#ace!rumple

[your-fave-isdoomedbythenarrative]

Rumplestiltskin from once upon a time

Rumplestiltskin from Once Upon A Time is doomed by the narrative and trying to escape.

[skimblestrap]

holdon. nonreplica based on a pack of playing cards. are you picking up what im putting down here.

[mercuriallily]

I had a very stressful day but I wanted to chill and cosplay Rumple!

Bonus: Ace kitty

[thefatedthoughtofyou]

[ i wrote this in an hour after a very long day at work so if you see any mistakes...no you dont. Also i WILL see them later. Like immediately after i post this...so it goes. Enjoy guys! 🧡 ]

The sun from his window wakes him, shining in his eyes. The night before coming back to him slowly, his stomach swooping at the memory. He reaches behind himself, blindly, his stomach dropping. The sheets are cold.

Steve rolls onto his back, letting his head fall to the side slowly, not wanting to see what he's already felt. Not wanting to see the emtpy bed Eddie had promised wouldn't be there in the morning.

He turns.

No Eddie.

He refuses to acknowledge the whine that crawls up his throat, takes a deep breath, and rolls onto his side, his fingers idly moving over the sheets Eddie had left rumpled in his wake.

It had taken them months to get here. To this place. From Eddie and Steve. To EddieAndSteve.

Steve hadn't expected Eddie. Was shocked how much he enjoyed the other boys company. He was loud, and intense, and smart, and an asshole, and kind. This weird puzzle Steve wanted to toss onto the table so he could see the pieces better.

And then he'd met the other Eddie. The Eddie he was when he was alone with someone. He was no less intense. But he got quiet. He got calm. And at first, it freaked Steve out a little bit. He hadn't been expecting it, this quiet side of Eddie.

He'd actually asked Jeff about it one day, asked if maybe he'd been doing something wrong. That Eddie was too nice to call him on it so he'd just kept his mouth shut and gotten quiet. Jeff had laughed, not meanly, and had said,

"You ever known him to keep his mouth shut? About anything?" Jeff gave him a look, his brows moving up his forehead. Steve shook his head.

"It's freaky right? When he gets quiet, and calm?" Jeff had asked, the look on his face softening when Steve nodded slowly.

"But nice right? Not in a mean way. Just... there's somethin about him when he's quiet." Jeff shrugged, still looking at Steve.

"It's like he's got so much focus. And then it goes quiet and all that focus is just... on you." Steve said, quiet, and slow. Jeff tilted his head to the side, eyes moving over Steve's thoughtful face. A lot of people usually made comments when he made that face, told him not hurt himself, thinking too hard, but not Jeff. Jeff smiled at him, clapped him on the shoulder and said.

"Yeah. And Eddie focus can a be overwhelming when you aren't used to it. But you do, get used to it." He gave Steve's shoulder a squeeze, smiled again when Steve mumbled something about that not being an issue. And that had been the end of it. And the beginning.

Steve got used to Eddie's quiet focus, the way his eyes were always on him when they were alone. He got used to the way Eddie liked doing things for him. Little favors. Little errands. Little good deeds.

He got used to the way Eddie would read to him when he got headaches. His voice calm, and even, and most of the time putting Steve to sleep.

And then he got used to the way Eddie touched him. Like he was something precious. And that was when Steve couldn't help himself. He kissed Eddie. One night in his stupid plaid bedroom. The plaid Eddie loved so much. Cuz it was all Steve.

He'd kissed him and Eddie had smiled into it. And then kissed him back. And Steve got used to that too. He'd gotten used to Eddie being there. With him. For him. Around him and inside him. He was everywhere. And everything. And Steve was so sure he loved him. That Eddie loved him back.

But he was alone.

Eddie promised he would be here with Steve in the morning. Steve was so tired of being with someone and then waking up alone. And Eddie promised, soft and sweet in that way he had, he would be here.

He promised.

Steve felt his eyes burn and curled around the pillow next to him. It still smelled like Eddie, his shampoo and his cigarettes and his sweat. Steve sobbed into the pillow, holding it close as his tears stained the fabric, his chest aching.

And then the smoke detector is blaring. Startling him, he jumps out of bed, disoriented from crying and being pulled out his little bubble. He almost trips over something on his way to the door, he looks down, sees Eddie's jeans. Huh.

He tugs his shirt down over his stomach where it had ridden up in sleep and darts down the stairs, the loud, incessant beeping is coming from the kitchen. As soon as his feet hit the stairs he smells burning. A few more steps and he hears an all too familiar voice. His heart stops pounding from the adrenaline, and starts pounding for a new reason, as he stops right outside the kitchen doorway to listen.

"Please stop please stop please stop!" Eddie's voice begs in a whisper.

"Oh my god. Oh god. What the fuck? Chair. I need a chair." Steve hears him snap his fingers, hears him grunt.

"Okay! Oh my god. Shut uuuupp!" Eddie hisses. Steve's hears him fumbling with something.

"Waking up the whole fucking neighborhood at this rate. I mean c'mon this can't- are you fucking- Gotcha!" Steve hears the sound of the fire detector click free.

"You're gonna get it now you little- oh shit. Okay. I'm okay." Eddie sounds like he's soothing himself. Steve hears another rattling noise, a little "ah HA!", and the beeping finally stops.

"Jesus." Eddie sounds out of breath.

"That was fucking never wracking. A whole fucking todo. My god." He sighs loudly, Steve covering his mouth, trying not to snort and give himself away.

"Now where was I?" Eddie asks himself, Steve hears him groan softly and can almost see the way his body deflates.

"Oh right. You." Steve smiles at the venom in his voice, has to peak around the corner to see if his suspicions are correct. Sure enough, Eddie is looking at the pan on the stove, what was once probably eggs, is now a pan full of smoldering nothing.

Eddie sighs again, his shoulders sagging. He curls his fingers around the handle, lifts the pan closer to his face, squinting at the ashes inside.

"Now, what am I... gonna do with you?" He asks, frowning. Steve bites his lip.

"I was just about to ask you the same question." Steve says, stepping around the door frame. Eddie yelps, nearly drops the pan, rights it quickly but gets a handful of ashy eggs in the process, makes a face and a strangled noise as he sets it back on the stove.

"Steve! You're awake!" He says, smiling, as he takes a few steps backwards, shoves his hands into the sink and scrubs them off, gagging once as he pushes soap between his fingers. Steve drags his teeth over his bottom lip, lets it go. Smiles as he watches Eddie clean his hands.

"Yes Eddie. I'm awake." He leans agaisnt the door frame.

"I um... did I wake you up? I didn't mean too. I had like a whole...plan. Well... maybe not a whole plan. Half a plan? Let's call it part of a plan. " his hands flail and then drag down his shirt as he dries them.

"What are we talkin like, sixty/forty?" Steve teases, Eddie fowns, scrunches his face.

"I wouldn't give it that much. It was eighty/twenty at best."  His hand wiggles and wobbles in front of him. The laugh that bursts out of Steve makes him smile.

"I just wanted to bring you breakfast in bed. I only remembered about half way in that I, actually, cannot cook." His eyes move to the ashy eggs again.

"Clearly." He sighs, his shoulders drooping again. Steve's stomach swoops, again, and this time the feeling stays. He laughs again. And moves toward Eddie. Eddie looks at him, holds his hands up between them quickly, like he's gonna fight Steve off with Karate he doesn't know.

"I will clean your kitchen! I just wanted to do something nice for- oomf." He huffs out air into Steve's shoulder as Steve slams into him and pulls him close.

"Oh. Hi." His voice has gone from defensive to pleasantly surprised, his hands resting against Steve's back are warm, and he can feel Eddie smiling into his shoulder.

"You stayed." Steve breathes, closes his eyes and breaths Eddie in, squeezing him tighter. Eddie makes a teasing gasping for air noise and then squeezes back.

"Well yeah. I promised didn't I?" Eddie asks, his fingers digging into Steve's sides, making him squirm. Steve pulls back and looks at him.

"Yes. You did. Thank you for keeping your promise." Steve watches Eddie smile, watches his eyes wander slowly over his face, taking him. And then he kisses him. Again. For maybe the hundredth time. For the thousandth. Steve doesn't know. Just knows that he never wants to stop. But he does, so he can look at Eddie, all wide eyed and frizzy haired, looking a little dazed, the way he always does when Steve kisses him.

"Will you make me another promise?" Steve whispers, bumping his nose softly into Eddie's. He's already nodding.

"Yeah. Anything. What do want?" Eddie asks, his hands squeezing Steve's hips gently.

"Promise me. You'll never, ever, try to cook anything for me ever again." Steve bites his lip when Eddie sqwuaks and shoves him away.

"I was trying! To be sweet to you!!" He shouts, his hands on his chest as he backs away, over dramatically offended.

"I know. And the thought was very nice." Steve nods, grabs the pan and holds it upside down, the ashes do not move, or fall out.

"But I think you killed my pan. And I really can't take anymore kitchen casualties, like, financially. At the moment. So..." he sets the pan back down, smiling when Eddie glares at him. He shakes his head, crosses his arms.

"You try to do something nice for your boyfriend, and what do you get? Nothin but jokes. And financial insecurity." He huffs, his nose in the air. After maybe half a second he glances at Steve.

"But yeah I can promise you that." He winks and then all but bounces back into Steve's arms, nuzzling into his neck and humming.

"Please tell me you can cook. We're gonna die if you can't. We're gonna starve to death. And I'm already precariously skinny, we can't let it get any worse. I'll be nothing but skin and bone come winter!" Eddie laments, going nearly limp in Steve's arms, trusting him to catch him, to hold him up, and he does, as he laughs.

"Worry not fair maiden. I can indeed cook. Shall I scramble you an egg? Make you some toast perhaps?" Steve asks, his hands soothing up and down Eddie's back. Eddie straightens immediately at his words and pulls back, his head cocked to the side.

"Okay toast does sound amazing but I need you know that if you keep playing along with my little dramatics like that, that pan isn't gonna be only thing I ruin in this kitchen." Eddie's cheeks are flushed, his teeth worrying into bottom lip.

"Did you mean for that sound so fucking smooth?" Steve asks, his cheeks going hot as Eddie's eyes drop to his mouth.

"Not at all! Oh my god!  I didn't even mean it like that, but it was so good!" His little excited face as he hops a few times is the best fucking thing Steve's ever seen.

"Well how bout we go ruin something in my bedroom instead. And I can make you toast, or whatever you want, after?" Steve asks, sliding his hands down Eddie's arms and tangling their fingers. Eddie nods excitedly. Steve turns to leave the kitchen and Eddie jumps on his back.

"Oof." Steve sighs.

"Sorry. Wanted a ride up the stairs. You have too many stairs in your house." Eddie whines, smiling into Steve's shoulder when he hikes his legs up and holds him.

"Hey what else can you make besides toast? Can you make soups?" Eddie asks, as Steve takes the steps slowly.

"Yep."

"Hell yes! Can you make grilled cheese?" Eddie asks.

"Yep."

"Amazing. Can you maaake.... meatloaf?" Eddie asks.

"I haven't in awhile, but I have a great recipe for it. Soooo... yes." Steve answers.

"Nice! Can you maaaakkeee.... ooohh can you make bread?" He pats at Steve's chest excitedly. Steve laughs, bounces him once as he heads down the hall to his room.

"Mhm. I can. A few different kinds." Steve hums.

"Holy shit. You're a cooking wizard! We shan't starve after all!" Eddie shouts, his voice echoing off the walls before Steve closes the door, the sound of their laughter muffled through the door as they fall into bed. Steve rolls on top of him, smiles down at him, and thanks him over and over again, through smiles and whispers and gasps and moans. Thanks him for keeping his promise. Thanks him for staying. For staying with Steve.

And Eddie tells him, in that easy way he has, quiet and intense, that there's no place else he'd rather be.

[dcartcorner]

Commission for @morning-softness! Thank you for the support!

[Image description: John, Tim, Martin, and Sasha from The Magnus Archives. The four of them are sitting around a table in Jon's flat, playing a board game. Jon is staring intently at the board, thinking about where to place his tile. Tim is smiling and leaning over to give Jon advice. Across from Jon, Martin is covering his mouth and laughing, happy to be there with the others. Sasha is holding a drink, and giving Martin a knowing look from across the table. Jon is a fat British-Indian man with medium brown skin, shoulder-length black hair streaked with grey, and glasses. He is wearing a white dress shirt, a sweater vest, and an ace ring. There are small silver studs in his earlobes. His sleeves are rolled up and his hair is slightly rumpled from where he has been running his hands through it. Tim is a thickset man with tan skin, brown eyes, greying brown hair in an undercut, and a short beard. He has gauged ears, and wears a fidget bracelet on one wrist. He is wearing a brightly colored button-down shirt, with the collar unbuttoned. Sasha is a thin Black British woman with long type 3b hair, wearing a turtleneck shirt and glasses with a chain. Martin is a fat Vietnamese-Polish man with short, dark brown hair and light, freckled skin. He has gauged ears, and stubble on his chin and neck. He is wearing a jumper and thick glasses. End image description.]

[satyricplotter]

(suggestive, slightly explicit content at the end)

Even though you’ve been expecting the visit for most of the night, the Red Hood knocking at your balcony door at 1 in the morning still catches you off guard. You scramble off the couch in a sleepy daze, book falling off your lap and cracking open on the floor. For one long second, the only thing you can think of is that whoever your last assignment was has managed to find you, that you’ve finally been too sloppy and left a trail with which to track you.

That’s your first thought. Your second thought is, of course, Barbara. But before you can reach your phone to shoot your boss a SOS, or, at the very least, an alert, a second rasp at the window panes freezes you on the spot.

“Will you open the damn door?” Red Hood’s unmistakably robotic voice grits out. “It’s raining cats and dogs out here.”

You trip in your rush to open the doors, limbs loose and clumsy with relief. Hood shoulders past you with a grunt, fingers prodding at the back of his head to get at the latch of his helmet. He takes it off in a smooth motion, his hot breath forming a white cloud against the cold air of your running AC. You lock the balcony back up after him as he goes around your apartment, setting his helmet on your dinner table and shrugging out of his jacket. He means to stay apparently. You could’ve lent him an umbrella if he wanted to go back out there. Probably would’ve been best.

See, you don’t like the Red Hood much.

He invites himself over to your kitchen, opening cabinets here and there until he chances upon the dinnerware and pulls out a glass. The Gotham public infrastructure is in such state you have never once attempted to drink out of the tap, but you don’t stop him when he does. It is, technically, allowed. And he had the pitcher full of filtered water right under his nose, so. You wait impatiently as he downs two whole glasses of tap water and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand (there is a perfectly usable kitchen towel draped over the oven handle).

He glances over, notices you staring. The corner of his lips quirks up. “How obedient,” he mocks. He pats at his sides, pulls a folded envelope from somewhere in his body (the Bats have endless pockets, you’ve come to learn) and tosses it on the table. “There’s your file. You better be fucking thankful. Traipsed through half the city in this shit storm just to get you these.”

“Thank you, Red Hood,” you say politely, picking up the rumpled envelope and eagerly flipping through the files. “Much appreciated.”

Red Hood rolls his eyes at you, eternally put off by your insistence on following the proper channels of conduct. “Whatever. You got anything to eat?”

“Help yourself,” you tell him.

You walk back to the couch with the file in hand and leave him to make himself whatever he will, already too distracted by the information within to care that you’re gonna have to make a second grocery run when he’s done with your fridge. Red Hood rummages through your cabinets, pulling out far more stuff than he should for a midnight snack. At one point, he asks if you’ve had dinner, and you respond him with an absentminded (and truthful) negative. The files he’s brought are the latest Robin’s swiped from the team’s ongoing investigation on a dicey arms exchange deal that may or may not involve three out of four of Gotham’s biggest conglomerates (sans, of course, Wayne Enterprises). It’s your job to process the info—a task too menial and too tedious for Oracle and Red Robin, respectively, to handle. Besides, Tim’s far more useful on the ground.

It must be about twenty minutes of you pouring over the pages scattered over your coffee table when the man speaks up again. “Dinner’s ready,” he says.

You look up to see him setting two plates of steaming stir fry on the table. He’s taken off his gloves, his utility belt, the domino mask and rolled up his sleeves—the whole nine yards. Only missing the apron. The food looks lovely, but of course it does. Cooking is listed as a specialty in Red Hood’s file, right along with marksmanship and hostile takeovers.

Your lips quirk up at the unexpected kindness, but you shake your head. “None for me, thanks.”

“I said,” Red Hood says, placing his gun on the table menacingly. “Dinner’s ready. Come eat.”

Well. So much for kindness. You’re about as dumb as Red Hood’s subtle, which is to say only at your benefit and very much at will, so you only sigh and push the papers aside. He watches you rise and sit, and pick up the fork, before he does the same. You eat in silence.

After a few bites, you stop being disgruntled at his coercion and grateful that he’s got something other than a protein bar in you because you were, in fact, quite hungry. That’s not something you can say—or at least not in any way which he would accept, so you just shut up and eat your meal happily. That seems to be enough for him, as he watches you finish the whole plate with a satisfied expression.

“Good?” He asks.

“Yeah, actually,” you beam.

Even when he stands and brings the dishes over to the sink to wash, you are reluctant to leave your spot at the table. You watch him rinse and sponge the plates and pan, the knife and spoon and cutting board, and your afternoon tea mug. He washes his hands thoroughly and rinses his mouth with the dubious tap water again. A thorough, judicious man. He’s played remarkably nice this evening. You wonder if Oracle’s been pulling his ear to leave you alone.

When he finishes, he walks slowly the remainder of the narrow hallway of your kitchen back to the dinner table and leans against the threshold. The long line of his body catches you off guard, always so unexpectedly graceful despite his musculature, his brutality. You hold his gaze serenely, trying not to cave under his scrutiny.

This is why you don’t like the Red Hood. Every time he looks at you, he sees you wholly. As you are. Not, crucially, as you want. It has been this way since the first time he laid eyes on you—a single glance and he had taken the measure of you. No further explanation, no time to make amends. And what’s worse: he expects you to be honest. He expects you to say what he can read in your face. He doesn’t let it go when you deflect, when you coat your truths in niceties. He wants it raw and open.

You can’t play dumb with Jason Todd.

He breaks the silence first. “Were you expecting Grayson this evening?”

The non-sequitur catches you so off guard you break eye contact accidentally. What’s Nightwing got to do with anything?

“No?” You say, evidently baffled. “Nightwing’s been off-world all week. Why would he be coming around?”

He cocks his head to the side, sucks in the bit of flesh below his lower lip. "So you knew it was me who'd be coming around?"

"Obviously?" What is he going on about? He clearly doesn't believe you, either. It's childish when you stomp your foot and whine, but he always brings out the worst in you. "I'm serious, Hood. I've been waiting for you all evening. Just you."

Jason pushes off the wall and approaches, staring you down with slightly raised eyebrows. “Then, if you knew Dick wasn't coming with, what are you looking so fuckable for?”

Despite how much it bruises your pride, you cannot help but sputter. The staring is one thing, the passing brushes are another—even the stupid pulling at your pigtails like you’re both in kindergarten is… permissible. But this? Coming at you so straightforwardly when all you know how to do is circumvent and hide? Desperately, you respond to the one thing in that sentence you can make sense of: the accusation.

“I don’t like Nightwing,” you whine. Jason fixes you with a look of dry incredulity. You huff. How you despise him. He can’t even let you lie. “And I don’t dress for him either.”

“Hm.” He reaches over to pull at the neckline of your admittedly skimpy top, his knuckle brushing against your chest. “Sure.”

You bat his hand away, and stand up, but that leaves you much closer to him than you expected. Or wanted. “This is not fuckable,” you grit out. “This is… pajamas.”

Jason cranes his neck to take a close look at you, every bit as assessing as the first one had been. One of his large hands comes to play with the hem of your shorts, pushes it up just a smidge, and the pads of his fingers are rough and calloused against your outer thigh. Your eyelids flutter, and he has the nerve to smile.

“That’s a blatant lie, you know,” he says, dipping his head low so the words brush against your lips. “Try a little, huh?”

“This seems like a you problem, my guy,” you snap, so close you might as well be speaking into his mouth. You need to get away. You don’t.

Jason’s smug when you gasp after his hands close around your ass and bring you forward, flush against his body. The hardness in his pants trapped between you, a pressing weight just below where it should be. Should be? What are you—but Jason adjusts before you can scold yourself, lining up your crotch with his and grinding. It feels bigger this way, which is insane because it's already pretty fucking huge, and a hot flash of desire runs through you lightning-quick and just as obliterating. You slump against him, head on his shoulder.

“That’s my problem,” he murmurs against your ear. His thumbs press just under your asscheeks, playful. “You gon’ do anything about it?”

[lumosinlove]

@oknutzy-week-2024 day four!!!

Write Me In

Part Two

Leo tried very hard not to be early. He really did. Then he ended up walking around Finn and Logan’s block about six times and sweating in the heat. He was stupid. He should have just worn a t-shirt. From what it sounded like, they were only just waking up. He didn’t need to be in this dark blue button down.

When it finally hit two o’clock, Leo let himself walk into the lobby. The doorman looked up and called him by his name, taking Leo by such surprise that he had to stutter through a yes, sir as if he was back home in New Orleans.

“Mr. O’Hara’s expecting you,” the man said. “You can go right up.”

The elevator was all mirrors and gold and Leo tried to make himself look slightly less sweaty and nervous than he felt as it rose—and rose. Penthouse. He should have known. He swept his blond hair back. At least in the AC he felt cooler—if not a little flushed looking. His shirt hid any sweat and he had his laptop and recorder this time. This would be a proper interview. He’d make sure of it. After all, this was his dream.

The doors dinged open. Leo had thought he’d have a few more moments. He’d get to walk down a hallway, knock on the door.

But no. One moment he was in the small elevator, and the next he was stepping directly into a massive, open living room. It was beautiful, too. The couch was a huge low-backed leather U. A coffee table that looked like it had once been a cross section of a massive tree was covered in notebooks and a laptop. A dining room table that could hold ten rested just on the other side of the room beneath a papery light that looked more like a sculpture. To its left sat an actual bar, complete with six stools, shelves of backlit bottles, and beer taps. The wall beyond was pure window and the afternoon light slanted in. Leo didn’t see a TV, but apartments like these usually had them concealed somehow. Maybe a projector screen waiting to drop down. Maybe there was a theater room. He knew a lot of artists had recording studios right at home. Who knew how big this place was.

It was also perfectly quiet. Leo didn’t hear a sound. He felt like he was an intruder as he hesitantly stepped out of the elevator and listened to it slide shut behind him. Maybe he should’ve taken his shoes off? The rug beneath the couch was pure white and plush, and the hardwood floors beyond that were honey-colored and gleaming. Four guitars sat along one wall. Beyond the huge dining table, there was a grand piano.

How many of Leo’s favorite songs had been written in this room?

“Kind of freaks me out sometimes.”

Leo jumped and turned at the voice, only to find Finn standing there in running shorts and a t-shirt that said The Strand Bookstore. He held a sleek gray ceramic mug.

“The windows, I mean,” Finn said with a smile. “I always worry about them cracking. Sometimes they rattle during storms.”

“That’s…unsettling,” Leo said.

“Yeah, Lo hates it.”

Finn looked, yes, a little sleep-rumpled. His red hair looked like it had been styled for a photoshoot to be messy though, not like it was actually slept on. Unfair, Leo thought. His hair was a wreck in the morning. He’d been right about not needing his button-down, though. He badly wished he was in a t-shirt and that he’d worn sneakers instead of these pinching dress shoes.

“What a beautiful place, though,” Leo said. “That’s quite a view.”

Finn’s eyes wandered behind him out the window. “Yeah, I like to see the city.” He held up his mug. “Well, Lo’s fucking grumpy when he wakes up, but coffee helps. Can I get you some? I was going to order some breakfast, too.”

“Oh. Sure.”

Finn smiled and jerked his head in a way that Leo guessed meant follow me.

The kitchen was no less impressive. There were huge marble counters, slightly iridescent. A complicated looking espresso machine. Massive silver appliances—fridge, wine fridge, dishwasher, three ovens. God, what Leo could do in this kitchen.

“Wow.” Leo turned in a slow circle. “Do you like to cook?”

Finn laughed. He’d gone over to the coffee pot—probably the simplest thing in here. “If I was ever home long enough to try, I might.”

All this, and no one was even home to use it.

“And Logan’s hopeless,” Finn said. “He can make tea.”

Leo laughed. “Right.”

“Do you take milk or sugar?”

“A little milk,” Leo said, and accepted the mug. “Thank you.”

Leo sipped the coffee. It was good. Strong and nutty. It calmed him a little to hold something warm. Finn had poured the perfect amount of milk in.

“He’ll be up in a second. Or I’ll go get him.” Finn looked a little bashful. “It takes us a while to—wind down after a show, we usually don’t get to sleep until around three or four.”

After a show. Leo could see them still, pressed up against the wall in Finn’s dressing room. What the hell did wind down mean in this sentence?

“No worries,” Leo said. “Where um. Where do you guys go next?”

Are you dating your drummer? Is your drummer dating you? Do you think of him as your drummer? Or Lo? Are you best friends like you make the world believe? Are you just fucking? Are you in love?

He took a sip of coffee.

“Boston,” Finn said. “We just came back from the West Coast. Then we have about a month off before we go to Paris. Then London, then Ireland—you get the idea.”

“It must be fantastic to see all those places.”

I had your poster on my wall. You got me through some of my toughest times in high school. I can’t believe I’m seeing your smile this close up.

“It is when we have days off,” Finn said. “But mostly it’s just a grind.”

“But if you had to choose a favorite city?”

“Rome,” Finn said instantly.

“You wrote your most recent album there,” Leo said.

“Yeah.” Finn smiled down at his mug. “Yeah.”

“Leo,” Finn he said suddenly before Leo could ask another question.

Leo straightened up. Finn O’Hara just said his name. “Yeah?”

“I know…” Finn smiled a little. “We both know what you saw in my dressing room last night.”

Leo had been wondering if this would come up. Or, how, really. Finn pushed his hair back and Leo watched the strands feather forward again. He had a flush to his cheeks.

“We do,” Leo said softly. “I’m so sorry about that. Your team—one second I was following someone and the next I was at your door—”

Finn nodded sharply and Leo stopped talking. He messed with his hair again. “It’s not your fault. I’m just—what I’m trying to ask—” Finn’s eyes went somewhere behind Leo and he smiled. “Finally. He lives.”

Leo turned towards a doorway he hadn’t noticed before—it must lead to the bedrooms—to find Logan shuffling into the room wearing nothing but a pair of white socks and tight, grey boxer shorts.

Leo choked on his next sip and hurried to put the mug down. God, how could Finn not be dating that? There on Logan’s hip was that tattoo. The fleur-de-lis. Right there, real, not a photograph. It was slightly lower than Leo had thought.

“Salut,” Logan said. His voice was hoarse. “Sorry. I’m not…” he looked at Finn and put on what Leo guessed was a try at Finn’s American accent. “a morning person.”

“That you aren’t,” Finn agreed. “Even if it’s nearly three in the afternoon.”

“Hi,” Leo cleared his throat. “I mean, good morning.” He looked at Finn and pointed to his mug. “Do I need a coaster?”

Finn looked back at him quietly for a moment. He had a tilt to his head and a slight smile on his face. “No.”

“Okay. It’s just that sometimes marble stains so I wanted to check. I read this article about different ways of protecting—I mean, not that I have marble counters. But I definitely would like some. They’re beautiful. This is a beautiful kitchen.”

What the hell was he talking about?

“I’m glad someone appreciates it. We certainly don’t,” Finn said. He took down another mug from a cupboard and Leo watched as he poured the coffee, lots of milk, and even more sugar into a mug before passing it to Logan, whose fingers had been drumming idly on the counter while he waited.

The lyrics to Lucky Me popped into Leo’s head.

Let me fill you up with sugar, let me drown in sweet and sweat.

He looked at Logan and found him already watching Leo over the rim of his cup.

“Well, I don’t want to take up too much of your time. So, maybe, um. Maybe once you’re ready we can—”

Logan cut him off. “Aren’t you supposed to follow us around twenty-four-seven for a week?”

Leo swallowed. Oh. “Oh. Yes. Yeah, no, I am. I just…I want this to be as comfortable for you as possible. I don’t want to feel like an intrusion. I’m here for whatever your normal life entails.”

“Right now…” Finn was scrolling on his phone. “That’s breakfast burritos.”

Leo quickly figured out that Logan made him nervous—more than Finn. His green eyes were intense, to say the least, where Finn’s were almost unbearably gentle. Leo had thought that was all for the cameras, a look designed to be photographed. But Finn seemed to look at everyone like that. Logan, definitely. The doorman who brought up their breakfast when it arrived. Even Leo.

Finn also responded to Logan’s movements like he was just an extension of his own body. It would be impressive if Leo didn’t think it was so sweet. He arranged the sauces Logan liked in front of him, took out the bacon from his burrito and put it on his own plate, all before Logan even had time to sit down. The smile Finn received from Logan in return felt private. Intimate, even. Logan’s entire face changed when he looked at Finn. It opened up. He looked younger.

It went right back to guarded when he looked at Leo.

“All right,” Finn said after he set down water bottles for the three of them. They were sitting at a little table in a nook off the kitchen that Leo hadn’t seen before. Finn and Logan were side by side, across from him. Leo had his burrito and coffee to one side of him, and his laptop and recorder set up on the other. Finn snapped a mocking finger gun towards him. “Shoot.”

Leo hesitated. It didn’t seem like Finn was going to finish what he had been about to say to Leo. Possibly ask Leo not to write about what he’d seen? He’d stopped hard when Logan had walked in. Leo was slowly getting the sense that what he’d seen was much more than a kiss.

Maybe that was what was behind all of the looks Logan was giving him. Fear.

“Well,” Leo said, brushing crumbs off his hands. He cleared his throat. “Okay—” They were both looking at him expectantly. Well, Finn looked expectant. Logan looked a little wary. Leo’s resolve dropped. “I just want you to know that I won’t write or publish anything that you don’t approve first.”

There. That seemed like the easiest way.

The two of them exchanged a glance.

“Isn’t that a given?” Logan said flatly.

“It is,” Leo said. “But I still want it to be said first.”

He made himself hold Logan’s gaze. His eyes looked vividly green in the kitchen light.

No, you don’t—say much—but I read—your touch. You fall—I sigh—Oh my—green eyes.

“Oh,” Leo said out loud.

“What?”

Just slowly realizing that it’s possible you two only write songs about each other?

“Nothing,” Leo said. “Why don’t we begin with how you two found yourselves in a band together?”

“People already know this,” Logan said.

Leo smiled. “Yes, people do know this, but I’m not going to use someone else’s quotes in my story.”

Finn stretched his arm out across the back of the breakfast nook’s bench, behind Logan’s back. Would that have been around his shoulders if Leo hadn’t been here?

“We met in high school, started the band there. Then we had a falling out but we both got into Harvard,” Finn said. “We were matched randomly as roommates.”

It was a smooth, well-practiced answer to the absolutely wild story that Leo had heard before. It left no room for further questions.

“Must have been a shock.” Leo wanted to ask what the fight in high school had been about, but he didn’t think the room was nearly warm enough for that yet. “Or fate?”

“I like fate,” Finn said. Logan kept his eyes down. “I mean, look at us now.”

Leo kept the easier career and life questions going for the next couple hours, then they took a break. It was getting closer to five o’clock and Logan went to take a shower. Leo was preparing to go back out into the summer heat, just to give them some breathing room, when Finn picked up his guitar and began asking him questions.

“So, do you even like our music?”

Leo gasped. “Oh my God.”

Only at the surprised, maybe delighted, look on Finn’s face did he realized he’d completely dropped any professionalism right there. It was all Leo could do not to slap a hand over his mouth. Besides, Finn O’Hara was sitting in front of him, plucking some gorgeous little melody out on a guitar Leo happened to know he’d had since he was sixteen, and smiling—he could probably afford to let his guard down a little.

“I’ve loved your music since your first album,” Leo said. “And Rooftop is my favorite song in the world.”

“Rooftop,” Finn repeated softly. His fingers were still moving on the strings and Leo was trying not to stare. They were strong and quick. Subtly, the unfamiliar melody shifted into Rooftop.

“Oh,” Leo said, not bothering to pretend not to watch anymore. “I’ve never heard it on the guitar.”

“Why is that song your favorite?” Finn asked. He didn’t sound hurt exactly, but something like it. Brittle, maybe. “Just… Most people like the upbeat stuff more. At least that’s what I’m always being told.”

“Well…” Leo cleared his throat. “The way you talk about how sometimes it feels like you’re just barely holding on by your fingertips to something you want. That’s true for a lot of people I think. Waiting for someone who isn’t waiting for you back.” He thought of Logan’s eyes on him in Finn’s dressing room last night, Finn’s mouth on his neck. “Or maybe they are and just didn’t know it yet, I don’t know. But I listen to it all the time.”

Finn was leaning forward a little in his seat, listening.

Leo smiled and looked down. “I mean, I like the upbeat stuff, too. But yeah.”

“We’re around the same age, aren’t we?”

“I’m a few years younger than both of you.”

“Back then, I always thought it was just, like, twelve year old girls listening. Not that anything is wrong with twelve year old girls, but when you’re seventeen you don’t exactly want…” Finn winced. “Please don’t quote me on any of this.”

Leo laughed. “No, I understand. But also, no, it wasn’t just twelve year old girls. And it certainly isn’t now. At yesterday’s show—it’s incredible the range of people you captivate.”

Finn shrugged a little and switched back to the melody he was playing earlier.

“Can I ask what that is?” Leo nodded to the guitar.

“You can.” Finn huffed out a laugh. “But I’m not sure yet.”

“Ah. So, I’m watching the secret process right now.”

“You are. Gotta warn you, though, sometimes it’s like watching paint dry.”

“What’s the fastest time you’ve ever written a song in?”

Finn’s fingers fumbled, just for a moment. He looked out towards the windows, the city and sun. It was beginning to lower in the sky now.

“Oh,” he said softly. “About twenty minutes, I guess.”

Leo opened his mouth to ask what song it was, but stopped. Now Finn looked hurt. Sad. The guitar seemed to drink the feeling in. Leo heard him slip new minor chords into the notes, a tumbling, beautiful sound. Then he was suddenly playing Rooftop again.

“Would you like a cocktail?” Finn asked suddenly.

Leo looked over at the beautiful bar. “I think anyone would want a cocktail at that counter.”

Finn smiled. He settled the guitar on the couch and stood. “It’s gorgeous, isn’t it? I had it custom made for the space. Usually I wouldn’t give a shit, I’m never home, but I’ve always wanted to do it.” He went behind the bar. “Also. You can help with something. Lo and I are always at a bit of a impasse.” Finn put a hand to his own chest. “I like to taste the alcohol. Logan won’t touch anything that doesn’t taste like someone dumped a load of frosting into it.”

“So, he’s a sweet tooth.”

“Oh-ho yeah. Understatement. You know that edible cookie dough? Take a look in our fridge.”

I watch you fill your cup with sugar.

Finn read that thought clear as day. He bit his lip, elbows on the bar. “You’re putting us together a little bit, huh?”

“I won’t put anything together you don’t want me to.”

Finn glanced in the direction Logan had disappeared to.

“You’re under no obligation to explain it to me. I should have knocked loud and clear.”

“No, we…We’ve talked.” Finn fixed him with intent brown eyes. “We’ve talked. We love each other and…”

So they are in love, Leo thought triumphantly.

“It’s just that we don’t know what comes next.”

“I understand,” Leo said. “Really. Just…” Leo set his hands in front of him, trying to pour truth into his words. “I’m not here to, like, drag anything out of you. I’m here about your music, that’s my job, that’s what I love to write about. If what you two feel for each other is something that is not only important to that but that you’d like to tell me about, that’s wonderful. If not, that’s wonderful. And we also don’t have to decide now. Okay? Please don’t feel like you have to tip toe around me or my pen.”

Finn was looking at him with a slight smile on his face. He gave a small nod.

“And please tell Logan that, as well,” Leo said. Leo wasn’t sure he’d get those sentences out as smoothly under Logan’s gaze.

“Okay.” Finn swept his hand out towards the shelves behind him. “Gin? Whiskey? Tequila? Rum?”

“Rum,” Logan’s voice said from behind Leo. He appeared a moment later. His wet hair was combed back and out of his face, his skin flushed from the shower’s heat. He wore a dark green t-shirt, stretched across his strong chest and gray sweatpants. In his hand was a pair of drumsticks.

“Well, I wasn’t asking you,” Finn said. “Leo, please. I can make anything.”

Logan slid onto the stool beside him. “It’s true, he’s very good.”

“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” Leo said.

Finn gave his head a hard shake and hit his hands down on the bar. “Nope. I want to know what you want.”

Finn ended up fixing the two of them gin martinis. He gave Logan his rum and coke with, to Leo’s surprise, a kiss to Logan’s hand. Logan blushed, glanced at Leo, but didn’t pull away. He took his drink and his drumsticks over to a stool where a muted, practice kit was set up and began tapping out rhythms. This was not what Leo had been expecting when he took this job. He expected it to be wilder, like some of the pure and chaotic party scenes he’d been apart of when following musicians around before.

Night Swimming was soft. Domestic, even. Finn and Logan’s wildness on stage melted away into something tender. Finn brought out cheese and crackers and sliced apple and, as Leo sank into the massive comfy couch, he found that as the sun set, he wasn’t asking questions anymore. They were, the three of them, simply talking.

~

“So, so, so,” Cassie’s voice said in Leo’s AirPods. “How’s it going, you’re four shows in now you lucky duck.”

“That I am,” Leo said, looking around his Boston hotel room. Tonight was Finn and Logan’s third and final Boston show and Leo was basically in seventh heaven. Maybe they were all in hotel rooms now and he missed their cozy apartment a bit, but he couldn’t complain. He got to write about his favorite band and watch them perform every night?

And hear about their love. More and more. During their time after the show, at dinners, in dressing rooms, in Finn or Logan’s suites—and there was a suite for each of them even if it seemed like they only used one. During those times, they told Leo things. Little details about them, not as singer and drummer or best friends, but as a couple. Leo could feel the difference. He didn’t know why exactly he was being allowed to know these things when no one else did, but he let them give what they wanted to give.

“It’s good,” he told Cassie, but his mind filtered through what good was. Good was knowing how far Finn’s voice stretched as he warmed up in his dressing room. It was alone and strong. They were just scales and the occasional lyrics, but Leo could have listened all day. He also dropped to the ground and did rounds of push-ups which, while unexpected, wasn’t horrible to watch.

“I have to say though, I’m not entirely sure what happens next.”

“What do you mean?” Cassie asked.

Leo popped another salt and vinegar chip into his mouth. “Well, they’re going on vacation. Somewhere. They’ve got a month off before they’re back on tour, so I’m not sure why the magazine scheduled me for now. It’s not a full week before they leave.”

“Well, your week will be basically up. I’m sure you’re not expected to go on vacation with them.”

“No, no, I know that,” Leo said. Damn, he thought. “I’ll just—I have closing things I need. Want. Hope to ask.”

Cassie was quiet for a long minute. “Well. Better hop to it, I guess.”

~

“Will you hold this? Finn’s busy.”

Leo looked up from his notebook to see Logan holding out one end of what looked like an exercise band. He was dressed for the stage already. Black jeans, black tank top tonight. His hat had a Bruins logo on it—sometimes he did that. Matched his hat to the city. In New York, he’d been wearing Finn’s Rangers hat a lot and Finn had expressed his disgust at the switch many times. Leo had put it in the story.

“Sure.” Leo set his pen down. “What do you want me to do?”

“Just hold this steady.” Logan put one end of the band into Leo’s hand. “I like to warm up.”

Leo still didn’t quite know what that meant, but he did what he was told.

Turned out it meant getting a front row seat to the flex of Logan’s arms and wrists as he pulled the band in different directions and angles.

Suddenly, two hands appeared on his shoulders. “Hi. Would you like some tea?”

Leo held the band tighter while craning his head back to look behind him. Finn appeared to him, half upside down at this angle. “I—Yes. Sure, thank you.”

Finn smiled, squeezed once, then let go. “How’s the writing going?”

“Good.” That was half true. Sometimes, he was on. There were whole chunks that were solid and good. Then there were parts of Leo’s notebooks that were a mess of phrases which sounded far too mushy to be a proper article.  “Really good.”

The music…God, Leo could have written about their songs for hours and hours—he just had to be careful not to cross any lines into what he was quickly suspecting was the true territory of the songs. Love songs. In Leo’s opinion, the best kind of love song—when the two people they were about were right there, in the same room as each other.

Logan had switched to the other arm, opening himself up to being taken by the hips by Finn and sweetly kissed.

After, Logan smiled a little at Leo when he took the stretching band back. Still guarded, but it was improvement. “Merci.”

“Yeah,” Leo said. “Or, you’re welcome.”

He winced at himself as Logan went over to drum a bit on one of his practice pads. Leo tried to pick up the song, but it was hard without the melody until Finn, waiting for water to boil, started singing.

Oh, I wish that I was someone else so I could watch us being.

Go and love a stranger so I can see how you hard you love me.

In his notebook, Leo wrote, In the middle of warming up—which involves more push-ups and stretching than I would have thought—O’Hara stops to make me a cup of tea.

Fuck. It sounded like a diary entry.

Warming up is taken as seriously as it would be by any sports team. Tremblay prepares his body as thoroughly as his instruments.

Was that too…? Leo set his pen down and stared at the page.

Tremblay stretches in front of me and I swear to God I can see every muscle in his back.

O’Hara just squeezed my shoulders. I heard Rooftop on the guitar for the first time and it wasn’t at a show, it was in his living room and he looked so sad. He looked so sad.

When they kiss, I want to watch the gentleness between them on loop until the end of time.

And an even quieter, even more secret thought: I want to be kissed like that.

“Here we go.”

Leo looked up. Finn carefully set down a steaming paper cup. “I put a little honey in it like mine. That’s what I have before we go on.”

“That���s perfect.” Leo smiled and held the cup up to his nose. It smelled sweet and a little like licorice. “I’ll consider it research.”

Finn smiled back for a moment and Leo was reminded of the first time he’d met Alex. They both had that soft stare. It was aimed right at Leo.

“Your hair’s the color of honey,” Finn said. Then he picked up Leo’s pen and wrote down, honey!!! then winked at Leo and walked away.

The show was wild and fantastic, as usual—and it rained. Rained. Hard. The screens showed Finn, red hair dark and dripping against his forehead, his face raised to the sky. Water flew up in droplets from Logan’s drums, backlit and mesmerizing. Leo was soaked despite the VIP tent by the time it was over and shivering a little in his t-shirt as the night cooled down.

He made his way backstage, trying not to drip on everything as he knocked on Finn’s dressing room door.

A grinning Finn with Logan under his arm swung it open for him. He was soaked through, they both were, but he didn’t seem to feel the cold. Adrenaline, probably. Finn held so much of it after shows he practically shook.

“We’re going out to celebrate and you’re coming with us.”

“Great,” Leo said. He wrapped his arms around himself, trying to fight the chattering of his teeth. “Where?” He was taking in Logan now. He looked—well, soaked and kissed. Maybe Finn was just extra affectionate after shows.

“Just a bar. My brother, some friends. And you because you’re coming.”

“And my sister will be there,” Logan said.

“Which one?” Leo asked—which maybe was weird that he knew there was more than one? But they had to be used to being Googled. Right?

“Noelle,” Logan said. “And her boyfriend, Thomas.”

“I won’t kill your vibe?” Leo asked.

“Everyone knows we’re doing your interview,” Finn said. “I think we should give you more than just, like, us fucking around backstage and, you know, working.”

“You guys are pretty serious,” Leo said. Which wasn’t very true. Finn was always putting Logan in headlocks, Logan constantly hid Finn’s things from him. “But thanks. I’d love to come.”

“Good,” Finn said.

When they began peeling off their sweaty and wet stage clothes, Leo kept his eyes respectfully down, mostly, and wished he had something to change into, too. He could try to run back to his hotel, but he didn’t feel like having to chase their party down. He resigned himself to being damp and hoped a drink or two would warm him up.

“Here,” Logan said, and something soft and warm was being pushed into Leo’s chest.

It was a sweatshirt—Finn’s sweatshirt, probably, by The Strand Bookstore logo on it. Though maybe it was Logan’s, bought in New York or maybe stolen from Finn.

“Oh…” Leo looked at Logan. Those green eyes really did deserve songs to be written about them. “Thank you.” Leo said.

He pulled the sweatshirt over his head and was sure it was Logan’s. It smelled like the cologne he wore—nothing too strong and intense. It really was just like he’d bottled something piney and sweet.

When he was sure no one was looking, Leo ducked his nose a little into the collar.

~

Somehow, suddenly, it was four-thirty in the morning. Leo was pleasantly buzzed, a little exhausted, and squeezed up against strangers in a booth. He wasn’t so pleased about the squeezed part, but it was a good vantage point. As it turned out, Finn was a dancer—even when not many others were dancing. He was just as good as he was on stage. All hips and smiles.

Logan was not a dancer—but he watched. Leo watched him watch Finn. There was a quiet sort of intensity to it. He chewed on the straw of his rum and coke, crunched on ice cubes. An hour later he was all but shredding a beer label, and had his eyes on Finn and he’d lost his hat somewhere—oh, Finn’s head. It was getting warm in the bar. The place kept the doors open and Leo was sweating in Logan’s sweatshirt, but he didn’t take it off. He could see Logan’s sweat, dark on his temples. Finn had to be sweating, too, but he didn’t look it. He just looked happy.

Finn wandered over to Logan and hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. He didn’t kiss him, but he got nice and close like he might, singing words to a song Leo didn’t know and grinning.

How had the world not figured it out yet? They might not be so obvious as kissing, but Finn and Logan certainly weren’t subtle. Was a narrative of that’s how they are, that’s their friendship really so strong?

With a smile, Logan shoved Finn back out onto the floor where someone joined him—two someones. Alex and a dark-haired girl Leo had seen around. For a brief moment, across the room, Logan’s eyes met Leo’s. Then he ducked out onto the balcony. Leo wasn’t positive it was an invitation, but he wouldn’t miss it if it was.

“Excuse me, sorry,” Leo mumbled to the guy next to him. It was a bit of a mess, making these people get up. He wasn’t sure why they were all sitting there. It wasn’t like it was easy to hear each other over the music anyway. Leo was happy to rise.

Remarkably, the night air felt cool. The balcony was higher up than Leo had expected, looking down at the city below. Logan had his back to Leo, elbows on the railing. He glanced behind him when he heard Leo approaching, and the red and blue city lined his profile. He looked just like he did on stage, only calmer. Quiet. Truer to how he actually was. Leo couldn’t image putting on a show like that every single night.

“I need a break from people sometimes,” Logan said, as if answering a question Leo had asked.

“Oh. I can go—”

“No,” Logan said. “I just mean crowds.”

“I bet,” Leo said. He went to the railing and mirrored Logan’s position. That was actually an old trick he’d been taught. Apparently it made interview subjects feel at ease. Really, he’d just wanted to see the city and feel the cold metal of the railing on his skin.

“It’s hot in there.”

“Ouais.”

“Finn really loves dancing.”

Logan cracked a smile and took a drink from his beer bottle. “You’d think he’d run out of energy.”

Leo laughed. “I’m out of it just looking at him.”

“That’s Finn for you…Realest thing in the world.”

Realest thing in the world. What a quote. Leo knew he wouldn’t have to write that down to remember it.

“Who is he dancing with?”

Logan swallowed. “Hannah. She was at Harvard with us.”

“Hm.”

“They dated. In college.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah,” Logan said, then glanced Leo’s way. “Before I took what was mine.”

Okay, hot. Leo had to smother a pretty pathetic sounding breath.

“Hm,” Leo said again. “Can I…Can I ask something?”

“That’s your job.”

“It’s pretty personal. And you don’t have to answer.”

“I know that.” Logan said, and then just waited, looking back out at the streets.

“What happened after high school and before Harvard?”

More waiting. More of that intense, Logan-silence. Part of Leo was pleased that he had such a thing to associate with Logan, that he’d spent enough time with him for that. Leo didn’t push him. He stirred the ice cubes in his drink and took in the rest of the balcony. A few chairs. Ash trays.

“We used this bookshop’s basement to practice at night,” Logan said suddenly. “All the other stores were closed, it was below ground, we weren’t going to annoy anyone.”

Leo could picture that. Guitar and drums, maybe one of their ever rotating bass players—it must get hard, trying to bud in on two as tight as Finn and Logan were. Writing and playing late into the night.

“But one night when it was just us there was this…” Logan shook his head. “Merde, I’d say snowstorm but it was more like… Just it was like the world blinked out.” Logan scratched wet-paper trails in his beer bottle’s label. “It felt like it was just the two of us left in the world.”

“You got snowed in?”

Logan nodded. His eyes were far, far away. Green, deep forest.

“We slept together,” Logan said quietly.

Alarm bells that every good reporter should have went off. Logan had been drinking. Leo had asked the question but it was still his duty to make sure it was truly okay to get the answer. “Does Finn know you’re telling me this?”

“Ouais. We talked about you.”

Okayokayokay. Leo felt like his entire body was trying to keep his heart from pounding at that sentence. Oh, to be a fly on that wall…

“Okay,” Leo said carefully. “Still, if you want to have this conversation another time—”

“I’m not drunk,” Logan said. He looked down at his beer. “I had one drink two hours ago and this tastes like shit, I’ve been holding it for a fucking hour.”

Leo couldn’t help but laugh a little. “Not sweet?”

“Non, not at all.”

Well, Leo was glad he knew. Sometimes with the stars, it was a problem. They spilled out gorgeous sentences and feelings no matter how Leo tried to stop them when they were loose-tongued and then wouldn’t let Leo use a word of it the next morning.

“And like I said,” Logan said. “We…I wouldn’t just be telling you this if Finn didn’t…You know.”

Leo thought of all the details he’d been picking up, and then even more unspoken ones. He could see that they wanted him to know. He just wasn’t sure why.

“It was the best night of my life.” Logan leaned on the railing, his hand coming up to touch his mouth. “It was… We wrote Only Two that night.” Logan smiled at the memory and closed his eyes. “Like, in twenty minutes, it was insane. Right after we…well.”

Leo loved that song. Back in high school, he hadn’t thought of it as being about making love, but being older now, he could tell.

There are only two

Things I want

For only the two

Of us

Two more turns on this dark road

Two more inches of skin exposed

Two more minutes of this bliss

Two more hours not to miss

Two more decades of your light

Two more centuries of this night

Only two (two) two (two)

Want me, too (too) too (too)

After this conversation, he’d never listen to it the same. He’d picture some grimy basement, and snow—and he’d picture Logan and Finn…

Two more inches of skin exposed.

No. No, Leo thought to himself. You’re professional. So very professional.

“And then I pretended like nothing happened.” Logan straightened. He turned his face away a little.

He could be professional and still let his heart ache at that. A memory surged at him without warning. A voice that he tried his best not to remember. Get the lights, will you?

“Why?” Leo tried to keep the word gentle. Logan seemed like he wanted to get this out, and Leo wanted to keep it at his pace.

“I don’t know. I got scared. I thought we’d never—I don’t know. We wanted this massive thing, to play our music, that almost no one gets and I didn’t want anything to mess it up. We fought. Finn wanted to be together. And then I said…I said things I didn’t really mean, but I said them. And he was crying.” Far away eyes again. “He was crying.”

Finn, crying. Leo couldn’t put it together with the grinning boy inside. When Logan turned to look, so did Leo. Finn was facing them, half obscured by a wall of people he was chatting to. It was hard to tell through the glass and with all the reflections from outside, but Finn might have looked at them.

  “And…and we stopped talking.” Logan turned away. “We didn’t talk all of Senior year, or the summer before college.”

“But you got into the same school and showed up to the same dorm room.”

Logan snorted out a laugh, rubbing a palm over his face. “Merde. Oh my God, Leo, you have no idea. Our faces, seeing each other? Our parents’ faces? I thought I was going to die that first night, I walked in on Finn playing the guitar, and I thought I was going to die.”

“Wow,” Leo said faintly.

Logan let out a delighted laugh. Leo blinked, surprised, but couldn’t help but smile. That was a contagious sound. A rare one?

“Sorry, I mean—at least we can laugh about it now,” Logan laughed through the words. “I was going to lose my mind. I can’t tell you how much I missed him. I remember missing him now and I miss him when he’s, like, asleep next to me. That’s how bad I…” He broke off suddenly. Leo watched his throat move around a swallow. “That’s how bad I fucked up.”

Leo knew he wasn’t supposed to give his opinion to the subject of his pieces. As the writer, he was supposed to listen and organize. But his mind was telling him to comfort Logan. He wanted to do what he’d seen Finn do earlier, he wanted to know how warm Logan’s waist was through his t-shirt.

“On the topic of the songs you write together…” Leo took a breath. “Can I ask about Rooftop? You always leave the stage when Finn plays it. Is that—I mean, it’s a solo for him, I know that, but…”

Logan frowned and didn’t answer for a long time. Leo let him sit. It was a fine line, seeing that a subject had opened up, but then pushing too hard. Leo was beginning to worry he’d crossed that line when Logan spoke.

“I can’t listen to it. That’s why I leave.” Logan rubbed at his jaw and went to mess with his hat before remembering Finn had it. “Really, I can’t watch him sing it. I can’t watch what was my fault.”

Leo had had his suspicions since he’d walked into the dressing room, but this confirmed it. “It’s about you.”

Logan’s mouth was tight when he gave a small nod.

“I refused us for a long time.” Half a smile crossed his face and he sang the brief melody. “Long, long time.”

Leo smiled, too. It felt like it was okay to do. They were together now, weren’t they?

“It’s my favorite song,” Leo admitted.

Logan looked surprised. “It’s so sad. You don’t seem like a sad song person.”

“I don’t?” Leo laughed. “What kind of person do I seem like?”

Logan looked at him for a moment, then back at the city, shrugging with an almost bashful look on his face.

“And…” Leo felt a little giddy, like a sleuth figuring out a mystery. “Green Eyes.”

Logan laughed. “Ouais.” He took a sip of his beer and grimaced at the taste. “Fuck this shit about some French girl. Quote me on that.”

“Seriously?”

Logan sent him a look. “Maybe. Ask me later.”

Leo nodded. “Promise.”

Logan’s smile was gentler this time.

“When did you get together for good?” Leo asked, then realized what he said. “I mean—I mean, you look pretty solid, I didn’t mean to assume.”

Logan smiled. “Oh, he’s never getting rid of me now. I’ll never forget it. It was…maybe a year ago, I guess? No, a little more. While we were writing our most recent album. In Rome, actually, we rented this place and after those months, I didn’t think I’d be able to be far away from him again. And I mean, like, other side of the room. That felt far away.” Logan looked up, remembering. “We were pretty off-and-on until then, making out, fucking, not talking about it.”

Leo blushed. “Mhm.” Making out fucking not talking about it.

Logan sent him a sideways glance. “What?”

“Nothing, I’m listening.”

Logan narrowed his eyes playfully and turned his body towards Leo. God, his shoulders.

“Non, you’re a baby tomato. Tell me.”

“Oh God,” Leo laughed, putting a hand to his cheek. “Shit, I am, aren’t I? Well—No. Okay. All right, confession.”

Logan smiled and leaned forward. “Ouais?”

Leo pressed a palm to his own chest. “I am a fan. Quite a big fan of you both. I’m also. Well, I’m gay. I’m having a bit of a moment realizing two of the people around my age that I’ve always admired,”—You’re also unbearably hot, both of you—“shared more with me than I ever thought they did. Especially because—your music really helped me through some bad times.” It was Leo’s turn to look down. “Some bad guys.”

Now all that intense Logan-silence was trained directly on him.

“Bad guys,” Logan repeated softly. “Bad to you?”

He said it like it was madness, like he couldn’t believe it.

“It was a long time ago,” Leo said.

“What’s that mean?” Logan shrugged. “They were bad to you?”

“He,” Leo said. “Really just…he was.”

“Bad…Bad how?” Logan asked in a hushed whisper. He took a step forward, nearly right into Leo’s space.

“Nothing like—just…” Leo sighed as he stumbled over his words. “He wasn’t happy with how he wanted me. He probably wished he didn’t want me at all.”

More of those uncomprehending narrowed eyes, as if Jack, whose name Logan didn’t even know, had offended Logan by offending Leo.

“What a shit,” Logan said—and there was a snarl to it. Logan Tremblay, who had known Leo for all of a week, had just snarled about Leo’s shitty ex-boyfriend.

Leo laughed. “Yes. Understatement. Very.”

They were close now. Close enough that Logan could reach out and untuck where the collar of Leo’s sweatshirt had folded wrong.

“Oh,” Leo said. Logan’s fingers had brushed his neck and Leo fought that shiver hard. “Yeah, thank you for this. That rain got cold.”

Logan stayed quiet. He withdrew his hand, but he didn’t step back. When he looked up at Leo, he had that open look that Leo had only seen him give Finn.

“You know we chose you,” Logan said. “Right?”

Leo only had time to half let that sink in and half wonder what the hell it meant before a knocking came from behind them. “Hey-hey.”

They both turned to see a dark haired girl—this was Logan’s sister, Noelle. She smiled at Leo and held out her arms to Logan.

“Wanted to say bye, I’m taking off, Lo-bear.”

Lo-bear. Leo hid his smile in his glass but Logan caught it anyway as he hugged his sister tightly.

“Have a good vacation,” Noelle said and squeezed him tighter for a moment. She planted a kiss on his cheek and whispered. “You deserve it.”

“Merci.”

“Don’t wreck mom and dad’s house.”

Logan rolled his eyes. “When have I ever done that?”

Noelle pulled back and patted his cheeks. “Love you.”

Leo looked between them. Logan was different like this. He wasn’t a pop star. He wasn’t considered on of the best drummers in the current music scene—maybe the world. He was a baby brother.

“Je t’aime,” he said softly.

A version of the voice he saved for Finn, maybe. Leo wondered what it was like to hear them say it to each other. I love you.

People began spilling out on the balcony after that. Maybe noting that Logan Tremblay was out there. Leo and Logan got tumbled apart, but Logan caught his eye across the crowd. Between them lingered unfinished words. Leo shrugged one shoulder and gave him a smile. You chose me? What does that mean? What in the world does that mean?

Logan frowned. He set his beer bottle down, still full, and began to try and push through the crowd to Leo. It was hard. People kept wanting to speak to him. Logan looked like he was trying hard not to snap at them.

“Hey.”

Leo turned and found Finn there. Sweaty, tall, love-eyed Finn. He was definitely tipsy. No Logan-conversations for them tonight.

“Hi,” Leo said. He glanced back for Logan, but he’d lost him.

“We’re going to Logan’s family’s house in Nice tomorrow morning.”

“Oh.” Leo tried, he tried to keep his heart afloat. That felt—he didn’t feel ready. He didn’t want the week to end. Maybe it was hero-worship. Maybe he was starstruck. Maybe his heart didn’t know what to do with the proximity. Was Finn telling him that they were finished, that they were going on vacation—

Finn reached for Leo’s hand and tucked something into his palm, closing Leo’s fingers around it and covering it with his own. “I’ll send the car for you.”

The crowd whisked him away, too, leaving Leo standing in the summer night to uncurl his fingers.

It was a guitar pic, and scrawled across both sides in tiny writing, were two phone numbers.

[ridhearts]

glittering like diamonds {misc.}

sometimes, the smallest acts of intimacy can get your heart racing (OR; they find your missing jewelry for you)

!! information !!

characters: riddle + jamil + rook + ruggie

reader: gn (”you” pronouns)

CW: none!

• • • • • • • Riddle Rosehearts

Dusk had fallen on the gardens of Heartslabyul, the only light coming from golden glows in lanterns with twisted poles and windows in frames of warped proportions. Riddle watched as the last of the hedgehogs scurried around and burned off their energy, darting through the single square of light sporadically like pink and blue missiles. The others were already tucked away in their cubbies, snoozing comfortably and ignorant to the ruckus of their rowdy friends. Watching the hedgehogs always calmed his nerves. Their cute faces, the sweet little noises they made, the ability to count and double count them to ensure those on hedgehog duty did their jobs correctly…it was all methodic and peaceful. A perfect way to end the day.

From inside the dorm, somebody must have moved from the window, allowing another stream of light to fall over the grass. Something glimmered and caught Riddle’s eye, the contrast between the mysterious object and the matte wire fencing surrounding the hedgehog pen quite noticeable in the light. Picking it up, he saw that a bracelet had been resting across the top of the wire fencing. Short three-link sections of gold chain connected many bright red rose beads about as large as the tip of his thumb. Upon further inspection, Riddle noticed that the claw end of the clasp was stuck. It took more than a few tries for him to finally push the latch and shut the clasp entirely. That must have been how it fell off.

Even if the hedgehog pens were a completely inappropriate place for jewelry, the fact that it matched the rose gardens did soothe his ire a small amount. Sighing, he stood and decided now was as good a time as any to head inside. The bracelet probably belonged to one of the members of his dorm. If he remembered correctly, you were also still in Heartslabyul, having been granted special permission to stay a while later than most guests in order to tutor your friends for an upcoming test. Perhaps, with your connections throughout the school, you would know the owner of the bracelet.

Just as Riddle walked through the main doors, he saw you walking down the stairs with your bag over your shoulder. Your hair was a bit messy and you were straightening out your uniform, which was a bit rumpled from a long day of studying (and undoubtedly other chaos that you managed to fall into). Riddle closed his hand around the bracelet, hoping to refrain from fussing with your uniform. As cute as you looked, it was unbecoming of you to walk all the way to Ramshackle looking so unkempt. 

“Heading home, Prefect?” He asked. You looked up from your blazer and your eyes cleared, as if you had been in a haze.

“Yeah, we finally decided to call it a night,” You answered. Although he was unsure if he was deceiving himself, Riddle swore you descended the stairs a little bit faster as you walked towards him.

“Shall I expect stellar grades on this next alchemy exam?”

You grimaced. “You should expect Ace and Deuce to insist they tried their best.”

Riddle smiled at that. If only you could impart some of your pleasantness upon your friends. Still, you were clearly doing what you could. No matter what their grades came to be, the fault would only lie with them. 

Noticing you were about to walk past him and leave, Riddle lifted a hand to stop you. “Ah, actually, before you go, do you happen to know to whom this belongs?”

The bracelet caught in the light as he held it up, appearing for a moment more yellow than rose gold. Instantly, your face lit up in recognition, and you held out your hand.

“Oh, that’s mine! I was wondering where it was,” you answered, shifting on your feet and smiling at him.

Riddle wasn’t sure what hit him. All he knew was that he was incredibly nervous when you were around, and his ability to remain calm in your vicinity the past few days was owed to his ability to rule on autopilot and sheer luck. That luck was running out, it seemed, because Riddle took a long look at your outstretched hand as if he didn’t know what to do with it. Then, carefully, he took the bracelet and looped it around your wrist.

His slim, gloved fingers brushed over the sensitive inside of your wrist as he slipped the clasp into one of the open links. You were suddenly thankful he wasn’t pressing down, certain that he’d be able to feel your heart racing through your pulse point. He must have forgotten about the broken clasp as he fiddled with it, eyebrows furrowing slightly. Sighing, he used one hand to keep the clasp in place and the other to grab your hand, gently pulling you closer so he could have a better angle. After a few more attempts, Riddle finally managed to shut the clasp with a faint click! Satisfied with his work, his expression softened and he grabbed your hand again, turning it over and admiring the bracelet.

“I’m sure Sam has clasps available at the Mystery Shop. You should be able to fix it with those and a pair of pliers,” he offered, looking up at you with a smile. All you could do was gape, watching him with wide eyes and a flushed face. “Is something wrong…?”

Your words got lost somewhere on the path from your brain to your mouth, so you let your gaze flicker down once. Riddle followed your instructions, looking down and realizing he was still holding your hand in his. Instantly, his face turned red enough to match his hair as his eyes darted from your joined hands to your face and back again. After a few moments, Riddle let go of your hand like it burned him, barely keeping himself from stammering.

“F-forgive me…” He started, taking one step back and then another. “Um. Make sure you get that fixed! In the hands of the wrong animal, it could spell serious trouble!”

Without offering you much of a chance to respond, Riddle hurried up the stairs beside you, mumbling something beneath his breath. However, halfway up the staircase he paused, turned, and looked at you still frozen in place. His face faded to a bright pink, even after he cleared his throat.

“And, of course…have a nice night, Prefect.”

• • • • • • • Ruggie Bucchi

Ruggie had an eye for valuable things. He knew to keep his eyes sharp for the glint of any lost or discarded objects that might prove to be of worth, even in the most unexpected places. People threw away lots of things when they could afford to follow trends, and they lost even more when they could afford to be careless. With the many rich boys he went to class with, he wasn’t surprised to see a shimmer kicked to the side of the hallways.

Scurrying in before some other vulture could stake a claim to his prize, Ruggie quickly bent down and swiped the thing that caught his eye. A few moments later, he grimaced. It clearly was some kind of cheaper metal and fake gems. Figures. Shrugging, he pocketed it and decided to run down a list of potential clients anyway. Surely there were a few suckers who didn’t know their fine jewelry from costume jewelry and would take the bait if he sold it hard enough…and went a little lower in price than what he was expecting.

After filtering back into the flow of students walking to their first class, Ruggie brushed at a faint tug on his uniform sleeve. Looking to the side, he grinned when he realized it was only you. Well, only wasn’t the right term - though he wouldn’t admit it, Ruggie considered himself quite fortunate to be on the receiving end of your highly-coveted attention.

“Morning,” You yawned. Drowsiness settled in on your features, and Ruggie felt his ears twitch in agitation.

“Woah, did Grim keep you up muttering about tuna again?” He asked. Even though your movements were just a bit slower than usual, your whole body tensed immediately at his words. Did you think you could hide from him? The thought would’ve been cute, if he wasn’t a little worried.

“No, nothing like that,” You admitted. “I lost something yesterday and I was out late looking for it. Then I was behind on my assignments…and that kept me up.” As if to accentuate your point, you yawned again. 

“What did you lose? Maybe I could keep an eye out for it.”

“Would you?” 

“Of course!” He protested, his offense only half a joke. It should be clear by now that he’d take care of you like he did himself…

Having reached the door to your morning class, you stopped. Ruggie did the same, ignoring how the people around him huffed and shot you both dirty looks for blocking the middle of the hallway. “So, it’s just a cheap little gold thing with brown gems in it. I wore it yesterday and noticed it missing after dinner, but it could’ve been gone for longer.”

Ruggie’s tail, which had been swishing happily behind him, suddenly stilled. You paid no attention to that and reached out to squeeze his arm before turning away. “It’s not a big deal if you can’t find it, but I appreciate the extra eyes.”

Before he could decide what to do, you slipped into your classroom.

The rest of the day, Ruggie spent his class time toying with the necklace that now seemed to be burning a hole in his pocket. It was just as you had described: inexpensive metal, the charm a bar lined with brown rhinestones. He wondered if you purchased the necklace because it reminded you of his dorm - that was the first thing that popped into his mind when he saw it. Or maybe you were just a fan of more earthy tones, or whatever Vil called them.

Part of him still wondered if he should try to sell it. Singling out a gullible guy looking for a quick gift for a sister or mother wouldn’t be too hard. You even said yourself that you wouldn’t mind if you couldn’t find it. Clearly, the necklace wasn’t anything too sentimental that you couldn’t bear to part with it. Surely you’d appreciate it if he found himself with a little extra pocket cash to take you on a date or something, right? But then again, you did spend a solid portion of your night trying to find it…

With a huff, Ruggie clutched his hand around the chain. He already knew his plans for profit were out the window when you mentioned what you were looking for. Even if it wasn’t something he was ready to admit, he was long beyond the point where he couldn’t imagine betraying you, even for an extra stash of cash.

As soon as his classes were over, Ruggie began the process of sniffing you out. He didn’t have to search for long - you were sitting on a bench in the courtyard, leaning one elbow on the armrest and supporting your drowsy head with it. Keeping his footfalls light, Ruggie snuck up behind you and didn’t make a noise until he was holding the necklace in front of your face.

You startled, but lifted your head so he could fasten the necklace around your neck anyway. The cool metal pressed against your neck, and before you could reach your hands up to help, Ruggie wordlessly brushed your hair away from the back of your neck. As he clasped the ends together, his fingers barely brushed against the back of your neck. Every little hair stood on end, and your whole body shivered. Part of you wondered if he was purposely teasing you, but it seemed unlikely, as he didn’t mention it.

Moving your hair back behind your shoulders, Ruggie finally said, “I found your necklace.”

“Thanks, Ruggie,” You answered, leaning your head back so you could see him. Maybe your upside-down perspective was making you see things, but you swore you could see his ears droop slightly as he got flustered. “I knew I could count on you.”

At that, Ruggie quickly averted his gaze. Oh, he was definitely flustered. “And I know I can count on you to compensate me for my services, yeah?”

…but he was still endearingly difficult, it seemed.

• • • • • • • Jamil Viper

For about the fiftieth time, Jamil wondered if he should say something.

You weren’t as slick as you thought you were. The entire time walking to the Mystery Shop, you kept reaching up and tugging at your earlobe, rubbing it and pressing against something like you were trying to alleviate some kind of pain. Perhaps others didn’t notice - not everyone in school was the observant type - but he was, and notice he did. It didn’t help that hanging from your ears was a shiny pair of earrings that caught the light every time you pushed them around.

It was a strange change that you decided to make, though Jamil had no doubt it was due to Vil’s newfound presence in your life after VDC. There had been many hours dedicated to the importance of appearance and accessorizing during their training camp, and you had the strange tendency to be everybody’s favorite pet project after they got to know you. The earrings had to be his idea, though it didn’t appear as if he actually supplied you with any to wear. Jamil found upon his first close inspection, earlier in the day, that the earrings were in fact clip-ons and barely more than costume jewelry that Vil wouldn’t be caught dead owning. Considering the open secret that was your financial situation, that made sense. 

That didn’t mean that they weren’t eye-catching, however. The deep red stones, set loosely in a gold, drop-shaped frame, looked nice on you. Jamil couldn’t explain it, but he felt as if you deserved to be ornamented beautifully, if that’s what you wanted. Or maybe he just liked having an excuse to be caught looking.

He caught you raising your hand again and, before he could stop himself, reached out to block your hand from fiddling with the jewelry. When you glanced at him to ask what was wrong, he met your eyes with a scathing look that was practically a lecture in itself. “You don’t have to wear anything uncomfortable. Beauty isn’t really pain, no matter how convincing Vil may be.”

You laughed, letting him know he correctly guessed the heart of the situation. “I already bought them, though, so I should at least get my money’s worth.”

“Sunk cost fallacy,” Jamil responded in a deadpan manner. You matched his tone with your own flat expression, which he quickly relented to. “Alright, give them here. I might have a solution.”

Even though you looked at him dubiously, you reached up and removed the earrings, handing them off without question. Jamil looked at them carefully before nodding and patting his pockets. When he pulled out a small bag with tiny, pre-cut foam pads, you widened your eyes in a silent demand for answers.

“Some of Kalim’s earrings are clip-ons,” Jamil explained without looking up. Instead, he placed a foam pad on each side of the earring, so both sides of your ear would be cushioned. “He’s very sensitive to the pinching feel, so I keep these on me when he wears them.”

“Oh,” you muttered. “You really are prepared for anything.”

He shrugged. “There’s another trick that might help, too.”

Suddenly, Jamil took one step so that he was directly beside you. He brushed your hair behind your ear, his touch light enough on the sensitive skin that you had to fight back a shiver. It was hard to ignore that he was close enough that you could barely feel the ghost of his breath on your neck. For a moment, you worried about how your profile might look, but any fleeting thoughts of insecurity washed away when Jamil gently tugged on your earlobe and clipped the earring on. A few seconds later, he let go and waited for you to tell him if it felt uncomfortable. When you stayed silent, he moved to the other side and did the same thing, carefully pulling on your ear and slowly clipping the earring. 

A second later he was in front of you, grabbing your chin and tilting your head from side to side, checking to see if his work was even and admiring the shine of the earrings in the sunlight. “There. Now they shouldn’t…”

Jamil trailed off, suddenly remembering himself. As he stepped back, further than he was before you even started talking, you thought that he left with enough grace it was almost as if he teleported away from you. You pressed your hand to your face, feeling the warmth and hoping your embarrassment didn’t show. Jamil coughed awkwardly into his shoulder.

“Excuse me. I’m just used to checking Kalim, to ensure he maintains a neat appearance.”

You didn’t call him on his bluff, but you could guess he didn’t hold Kalim’s face - or look at him, for that matter - so tenderly.

• • • • • • • Rook Hunt

The unusual object on the desk in front of his seat caught Rook's attention as soon as he walked into the room. As he tugged on his lab coat, he made a beeline for the small ring pushed to the edge of the desk. It was a dainty, intricate thing, a band of black tangling thorns dotted with small blue and red gemstones like winter berries all throughout. It would be hard for the owner of such a distinctive ring to remain anonymous, even if they weren't someone Rook purposely sought out more than others.

But he knew the hands this ring belonged to. They were lovely hands that he spent a long time admiring. They were hands that fought valiantly to protect the school and care for those burdened by blot. They were hands he wished to hold and kiss and press to his chest in demonstration of his ferociously beating heart! 

What luck that, in a school full of potential thieves and ne'er-do-wells, it was he who found your precious ring! Rook tucked it safely in his pocket with a silent vow to return your belongings as soon as class was finished for the day.

By the time Rook had a moment to spare to search for you, the sky was cast in a golden-orange glow, not quite sunset but beautiful all the same. It was difficult to say where you might be - after all, he was normally back at his dorms helping Vil at this time, rather than with you - but he remembered all of the stories you told him. If you were following any kind of pattern, you should be joining your friends after their club meetings, walking them to the hall of mirrors or perhaps even your dorm. With that in mind, Rook started towards the practice field, hoping to intercept you along the way.

He found you in the shade of the tunneled entrance to the field, chatting with Ace with your back turned. Ace was slumped against the wall, sitting with his legs straight out and guzzling water from a bottle. Rook allowed his footsteps to echo in against the stone passage, drawing your attention over your shoulder. His eyes met yours, and his heart skipped a beat when you smiled at him. He returned the gesture in kind.

"Hey Rook! What brings you here?" You asked. At your feet, Ace merely looked at him with a combination of suspicion and anticipation, the usual response Rook received.

"Why, you do!" Rook responded. "Although I must admit, this time I do not arrive to fill my time idly with you. I come bearing a gift of sorts."

With a flourish, Rook reached into his pocket and showed you the ring he found, twisting it so even in the dim light beneath the stone you could still catch the light reflecting off the gems. You gasped, one hand reaching up to cover your delighted smile. It brought a proud smile to Rook's face. Ace swore he could see Rook puff out his chest, just a bit, in pride.

"You found it!" You exclaimed. "I've been wondering what happened to it. I thought I lost it forever.”

“Worry not, dear trickster!” Rook proclaimed, placing a hand to his chest in a dramatic pose. Then, he grabbed your hand still hanging by your side and brought it up, bending at the waist as if he were about to kiss the back of it. “Just as the sun returns to warm the earth each day, just as the stars return to support the splendor of the moon, as sure as the flowers will bloom in the spring, I will ensure that all which belongs to you will return to its rightful place by your side.”

With a small, secretive smile, Rook loosened his grip on your hand and brought the ring to your fingers. Slowly, slowly enough that you knew he was trying to elicit a response, he placed the ring on the finger you normally wore it on. The metal had been warmed by his hand, and he stopped pushing just before it got too tight on your hand. All the while, his striking green eyes kept you in a steady gaze, creating an air of intimacy around the two of you. Briefly, the image of a proposal flashed in your mind, and you felt the heat rush to your cheeks.

Deuce, who must have finished with his practice and joined Ace behind you, suddenly sputtered. “Woah! Is- What-? Are they-?!”

Rook grinned mischievously before running his thumb over your knuckles. “I hope this is enough, so you can understand my intentions, mon coeur.”  

[kvrinaxq]

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒 𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐃

Genre : smut, fluff

Pairing: Felix × reader

MINORS DNI

Felix's deep brown eyes searched the room, lingering on the rumpled bed sheets and the fading light that danced through the blinds. He sighed, running a hand through his disheveled hair. Another Friday night in the midst of quarantine, and his plans had gone awry once again. He'd been looking forward to a quiet evening of gaming with his friends, but now he found himself staring at the dreaded invite to a Zoom call.

With a reluctant click, he joined the call, his laptop camera angled strategically to avoid any unfortunate angles. The faces of the other stray kids members popped up on the screen, a sea of grins and sarcastic greetings. He leaned back, and unbuttoned his shirt. The room was warm, and the AC had decided to take the night off, leaving him sticky and uncomfortable.

Y/n slipped into the room, her bare feet making no sound on the plush carpet. She saw the glow of the screen and the tension in his shoulders and knew what was happening. With a smirk, she decided to take advantage of the situation. She approached him from behind, her warm breath tickling his neck as she whispered, "You know, I could help you cool down."

Felix's eyes widened, his heart skipping a beat. He tried to shoo her away with a playful "not now," but she was insistent, her fingertips tracing light patterns along his bare chest. He couldn't resist the temptation, his body responding despite the audience on the other side of the screen. He leaned back into her embrace, her softness a stark contrast to the hard chair beneath him.

The call had moved on to discussing their latest game strategy, the voices muffled and distant as she began to kiss along his jawline. He swallowed hard, his hands gripping the chair arms tightly. Her touch was like a whispered promise, a secret shared only between them. The warmth of her body was intoxicating, and the faint scent of her perfume filled the space around them.

Her hands found their way to his belt, the smooth leather giving way to her nimble fingers. The sound of the buckle was loud in the quiet room, a stark contrast to the low murmur of the Zoom call. Felix glanced at the screen, his heart racing. Shit. He forgot to mute himself. But the thrill of being caught was exhilarating. He leaned his head back, eyes closed, as she unzipped his pants, her hand sliding inside to wrap around his growing arousal.

Meanwhile Minho,on the call cleared his throat, the sound echoing through the room. The other members giggled and sneered, as Seungmin said " Not during a freaking zoom call lix . Felix's eyes shot open, his heart pounding in his chest. He looked around frantically, searching for the mute button, but it was too late. The room had gone quiet, and he could feel the weight of their gazes on him.

Y/n giggled softly against his neck, her hand still wrapped around him. "Looks like we've got an audience," she whispered, her voice low and seductive. He felt the heat of embarrassment flood his cheeks, pulling away for a minute .

"Uh you know what , i have something to deal with right now, I'll text you guys later" Felix says , his face washed with embarrassment. "Something important huh?" Hyunjin smirked as Bang giggled, saying "No problem felix, you can leave the call and continue your sweet home Alabama session with y/n."

"Y-yea right, I'll text you guys later, bye." Felix said, leaving the call, as the embarrassment didn't seem to go but he still had the urge to continue the make out session. "So, uh" Felix said unable to continue his sentence as y/n gave him a peck on his lips. "Wanna continue this?" she said, smirking. Felix only nodded ,as he pulled y/n into another passionate kiss.

[whohasthecards]

Dadclone

“Lieutenant Commander Seresin.”

Hangman always woke up quickly when addressed to, a blessing in the service, a remnant of his childhood. Hangman shot up from where he was hunched over in his desk, a trail of drool on the side of his mouth as he swirled around at his chair to see Cyclone of all people standing beside him.

“Sir,” Hangman said, standing up quickly, and wiping a hand over his mouth. Pointedly ignoring the flash of dizziness that hit him, as he blinked to clear the blurriness still left in his eyes.

“At ease, son,” Cyclone said, brows furrowed. “It’s late, why are you still here sleeping on your desk instead of your bed?”

“Just some paperwork I need to do,” Hangman said, frowning at his dead computer and the piles of paper littered around the desk. “Mission briefs, lesson plans, reports, and all that,” Hangman drawled, sighing. "You know how it is, bein' an admiral and all."

Cyclone looked down at the papers, squinting to skim the contents, “You need to delegate your work among the other Daggers. Hell, some of the work here isn’t due until next week. There’s no reason for you to stay this late, son.”

Hangman shrugged, “Just keepin’ busy, sir,” averting his eyes, and rubbing them.

Cyclone decided to drop it, “Come on kid, I’ll bring you home, pack your stuff up.” Cyclone watched Seresin open his mouth to argue, but it quickly shifted to a yawn. Beau raised a brow at the boy who sheepishly smiled and started packing his stuff.

“It’s all good, sir, I can drive myself home, have a good nig—”

“Not so fast, Seresin, I just saw you pass out at your desk. That’s unusual for you, I’m not letting you drive home. Either I drive you home, or you call one of your friends to take you.” Cyclone said firmly, crossing his arms. He wasn’t going to let his aviator drive exhausted.

It was unsettling to see the dark circles, messed up hair, and rumpled uniform from the usually unflappable, man.

He watched Seresin’s face twist into a grimace before settling into a pout and crossing his arms.

Cyclone ignored the warm feeling that burst through his chest, trying to control the smile tugging at the edge of his lip.

“So what’s it going to be, son?” Cyclone said, voice softer.

He saw the boy’s face scrunch up as he thought for a while. He had never seen Hangman so expressive, but that just shows how tired the younger man was.

“Are ya sure ya good with doing that, sir? Aren’t ya tired an’ busy?” Hangman muttered, averting his eyes.

Beau’s eyes softened as he clasped his hand on the younger man’s shoulder, making sure to telegraph his movements. Seresin looked back at him.

“It’s no problem to me, son, I just want you to be safe. Now come on, pack your stuff and let’s go,” Beau said, patting his shoulder one last time before stepping back to lean against the wall.

Seresin packed his bag and Cyclone tilted his head in a silent order to follow him until they quickly reach his truck. Perks of being the air boss is a close parking slot. He opened the passenger door for Seresin, waving him in as he walked towards the Driver’s side and got settled.

“Thank you, sir,” Jake muttered softly as he fumbled with his seatbelt, eyes blinking as his head started drooping. Beau busied himself with turning on the AC and the radio to fight the urge to reach over and do the seatbelt himself.

“Like I said, it’s no problem, son,” Beau said as he gave Jake a small smile, making the younger man look down and away in embarrassment. 

Beau backed up from the parking slot, and started driving towards the younger man's housing.

Despite the ride only being a couple of minutes, the boy started nodding off, head jerking up a couple of times before he ended up with his head drooped down, leaning forward on his seatbelt, exhaling soft snores in every breath. 

While the light was red, Beau reached out and gently pushed Jake's chest back so he was leaning back on the seat. He held his breath as Jakd mumbled nonsense in his sleep and his head rolled to the side. He huffed a breath of air in relief and impulsively reached out to gently run a hand through the kid’s hair, smiling when he saw his face relaxed and unconsciously lean in.

The light turn green, but instead of driving directly to Jake's housing, he drove to a small chinese food place that he preferred. He parked in the parking lot and made a call to order, glancing every now and then to his sleeping companion to make sure he stays asleep. He requested that they bring the food directly to his car. He tipped the worker well and he drove off.

He knew that it would be best if the boy went to sleep in his own bed, but he couldn’t help but drive around the block a couple of times to allow the kid as much rest as he could give in his car. He could order him to go home, but he can’t order him to sleep or whatever he wants to do off the clock in his own home.

He parked in front of Jake’s apartment complex, and looked over at the boy before he reached over and gently shook his shoulder awake. “We’re here, kid, come on, you’re almost near your bed.” Cyclone said, chuckling softly.

Seresin slowly blinked awake, rubbing his eye with the heel of his palm. Looking around a bit disoriented.

“Oh, thanks bossman,” Jake mumbled, stifling a yawn.

“Like I said, it’s no problem, son,” Beau said warmly, reaching over to grab one of the paper bags of food from the back seat. “Here, I know you wouldn’t want to cook after such a long day, so eat up with this,” he said handing the paperbag to the boy who blinked down brows furrowed.

“Ya didn’t have to, sir,” Jake mumbled as he opened the paperbag in his lap to peer inside at the contents.

“I wanted to,” Beau said, simply. “Now go on, go get some rest. That’s an order, Lieutenant Commander,” Beau said, with a bit of steel in his voice.

Seresin simply rolled his eyes at him. Brat.

“Aye, aye, boss,” Seresin said, giving him a lazy two-fingered salute, as he exited the car. “Drive slow, old man, wouldn’t want you passing out from the car’s G-force,” giving Cyclone the typical Hangman smirk, as he walked backwards towards his housing.

It was Cyclone’s turn to roll his eyes.

God, he wasn’t this insufferable when he was in Top Gun, was he?

“Yeah, sure, buddy.” Beau simply deadpanned, shaking his head.

For some reason that just made Seresin smile wider as he turned around fully to open the door.

He made sure to watch Seresin go inside the apartment complex before shifting his car into drive to go to his own home.

Even if today was a tiring day, he couldn’t help, but smile at the warmth that he felt throughout the rest of the day.

—

Jake immediately turned off his alarm as soon as it went off, giving out a sigh before rolling out of bed before starting on his morning routine.

It took after he got dressed to realize that he did not have his truck.

He didn’t drive home from work, he didn’t even have to cook from work, Cyclone drove him, and by extension, fed him. All he did was eat a full meal and pass out.

His truck was on base.

Jake sighed as he resigned himself to paying for an overpriced Uber, before his phone started ringing.

“Seresin,” he quickly answered.

“Are you ready for work?” The familiar voice of his air boss asked.

Jake frowned as he look down at his watch, he wasn’t late. He was far from late.

“I mean, yes, sir, but I’m not late–? Is there somethin’ I’m missin’?” Seresin asked as he quickly went through his agenda for the past couple of days to remember what he had to do today that the air boss had to call him this early in the morning.

He came with a blank.

“Nah, kid, I remembered I drove you home last night, so you didn’t have your car. I was gonna offer you a ride,” his boss paused for a bit. “And breakfast, I’m hungry, and you probably are too.”

Jake frowned, “I wouldn’t want to intrude–”

“You’re not.” Cyclone said, firmly cutting him off, “I’ll be there in 10, unless you have any objections to that?” 

“Negative, sir,” Jake drawled before pausing. “Thank you, Cyclone.”

“No problem, son.”

Cyclone picked him up with no fanfare and he drove them to a small diner he’d never been to before. Cyclone ordered their Big Breakfast Special, and he did the same. Pancakes, a pile of bacon, eggs, sausage patties, house fries, and a toasted english muffin. It was delicious.

“Slow down, kid, we’re not in a rush,” Beau said amused as he hid a smile behind his coffee.

“It’s good!” Seresin exclaimed with childlike glee he’d never seen before.

“You don’t get to eat out often?” 

“Nah, not as much as I used to, don’t have time to eat, ya know?” Jake said, drowning a slice of pancake in syrup before shoving it in his mouth. “Sometimes I just get home, pass out, and wake up just in time to make it to my next shift.”

Beau frowned at that, a sense of unease churning in his chest, “I see…” He trailed off, unsure how to continue this conversation without overstepping. 

“Do you want an extra pancake and sausage patty? I can’t finish it,” Cyclone said, already transferring the food over to the younger man’s plate without even finishing the question.

“T-thank you, sir?” Seresin asked, confused as his eyes darted from his plate to Beau who just went back to munching on his bacon and reading the news on his phone.

His eyes softened when he saw the younger man shrug and dig in from the corner of his eye. The action made him look younger than his years.

He’s going to watch over him from now on, starting with why in the world was he overworking himself at the moment, and how long has it been going on?

“I mean if ya wanted help with managing your cholesterol and blood sugar, sir, you should have just given me the bacon as well,” Jake said, grinning as he shoveled a piece of sausage patty in his mouth.

Beau rolled his eyes as he looked upward and sighed. Why did he decide to accept the posting of dealing with a bunch of hotshot twenty-somethings?

“My cholesterol is fine, I’m not that old,” Cyclone grumbled, leaning back and squinting at the small text on his phone.

“I never said you were old, Admiral, sir,” Jake said, giving Beau a smirk.

Brat

Beau ignored the blinding smile Jake gave when he put two strips of bacon on the younger man’s plate, and flagged the waitress down to order a separate plate of bacon.

“The bacon is going to be shared, Seresin, don’t get too excited,” Beau said, taking another sip of his coffee.

“Sir, yessir,” Jake drawled as he smiled as he put another piece of bacon in his mouth.

[lewiscarrolatemybrain]

I said it in the tags of a previous post but it's too cute and funny to stay hidden there and I'll take any opportunity to spread my Feral Ace Agenda, so:

Ace likes to perch on Whitebeard's shoulders and groom his mustache like a little monkey, and Whitebeard 100% just Lets Him. His 'stache has never been so perfectly neat and tidy! Usually it's a little worse for wear by the end of the day but now a single hair gets rumpled out of place and Ace climbs right on up there to rake his little fingers through like a man on a mission.

(Ace also grooms the other wbp of course, he likes to finger-comb peoples' hair and neaten their clothes and clean their hands and faces for them, but it def looks funniest when he does it to Whitebeard. Marco, who has been fighting for his life against the bird instinct to do exactly that since he was like fifteen, is lowkey kinda jealous even though he is absolutely also welcome to preen Whitebeard if he was willing to put up with his siblings' teasing about it)

[starboyshoyo]

Sweet…?

Pairing: Trey Clover x reader

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland

Genre: fluff, humor

Warnings: suggestive at the beginning but Ace ruins it lmao, swearing

Ace interrupts your fun time with Trey in the Heartslabyul kitchen.

A pair of warm arms embrace you from behind as you whisk a bowl of baking mix at the mismatched counters of the Heartslabyul kitchen. Soft lips brush down your neck and over the sensitive veins like a butterfly’s wings.

“How’s it going over here?” Your boyfriend’s sultry voice ghosts over your ear as he pulls you into his chest. “Need any assistance?”

“Not with the cookies,” you nudge him playfully, rolling your eyes. “Trey, now is not the time to be messing around. The unbirthday party is in an hour and we only have enough sweets for half of the dorm. Do you want Riddle to have your head?”

“No, but I know some head you might want- Hey! Easy, easy.” Trey laughs as you smack his chest. “Come on, sweetheart! Just for a bit? We have more than enough time…”

Trey, you handsome bastard… You meet Trey’s half-lidded gaze out of the corner of your eye as his hands wander down lower. “Enough time for what, hm? How long do you intend to take?”

He grins, a lopsided, boyish look that looked just too good to resist on him. “The cake will be in the oven for another ten minutes… but I only need a half of that time.” You giggle as Trey hoists you onto the counter, shirt riding up as his body moves against your own. But just as Trey tugs off his tie, the door flies open.

“Hey, Trey! Are you done baking yet? The teapot tyrant is getting antsy for a strawberry tart- oh, what the fuck?”

Ace stands in the doorway, eyes wide as he takes in the scene in front of him. It’s painfully obvious what’s going on- between Trey’s glasses askew and your own rumpled clothes, there’s nothing to hide.

“Ace!” You yelp. “You said you were going on a grocery run with Deuce! What are you doing here?!”

Ace shakes his head, gagging exaggeratedly. “Hell no. Save it. I’m out- and I’m telling everyone at the unbirthday party not to eat those tarts either.”

You and Trey watch Ace’s back retreat out the door, then stare at each other. “I guess we’re losing our heads after all.”

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[kairithemang0]

Hatchetfield/Once Upon a Time AU

I have 2 characters and nothing else, Tinky is Rumple and Grace is Regina. I have literally no other ideas but maybe Lautski is Snow and David. Or the Jerry’s, Grace has beef with them after AC. Maybe the ape man is Emma 👀👀👀👀

[kikiofthevast]

Smoke and Ash

Or: Hell changes you. One way or another.

CWs: Injury, breaking bones, burns, kidnapping

Charles has very nearly managed to shuffle out of the chains when the door dissolves.

Now, Charles hadn't really been listening to this evil wizard's monologue, something about Charles's latent anger or something. Something that would probably piss him off if he was listening, though maybe not for the reasons the guy was intending.

He definitely had said something about the door being made of iron. So that Charles couldn't just phase through.

So the wizard's completely stunned reaction when the door seems to melt into a pile of lava and soot is a bit funny.

What's not a bit funny is the figure in the doorway, with a hand outstretched.

Edwin.

Charles almost smiles in relief. And then he sees Edwin's state.

He'd initially thought that the smoke was just coming off the door.

But it's coming off of Edwin too.

His green eyes are alight with a familiar anger, but his usual clothes are disheveled. His shirt is half-buttoned. His vest is half-done. His bowtie is gone, and his sleeves are uneven and rumpled. His hair is rustled.

And his bare skin is smoking.

"Charles," Edwin says, looking intensely relieved to see him.

Charles tries for a smile. "Good to see you, mate!"

He doesn't know if it's convincing.

Edwin rushes to his side, face stained with something black, but the smoke starts to dissolve and fade as he gets closer to Charles.

"Are you alright?" he asks desperately. "Did he hurt you?"

"I-"

"YOU!"

The wizard chump from before gets back to his feet and points at Edwin.

"YOU would DARE-"

Another windingly long monologue is cut off by Edwin muttering something definitely not English under his breath, and a snapping sound. Both of the wizard's arms snap backwards.

The crunch is punctuated by a slight wince from Edwin at the sound, but the wizard's scream doesn't seem to faze him at all.

"Edwin, mate, other than an amateur job with some iron chains, I'm aces."

"He has you in iron?" Edwin cries, and the smoke begins to intensify. "The villain."

"It's alright, I've basically already-"

Edwin cuts Charles off by grabbing one of the chains and yanking them off his wrists. Charles can't help a pained noise, mostly on Edwin's behalf, but Edwin seems more concerned with Charles's wrists than the smoking red mark on his own hand.

The mark is surrounded with the same black powder as Edwin's face.

Ash, Charles realizes.

"Let us go, Charles," Edwin says, and he pulls Charles to his feet.

Charles glances at the wizard, and Edwin tilts his head in the same direction. "What about him?"

"I took the liberty of burning much of his work," Edwin says. "And with his joints broken, I doubt he will be able to recreate it for some time."

"That's good." He looks back at Edwin and furrows his eyebrows. "Are you sure you're alright, mate? You're still a little smokey."

"Ah. That." He looks down and shakes out his hand a bit. "It will pass. Come along, Charles."

There will be time to pester Edwin about it later.

Because Charles really wants out of here.

[theaawalker]

Fandoms I'll Write For

Marvel (not Iron Man, Starlord, Loki, Thor, Doctor Strange, or Hawkeye, Drax, Victor Creed, Antman, Adam Warlocke, AG's Spiderman, or Cyclops)

DCEU (not Peacemaker, Killer Croc, JL's Joker, RP's Batman, or anyone from Gotham except Jerome/Jeremiah Valeska)

Scream Queens (not Chad Radwell or Pete Martinez)

American Horror Story (only Murder House, 1984, Freakshow, and Cult)

Hunger Games (not Gale, Maymitch, President Snow, or Cato)

The Maze Runner (not Ava Paige, Jorge, or Janson)

My Little Pony

Once Upon A Time (not Hook, David, Rumple, Neal, Peter Pan, or Zelena)

Pacific Rim (not the sequel)

Twilight (not Seth, Edward, Carlyle, or Jasper)

Stranger Things (not Will Byers, Billy Hargrove, or Jim Hopper)

IT (2017, 2019, and tv series) (not Henry Bowers or Pennywise)

Jurassic Park/World (not Owen Grady or Ian Malcolm)

Jumanji (1997 & 2017)

Zathura (not the dad or robot)

Stand By Me (not Ace Merrill)

Girl, Interrupted (not Jared Leto's character)

The Black Phone (not the Grabber or Mr. Blake)

Teen Wolf (the film & series)

Equestria Girls

Teen Wolf (not Peter, Jackson, Theo, or Derek)

The Office (not Jim, Ryan, or Dwight)

Now You See Me (not Dylan Rhodes or Merritt McKinney)

Descendants (not Chad, Harry, Ben, Jay, or Carlos)

Sky High (not Zach or Speed)

Percy Jackson films (not Luke Castellan)

The Umbrella Academy (not Five)

TMNT (live action ver. only)

Dance Moms (not the final season)

Ender's Game

Wednesday (not Xavier, Tyler, or the Dean)

Spiderman: Into the Spiderverse (not Mentor Peter Parker)

Unbreakable (not Hedwig or Dennis)

Big Hero 6

The Black Mirror

Dynasty (not Culhane, Adam, or Blake)

Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory

Spy Kids

Sharkboy & Lavagirl

Clue, Knives Out, & Glass Onion

Back to the Future (not Biff), Breakfast Club (not Bender), Sandlot, Stand By Me (not Ace Merrill), Mighty Ducks, The Outsiders (not Dally, Two-Bit, Randy, Bob, Steve, or Darry)

I’m willing to write imagines for underage characters so long as there's no romance (examples: hang out with the Losers Club at the barrens; go shopping with Eleven and Max; play baseball with Finney and Bruce). I’m allowed to deny any request and the longest I should take ever to write one is about 2 weeks. I’ll write smut, fluff, angst, poly relationships, LGBTQ+, etc. Generally most of my x readers are female unless stated otherwise.

What I won’t write-

I won’t write anything to do with rape, bestiality, necrophilia, incest, romance with anyone younger than 18, gun play, anything about poo(sexually), anything about urine(squirting is fine considering it’s not technically urine), age gaps. See guidelines for more details.

Thanks for reading❤️

A.A. Walker

[scarletslippers]

place a poppy in my hair

Once upon a time, @bethanyactually sent me this gif by @hucklebucket and said that it looked like they were dancing and that I should write it because I love writing nace dancing. I do love it....and I (finally) did. Written for the @nacediscord Valentine's Vigil event!

One year later, Nancy and Ace attend the Lovers' Vigil together. Read on AO3

“If you’d wear a flower crown again,” he says again, louder, looking up. His eyes burn with an intensity she wasn’t expecting, but it’s not new, the passion with which he does things. 

“Oh, uh, I don’t know,” she answers honestly, taking time to smooth the collar she rumpled while considering his question. “I hadn’t really thought about it.” 

There’s a hint of something in his eyes, the longing of a year ago that’s been long gone from his gaze. Seeing it, she feels it wrap around her own heart and squeeze. 

She’d worn that flower crown for him. So that he would think she was beautiful. A foolish and dangerous game back then, but she’d done it. 

She doesn’t have that same need now. Nancy knows he thinks she’s beautiful. He’s told her as much. Called her beautiful when she made an ill-fated attempt to dust Icarus Hall, and when she came home from investigating covered in muck and leaves. Or that morning she stumbled bleary-eyed out of bed with greasy hair and a definite track of drool on her cheek.

“Never mind,” Ace is already hedging, misinterpreting her silence. “It’s stupid.”

Read the rest