#also dare i say they are both sitting appropriately bisexually

[masschase]

"Y'ever fall for one of your Saints?"

OK it doesn't look like much. But I made several attempts at this soon after we first discussed it, and then when @whoredmode drew Casey last week I knew I had to have another go, and I finally got back to it today and managed to do a version I'm happy with. So they finally got to hang out 😅

I had another slightly more comedic discussion for them around them describing who they're both dating right now and wondering if it's the same person and both being horrified at the reveal but I just wasn't happy with how it came out drawing-wise.

Fun fact: since Casey gets the multiverse hopper in 2022 and travels back to sr3 time which I believe is 2014, they are both around 32 here.

[yikesharringrove]

I have this sorta headcanon that Will has a crush on Billy (or Steve I suppose). Maybe he figures it out and try to let Will down gently because obviously he's both too old and too in love with someone else. ❤

So, I LOVE the idea of Will losing his SHIT over Billy when he comes to town, but like, Steve is hot, and lets be real, Will grew up watching him be King Steve, any little gay child who saw that would be like 👀

Also, one of my all time favorite fics features will having a crush on Billy and he asks him out but Billy thinks its just to like, hang out, so he’s like, I’ll invite Max too! (fic is Yourself or Someone Like You bc it’s like the Harringrove Bible) I’m gonna go with Will asking Steve out bc that’s a stupid big headcanon for me.

It took Will three weeks, six days, and nine hours to finally work up the courage to do it.

He was in his sophomore year at Hawkins High, had grown into his long limbs, and with Steve’s suggestion, had ditched the bowl cut for something a little more, flattering.

He had had a crush on Steve since he was eleven years old.

Steve was freshly sixteen when he coached Will’s baseball team, had a shiny new car and a bright smile and kind eyes and would cheer Will on and clap him on the shoulder when he did something good, would pull him aside and gently teach him how to right it when he made a mistake.

He figures he’s probably not the only queer in Hawkins who had their sexual awakening to Steve Harrington brushing the hair out of his eyes, but he was actually kinda friends with Steve, would hang out on weekends with him and Billy in their shitty little apartment in the city.

He had always kept his feelings on the back burner, had more pressing ones (a.k.a. the ones for Mike) but those were just a pipe dream, Steve had actually told him that he was bisexual, that he liked guys. Will had a shot.

“Would you, like, maybe want to go out sometime?” Steve looked at him slowly.

“You mean like a, like a date?” Will went red, but he nodded nonetheless, his heart pounding as those big eyes went soft. “I um, okay, I’m sorry but I just, I’m gonna have to say no thank you. I’m sorry, Will.”

“But you, you said you like guys.”

“And I do, but like, you’re not exactly age appropriate, and I’ve actually, I’ve got a boyfriend.” Will felt like he was gonna die. Like he was gonna melt right through the fucking floor and die. “It’s really, you’re a great kid, and you’re gonna be a really good boyfriend to someone but, Will, I’m twenty one, and you’re not even sixteen yet. Like, I think it’s actually illegal for us to date.”

“I’ll be sixteen next month.”

“But that’s beside the point. You’re in high school, and I’m like, considered an adult.”

“Who’s your boyfriend?” Will didn’t really register himself saying it, but once it was out there, he was burning to know.

“It’s Billy. I thought you, thought you knew.”

“I thought you were just roommates.”

“Will, this is a one bedroom. We’ve been dating since I was in high school.” Will’s mind raced.

“Shit. That actually clears a lot of stuff up.”

“Did you just think we were like, best pals or something.” Will shrugged as Steve stifled a laugh into his hand. “Yeah we’ve been like pretty serious together for like, three years now.”

Will was back to wanting the Earth to open up and swallow him whole.

“Look, Will. You’re a wonderful person, but I’m too old for you, too taken, too much of a douchebag. You deserve someone nice, who’s kind and loving. And you're going to find that, it���s just not me.” Will blew out a breath, leaning back in his chair.

“Have I just made things weird between us forever?” Steve chuckled, getting up to rummage through the fridge, sliding Will a beer, cracking one open for himself.

“Nah. I actually prefer for all my friends to have crushes on me. Makes me feel good.” Will glared at him. He winked. “For real though, no. It’s only weird if you make it weird. We’ll just have to find you someone, because trust me, you can do so much better than me.” Will rolled his eyes.

“But Billy can’t?”

“Oh no, Billy was probably a real sinner in his past life to get stuck with me being an idiot around him all the time. I think he was probably Jack the Ripper or something.”

“I don’t think you could ever be considered punishment.” Steve raised his eyebrow.

“Oh yeah? I literally have never thought out a single decision in my whole life, I’m the world’s clingiest little fucker, and I don’t know if you actually know this about me there, Will, but I’m actually a fucking douchebag. Like most of the time.”

“I mean, not really-”

“Yes, really. Billy’s just a freak that likes it when I get like that. Calls me a brat and-” He cut himself off, averting his eyes form Will. “Basically we’re both garbage and you deserve like, an actual good person, because you’re an actual good person.” Billy’s keys jingled in the lock, the door swinging open to reveal him, bags of groceries on his arms, Walkman headphones over his ears.

“Hey, Kid Byers.” Billy swept down to kiss Steve on the head, dumping the groceries and his headphones on the counter.

“Bill, apparently Will didn’t know we’re together.” Will’s face was red when Billy turned around to look at him, completely amused.

“What, so you thought every time I come home and kiss him on the fuckin’ head that was just us being totally straight friends?”

“I don’t know. I just didn’t really think about it.” Billy laughed at Will, Steve getting up to put away the groceries, pressing a beer into Billy’s hand and shooing him over to the table to sit with Will.

“To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?” Will didn’t really know what to say, didn’t want to get like, the shit beaten out of him for trying to hit on Steve.

“He just wanted to say hey. We’ve just been chatting about what a pure trash person I am.” Billy laughed, but nodded along.

“Steve is garbage. You know his feet are somehow always cold? And he’ll put ‘em all all over me every single night. He must be stopped.” Steve swatted at him with a dishrag.

Will doesn’t know how he never saw it, the way they act like they’ve known each other for eternity, the way they’re so obviously, so painfully in love.

“Yeah? Well Billy’s gross and never cleans out the sink after shaving.”

“And you’re a brat that’s just fucking asking to be-”

“Literally, there is a child present. Don’t you dare finish that sentence.” Billy just grinned, running his tongue along his bottom lip. “And see, Will. I told you we’re both terrible and deserve being stuck with each other.”

Will thought maybe being let down by the one person he thinks he;s ever been in love with would hurt more, but seeing these two make fun of each other, the way Billy presses a kiss to Steve’s neck when he moves behind him, the way Steve will look at him so softly, he realizes that Steve is happy, and that’s okay, because maybe one day he’ll be happy like that too, with someone who loves him like Billy does.

[starkerparkerpony]

AU where Tony (44-45 y/o) meets an aged up (23-24 y/o) Peter after Civil War, Tony is broken up with Pepper and all kinds of sorry for himself. Peter is a ESU graduate and currently has an internship with Oscorp and is a photographer for the Daily Bugle he is also spiderman and therefore perpetually exhausted and has very little patience.

(It's been a while since I wrote something, please consider reblogging)

I scold because I stan

Tony was starting to get sick of himself.

The self hatred and self pity were starting to crescendo, which was shedding a lot of light on how he got to and where Tony currently was in his life.

Spangle's betrayal shouldn't have hurt as much as it did.

The breakup with Pepper shouldn't have been as painful as it was.

He shouldn't miss the team as much as he did.

Vision injuring Rhodey shouldn't have felt like a personal failure but it did.

Speaking of personal failures, the accords shouldn't have scattered more than half of the planet's protectors in the wind all while labeling them 'war criminals' but they had.

And Tony was sick of himself because his centrally heated penthouse shouldn't be haunted by a Serbian cold but it was.

Because his heartbeat shouldn't feel like someone trying to jackhammer the arc reactor into his sternum sometimes... but it did.

So he decided to go out because his inner 'self hatred' voice was starting to sound too much like his father and that was about the last straw for Tony.

A baseball cap, coat and muffler later, Tony Stark was roaming the streets of New York but then it was too fucking cold for that so he quickly ducked into a cozy looking Irish pub.

He quickly scanned the place for a place to sit, it was pretty packed except for a booth which was occupied by one person who had their head down on the table and appeared to be, best case scenario, dozing off or worst case scenario, passed out.

Appropriate company for the kind of evening he was having he thought to himself as he made his way to the booth.

A waiter came to take his order and Tony took it upon himself to order a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. If he was gonna get hammered in a public place against all good sense then atleast he was gonna do it with some company... even if said company was seemingly unconscious.

When the waiter put down the glasses, his boothmate woke up. And Tony was confronted with a gorgeous guy with stunning brown eyes, he was sporting a rather sizable shiner over his left one but it did absolutely nothing to detract from his attractiveness.

"Jesus Christ... are you actually Tony Stark? Or am I hallucinating?" The guy asked quietly.

"I was hoping you wouldn't recognize me." Tony wrinkled his nose as he admitted.

"That's either a scathing comment on your perception of the general public's intellect or humility which absolutely does not go with the reputation that precedes you," the guy scoffed.

Huh... he's sharp and quick Tony thought.

"A little bit of both. The hat usually, miraculously works." Tony explained

"Don't judge me but I've had an entire wall dedicated to your face ever since your first Rolling Stone cover... the hat wasn't gonna work on me."

"That's a lot to unpack from a stranger"

"I'm Peter Parker."

"You know who I am."

Peter's face split into an overjoyed smile when Tony said that. It was a ridiculous 'only in New York' kinda thing to find yourself in the same booth as Iron Man in your local pub and Peter really needed this after the day he'd had. He was still completely terrified that at any moment Tony would accuse him of being Spiderman and make him sign the accords but he was also gonna let himself relax and enjoy meeting his hero a little.

"I'm not a billionaire expert but shouldn't you be drinking at a much upper scale place than this?" As amazed as he was, Peter was also perplexed by Tony's presence in the pub.

"There's a lot about me that absolutely does not go with the reputation that precedes me. You just admitted to me that you have a wall dedicated to my face and then brushed past it like it was nothing..." Tony said, incredulous.

"You're pretty, you're an amazing scientist, you build robots and are a superhero because of a badass armour you made that can fly. I'm a nerd and bisexual, it's is nothing, just nature basically," Peter waved him off as he started to pour the whiskey for them.

Surprisingly enough Tony's cheeks were a little flushed by the time Peter looked up, which made him think that maybe there isn't much accurate about the reputation that precedes Tony Stark.

"Hmm... who did that to your face?" Tony asked about the shiner Peter was sporting.

"Umm... a girl was getting mugged, I tried to play hero, you should see the other guy as the saying goes" Peter shrugged.

"Wow good for you... could've ended badly though." Tony's chest was unexpectedly and rather worryingly tight hearing about the danger Peter had been in.

"I know... I lost a loved one to a mugging gone wrong but the girl needed help, I didn't really have a choice."

It was like hearing those words was the straw that broke the camel's back for Tony. Because he completely understood what Peter meant. Tony never really felt like he had a choice either and whether or not Peter was ready to have a lot of information about the Avengers and his 'face wall' buddy Iron Man's wretched life choices, he was gonna be vented at like there was no tomorrow. Because Stark men don't go to therapy, they drink and speak very fast at unsuspecting civilians.

So Tony talked and Peter listened, about how the star spangled man with a plan is a fucking douchebag, how fucking hurt he felt that Nat, Clint and Wanda would still choose him over Tony, how he hasn't been able to look Rhodey in the eye since Germany and probably never will be, how easily things fell apart with Pepper even after he tried so hard, how the winter soldier fucking killed his mom and fucking spangles hid it from him, how he probably deserved it because that poor kid that got killed in Sokovia because of him... and as Tony talked he also drank so he was feeling pretty buzzed by the time he was done talking thankfully Peter was drinking right along with him.

It wasn't really a conversation, rather Iron Man just venting to him... he did notice a pattern though, everything Tony complained about, he tied up the line of thought with ultimately blaming himself for it.

Peter had always felt a certain kinship with the guy... but this man telling him how helpless his power had made him to the massive responsibility that came along with it, hit too close to home.

"Are you always this self loathe-y or is this just a today thing?" Peter asked when Tony stopped talking

"What? I don't... what?"

"Buddy... Captain America, if he really did to you what you say he did... then who gives a shit? He's an asshole. And I'm not even a supporter of the accords but even I think that the Rogues could have handled it in a better way...

No seriously, there's way more enhanced folks in this country than just the Avengers, some of them are minors, there's a dude in Hells Kitchen who is gonna sue the government and the UN so that the registration thing is scrapped, Charles Xavier and his team are even collaborating on the lawsuit.

Those people could have really used Captain America with them on this but he was too busy playing Rambo and violating other countries' sovereignty and beating the living shit out of Iron Man apparently.

I mean for a genius, you're a dumbass because you let the people who once tried to nuke Manhattan convince you that you're more dangerous than they are but you had 'dead-kid-in-Sokovia' guilt. So I get it but c'mon cut yourself some slack."

Tony was a bit flabbergasted by the kid's performance.

"Of course you'd say it... you stick my pictures on your wall," Tony grumbled

"Oh hell no! You will not use my stan status against me. I know exactly how problematic my fav is. I know your family made their fortune selling weapons and not just to the US Military and I know you only gave a crap about the under the table dealing with terrorists when they threatened your life but I'm sorry Mr. Stark if you deny yourself the credit for learning from your mistakes then every human everywhere is going straight to hell.

Intellicrops prevented famines... the arc reactor technology is saving the planet from global warming...

I saw that video of Helena Cho with those acid attack victims in India and openly weeped in a Starbucks...

You really did privatize world peace... there's a reason the biggest threat to us now is "evil aliens" you know... cause' what the fuck chance does ISIS have against War Machine? Even that Mandarin thing turned out to be a hoax.

I have 3 patents because of my Maria Stark Foundation grant and I didn't even get the MIT-full funding ones... one day one of those kids is going to cure cancer and it's going to be because of you.

So of course I'll defend you man... but you don't seem to realize that any decent person would." Peter was pretty pleased with himself after that and shot Tony an eyebrow raise as if daring him to disagree.

"I got nothing."

"Of course you don't." Peter grinned.

Maybe Tony had just isolated himself too much from people who didn't consider him a complete and utter asshole.

But with Peter it didn't even feel like praise... it was like the guy was scolding him for being too mean to himself.

It felt nice nonetheless.

Before Tony had even recovered from Peter's glorious rant, the younger guy handed him a business card with the words "Daily Bugle" embossed on it.

"Don't hold my gossip rag workplace against me... it's easy money and I'm only doing it till Norman Osbourne starts paying me for the work I already do for him." Peter shrugged

"You're with Oscorp? What do you do? Why not SI?" If he had scored an internship with Oscorp and a grant from his own foundation then he must be good enough for SI.

"I'm R&D chemical engineering and I'm not at SI because your recruiters are assholes who demand 3 years experience for a beginner position..." said Peter matter of factly.

"You should apply with us again." Tony insisted, the guy had 3 patents and very sharp, after tonight the least Tony could do was get him a job.

"You should call me." Peter countered

"I- wait are you hitting on me?" And much to Tony's chagrin, he found himself blushing again.

"Yeah duh Mr. Stark."

"I'm old enough to be your father." Tony sputtered and that hurt to admit.

"And I have insane daddy issues- you'll love me. I'm not even gonna ask you for a selfie... you don't look your best right now but definitely call me." Peter winked as he started to leave.

"You're fucking negging me?!" said Tony looking up at the ballsy kid as he slid out of the booth.

"Hey you miss 100% of the shots you don't take. Gandhi said that." The kid called over his shoulder as he walked away.

"Gandhi absolutely did not say that Peter." Tony yelled back.

God he was gonna call the guy.

Read part 2 here, part 3 here

[bearsfakedthemoonlanding]

Lover Boy

since so much of my dysphoria has to do with other people’s perceptions of me, i spent a lot of time exploring myself while on the arms of other people.  i’ll talk about them at length later, but for now i want to talk about her.

she said to write about us, and well.  i’ll do anything she asks of me.

i’m nineteen years old and we’re in my freshman year dorm room.  at the beginning of the school year our small cluster of three had gone about picking up people wherever we could find them, dragging them along with us and watching them decide to stick around or drop away.  there were a lot of nights sitting on that dorm room floor with a small crowd of people, giggling over some card game or bottle of alcohol, daring each other to tell secrets and exchange kisses.  

is it crazy to admit i don’t remember if we ever kissed, back then? 

those were good days.  i liked our friends, and i liked the down time.  i liked being so far away from home and so far out of my parent’s sight.

while a number of our evenings were spent with a whole crew of us, laughing and screaming and being rowdy into the night, and even more significant number of nights were spent with just a handful.  the original three of us, sometimes an extra here and there, but when i think back to those nights my memories dance with her.

just her, always an arm lengths away.  she would let herself in and sit on my bed, lounge on my floor, take up space on the bean bag.  it didn’t matter what i was getting up to, when she knocked i’d let her in, and we’d be there together quietly

i’m nineteen years old, and my long distance girlfriend has been slowly building up towards breaking up with me for months now.  i can feel it coming, like watching a tsunami roll in in slow motion, too in shock to do anything, just frozen in dread. 

things are crashing down around me, and there we are in my dorm room. i don’t remember what series of events led to us being so comfortable, but by this point it wasn’t strange to find us pressing against each other’s sides or lounging in each other’s laps.  it was purely platonic, back then.  nothing but young, giddy innocence.  we’re on the floor with a group of other’s around us, and i’m either drunk or i’m tired, but i’ve sagged over sideways.  my head is pillowed on her thigh, and suddenly her fingers are in my hair.  petting, combing, nails scratching gently against my scalp and i realize.

oh no.

the guilt eats away at me, the idea that i could have a crush on anyone while dating anyone else, but as the relationship continues to crumble and buckle under the weight of our distance and a lot of childish mistakes, everything comes to a head. 

we all separate for summer vacation, and my girlfriend and i separate for good.  i go home for the summer, mopey and heartbroken, but the entire three months i’m away my phone continues to chime.

we’re still taking up space in each other’s lives. i’m happy to have made a friend.

i used to not understand her.  she was hard to read, distant, very reserved with her feelings.  in sophomore year once i was in her dorm room when our friend-- her roommate-- received terrible news.  our friend broke down, and i watched the panic that flitted over Her face as she stared.

i’d never seen her helpless before.  she was so collected. so in control of herself.  she stared at our friend crying and had no idea what to do, and i shouldn’t have found it charming, but well.  anything she does is charming to me.  has been for quite a while.

sophomore year was spent clinging to those same old friends and hesitantly making news ones, while also making quite a few mistakes.  a friend offers me THC chocolate, and one moment i’m sitting there bored waiting for the drug to kick in, the next i look down and see three sets of hands in my own lap.

she doesn’t seem to mind as i cling to her, burying my face in the crook of her neck and hanging off of her arm while she carries on a conversation i cant even begin to keep up with.  every so often i hold my wrist out to her and ask to her to check my pulse-- i’ve never felt my heart beat like this before.

she bares it patiently and assures me every time that i’m fine, no frustration, no irritation, just fine. always, continuously fine.

i’m twenty-two and it’s valentine’s day, and i don’t know why, but she’s been sad for months.  i’ve memorized our routines, gotten used to her once-a-semester breakdown (always just a week or two before finals, and always bouncing right back afterwards.  it was easier to track her emotional state than it was mine).  but senior year was different.  she hit hard and didn’t bounce back, and by now we were best friends.  i wanted to do something nice for her.

it was selfish in a way.  i knew she didn’t reciprocate feelings, but i couldn’t give up the hope of changing her mind, couldn’t resist the temptation of offerings and gestures.  a kiss to the side of the head. lending her my sweater.  an arm wrapped around shoulders. a small bouquet of roses on her desk with a carefully written note.

she bore it all patiently.  our entire college career, i was convinced that she was just bearing me patiently. i went through phases and feelings and drama in an endless tumble of activity, always changing, always something, and she was steadfast.  laying in my bed and listening to whatever i had to say, let me talk and talk, rarely as affected by anything as i was.

it was both easy and impossible to love someone so steady.

the first time we shared a bed, we were sophomores in college.  early that fall semester we’d gotten far more tangible with each other, picking up where we left off and continuing to sitting on laps and leaning into each other’s sides. 

i wasn’t quiet about my feelings, dropping hints whenever it seemed appropriate, until a mutual friend asked us outright. they said we would be cute together, asked if we would date.

no, she said. she was straight. 

i took several steps back.

but while i wrestled my feelings back under control and carefully reigned in my behaviors, nothing in her demeanor changed.  still wrapping herself around my arm, leaning into my side, laying on top of me, starting up fights.  we spent so many nights throwing each other around on dorm room beds, fighting and wrestling, and i resorted to tickling while she nipped at my fingers and dug her nails into me skin.  we laughed ourselves breathless.  i was endlessly baffled by it.

but friends could be close, i assured myself. friends could be tangible, could be physically affectionate.  there was nothing wrong with it. 

when she tells the story, she says i asked her over.  i wasn’t feeling well. i don’t remember.  but she came over in her pajamas and curled up in my bed.  my roommate was away, and the lights in the dorm room were on.  she was tucked into my side, nestled under my arm, and by the time i realized she was asleep i was too petrified to move and break the spell. i was convinced that if she woke, she’d go away.  

we slept with the lights on, me hyperaware of every sensation even in cat naps, until my alarm went off in the morning and i hesitantly retracted myself from her arms and made my way off to class.  

she stayed in my bed all morning, made friends with my roommate when she returned.  they would grow to be incredibly close, become best friends, and i would spend the next several months ruminating on that night. 

in december i confess, tell her my feelings, that she’s the most amazing person i’ve ever met and that nobody else makes me happier.  she politely declines, says she can’t love me Like That.  I reel myself back in, having done all that I can, and spend my free moments thinking about that evening and trying not to stare every time she steals my clothes and wears them out in public.

best friends, i told myself, and it was fine.

junior year was terrible for both of us.  while i tangled myself up with somebody terrible, she grew more and more distant and declined every invitation to hang out with us.  i let him monopolize my free time, meaning there was little time that i spent with her.

do you know how ridiculous it is to spend a whole relationship missing somebody else? 

regardless of all that, she was the first person i told.  we took a long walk the night after it happened, wandering around campus as we were keen to do.  she was wearing my clothes.  we found ourselves on the top of the parking garage, and i confessed two things.

i lost my virginity, and i think i might be bisexual.

she laughed, not meanly, and i had been so terribly afraid she’d be mad at me. i wasn’t sure why i needed her approval so strongly.  she was there the first night, 

and five months later for the break up, she was there again

we spent a long time wandering around campus late at night, neither of us speaking as i waited for her to piece her words together.  this wasn’t anything new.  i’d become quite accustomed to this particular brand of communication, and i would have waited contentedly all night long for her to figure out what she wanted to say. i still would. 

we walked through campus, but unlike other times, the longer we went the more she grew visibly upset.  visibly upset wasn’t ever her forte.  she was so cool, so calm, so reserved and careful with her emotions.  they were nobody else’s business.

she shoved her phone into my hands, and she was crying as she demanded i read it.  the shake in her voice sticks vividly in my memory.  she’d never cried before, not in front of me. i read the whole terrible thing on her phone-- a love letter to her from the boy i was dating, an exchange of messages, him bullying her into meeting-- and while i knew i should have felt heartbreak and betrayal over him, all i could feel was anger for her

he had made her cry

me, well. he could do anything to me. i’d accepted no small number of terrible treatment from him, but he had made her cry.  he’d made her afraid.  he knew what she meant to me, and he’d done it all anyways.

she followed me around for hours afterwards, letting me build myself up to a shouting, ranting rage as i called the arrangement off.  let me talk and talk and listened patiently as i said nothing of any importance, pulled me back gently when i kicked at a wall and buzzed close at my elbow as i sagged onto a frozen concrete bench.

she’d been scared of losing me. i was scared of the fallout of telling him ‘no.’ but i had her back again, stuck to my side, and it was so. so comfortable.

she used to talk about “when we were older.” make up elaborate scenarios of us both being professors, of us teasing the students with rumors of a romance that didn’t exist.  talked about living together, convincing everyone we were married in some elaborate prank.  she talked about our children, first as separate entities-- her children and my own-- but it wasn’t long before our fictional families morphed into one and they just became Ours.

i talked about being old folks together in the same nursing home, and she agreed.

best friends, we called it.  i was so scared that if i didn’t stick a label on it, it would cease to exist at all.

twenty-two years old and we’re in our shared dorm room.  i’ve come back from class or work. she hasn’t gotten out of bed. 

i don’t realize she’s shirtless until i’m already falling on top of her blankets, and by then its too late to turn back.

it’s no strange thing in our senior year for our roommates to return and find us sprawled out on top of each other, both under and over the covers, arms wrapped snuggly around waists, noses tucked against throats.  we’d spend hours tangled up in each other, holding conversations with the others as if nothing was out of the ordinary. 

we called it best friends.

this day it’s still daylight, and no one is home, and she’s nearly naked under the covers and i’m wearing gym shorts and a t-shirt as i lay on top of her.  a sheet separates us.  neither of us acknowledges the situation.  she curls up against my side as if this is ordinary, and i wrap my arms around her.  we lay together, there, for hours. 

we call it best friends.

in the car in the dark we talk about god.

i don’t talk about god with anyone.  i’m queer and my family is conservative.  the church that raised me left a lot of tender areas that never quite healed right when i grew up.  even now, 900 miles from home and two years removed from the church, i think back on things and feel the cold fist of fear coil tight in my chest.

i don’t like being so angry.

but we’re in the car in the dark and we talk about god.  we’re several days into our cross-country road trip, just the two of us, and while i’d been afraid that so much time alone in the front seat together would lead us to resent each other, we’ve done nothing but kept comfortable companionship the whole time.  like we always had.

of course, though. we were best friends.

we’re moving her to new york city.  we’ve just grabbed dinner at a small diner in nebraska-- the restaurant had been a bizarre sort of gambling den, but outside of the darkened room next to us, we were alone.  i let myself imagine she loved me, held her hand in front of the waitress and made a modest show to paying the bill and holding the door.  we split a desert.  we laughed the whole meal.  the waitress couldn’t have cared less, though i felt like i was getting away with something.

we’re in the truck and we talk about god and i’m relieved to hear she doesn’t renounce the idea entirely.  

quickly into the drive exhaustion sets in.  i feel dizzy and delirious, and when i nearly drive us off the road in a tragic attempt at merging back onto the interstate, she calmly takes the wheel and sets us right again.  unshakeable, always. i am endlessly impressed with her. 

i spend the rest of the evening thinking about holding her hand over the center console while sappy, romantic country songs play on the radio and put fog in my eyes.  i don’t, though.  we’re just best friends.

when we park for the night outside of a walmart, i curl up in the drivers seat and imagine we cleared out the back, crowded together in the back seat and slept in each other’s arms.  she was less than a foot away in the passenger seat. i missed her.

the summer between junior and senior year she confessed in a roundabout way.  we were best friends, she said in a several page letter on my phone’s screen.  and she loved me.  she wished she could love me like that, but she couldn’t. 

i paced the fields miserably and showed the phone to my mom, who’d gotten better over the years about talking about my romances, homosexual or otherwise.  she’d warmed up to this one quickly, had probably seen it coming from day one. 

it can’t be like that, the confession said, and i believed it wholeheartedly.

and then senior year it came again. i love you, but not like that.  it can’t be like that.  we can’t be like that.

it was april, late april. we graduated in a month and then i’d be losing her forever.  i figured i had nothing left to lose. 

i asked her on a date.

she asked me why.

i figured we might as well try it, just to say that we did.  she agreed. i thought so hard and so long about kissing her that evening-- after going out to dinner, and exploring old antique shops, playing around in a casino we were both too poor to even look at, mocking the glistening marble tile, running down the strip to the roller coaster that had become our tradition. 

she caught my hand and held it, and we were clumsy with each other, trying to figure out how to match pace and settle into a rhythm. 

i didn’t kiss her that night. we got alcoholic slushies and made our way home, and inside our dorm room were both of our roommates, who had no idea what we’d been up to. 

i figured it was over, that was it.  i didn’t make the big move and it had all come to an end. i flopped hopelessly onto my bed while listening to my friends talk, and then just like an old habit, she nudged me over to make room and pressed herself into my side.

the two of us accompanied our roommates on countless double dates.  they were dating and very wrapped up in each other, but they always offered to take us along.  they liked big events.  liked group activities.  

we rented a hotel room for her twenty-first birthday, and we went to see the chippendales boys.  our male friend elected to stay behind, and my other roommate and i found ourselves absolutely unimpressed with the show while my love stared wide eyed.  

she cheered along with the other women in the crowd and thoroughly enjoyed the show, and even though she sat there with her knee pressed against mine under the table, and her eyes sparkling any time she turned to smile at me, i felt hope slipping through her fingers. 

i was still a girl then, and had been clinging to the idea a bit more firmly that evening.  i wanted to look nice. i wore a dress, something that showed my chest and my waist and my legs, and she was wrapped up in these men on stage, and i felt absolutely disgusting.

the four of us slept in one bed that night, all curled up together in a way we would do several more times before the end of the school year.  in the morning me and her awoke alone to find a note, on of them had felt ill and they had decided to split early.  we curled up together in their absence and stayed there as long as the hotel would allow.

she’s in my childhood home.  it shouldn’t feel as intimate as it did, but it felt like every ‘fake dating/take them home for christmas’ fanfiction i had ever read.  she laughed with my parents, sat on the couch.  besides my mother, my family is terribly homophobic, and armed with this knowledge she let me rebel against them by pressing against her side, putting my arm around her shoulders, sending cheesy, doughy smiles her way.

she wasn’t afraid of anything, and i realize as i write this-- she’s always been willing to appease me.  always gone along with my nonsense.  i don’t know what i did to deserve this. 

guess its what best friends are for.

that night we’re in my childhood bedroom, squeezed together in my twin bed, and everything feels odd. we lay there on our backs, shoulder to shoulder, and we say nothing.  until the tension begins to break me, and i roll over and say fuck it. what are we doing. come here.  

she sleeps against my chest. my parents are in the next room. i don’t know if they suspect anything, but our actions were nothing but innocent anyways-- abominable by nature or otherwise.  they leave us be.

it is odd to wake up with her in my bedroom.

the air is frozen and bitter.  we’ve been out of school for five months, haven’t seen each other in nearly that long, but here she is again.  back in my hometown.  she’s holding my hand. 

i lend her a jacket and scarf and we drive two miles in the dark to a haunted house.  we wander the fair grounds, and as we make our way through the trail of boy scouts leaping out in masks trying to scare us shitless, she clings onto my arm for dear life and lets me pretend to be brave.

it’s bitingly cold, because it’s november first in indiana and the snow has started to fall.  her hand is burning warm where it holds mine in my pocket, and her breath is warm when she leans in and presses against me.  her breath puffs against my neck.  my nose is frozen when i press it to her cheek. 

we’re best friends.

we spend four long days wasting away in a motel room together, watching terrible tv shows and touching as much as the confines of our relationship will allow.  in the mornings i wake up first, but when i begin to stir she whines and pulls me close, spooning against my back and wrapping her arms tight around my middle. she presses her back between my shoulder blades and doesn’t let me move.

we get drunk in an empty bar and spend long hours talking and laughing and smiling at each other. 

we wrestle, and any time one of us wins and pins the other, we freeze uncertainly, not sure what else we’re supposed to do. 

i drive her to the airport so she can return home, and when we hug goodbye in the parking lot she presses a kiss to the side of my neck before she disappears.  i can’t feel my hands as i drive to a diner and sit numbly in a booth, fending off tears and making myself sick on greasy food, trying not to think too hard about anything.

it’s july.  we bit the bullet four months ago and have been romancing each other properly ever since, even with the long distance separating us.

over a year prior, when i had asked her to change my pronouns, i’d been terrified.  eighteen months before that, when i’d come out as bisexual to her on that parking garage, i’d been shaking.  i’m more confident now, though, as i ask how she feels about me starting testosterone.

it’s a change that will affect her too, i figure.  she deserves to know about major changes with the person she’s dating.  it could affect a lot.  our future, our children, our reputation, our sex life. 

she is unconcerned. she’s wonderfully supportive, but at the same time cavalier.  i shouldn’t be surprised. she’s cavalier about almost everything.

less so, now that we’re no longer holding back with each other, but her poker face remains infinitely better than my own.  my own responses to things seem like melodrama compared to her unaffected calm.

i’m worried she isn’t thinking it through thoroughly, worried she might not actually care.  

a week later a letter appears in the mail.  it’s three pencil drawings, a little damp from a sudden downpour shortly after it was delivered.  three images of a naked figure-- one with smooth limbs, delicate curves, breasts, thin arms and shoulders.  another with harder lines, denser limbs, thick hair decorating the legs and lower abdomen and neck and jaw.  and a drawing in the middle of a figure with hair on their legs and tape binding their chest

and the weight of the gesture is enough to draw tears out of me. 

the drawings are tacked to my wall now, and as i reflect on the past five years of knowing her, i still can’t piece together how i have gotten so impossibly lucky to earn her love.

if i was writing this at any time other than midnight with only four hours of sleep, i might be able to put it more eloquently.  but there were things that i needed to express.  how absolutely and utterly in love i am.  how amazingly she treats me.  how comfortable we are, and have been, for such a long time.  i don’t mind how long it has taken us to get here.  i think the journey here was all part of it.

if you’re looking to date anyone, find them on the floor of your freshman dorm. stick to them, patiently.  learn all of the ways that they care for you.  you really ought to date your best friend.

[the-age-of-aquaria-blog]

Blue Mornings

It was six am and Benjamin had one eye open. He was usually a sound sleeper and nothing short of an earthquake could wake him before eight, but he found himself sleepless. All the remnants of last night starting to stir up inside him like silt in a river, flushing the length of his nerves and veins, settling heavy in his stomach. There, on the sofa in his living room he lay with Sebastian asleep on him. It was nothing out of the ordinary. Sebastian was his best friend and he was staying with him for a few days. The TV was still on from last night, breakfast news now, the volume too low to hear. He should turn that off In case it disturbed Sebastian and roused him from his slumber. Benjamin couldn’t move. He didn’t want to move because time was sweeping on, moving in a big arc with the sun. Not much left for this; the warmth of Sebastian’s body and the way Benjamin’s arm rest possessively across his shoulders, holding him against his chest. It was the best feeling in the world but thinking about it now made him nervous.

But soon Sebastian would wake up, soon he’d be telling him how it was nice that, a bit of fun but it was a mistake. Just something that happens within the blurred boundaries of night when Benjamin could’ve been anyone. Sebastian following a feeling hitched in him like tugging on a rope. Like a blind animal instinct. Benjamin was already rehearsing what he’d say, how he’d be - calm, steady and appropriate. How he’d tell Sebastian it was alright. He was right, he was. It’s better to be friends. You don’t know what’s on the other side do you? Can’t just get in to it like jumping off a cliff and hoping for the best, hoping there were no sharp rocks to dash yourself on and anyway the view from up here is beautiful. He tried to convince himself that he believed the words he was planning to say to his friend.

 The morning came like the tide, like the rising flood to sweep away the sofa in oceans of blue grey light. Through all the watchful hours Benjamin had waited, dozing fitfully, Sebastian still there, head on Benjamin’s chest and his expression squished between comic and open-mouthed vulnerable. His arm a dead-weight across Benjamin’s stomach as Benjamin’s mouth got dry and he regretted the sixth, the seventh pint. Headache rolling in like the dawn, throbbing as the birds started haranguing each other. It was June and the summer had been unfolding itself, soaking every drop of sun out the big northern sky. The light was coming on now, teasing, promising what a fine day it was going to be if only Benjamin would get off the sofa. He could try again but something held him back in his place, but he finally managed to extract himself.

In the kitchen he walked slowly, aimlessly, opening cabinets with no sense of what he was looking for, rubbing his back, head feeling fragile and papery. He’d left Sebastian on the sofa, on his front, arm caught under his body in a way that’d probably hurt when he woke up but Benjamin didn’t dare move him. Just watched him for a minute, like he was taking his fill of that too. Benjamin opened the back door and sat on the doorstep, looking out on the garden, the shifting light climbing the fence, marching through blades of grass. Sebastian was going to wake up, he was going to come in to the kitchen and Benjamin could already feel the excruciating awkwardness of it, spread through the pins of his shoulder blades, gathered and hunched there. His feet rest on the cool concrete, behind his back, for now, only the empty kitchen. The provisional quiet, cupboards, sink, cooker, table and chairs filling the space in their own way but no Sebastian. Not yet. Just now, just at this moment there was time to hold it all inside himself; the brush of their lips against each other, the stumbling hesitant start, how his cold fingers had made Sebastian shiver up under his t-shirt. You could catch your breath on a feeling like that. He stretched his legs out to touch grass wet with dew, it couldn’t be later than seven am.

When Benjamin was twenty-six he’d made Sebastian a mix tape. It wasn’t even a mix tape, it was a mix-CD, that was the problem. It wasn’t like when he was a teenager, not like the old days, the devotional whirring of the tape deck, the manual labor of pressing buttons with a satisfying mechanical click, getting a perfect pause between tracks. Run it on, wind it back. Even better if you used a record player, all that delicate hovering, timed needle drop and hit record. Dragging and ordering mp3 files into a playlist you ended up feeling like really you’d made nothing at all. Not surprising then that Sebastian had reacted the way he did, with a sort of polite bafflement, oh, thanks Ben.  Benjamin couldn’t remember why he’d even done it or why it seemed so important to give him something, like he was trying to make something manifest. How Sebastian made him feel dislocated somehow. How he’d talk to him and then after not quite remember what they’d been talking about, but he’d think about his strong freckly arms and it would make a kind of sense. You could be bisexual even you’d not often heard anyone say the word out loud. Maybe it was like with Sebastian, looking was enough until it wasn’t, like surfacing and taking big gulps of air, only so long you can keep your head under water.

 Benjamin was up now. Up and dragging parts of last night around the kitchen with him. The first part; Sebastian driving him home, thoughts of how he shouldn’t drink around him, it only made it worse - the wanting. Watching Sebastian’s face as he drove, light sluicing across it from passing cars or streetlights, yellow and orange and making running shadows. It had been raining and Sebastian’s body was held slightly taught, narrow shoulders and careful, clever hands on the wheel. Drinking dulled the guilt Benjamin would feel sober, flattened it right out and left him alone with all his helpless scurrying feelings. The second part; falling asleep on the sofa together watching football and waking the wrong side of midnight to eerie flickering TV light and Sebastian’s head heavy on his shoulder. He’d carefully nudged Sebastian up, whispering hey, Sebastian, wake up. Sebastian had slowly lifted his head and he’d looked that beautiful just then, on the cusp of waking, like a faint transmission filtering in, getting stronger and more distinct. The magic of some jumpy little in-between state in Sebastian’s soft mouth and his sleepy eyes. So Benjamin had kissed him. Gently, so aware of every sound, the TV, Sebastian’s breathing, his own.

 In the kitchen he leant against the countertop, stirring milk into coffee, watching a bird on the fence out in the garden and thinking about the third part. Kissing, the taste of Sebastian’s mouth and t-shirt almost off and half-asleep we were, got all tangled up. Stirring his coffee and thinking what if I went back in and kissed him awake? But also thinking god I’ve embarrassed myself enough for one day.

***

Sebastian came in eventually, inevitably, shuffling feet when the sun had snuck up higher, quiet as a church mouse and wrapped in the blanket off the sofa. Quiet enough that Benjamin - returned to his back doorstep - didn’t realize until Sebastian was right behind him, startling him. He couldn't quite make his face settle into one expression, jittery heartbeat and words coming out like he’d rarely spoken before.

‘Oh! Sebastian.’

‘Well identified,’ Sebastian said, sitting down. Sat right next to him, close enough that his knee pressed to Benjamin’s, looking at him and smiling, little half-smile, the blanket up around his shoulders protectively, considering.

In the garden the bees were waking, buzzing in their wavery way from flower to flower. Later on in the day they’d be wobbling, making drunken laden loops.

Benjamin nudged him.

‘You want some coffee?’ he said quietly, waving his mug, eyes slowly slipping the perfect long line of Sebastian’s nose to his mouth. Sebastian shook his head.

‘I’m alright for now.’

He nudged Benjamin back and stayed there, almost but not quite leaning against him.

‘So-’ Sebastian said and he was grinning at Benjamin now, ‘last night.’ He raised his eyebrow. Big beautiful smile he had, Benjamin sort of dazed and worried in equal measure. Those long eyelashes too, huge eyes, everything made Benjamin feel sticky and stupid. All those greedy looks he’d been taking at Sebastian’s face.

‘God, yeah, sorry- ’ Benjamin said quickly, smiling back a bit helplessly.

Sebastian shook his head, big grin still. ‘No. Last night you said you were a bit in love with us but didn’t have to do anything about it.’

Benjamin slowly lowered his head to his knees, blood draining and pooling rapidly in his feet as Sebastian started to laugh. ‘Oh God -’ he mumbled.

‘No! Oh no, Ben, I thought that was sweet of you, that was, very considerate-’ Benjamin felt Sebastian’s arm come to rest on his shoulders, drawing the blanket around him, pulling him in, ‘I do enjoy being propositioned in a very polite way.’ Sebastian was still laughing.

‘Can you not just go away and leave me to my shame?’ Benjamin said into his knees, laughing too in spite of himself. But Sebastian was leaning in, laughing and pressing his nose against Benjamin’s cheek.

‘You’re an idiot,’ he said quietly and Benjamin nodded, heart sputtering as Sebastian carefully kissed his cheek then his temple.

‘I am,’ Benjamin said, Sebastian’s hand stroking his back and Benjamin was lifting his head slowly to Sebastian’s quickening breath. Sebastian kissed his forehead and he felt like he was sinking, giving in but pulling back just in time to remember:

‘The neighbours,’ He gestured vaguely across the way to the houses overlooking his garden and Sebastian pulled the blanket up over both their heads, trapping them in a stale darkness. Benjamin laughed, hands on Sebastian’s body to orientate himself, finding his face and a sharp breath in when Sebastian kissed his fingers.

‘Not sure this looks any less suspicious,’ Benjamin mumbled, stroking Sebastian’s jaw, stubble scratching his fingers.

‘Don’t care. Not our fault your neighbours have got dirty minds.’ Benjamin could hear the smile in his voice, he felt full of cracks, open and tender with light. Sebastian kissed him then, plucking any last settlings of anxiety right out of his body. Firm and pressing him up against the doorframe, hard line aching his back and their fast breathing dragging the oxygen from the air until Benjamin felt dizzy with it. Tugged the blanket off their heads on to the kitchen floor, Sebastian’s face appearing, all wide eyed and flushed.

Not like Benjamin had never noticed how good looking Sebastian was before but he’d always tried to make it stay in the part of his mind for neutral observations. The knowledge kept creeping out though. When Sebastian was in his kitchen, holding a glass of orange juice and now it was summer the evening light could just skip across him, hit the glass and set it to glow. Leaning more on one leg than the other. That freckle he had on his cheek like a map marker, come right here and kiss me. He should’ve. He knew that now, hindsight, twenty-twenty, all that. And then it crept out in public when Sebastian was horsing around, the way he could just bend everything around him, make everyone keep the same manic beat. Even someone as determinedly dour as Benjamin. Most of all it was there in the gaps, in all of what was lurking beneath the surface, all the soft-bellied vulnerability. The doubts and the flickering.

 But here they were and Sebastian was back on his sofa and Sebastian was saying how actually he’d always liked Benjamin. Looked up to him but also collected his praise and attention like going through their conversation with a metal detector, pulling great treasures and mundane artifacts out of the soil. Only natural after all that you’d want to go straight to the source. He’d thought about kissing him, actually.

“You don’t have to be surprised that I like you too.”

Benjamin made a dismissive noise and then he kissed Sebastian’s neck. For all that neither of them were particularly fresh from having slept in their clothes, Sebastian tasted good, salt skin and fidgeting nicely under Benjamin’s body. Especially when he kissed the hinge of his jaw.

‘What about-’ Sebastian said, recovering himself, ‘what about that girl you said you were dating a while back?’

‘Shh - shut up,’ Benjamin said grinning and clamping a hand over Sebastian’s mouth. Sebastian kissed his palm and pushed his tongue between Benjamin’s fingers until he took his hand away and pressed his lips against Sebastian’s instead, settling next to him on the sofa. Sebastian stroking his hair back off his face and Benjamin telling him to leave off.

‘It’s in retreat - my hairline - it’s retreating.’

Sebastian shook his head, laughing. ‘No - it’s like very dignified, that.’

‘That’s what happens when you get old. All the grey hair starts coming out and your hairline starts creeping back up your head.’ Benjamin waved his hand as if to indicate the kind of cycle this was working on.

Sebastian held Benjamin's face in both his hands and looked at him in as serious a way as he could manage. ‘I know what you look like. None of this is a surprise to me.’

***

They’d gone to bed eventually, in the worn out middle of the day when it seemed like it might be afternoon forever. Benjamin had shut the curtains and now the sun was raging at the corners in protest at this show of ungratefulness. Sebastian was laid next to him, come to a rest in the crumpled sheets and Benjamin was looking at the ceiling and telling about how he’d always known but he’d never done anything about before, beyond a sort of fitful yearning for the man.

And now it was the way it always was when you’d got someone into your bed. Benjamin was trying to close the gap, shift his memories into a new progression to make sense of it. How did we get here? From Sebastian, his friend, lying on the sofa watching a game, restless limbs to this Sebastian, sheet wound half off his body, head dropped to the pillow and hand stroking Benjamin's hair. This Sebastian who he leant to kiss now, who he pressed into the bed bodily, daring bare skin against skin, a wholly different Sunday afternoon. He’d never known fear could ride around in your veins long enough to turn in to raw electricity at the point of contact. The potential for something else, excitement or joy. Joy like the buttery light spread briefly on Sebastian’s body when the curtains were blown about by the wind, slipping his fingers down into the warmth, down low on Sebastian’s belly. Kissing and stopping dizzily to mumble okay? This alright? and Sebastian’s quiet smile and nodding and saying yeah it's good yeah. Sebastian’s body was all map edge, uncharted. Benjamin all pulled into focus like this, every thread of him liable to be examined, trousers unzipped and white thighs and bony knees, every awkward angle. There was no accounting for what someone else would find attractive about you. Sebastian pulling him closer and muttering ‘Me too, you know - last night, what you were saying about being a bit in love with us-’

‘Oh you’re a bit in love with yourself too?’

‘You know what I mean!’

After, Benjamin stopped with his head on Sebastian’s chest, hearing the little thud of his heart echoing through his ribs, stroking his side and Sebastian pressing his lips into Benjamin’s hair and mumbling, ‘Want to eat? I’m hungry. Is it time for dinner yet?’

‘I don’t know,’ Benjamin said while Sebastian scrabbled for his phone on the side table.

‘Near enough,’ he declared. ‘Food? You in?’

‘You going to cook for us?’

‘Yeah, I am actually.’ Sebastian said, looking through his phone.

‘You are?’ Benjamin said, skeptically, raising his head and trying to see what Sebastian was up to on his phone but Sebastian pushed Benjamin’s head back down and held the phone up to his ear.

‘Who’re you calling?’

‘My mom. Hi, can I order two large pizzas? Pepperoni and meat lovers with bell peppers, hold the olives.’

Benjamin laughed and whispered, ‘That’s no way to speak to your mom!’ And Sebastian stroked his hair and went about ordering two large pizzas.

Behind the curtains the sun showed no sign of giving up its grab for attention, although there was a sense of rain on the way, something carried on the wind. It probably wasn’t quite time for dinner. The game was almost over and the excitement had come to a climax, then dipping as the final goal was scored. The sounds of the crowd were sifting through the air. Benjamin lay back on the bed and pulled Sebastian up against him, kissed Sebastian’s head and let his eyes slowly shut. It was fine, he’d wake up in time to stumble downstairs and get the pizzas or else Sebastian would.

‘Don’t go to sleep,’ he mumbled but Sebastian didn’t really reply, just tightened his arms around Benjamin, and Benjamin thought he could hear the sound of a particularly stupid bee who had managed to navigate the curtains and was now buzzing around low to the floor. And he lay there, holding Sebastian, ungodly happy and working up the energy to rescue it, while outside it started to gently rain.

NOTE: If you liked this story and want to support my work so I can do more, please either support me on Ko-Fi or on my Patreon 

[countarganan]

The Royal Arrangement: Interested?

@ribbedxgloves

Note: Arganan wonders if he should pursue a new relationship. (Had to throw this under a cut because of how long it got)

“One, two, three, four...yes, there we go. See how your feet are more pointed now? You just need to maintain that throughout the dance. Think about gliding, rather than stepping through.”

Arganan nodded as he maintained hold with his current instructor, one Lukas Usbeorn. “Understood.” His voice came out softer than he hoped, but then again, he was the student right now. Lukas was the one that took the lead. The younger man offered him a grin, before continuing to  lead him in their foxtrot.

Lukas was...an unexpected gift, in a way. After Arganan came back to Lazulis alone, to prepare for the ball celebrating his niece’s engagement to one Jirall Rambaldt, he was low in spirit. Given how he’d reunited with Ulysses, and then Ulysses seemed to leave as soon as he came, he knew in his heart that he was grieving. Tahirah knew about the two of them being together, as well as Ulysses’ departure due to him wishing to try to stop the Gurak from warring on Lazulis, but a potential future war seemed inevitable at this point. It was just as a matter of when it would happen, hence why Arganan was working much harder to get Calista’s marriage to Jirall pulled off as soon as possible. The Rambaldt family’s close ties with the Empire’s mainland would certainly be helpful, should war come to Lazulis. Arganan was confident that Lazulis’ forces were strong, including the famed Lazulis Cannon they used to ward off enemies for so long now, but it never hurt to have allies.

Given that Calista was engaged and that meant future parties to celebrate her engagement to Jirall (and eventually marriage), Arganan needed to keep up some amount of dance practice. Lucky for him, Lukas was passing through Lazulis when Arganan heard of the man’s excellent dance expertise. Apparently Lukas used to be a stablehand for Tahirah, numerous years ago, and Arganan couldn’t help but wonder about the change in career since then. Lukas had simply explained, at the time, that he had to leave his stablehand position due to taking care of “family business” outside Melodia, and he figured being a dance instructor was the next best thing he could do when he initially couldn’t find work as a stablehand after the business was taken care of, given the training he did have in dance. Lukas did give a further explanation about why he really was in Lazulis later on, only for Arganan to hear in private, and he knew it made sense. He’d be sticking around for a while, that was for sure.

Lukas was good. Not only was he attentive and critical during their lessons, but also outside of them. He was caring, and polite. And damn, Arganan would be lying if he said he didn’t find the man attractive with the dark eyes and hair of his. Sure, Lukas was probably younger than him. But it wasn’t like he was so young that it would be illegal. Also, he was more than sure the other man was flirting with him half the time, so maybe he had some actual interest in the Count himself as well.

“Hey. You okay?” Arganan blinked, looking Lukas in the eyes. The younger man looked mildly concerned, given the lightly furrowed brows of his.

“I’m fine.” Arganan managed, though he wished he didn’t sound so hoarse right now. 

“You look like you need a break.” Lukas gave him a light pat on the upper right arm. “How ‘bout we sit for a bit and stretch?”

Arganan let him lead him to the nearest chairs, both of them sitting down. Lukas wiped his own forehead with the back of his hand, a slight grin on his face as he looked towards him.

“You know,” he started, stretching his legs out as he spoke, “It’s not often I see a lot of uncles doing their best to be prepped for dancing for their niece’s own engagement and wedding. It’s pretty sweet.”

“Yes...I suppose so. I don’t want to make a fool of myself, when the time comes.” Arganan admitted. Sure, that was a reason Arganan had requested more practice time from Lukas (with additional pay, promise!) but the fact that he could spend more time with Lukas was also a factor.

“Well, I guess that makes sense, too.” Lukas paused, then continued speaking, turning to properly face the older man. “I think your hold is getting there. And your sense of timing is better than when we started...I think you might be ready to start trying the Argentine Tango. It’s like the Tango, but it has  more open position when in-hold, to allow for more elaborate tricks. It’d be a showstopper at a ball.”

“Assuming we do dance with each other at those balls, yes.” Arganan paused, then leaned back in his chair, looking Lukas in the eye. “What kind of dance is that like? Is it anything like the Foxtrot we practiced? Smooth?”

“You could say that.” Lukas leaned in a little, probably a little closer than should be appropriate towards between dance instructor and Count of Lazulis. “And it’s got a lot of intensity, like the standard Tango. But the real essence of it? Passion.”

Oh, fuck. Arganan saw the glint in Lukas’ eyes at the last word. “Passion?”

“Mhm.” He thought Lukas might even be smirking. “Chemistry can make or break a dance like that.” 

Arganan wondered if he should go for a more flirtatious response, or hold back. Then again, it was already publicly known that he was bisexual at this point, due to the whole coming-out dance he had during Azami’s engagement ball, so it probably wouldn’t hurt to push his luck. 

“If that’s the case,” The Count chuckled, “Maybe you can teach me?”

He saw Lukas crack a genuine, curious grin. “Really...?”

Someone cleared their throat, and both men turned to see Calista, Arganan’s niece, standing nearby. She pushed a few strands of silver hair out of her face, before looking towards Lukas. “Apologies for interrupting the lesson, but I’d like to have a word with my uncle, please. Privately.” 

“Er...” Lukas sheepishly chuckled, looking towards the nearby clock on the wall. “Lesson time is about over, anyway. Count, if you don’t mind—I can teach you the Argentine Tango starting tomorrow tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow sounds lovely.” Arganan responded, looking towards him. “In the morning?”

“Nine o’clock, like usual?”

“Yes.”

“Very well. I’ll see you then.” Lukas bowed to the Count and his niece, bidding them farewell before leaving them alone. Calista waited until Lukas was gone from sight, before she looked towards Arganan, who stood to face her properly.

“Uncle.” Calista looked towards him, right in the eye. “You like him, don’t you?”

“What do you mean?” Arganan pushed a few bangs out of his face, frowning.

“You like Lukas.” Calista giggled a bit, putting a hand to her mouth to muffle herself from getting too loud. “And more than him being an instructor.”

“I know that I’m publicly bisexual, Calista,” The Count sighed, then swallowed, “But that doesn’t mean I can be with whoever I want.”

She stared, just a little. “What about Ulysses?”

Frowning, he averted his gaze from hers. The thought of the Gurak Prince made his heart ache. “...You know that’s a sore spot. And to be fair, I didn’t know he was even a Gurak until he revealed himself at the ball. And then he had the audacity to leave me a second time with barely a warning. He’s not worth it.” 

A sigh left Calista, shaking her head a little. “I’m sorry. I just,” She managed to catch eye contact with him again, and he felt one of her hands touch his, “I just want you to be happy with whoever you end up with. And if Lukas makes you happy, then I’m okay with that. That’s what I want you to know.”

Arganan looked towards his niece again, before squeezing her hand, offering her a soft grin. He was glad that she was, at least, supportive of him in this case. It helped him feel a bit more at ease with everything going on. “Thank you...Calista.”

---------

Lukas did his best to push his hair back with both hands, as he walked down the halls of Lazulis Castle. A chuckle escaped him as he fondly recalled the lesson, but as he turned the corner, the sight of someone else made him groan.

“Rafaele...did you really have to show up now?”

“It’s only brief. And for good reason.” The godfather of Countess Tahirah sighed, before looking Lukas in the eye. “I know both my goddaughter and Starling instructed you to keep a close eye on the Count, but I don’t think your increased flirtation is necessary.”

“Look, it’s not that bad.” Lukas raised both hands slightly in surrender, daring to look him in the eye in return. “It’s not like I’ve slept with him or anything on the first day I met him. But let’s face it: He’s interested. And I’m interested. And you know I’d hate to be a tease for too long. Besides, Tahirah would probably support me and him being together.”

“Just be careful, okay?” Rafaele managed, tilting his head slightly. “We have an upcoming war on our hands with the Gurak. I’m just concerned that you and the Count might...rush it and end up hurting each other. Does he even know about what you truly are?”

Lukas faltered, then his gaze lowered to the floor once, before looking up at Rafaele again. “He does. He knows. I haven’t shown him the whole thing, but I told him.” 

“Well...at least you told him before any dramatic reveal.” Rafaele shook his head. “You’ll probably have to show it all off at some point. I just hope, for both your sakes, that he really has enough interest that he likes you for all of you.”

Lukas offered the other a slight grin. “Yeah...I know. But one thing’s for sure—I’m not gonna just ditch him out of the blue. That’s something I can’t fathom.”

“We’ll see.” Rafaele vanished, leaving Lukas alone. The younger man sighed, leaned against the nearest wall.

“We’ll see how it goes, I guess.” I hope the mutual interest works out. It could be really good, I just know it...I just hope it works.

[treehugginglibrarian]

Flags, Offense, and Patriotism: A Primer on Supporting America’s Veterans

Sometime a little over a year ago I wrote a piece about Colin Kaepernick’s tendency to kneel during the National Anthem, and how I really just didn’t find that tendency all that offensive. The general gist of the piece was that anyone who actually finds his kneeling offensive is, frankly, not paying attention to the world around them right now.

Over a year later, Kaepernick is unemployable and the rest of the NFL is in relative upheaval over the fact that black people keep kneeling for the anthem and most of their players are black. As a goodly number of their fans are hyper-senstive white folk who apparently lack critical thinking skills, this situation stands to cut into their financial bottom line right fucking quick.

Personally, I don’t care that some white folk aren’t keen on the kneeling idea and are offended by it. They’re just as entitled to their offense as the black folk kneeling are entitled to take a knee. That’s the joy of living in a country that doesn’t regulate thoughts or speech. One person can say whatever they want, another person is perfectly free to be wildly offended by it, and the first person is free to not give a single shit that they’ve offended someone. Isn’t the First Amendment a beautiful beast?

I am confused about the reasons that some of these white folks are offended, though. In particular the “I’m offended on behalf of the flag” and “I’m offended on behalf of our Veterans” arguments.

If you’re offended on behalf of the flag, I’m forced to think that your offense is a little misplaced. The flag is a piece of fabric. While it is a traditionally symbolic piece of fabric, it is nonetheless nothing but a piece of fabric. It has no thoughts, no emotions, no feelings, and no give-a-damn whatsoever about whether or not overpaid athletes are standing, kneeling, sitting, or spitting while a completely terrible song is played in its honor. While a large number of people have died defending the nation and the “ideals” that this flag represents, the flag itself is not capable of feeling offense. Stop being offended for it. Try, instead, to actually understand why certain people are kneeling, effectively prostrating themselves, at the feet of our country’s favorite symbol.

The flag may well represent our “ideals,” but it also represents the country as a whole. Sometimes this is a good thing, sometimes this is a bad thing. Symbols are often forced to shoulder the weight of mottled histories and colorful pasts, no matter how innocuous the symbol itself may well be. Consider the Swastika. Taken from the Celts, via the Egyptians, there is no removing the horrific events of World War II, or their association with that Swastika, from the collective conscience of the western world. The re-emergence of these symbols in modern day society has struck anger, fear, and revulsion in the hearts of many specifically because of the history that this symbol carries with it. If symbols were not capable of conveying history, no one would be shouting in the streets in protest of swastikas and Confederate flags.  

If you’re a straight, Christian, white man, the American flag likely conveys little unpleasant history for you. America has been run by, and for, straight, Christian, white men for as long as it has been in existence. If you fall outside anyone of these norms, however, this country has not always been kind to you. Whether it is deserving of it or not, the flag bears the weight of this unkindness. The flag, as a representation of our country, and our country’s complete history, is also a representation of this unkindness. For those who have been at the harsh end of this country’s history, and for those who may well be at the harsh end of our nation’s present, the idea of giving the flag an over abundance of respect is mildly nauseating. The flag represents the nation that claims it. And the nation that claims that flag is, quite frankly, not deserving of the respect of a fair number of people right now.

So no. The flag is not inherently deserving of respect just because it is America’s flag. The United States is a vitally flawed country and, as such, the flag is a vitally flawed symbol. People are entitled to react to that symbol, and the flaws it conveys, in whatever manner they wish.  

I don’t care if you love the flag, and play the anthem every day in your house while saluting it. Good for you. I don’t care if you’re currently in the throes of a nation induced existential crisis and are absolutely refusing to stand before the flag for any reason. Neither of these two circumstances matter to me because neither of these circumstances concern me. They are the opinions of the people who hold them and, as opinions that are not my own, I have no serious thoughts on them. The opinion that concerns me is the one held by many of the “standers” that claims that the “kneelers” are offending me and my military service. This particular opinion concerns me because, though held by many people who are not me, it claims to speak for me. It claims to speak for all veterans, actually.

“Kneeling during the anthem is an offense to the veterans who have served this great nation.”

“Stand up. How dare you offend the men who have sacrificed for you.” - Note that it is always men. The people who are offended on behalf of veterans everywhere never seem to remember that women can also be veterans. Somehow, I’m not surprised.

“Veterans everywhere deserve better than this. How dare you kneel before the flag.”

And so forth. Variations of this have shown up, in the hundreds if not thousands, in every comments section having anything to do with this damn NFL/kneeling/standing/anthem/Trump kerfuffle. They all lay claim to the notion that the NFL players are being horrifically offensive to veterans everywhere, yet none of them make clear whether they themselves are veterans. Not that their own veteran status would matter all that much for the purposes of my own, personal, irritation over this appropriated offense.

I don’t like it when women are offended on my behalf, even though we’re both women. I don’t like it when queer people, even bisexuals, are offended on my behalf, even though we’re both bisexuals. I don’t like it when white people, or atheists, or even red heads are offended on my behalf, even if we have all these things in common. Having one lone characteristic or trait in common with me does not guarantee that we will see eye-to-eye on the thing that offends you right now, nor does this singular similarity give anyone the right to speak on my behalf. I have a voice. I know how to use it. When and if something offends me, I assure you, I will let the world know. Rather loudly. Do not claim my offense for your own purposes. Do not assume because we share a singular (or even multiple) vital characteristics in common that my offense is something you can rely on. Do not appropriate my experiences or my being, even if we share those experiences. Your reaction to them is going to be different than mine and you have not earned the right to speak about mine.

These feelings are magnified two fold when I find out that the person claiming offense on my behalf has never even served. Really? You’ve never put on the uniform, you’ve never gone to the war zone, you have no idea what the years of service actually entail, but you’re going to claim me and my existence as the reason your sense of offense is righteous? Oh buddy. Just no. On so many fucking levels, just NO. 

When men find the way that women are treated by other men offensive I find it reassuring, but only if they find it offensive because they genuinely find the treatment offensive. I have a thinking lady brain and I don’t need dude brains to be offended on its behalf. Likewise, straight people flipping out about the idea that VP Pence is offensive to queers is wildly frustrating to me. He’s offensive, absolutely. But I don’t need straight people to be bothered by him because he’s offensive to me. I need straight people to be offended by him because they find him offensive. Deeming something offensive to a group of people to whom you don’t belong is a cop out. It’s your way of saying you want to find something offensive, but you can’t think of a legitimate reason of your own, so you’re going to latch onto a group of people who DO have a legitimate reason in your opinion. Whether that something is black football players or our Vice President, don’t bother claiming offense if you’re not, personally, offended by it. 

Being offended on behalf of a person whose life or situation you cannot begin to understand is an unasked for coopting of our life experience and our emotions. You are not entitled to either, nor are you entitled to use them for your own purposes. Do not be offended by Mike Pence “because he’s offensive to the LGBTQ community.” Be offended by Mike Pence “because his views are fucking deplorable and have no space in modern day society.” Do not be offended by kneeling NFL players “because they’re disrespecting veterans.” Be offended by kneeling NLF players because… okay, I have no good answer there. I’m not in the least bit offended by them and would probably kneel with them, so you’ll have to invent your own damn excuse. It better not fucking involve being offended on my behalf, though, because if it does the only person in that equation who’s offending me is YOU. 

Veterans have typically been through a fair bit. If you love us, there are a lot of things in this world to be offended about and a lot of things that you can rally around. Shorter wait times at the VA. More doctors. Better doctors, in many instances. Faster turn-around times on VA disability claims (true story, I gave them ALL of my military medical records and it still took them TEN MONTHS just to schedule my initial doctor’s appointments. I did the work for them, and it took them ten months just to get the ball rolling). They are overwhelmingly understaffed, as evidenced by the fact that employees at the VBA are frequently graded on their ability to get veterans OFF the phone as quickly as possible. Questions about your claim? Great, just don’t take more than 8 minutes or the person you’re talking to might, literally, lose their job. We have been in at least one war for 16 years now, with absolutely no end in sight. Retention at higher ranks was a problem for as long as I was in, since military service has a habit of destroying families and ripping apart marriages. The veteran suicide rate still stands at a preposterous 20 people per day and veterans still have some of the highest unemployment and homelessness rates in the country. In short, the way veterans are treated in this country is, in fact, pretty fucking offensive. 

You know what could improve this? 

Paying real attention to the types of politicians we elect. Paying real attention to the taxes we (refuse to) pay. Paying real attention to what’s going on in Washington, and realizing that far too often the politics and parties that are capitalizing most thoroughly on veterans and our “issues” aren’t actually the politics or the parties that are working the hardest to fix them. Far too frequently we are a pawn used by a talking head to get votes, and then we’re cast aside after the election. Look beyond the talking head and actually read their policies. If their policies don’t include helping veterans, and you’re still voting for them, you’re clearly not as invested in our interests as you claim you are. If their policies don’t involve getting us out of the war zones we’ve been in for basically forever now, and you’re still voting for them, you’re not even a little bit invested in the well-being of the veterans whose offense you are coopting.   

You know what doesn’t improve lives for veterans anywhere? 

Being offended, on their behalf, over a bunch of dudes kneeling at a football game.