that happens the attacks renewed. I hionestly think the constant attempts to divide the bisexual community into ‘good pansexuals’ and ‘bad bisexuals’ and ‘holy no-labels’ is the thing that’s most likely to screw us.”

What’s causing you to feel disillusioned?



“It is literally everywhere I turn – colleges redefining bisexuality on their LGBT Center pages, news articles quoting how ‘Bi=2 and pan=all therefore pan=better’, everybloodywhere I turn I see it every day. The word bi is being taken out of the names of organisations now, by the next group of up-and-comers who haven’t bothered to learn their history and understand that if you erase our past, you take away our present. Celebrities come out as No Label, wtf is that. Don’t they make kids read 1984 anymore? It’s gotten to the point now that even seeing the word pansexual in print triggers me. I’m reaching the point now that if someone really wants to be offended when all I am trying to do is welcome them on board, then I don’t have time for it.”

What do you want to say to other activists about this?

“Stay strong, and don’t give them a goddamned inch. I honestly think that the bi organizations – even, truth be told, the one I am with – are enabling this level of bullshit by attempting to be conciliatory, saying things that end up reinforcing the idea that bi and pan are separate communities. We try to be too careful not to offend anyone. Like the thing about Freddie Mercury. Gay people say ‘He was gay.’ Bi people say ‘Um, begging your pardon, good sirs and madams and gentlefolk of other genders, but Freddie was bi.’ And they respond ‘DON’T GIVE HIM A LABEL HE DIDN’T CLAIM WAAHHH WAAHHH!’ And yet… Freddie Mercury never used the label ‘gay’, but it’s OK when they do it. And he WAS bisexual by any measure you want to use. But we back down. And 2.5% of the bisexual population decides pansexual is a better word, and instead of educating them, we add ‘pan’ to our organisation names and descriptions. Now, this is clearly a dissenting view – I will always be part of a united front where my organization is concerned. But everyone knows how I feel, and I think it’s totally valid to be loyal and in dissent at the same time. Not exactly a typically American viewpoint, but everyone says I’d be a lot more at home in Britain than I am here anyway.”

[gaylotusthatexists]

hidden

pairing: moxiety

summary: Virgil has been in a relationship with Patton for a month now, but isn’t sure how much longer he can keep it up whilst closeted.

trigger warnings: implied homophobia, talks of breaking up, please let me know if i need to add anything

word count: 1489

a/n: it’s day fourteen of pride month!!! today’s prompt was ‘boundaries’. i had a lot of fun with this one tbh, and i’m just a little bit sorry but i hope y’all enjoy!!!

ao3

Virgil had been with Patton for a month now, and things were... okay. He was still trying to settle into it. This was his first boyfriend, and, whilst Patton was certainly more experienced, having been in a few relationships himself, they were still trying to figure things out between them. Virgil loved Patton, he really did - he'd known that way before they were even dating, back when he could only ever see them as friends, even Patton knew that Virgil loved him back then. But dating was different than just being friends, and Virgil wasn't sure how much longer he'd be able to keep this up.

Patton was very physical, he always had been, and he was loud and wanted everyone to know just how much Virgil meant to him. And that was fine, it wasn't much different to when they were just friends, but... Virgil was still scared, sort of. He didn't know how any of this worked, didn't know how to give back to Patton, didn't like the way that people were always staring at him. He knew they probably weren't, knew that he was just paranoid, but he still couldn't shake the feeling that every time Patton brushed against him, every time they held hand, every time they embraced, they were being watched.

It didn't help that Virgil was still very much closeted. Of course, Patton knew, and so did a few of Patton's friends, but Virgil's (all straight, as far as he was aware) friend group had no idea, and neither did his family. Coming out to any of them seemed like a daunting task - he imagined his friends wouldn't care that much, although they did occasionally make 'jokes' that were, well, jokes that didn't exactly give Virgil much faith. And then his family... He couldn't come out to them, not yet, he was terrified that it would go terribly wrong, and he knew his parents feelings about the queer community, and...

He breathed in and out as he walked down the hall, hand in hand with Patton, on their way out the building. A Friday afternoon, the end of the week. The two would usually hang out in the local park on a Friday, as both of Virgil's parents worked late and Patton's younger sister’s friends always went round to his house. What Virgil hadn't been expecting that day was for his other friends to be waiting outside the building for him.

"Virgil!" one said, hopping down from the steps and walking besides him. "You coming to the party tonight?"

Virgil let go of Patton's hand, wiping it against his jeans. "Not tonight, sorry," he mumbled.

His friend seemed disappointed. "Why not?"

"I, um, kinda already have plans?" he said, motioning his head towards Patton, who awkwardly waved at his friend.

"Who's this?"

"This is Patton," Virgil introduced. "We're, uh, we have a science project together." They weren't even in the same science class, but his friend didn't know that. Virgil had to think of some excuse.

"Oh." His friend hummed. "Well, I'll text you tomorrow, yeah? Think we're heading down into town, you should come with."

"Y-Yeah, definitely." Virgil nodded. "Just let me know what's happening."

"Yup." His friend smiled. "See ya!" He walked off, joining Virgil's other friends again. Once Patton and Virgil had left the school gate and turned the corner, he let out a breath.

"Sorry," he said, talking Patton's hand again. "I, um..."

"Why did you tell him we're working on a science project together?" Patton asked, innocently.

"I, uh..." Virgil tapped his fingers on his leg. "He doesn't know."

"You could just tell him we're dating," Patton said.

"No, I- He doesn't know that I'm..." He trailed off.

After a few moments of silence, Patton let out, "Oh."

"Yeah." They turned into a park, going to sit on their usual bench.

"Are you planning on telling them?" Patton asked, after a while.

"Not really."

"Oh."

Silence again. Virgil breathed in. Patton seemed to get the idea that Virgil wasn't going to speak anymore. He nuzzled into Virgil's side, as he usually did, and for a moment Virgil relaxed. He felt, for a moment, like the world wasn't watching him, like he could just be himself and nobody would care.

But then he remembered his friend staring at Patton, confused, concerned. He must have seen them holding hands when they walked out the school. What if he'd followed them? What if he was that desperate to know what was going on that he was spying on them now? What if he knew that they were a thing, what would happen to Virgil? Would he be kicked out the friend group? Would he tell his parents? Would he tell the whole school?

Patton kissed Virgil's cheek, and Virgil scooted away, trying not to look at the confused, slightly hurt look on Patton's face.

"I can't do this," Virgil whispered, trying to get his heart rate under control. He knew he probably wasn't being watched, but didn't even want to risk it. He didn't know how much longer he could keep this up, how much longer he could stay hidden when all he wanted to do was hold Patton, allow Patton to show his affection, but he couldn't let go of the anxiety surrounding everything, the fear pulling him down deeper and deeper.

"Can't do what?" Patton asked, moving closer again.

Virgil turned away. He didn't want to look at Patton, couldn't look at Patton when he said this. "This. I... I can't do us. I'm scared, every second of my existence, that one day the wrong person will find out and everything will turn to shit. And I... You don't deserve that. You deserve someone who isn't afraid of the world knowing what goes on between you and them."

Silence, lasting much longer than Virgil was comfortable with. He felt like he could cry. He didn't want to, didn't want Patton to think he was upset, didn't want to hurt Patton. But maybe there was no other way out of this.

"You're not... You're not breaking up with me, are you?"

Virgil could feel himself shaking, and maybe he was going to cry. Brilliant. "I... I don't want to," he admitted, "but... we might have to. I don't know how much longer I can keep this up."

He felt a hand land on his shoulder, and part of him wanted to swipe it away but the other part was just happy for human contact, for warmth, and for a moment his shaking calmed down.

"Is this because you aren't out?" Patton asked. "Because, really, there's no pressure for you to come out, if you aren't ready or if it isn't safe, or..."

Virgil breathed in and out. "I do want to stay with you," he promised. "I just... I just think that it's better for both of us if we..."

"Virgil," Patton said, moving closer again and trying to twist his body around to look Virgil in the eyes. "If... If there's anything I can do at all to help you feel safe in this relationship, you can tell me, y'know?" He smiled, softly, and Virgil melted. He loved Patton's smile. "I know I can be a little much sometimes, so... just tell me, okay? We can work out some boundaries if it makes you feel more comfortable. I don't mind staying hidden, I just... I want to be with you."

Virgil stared at Patton for a while longer, unsure what to do. He didn't want to have to leave Patton, but he also didn't want to be hard work, didn't want to have to force Patton to stop doing everything that he wanted to. Patton deserved so much better than Virgil. But...

"Please, Virgil," Patton said, quietly. "Just tell me, whatever I have to do. I'll do it. I want you to feel safe."

Virgil breathed in. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, Virgil." Patton took his hands, squeezing them tight. "Whatever will make you feel comfortable, just tell me."

Virgil's eyes drifted to the ground. "Public affection is a little much, sometimes," he began, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don't mind in private, do whatever you want in private, but... when there are people around, especially in school, I'd rather you not touch me constantly. Short hugs are fine, and hand holding is okay sometimes, but... kisses and cuddles are..."

Patton nodded. "I get it, Virgil. I understand."

The tips of Virgil's lips tilted up. "Are you sure this is...?"

"It's okay, Virgil," Patton said, smiling. "We don't have to do anything you're uncomfortable with, yeah?"

Virgil smiled. "Yeah. Yeah, thanks."

They stared at each other a moment longer, before Patton hummed. "How about we go back to my house? No one will see us there."

Virgil nodded, a little too quickly. "Yes. Yes, yeah that'd be good."

"I love you, y'know?"

"Yeah. I love you too, Pat."

[monsieur-hadrien]

Quarantine Harry Potter Fanfiction *READING LIST*

I’ve spent the past months reading copious amounts of fanfiction and now my amount of AO3 bookmarks is absurd. I really need to share these because if I don’t I think I might implode. Drarry-centric but not all!

These are in no particular order nor is there a particular time frame that these were all posted. I have a little bit of everything in here just you wait.

On Punching Gods and Absentee Dads by Enigmaris 

56 Chapters, 247k Words, Complete, no slash, T Rating

Marvel, Norse Mythology, Harry Potter Crossover

TW: Past Abandonment

Harry finds out that his dad is alive, has been the whole time. Instead of being overjoyed, Harry's disgusted. His dad left earth and abandoned his friends. Every painful thing he's ever gone through can be traced back to one man. Now Harry's got super strength he can't control and an almost unnecessary amount of magical power. His dad might be living it up with the Avengers now but not for long. With the help of his friends, Harry comes up with a plan for revenge. Get ready Avengers, Harry's out to punch a god.

We’re starting off strong with a Marvel crossover fanfic wow. Who knew that crossovers could be done tastefully as 2013 Wattpad kind of ruined it for us. However, this fic changed my mind! This fic is funny as fuck and is just a goodass time. I love a good multi-chapter fic (as you’ll soon see) and this one is a showstopper.

The Man Who Lived by sebastianL

42 Chapters, 254k Words, Complete, Draco/Harry, E Rating

TW: Major Character Death, Graphic Deptictions of Violence

Draco breaks a cup, and one thing leads to another. A story of redemption, tattoos, dreams, mistakes, green eyes, long conversations, and copious amounts of coffee.

With all of the Black Lives Matter protests happening right now, I think that this fic is super relevant. Draco has moved to New York City and is working as a receptionist at a tattoo shop and a mentor for inner city kids, but he accidentally gets forced to work out his differences with Harry, who at this point hates his guts. This fic is pretty serious, tackling themes of mental health, suicide, and police brutality. Every OC in this story is completely lovable and I cried my eyes out many times. When people ask me for a fic reccomendation this is the one I give people. Dare I say that this is my all-time favorite fic.

Warm Bodies by Betty_Hazel

Work in Progress, 37 Chapters as of 6/12/2020, 108k Words, Draco/Harry, E Rating

TW: D/s Dynamics, Graphic Porn, Dubious Relationship with Food

Draco Malfoy has spent his whole life wanting to go down on his knees for other men, and that's by far the least of the depraved things he fantasises about. He's wanted it all for so long that he's stopped believing that there might be someone out there who might be able to give it all to him; it comes as something of a surprise to find that maybe Harry Potter can, and that maybe Harry's looking for something too.

ALRIGHT MY PORN LOVERS THIS ONE IS FOR YOU! Don’t lie I know you’re horny. Somehow this fic is so fucking gorgeous and sweet yet so sinfully hot. It’s literally two boys who have never felt like their emotional needs have been satisfied learning to help and love each other like how much more wholesome does it get. I mean it’s all fine and wholesome until you get to the kinky sex which is WONDERFULLY WRITTEN MIGHT I ADD! I always say that if porn can make you feel something other than just horny, you’ve found a winner, and this story does just that.

Definitely check all the tags and I mean all the tags before you read this, but this is definitely one of my favorite porn with plot stories.

Running On Air by eleventy7

17 Chapters, 75k Words, Complete, Draco/Harry, T Rating

TW: No Archive Warnings

Draco Malfoy has been missing for three years. Harry is assigned the cold case and finds himself slowly falling in love with the memories he collects. 

Might I just say that classics are considered classics for a reason. This is one of those stories that has the vibe of high school summer after senior year where all you do is try to escape reality and figure out your place in the world. While the plot is wonderful and the characters are great, I think what shines the brightest from this story is the writing style. It’s so enchanting and poetic with the best one-liners that make your heart hurt. On my AO3 bookmark i captioned it, “This just ripped my soul in half and restitched it together again,” and I still stand by that.

Lokison (Series) and How To Train Your Godling (Series) by sifsshadowheart

Main Story (Lokison): 33 Chapters, 244k Words, Completed, Harry/Various Characters, E Rating

14 Spinoffs/ Sequel Stories, Completed, Harry/Various, Various Ratings

Norse Mythology, Harry Potter, Percy Jackson, Various Fandoms Crossover

TW: Major Character Death, Graphic Violence, Underage Sex, Spiralling Mental Health

James and Lily Potter had a secret, one which led to Thanatos saving young Harry from a dreary life with the Dursleys and changed the face of the Second British Wizarding War before it ever began.

This story feels much more like a 12 season television show than a two hour movie if you know what I mean. The plot is pretty slow going but the character development and interation makes it worth it. The story blends the lore and events of the HP and PJO to make a completely new story without making it feel like a goddamn recap. The reader follows Harry from when he’s young all the way into adulthood and it’s a fun time to watch him grow as a character and bond with his parental figures. Also some of the spinoffs are really wild and I never would have thought of the pairings but they just work somehow?? My personal favorite spinoff is the Pirates of Caribbean/Calypso and Leo arc like HELLO?! hot pirates. The total word count of the two series is 465k so beware it takes a hot second to chug through this one.

This Worship of an Extinct Fire by Lomonaaeren

Oneshot, 30k Words, Draco/Harry, M Rating

TW: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Emotional and Physical Abuse, Deppression

Unspeakable Draco Malfoy has planned for nearly six months how to take down Thomas Linwood, a man who has discovered the secret of converting wizard bodies to pure magic. He was prepared for anything--except the discovery of the missing Harry Potter in Linwood's compound.

This one, I don’t know how it’s not considered a classic. I’ve seen it floating around on drarry tumblr and wow is it good. I especially like the detailed magic system and mechanics that Draco is investigating. How the author managed to have so much detailed and gracefully planned out backstory in 30k words is beyond me. Also gentle Dracoo Malfoy is my favorite Draco Malfoy :) absolute angel mode.

Little Compton Street (One Rainy Night in Soho) by LLAP15 and Writcraft

Oneshot, 66k Words, Draco/Harry, Past Sirius/James, E Rating

TW: Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Light D/s Dynamics, References to Cancer, References to HIV/AIDS

Draco is lonely, Harry hates the press and it won’t stop raining in London. Harry discovers a magical street that’s close to disappearing forever and Draco realises he’s one rainy night in Soho away from finding everything he’s been searching for.

This fic is, in every sense, a masterpiece. Especially for pride month, the story surrounding LGBTQIA+ activism, the AIDS Epidemic of the 80s, and the gentrification of historically queer communities is one that should be read by everyone. Every single place, OC, and historic event has real world ties and is historically accurate, making this fic even more enchanting. Everything about this fic is graceful and slow burning I can’t help but fall in love with it. I’ve only seen this fic once on HP tumblr, but I feel like it should be considered a classic as it is truly a moving piece. This fic is one of the biggest reasons why I became so enthralled with LGBT history and am writing a fic that takes place in a wizarding version of the AIDS epidemic.

Sensitive Touch by Raserwolf

45 Chapters, 194k Words, Complete, Draco/Harry, E Rating

TW: Racism and Racial Slurs, Homophobic Slurs, Ablism and Ablist Slurs, Rape and Sexual Assault, Sensory Overloads and Mental Breakdowns, Extreme Bullying and Hate Crime, Past Abuse, Anxiety Disorders, PTSD wow this is a long list

When Draco Malfoy encounters a struggling and frustrated Harry desperately trying to tie his shoes after a meltdown in the Great Hall, his curiosity regarding the incident leads him to seek the help of the two people closest to Harry: Ron and Hermione.

After even they are shocked to hear the extent of Harry's issues, though Hermione had her suspicions, he discovers more about the man than he ever thought he knew before.

As a Neurotypical, I found this fic to be absolutely wonderful. I don’t know much about the typical traits of those who are one the autism spectrum and how they affect their everyday lives, but from what I was reading in the comments from those who are on the spectrum or who have family who are, this fic was pretty accurate and realistic. Harry, who lives with aspergers, goes without a known diagnosis until 8th year and it’s just heightened by his PTSD and anxiety and ugh I just want to hug the boy. The story follows Harry and Draco and the rest of the 8th year gang through the year and has multiple arcs in which the wizarding world are just dumbass bitches who can’t fucking seem to accept people for who they are. Not only is Harry on the spectrum but he’s also Desi with a purpose and not just mentioned and forgotten which is wonderful. The boys go through a lot of trauma in the story but there’s also a lot of teeth-rotting fluff that I live for. This is one of the fics that I have read and reread because I love it so much.

This definitely is not my full list I have a ton more stories in my bookmarks if you are curious. I’ll probably post a part two to this just cause I have so much and read so often. These, however, are definitely the biggest highlights.

[rhosyn-du]

Title: A Wonderful Institution Artist: @bidnezz​​ Pairings: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, various background pairings Word Count: ~53k Warnings: graphic depictions of violence, discrimination against Downworlders, reference to rape, Clave-typical homophobia, implied character death, minor character death Summary: Magnus doesn’t have time for this bullshit. Warlocks are disappearing in New York City—five people in less than three months—and Magnus is determined to find them and protect the rest of his people from whatever took them. He doesn’t have time for politics, and he certainly doesn’t have time for whatever nonsense the Clave is proposing about marrying a Shadowhunter to a Downworlder as part of the new Accords. He doesn’t really have time for a pretty Shadowhunter who’s surprisingly kind to warlock children, either, but, well, he’s always been good at multitasking.

Alec always knew he couldn’t have what he wanted, but he’s spent the nearly four years since the newly-appointed Consul recalled his parents to Idris without explanation making the best of what he can have. When life suddenly offers up almost everything Alec actually wants on a silver platter, he can’t quite bring himself to trust it, especially when it comes with a million caveats and a side of impending disaster. But he knows how to handle disasters, even if the return of the Circle on top of Clave secrets that could destroy the Accords is way beyond the disasters he’s used to fielding. Hope, on the other hand? He doesn’t know what to do with that.

This fic was created for the @malecdiscordserver​​ Mini Bang 2020.

Chapter Two

There were too many Shadowhunters in Magnus’s loft. It had probably been a mistake to invite Alec in the first place, but Magnus had let his judgment be swayed by a pretty face and a frightened child, and now he was stuck with the man’s sister and parabatai, too.

Magnus thought that perhaps, had they met under different circumstances, he might have enjoyed Isabelle’s company. Jace, on the other hand, managed to perfectly embody the condescending arrogance that so annoyed Magnus about Shadowhunters.

“Help him up into a sitting position,” Magnus instructed. “It will help the potion go down easier.” He spared a reassuring smile for Madzie, who sat curled up in a chair with Mr. Flopsy, watching the proceedings with worried eyes that nonetheless kept blinking toward sleep.

Isabelle and Jace did as instructed, maneuvering an unconscious Alec from his sprawl across Magnus’s couch into something that resembled an upright position.

Magnus leaned over Alec’s head, where it lolled against the back of the couch, hand resting against Alec’s cheek to hold him steady.

“Alexander,” he said softly. “if you can hear me, I need you to swallow the potion I’m going to give you.”

There was no response. Magnus hadn’t really expected one, but thought it was worth saying in case some part of Alec’s unconscious mind heard him.

Slowly, Magnus poured the potion into Alec’s open mouth, stroking a hand down Alec’s neck to encourage swallowing. He breathed a sigh of relief when he felt the movement of Alec’s throat beneath his fingers.

“He should be awake in a few minutes,” Magnus said.

“Thank you,” Isabelle said with an air of genuine gratitude that Magnus had rarely heard from a Shadowhunter.

“It was no problem, my dear,” Magnus said, and was surprised to realize he meant it.

As soon as Alec woke, the Shadowhunters would be out of his hair, and he could deal with every other disaster the evening had presented him with. Like the mundane woman and infant warlock currently asleep in his guest room, under Catarina’s watchful eye.

As if his thoughts had summoned her, Catarina stepped out of the guest room, closing the door softly behind her. She motioned to Magnus, who joined her in the corner of the room. As he’d suspected would happen, Madzie had fallen asleep in her chair.

“The mundane is under a whole tangle of memory spells,” Catarina said quietly. “Too many for me to untangle in one evening, and honestly, after hearing the little she did remember, I don’t know if it would be good for her to remember the rest of it.”

“That bad?” Magnus asked, frowning.

“I can’t be entirely sure, but I think…” Catarina let out a tired breath. “I think Iris has been luring or kidnapping mundane women and forcing them to bear warlock children.”

Magnus took a deep breath to rein in the fury that suddenly flared through him. Deal with the practicalities first.

“Does she remember if there were other mundane women living at the house?”

Catarina shook her head. “One of the few things Leigh is very clear on is that she and Iris were the only ones caring for the children. And she remembers that she’s Noah’s mother, although thankfully for her sanity, she doesn’t remember anything about how she came to be pregnant.”

“Lucky for her, certainly,” Magnus said, “but that leaves us not knowing where Iris was getting the demons.”

“Actually,” Catarina said, “she also mentioned something about the basement of the house being dangerous. It could be nothing, but…”

“But it could be that Iris was keeping a captive demon in the basement for her disgusting breeding program,” Magnus finished for her.

“We can go check it out after your guests leave and we get Madzie into an actual bed,” Catarina offered.

“I have a better idea,” Magnus said, glancing over his shoulder to where Jace and Isabelle were conferring quietly on the couch beside a still-unconscious Alec. “Shadowhunter!”

“Warlock,” Jace responded, sounding bored, but he and Isabelle rose to join Magnus and Catarina.

Magnus rolled his eyes. “I have reason to believe a missing warlock might have been keeping one or more demons captive in her basement. I thought perhaps you might want to look into it, since dealing with demons is kind of your whole,” he waved a hand, “Shadowhunter thing.”

Jace and Isabelle exchanged a quick look, then Isabelle said, “We will look into it. If you give me the address, I’ll make sure someone checks it out.”

“While you’re at it,” Alec muttered from the couch, eyes blinking open, “could you look into being a little less loud?”

Isabelle was the first to reach his side, with Jace close behind. Magnus took his time joining them.

“You had us worried for a minute there, big brother,” Isabelle said.

“How are you feeling?” Jace asked, and the concern was so evident in his tone that Magnus could almost forgive him for being such a complete pain in his ass. Almost.

“Headache,” Alec answered. “No serious damage except maybe my pride. Did I really get taken down by a Ravener demon?”

“You did,” Magnus answered, “but given that there were at least two dozen of them, I think your pride will recover.”

Alec looked up at him then, and Magnus was caught once again in those startling hazel eyes. He wondered how it was possible for a man he’d only just met to have such an effect on him.

“Thank you,” Alec said. “For healing me. You didn’t have to.”

“Nonsense,” Magnus said. “If I’d been faster, you might not have been hurt in the first place. Although,” he added with a flirtatious smile, “if you really wanted to thank me, you could buy me a drink sometime.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Magnus saw Isabelle cover a smile with her hand and decided that, yes, she could also have an exemption to his one Shadowhunter in the loft is too many rule.

“Uh,” Alec said, looking bemused, “you can bill the Institute for your time. How long was I out?”

“About fifteen minutes,” Jace told him.

“And the demons?”

“All of the trails converged on the alley where we found you,” Isabelle said. “We got there just in time for your dramatic collapse,” she added, grinning.

Alec winced. “Ouch. Wounded pride, remember?”

“I suspect the demons were tracking Madzie,” Magnus said. “I followed their trail from the house where she was staying with several other warlocks. It’s not the first attack of this kind I’ve seen in recent months, although it is the largest.”

“This got something to do with the missing warlock you mentioned?” Alec wanted to know.

Magnus nodded. “One of several, I’m afraid.” Although he couldn’t quite bring himself to feel too bad that Iris had been taken, not if Catarina’s suspicions proved true.

“And this has been going on for months.” It wasn’t a question. Alec looked at Jace. “Why is this the first I’m hearing about this?”

“It’s the first I’ve heard of it too,” Jace answered, shaking his head.

“We haven’t exactly been advertising the disappearances,” Magnus said. “And to be honest, I don’t think anyone expected Shadowhunters to care about a few missing warlocks.”

“Well, I do,” Alec said, annoyance clear in his voice. “We do.” He sighed, running a hand over his face. “We should get back to the Institute,” he said, standing. “Thank you, again. For healing me, and for having my back.”

“It was my pleasure, Alexander,” Magnus answered. “It is, tragically, not every day I have handsome men swooning in my arms.”

Magnus thought he caught the tiniest hint of a smile as Alec rose from the couch.

“I’ll let you know if I hear anything about those missing warlocks,” Alec promised.

“Please contact me if you do,” Magnus told him. “Or if there’s anything else you think we might be able to help each other out with.”

Magnus saw the Shadowhunters out, then returned to the living room, where Catarina was watching him with amusement.

“Oh, he’s too pretty not to flirt with and you know it,” Magnus told her.

“I said nothing,” she said, shaking her head but still smiling.

Magnus flopped theatrically onto his finally empty couch and closed his eyes. He thought perhaps one was the right number of Shadowhunters to have in his loft, so long as it was the right one.

Alec managed to get a full five hours of sleep before a pounding on his door woke him. He’d meant to go straight to bed when they’d returned to the Institute, but his curiosity had gotten the better of him, and instead he’d spent nearly an hour reading everything in the Clave database about Magnus Bane, and then another two lying awake in the dark, trying to reconcile any of it with the man who’d fought at his side and saved him from demon venom. Who’d caught him when he fell.

Before Alec could shake the cobwebs of dream and the vague impression of kohl-rimmed eyes from his mind and answer, his sister was opening the door and barging right in.

“Come right in, Iz,” Alec muttered into his pillow.

“Sorry, hermano,” Izzy said, perching on the side of his bed, “but I thought you’d want to know that Mom’s here.”

That woke him right up.

“Did she say why she’s here?”

Izzy shook her head. “Just that she wanted to see you when you were up. She said she’d be in her office.”

Her office. Of course. Never mind that his parents had been in Idris for most of the past four years, or that neither of them had even set foot in the New York Institute in over six months, they were still technically Heads of the Institute. Alec just hoped she didn’t move anything important on his desk. Her desk. Fuck.

Alec tried not to be bitter about it, he really did, but some days it was harder than others, and today was apparently one of those days.

“Thanks for letting me know. Can you tell her I’ll be there in twenty minutes?”

“Can do, big brother.” She leaned in to give him a hug. “I’ll be training if you need a sparring partner to blow off some steam with after.”

It took exactly ten seconds in his mother’s presence for Alec to know he would most definitely want to hit things after this meeting. There was a brittle edge to her perfunctory smile that managed to convey all of the same disappointment evident in her recent letters while not quite hiding a bone-deep exhaustion. Not for the first time, Alec wondered what exactly his parents were doing in Idris.

“Mother,” Alec said, stepping into the office and falling instinctively into parade rest. “This is unexpected. If I’d known you were coming, I would have been awake to welcome you.”

“It was a last-minute decision,” Maryse answered. “I finished what I was working on earlier than expected, and Consul Penhallow suggested I come and ensure everything is set for next week’s negotiations.”

It made sense that the Clave would send someone to oversee preparations for the final round of negotiations over the revised Accords, since those negotiations were to be held at the New York Institute. It even made sense that the Clave would send Maryse, as one of the official Heads of Institute. But Alec couldn’t quite shake the suspicion that his mother was here for more personal reasons.

“I’m sure you’ll find everything in order,” Alec said. “Will Father be joining you?”

Maryse’s answering smile was tight. “Your father will be here in time for the negotiations. He still has some things to take care of in Idris.”

Her smile sharpened, and Alec knew he’d been right about why she was here.

“Besides,” she continued, “I thought you and I could take this opportunity to discuss your future, just the two of us.”

Alec shook his head, suddenly feeling as though he’d gotten no sleep at all. “There’s nothing to discuss. I volunteered, the Council chose me, end of discussion.”

“There’s still time to change your mind,” Maryse said with a carefully controlled calm. “The negotiations aren’t until next week. The Council will choose someone else, and the Downworlders will never know the difference. If you’d bothered to consult me about this in the first place, or even your father—”

“I consulted with Consul Penhallow,” Alec interrupted.

“Jia Penhallow doesn’t give a damn about what your decision means for this family,” Maryse snapped. “Or what it means for you.”

Alec looked away, choosing his words carefully. “What it means for this family is that the revised Accords—the ones that you support— will be signed, and they won’t be put in jeopardy by someone who resents marrying a Downworlder for political reasons. When the Clave first announced this marriage was going to be a part of the revised Accords, you and Dad are the ones who convinced me it was necessary. I’m doing what I can to make sure it goes smoothly.

“Besides,” he continued, finally meeting his mother’s eyes again, “you’re the one who suggested I start looking for a wife.”

“I meant you should find a Shadowhunter wife, Alec!” Maryse said, throwing up her hands. “Yes, the revised Accords are important, and yes, someone needs to do this, but that person doesn’t have to be you.”

Alec regarded his mother for a long moment. “What aren’t you telling me?” he asked finally. “The Council thinks I’m the right person to do this, and so do I. If you have a reason for disagreeing that goes beyond distaste over the idea of your son marrying a Downworlder, then tell me what it is.”

For just an instant, Maryse seemed to hang on the precipice of speaking, but then her shoulders slumped, and she sighed. “I’m doing what’s best for our family, Alec.”

Alec knew his mother well enough to know that there was no point in asking again.

“So am I,” he said instead. “Is there anything else? I told Izzy I’d train with her this morning.”

Maryse shook her head. “We can discuss preparations for the negotiations when you’re feeling less recalcitrant.”

He found Izzy in the training room, practicing forms with a staff, right where she’d promised to be.

“That bad?” she asked, grabbing a second staff from the rack on the wall and tossing it to him. “Want to talk about it?”

“Nope,” he told her, feinting high, then moving to sweep her left leg.

Izzy danced out of the way, laughing. “Come on, Alec. If you’re not going to keep me up to date on family gossip, at least give me a decent fight.”

She moved toward him, throwing out three jabs in quick succession, all of which he blocked.

“Now who’s not giving a decent fight?” he taunted. “I was getting a better workout arguing with Mom.”

“You’re still recovering from last night,” she said, rolling the staff lazily across her shoulders as they circled each other. “I wouldn’t want to further damage your ego.”

“Cute,” Alec said before launching another attack, this time at Izzy’s midsection, which she blocked and rolled into her own attack.

They kept on like that for several minutes, attack and parry, back and forth, neither managing to land a blow. It was exactly what Alec needed to ease the frustration of his earlier meeting.

“Speaking of last night,” Izzy said just as Alec felt the last of the frustrated tension loose from his shoulders, “have you heard from Magnus?”

Alec felt a tiny frisson of…something deep in his belly at mention of the warlock. It distracted him enough that he didn’t quite block Izzy’s next attack, and his shoulder caught a glancing blow. It wasn’t nearly as uncomfortable as Izzy’s smug grin.

“Why would I hear from Magnus?” Alec asked, rolling out his shoulder with an intentional casualness.

Izzy gave him a pointed look. “About the missing warlocks? You did promise to share information, remember?” Her grin widened as she bounced from foot to foot, looking for a hole in his defenses. “Or maybe he thinks you’d have a different answer for him if he asked you out without so many people around.”

“He didn’t— That’s not what that was,” Alec insisted. He could admit, at least to himself, that he’d been just a tiny bit flattered at Magnus’s flirting, but he wasn’t foolish enough to take it seriously.

And even if Magnus had been serious, it wouldn’t matter. Alec was getting married.

Izzy gave him her most disbelieving smirk, then added insult to injury by blocking his next attack seemingly without effort.

“Then maybe you should ask him out,” Izzy suggested. “You can’t tell me you don’t want to.”

“Izzy,” Alec said warningly, “drop it.”

“For now,” she agreed, once again darting out of range of his staff. “But don’t think this conversation is over, big brother.”

Alec was saved from answering by the arrival of a fire message. It was entirely Izzy’s fault that he let himself wonder, for those few seconds before he read it, if it might be from Magnus.

“Everything okay?” Izzy asked, lowering her staff.

“Yeah,” Alec said, frowning faintly. The message was from a warlock, just not the one he’d been hoping to hear from. “Yeah, I just gotta take care of something real quick.”

“Guess I’ll just have to kick your ass later then,” Izzy said with a shrug.

Alec decided that one wasn’t worth answering.

“Thank you again for coming,” Catarina said, leaning back against the park bench. A few feet away, Madzie was pushing Mr. Flopsy on the swing set. “She just wouldn’t believe you were really okay until she could see it for herself. And with Iris gone, she doesn’t have a whole lot of stability in her world right now.”

“I get it,” Alec said. Shadowhunters didn’t exactly tend to live long and full lives, and this wasn’t the first time he’d seen a kid who’d lost a parent figure panic over other people getting hurt. “And I don’t mind. If seeing me alive and well is what it takes to make Madzie feel safe again, that’s something I’m happy to do.”

“You’re her hero, you know,” Catarina told him. “You and Magnus. She doesn’t talk much, but when she does? It’s about how the two of you saved her. I think I’ve heard the story five times already this morning.”

“I don’t feel like much of a hero,” Alec said. “I was just doing my job.”

“Maybe,” Catarina said, watching him carefully, “but you do it a lot better than most Shadowhunters. At least where warlocks are concerned.”

Alec shrugged uncomfortably. This was not a conversation he wanted to have on a sunny morning in the park with a near-stranger.

“How are the others you rescued, the mother and baby?” he asked instead. Izzy had filled him in on the details he’d missed while he was unconscious.

“As well as they can be under the circumstances, Catarina answered. “Safe. It’s not as common that a warlock child and his mother need shelter as it is for a warlock child alone, but it’s common enough that we have safe places for them.”

“That’s—” Alec didn’t know what to say to that. He’d never really had reason to think about what life was like for warlock children, but it made sense they wouldn’t exactly have a stable home life with one mundane parent and one demon. “I’m glad they have somewhere to go.”

Alec’s phone beeped, the tone he used for alerts from the Institute, and he sighed. “Duty calls.”

Catarina gave him a tired smile. “It always does.”

At Madzie’s insistence, Alec gave Mr. Flopsy a hug before heading back to the Institute, and whatever his mother needed from him now.

For the second evening in a row, Magnus found himself with a splitting headache and in desperate need of a stiff drink. He’d spent the day speaking to Iris Rouse’s few friends in the hopes of finding something that might lead him to her or the missing children. Instead, he’d merely found that Iris’s friends were no more pleasant than the woman herself.

He was just about to open a portal back to his loft—and his plethora of whiskey—when he sensed the demonic energy. He was being followed. Very sloppily.

Instead of opening the portal, he crossed the street and headed east. If someone was stupid enough to send demons to follow him, he was damn well going to find out who and why.

The demons kept themselves well back as Magnus wove his way through crowded streets, and he began to think they were merely tracking his movements. Which was good, because he didn’t think there were more than three following him, and if these demons were sent to track him by the same person who sent the horde of Raveners after Madzie, Magnus would be very insulted that they’d sent fewer demons for him than for a six-year-old.

But if it was the same person, Magnus didn’t want these demons reporting back to the person who summoned them. Even though his investigation into the disappearance of Iris Rouse and the warlock children living with her had yielded basically nothing, he didn’t want to give the person who took them even that much information about what he did and did not know.

Decision made, he turned another corner, leading his pursuers toward an area likely to be a bit less crowded. Glamour could hide what he was doing from passersby but fighting demons in the middle of a crowded street in Midtown wasn’t exactly safe for innocent bystanders, even if it was going to be a very short fight.

It was another ten minutes before he found a short side street deserted enough Magnus wasn’t worried about some mundane accidentally stumbling into his fight. With an air of nonchalance, he stopped and pretended to examine a particularly large crack in the sidewalk.

As Magnus had hoped, the demons followed him onto the street, although they kept to the shadows. He’d been right: there were three of them. Shax demons, and almost certainly sent to spy on him. It took less than ten seconds to take them down, a blast of magic in the thorax of each.

“Well done,” came a voice from over his right shoulder.

“More like medium-rare,” Magnus said with a smirk as he spun around to face Alec. “You know, if I’d realized you were going to come dashing to my rescue, I would have left one of them for you.”

Alec raised his eyebrows in skepticism, but Magnus could see the hint of a smile underneath, and it was breathtaking. “You don’t really strike me as the type to need rescuing.”

“Oh, I’m not,” Magnus agreed. “But I wouldn’t want you to feel like I don’t appreciate the attempt.”

“That’s not— I mean, I wasn’t—” Alec blew out a long breath. “I was following up on a possible demon sighting, not trying to rescue you.”

“I suppose that’s a relief,” Magnus said, ignoring the slight twinge of disappointment that Alec was looking for demons and not for him. “It wouldn’t do for Shadowhunters to think the High Warlock of Brooklyn can’t take care of himself.”

Alec snorted. “I don’t think there’s any danger of that. ” Magnus quirked an intrigued eyebrow, and Alec hurried to add, “I just mean, the Clave’s file on you is pretty clear on your ability to take care of yourself.”

“I would question the accuracy of anything the Clave has to say about me,” Magnus said, “but I’m glad to hear they got one part right, at least.” And he was more than a little pleased that Alec had been reading up on him, even if his choice of source material was questionable.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Alec said. “Do you know what those demons were after?”

“Following me,” Magnus told him. “I spent my day investigating the latest warlock disappearances, and I suspect the person responsible sent those Shax demons to follow me and report back on my activities. Not that I’ve had much luck in finding anything.”

“Are you sure you’re safe?” Alec asked with a frown. “If the person kidnapping warlocks is tracking you, you could be their next target.”

“I appreciate your concern, Alexander,” Magnus answered sincerely, “but I assure you I’ve taken plenty of precautions. As we just covered, I’m more than capable of handling myself in a fight, and my loft is quite well warded.”

Alec’s frown lessened, but didn’t disappear entirely, and Magnus couldn’t help but be touched by his concern. “And is that where you’re headed now? Back to your loft?”

Magnus nodded. “I was thinking I could use a drink after the day I’ve had.” He paused, debating internally, then added, “Would you care to join me?”

Emotions flickered across Alec’s face like frames in an old-time film: surprise followed by delight, which was quickly doused by regret.

“Magnus, I wish— I just—”

Magnus held up a finger to silence him. “I understand.”

And he did, much as he wished he didn’t. Shadowhunters weren’t exactly accepting of same-sex relationships, nor relationships between Shadowhunters and Downworlders. Whatever attraction there might be between the two of them, Alec was obviously unwilling to pursue it. Maybe even unwilling to acknowledge it. Really, it was what Magnus should have expected, and he hated that he’d let some small part of himself hope.

Alec huffed out a frustrated breath. “You don’t,” he said, but offered no further explanation.

“Well,” Magnus said, letting his own regret show through a tiny smile, “it was a nice thought. Goodnight, Alexander.”

He couldn’t be certain, but he thought he heard a faint “goodnight,” follow him through the portal back to his loft.

[fivour]

Hey! Could i request some uhhh dioice angst? Song prompt 1 if thats alright?

[chef’s kiss] it's short but hell yeah u can. tfw ur possessive and lonely but ur not-bf-but-definitely-bf is being a useless bicon vampire thot </3

1. it’s better when i bleed for you cw: like, one line implying period typical homophobia + me pulling references to vanilla’s past right out of my asshole, as per usual read on ao3

—

Vanilla Ice prides himself upon one thing, and one thing only: his undying devotion to Lord Dio. This is the one thing he is better than anyone at, the one thing that keeps the self loathing at bay when he doesn’t have Dio’s reassurance to do it for him.

But sometimes, Lord Dio can frustrate him beyond belief.

Why doesn't he see what Vanilla sees? Vanilla Ice will offer his neck at the drop of a hat — no, he will offer his life — and yet he feeds on stragglers in bars, whose blood is no doubt far more tainted than Vanilla’s own could ever hope to be; Vanilla Ice would not make an attempt on Dio’s life, and yet his Lord chooses to be buddies with selfish filth like Hol Horse; Vanilla Ice is the only one who is even near fit to be Lord Dio’s. It is the one aspect he allows himself to be less than humble about, for he knows it’s the truth.

Which is why the fact that Lord Dio needs anyone else is not fathomable.

What does Vanilla... lack?

The men make him feel awful enough, but the women add another layer of hurt altogether. They loosen up a bundle of thoughts that Vanilla has not given the time of day in months, ones that he believed Lord Dio had locked away for good.

These jealous pangs and reminders conflict him for innumerable reasons. Vanilla can’t help the guilt that follows each one. He really can’t expect anything from a relationship that has not been declared, let alone defined. The logical parts of his brain repeat this mantra until his anger subsides, but it never seems to stop it from coming back each time he notices another of his comrades has feeding bruises. Ones that always made him feel special until he knew he was not the only one of them that could sate Dio's appetite.

It crosses his mind often, when Lord Dio calls upon him, that maybe this time is the time that he’s realized just how much Vanilla loves him; but each time, his hopes are diminished.

Yet, when Lord Dio’s gaze falls upon him, there’s something in his eyes that Vanilla does not see when Dio looks at others. Something besides the playful mischief that he seems to direct to everyone. Something that, in all his previous relationships, he’s never seen before.

It erases the doubts he knows are useless, the ones that are not even his to have. It makes it difficult to hold his blank stare. It makes him want to smile.

Vanilla Ice knows that what Dio looks at him with is love.

The unspoken quality of it is all that brings him any security, because as soon as he says it aloud, it no longer bears the same meaning. Vanilla enjoys the fantasy he's concocted inside his head, one of star-crossed lovers who simply can't be together. It makes it even more enticing. It makes watching the steady stream of servants going in and out in the later hours more bearable, gives an explanation to the question that he just can't answer himself, and he's fine with that.