#i know there’s another post about him being raised by elderly parents but i haven’t read it so i can’t link it sorry!

[padfootastic]

Hey I wanted some insight on how to write James with more depth. I saw on a one of your post you mentioned not liking that he matured for a girl, and I can agree. And I saw you mentioning his elderly parents and how they died around the war. How do you think being raised by older parents affected his character overall?

oh hey anon 💜💜 i’m not sure i’m the best person for advice on how to write a character w depth (since it’s something i routine eschew in favor of self indulgence) but i can certainly try!

so, i’m not sure if effie and flea dying from illness (dragonpox?) is canon or not but i certainly treat it so. i think they passed away around his 7th year, maybe midway through, and that just strengthened his resolve to join the order. plus, it gives me a more plausible reason for why him and lily married so young.

regarding how growing up with elderly parents might’ve affected him, here’s a few possible options:

- kind, kind, kind. he’s sincere and polite and has impeccable manners (does he sometimes give up on them if the situation calls for? sure) because it’s been instilled in him from birth. i think family portraits going back generations also played a huge role here.

- he’s great with small talk and endearing himself to old people. he’s used to his parents’ friends and often, he prefers being with them over his peers because he can understand them and their motivations better. i think while he was an extrovert and definitely loved hanging out with people, his social skills were a bit rusty bc he’s not grown up around a lot of kids so he doesn’t rly know how to relate to them. (enter: my hc that james uses old people swears like good heavens and goodness gracious) he had to stumble around to get better with his batchmates in hogwarts and even then, he sometimes slips up and goes into geriatric mode and gets teased a lot for it.

- i also think he’d be big on like, tradition and superstition? even when he stops actually believing in them, he still does it bc of habit or ‘what’s the harm?’ or he wants to keep some part of his parents alive. he’s probably thought up all kinds of things he wants to do with harry and teach him and habits to instil in him which just makes it that much more tragic that he didn’t get to

- his nurturing nature came from an acute awareness of his parents’ mortality and taking care of them from a young age. i see flea and effie as realists, treating james as an equal for all that they coddle him. so they’ve never hid this part from him and he’s always had a low grade fear? anxiety? about when time will run out so he tries to over compensate for it by doing the most. (sometimes i hc a james with control issues but that’s a tangent)

- on the flip side, his arrogance definitely came from being a miracle baby. he had all the silver/gold/platinum spoons in his mouth and so much privilege he doesn’t know what to do with it. while his heart is in the right place, effie & flea were cut from the same cloth so his understanding of these nuances came much, much later as he started interacting with people in hogwarts who had very different lives. i think this made him a bit insensitive at times, but definitely the aforementioned heart makes sure he makes amends, even if they’re fumbling and based on trial-and-error.

- he was a lonely kid!! as much as he loved his parents and their friends and his life, he still grew up mainly alone in a large manor with nothing but portraits to talk to and that had to have had an effect on him. combine that w his never ending energy and always being switched on and is it any wonder he keeps doing The Absolute Most when he finally gets to hogwarts? how hard he latches on to sirius?

- oh also, i think he definitely has some form of rejection sensitivity. i’ve mentioned this before but i think, despite his confidence, it can be easy to make him self conscious by bringing up say, how loudly he talks or how he ‘never shuts up’ or ‘oh my god ur so annoying potter do u ever just, chill out’ (one reason why a lot of jily fics don’t agree w me tbh), partly because he’s never really been criticised before so he doesn’t know how to constructively deal with it and partly bc he’s always thinking in extremes and doesn’t want to be a bother so he decides completely shutting himself off is the only acceptable solution. (another hc: sirius knows this, understands it as an actual problem, and is therefore the only one who can bring up his faults/tell him to cut it out without sending him into a guilt/hurt spiral)

i’m...gonna stop here. i don’t know if all of these make sense but it’s how i see james (i think) so i rly hope it helps u! if u end up writing a fic/post (even if it doesn’t have any of this lol), tag me so i can read it <333 happy writing, anon!

[komfortkiri]

HELP WANTED (PART 2)

WOLF QUIRK F!READER x HANTA SERO x EIJIRO KIRISHIMA WORD COUNT: 2,997 TW/CW: ABSENT PARENT MENTION (I know some people get really bothered about absent parents)

NOTES: No banner yet. And yes, I posted two parts in one day BECAUSE I’M LIVING FOR THIS. The next part I’ll include things from Kiri and Sero’s POV. I got tired toward the end of this one and wanted to finish and post it before going to sleep.

Your alarm went off at 6:45 AM, allowing you more time to actually get ready and look like a decent human being.. well, sort of. You laid there for a moment, though, thinking that if this really went well, you could be leaving within the next week. You’d have to tell your father and though he’d be hurt, it wasn’t like you wouldn’t come back to visit. With a deep breath, you threw your legs off the side of the bed, holding your arms over your head to stretch. The stretch was so good that you almost fell back into your mattress and went back to sleep but you shook your head and rose to your feet, proceeding to your bathroom to shower.

After you took your shower from Hell, you walked out of your bathroom and back into your room, making your way to your closet to browse over the clothes you had. You realized quickly that you should probably do some upgrading to your wardrobe but you’ll worry about that another day. Your eyes scanned over everything and nothing really stood out to you so you pulled out your phone to check the weather, seeing that it was pretty cold out— roughly 23 degrees. Coffee definitely sounded luxurious right now and that thought alone made you check the time to see that it was now 7:15 AM. You took a little longer in the shower but the scorching water felt like Heaven to you.

You sighed, taking a long-sleeved, burgundy turtleneck half-shirt off of a hanger along with a pair of black high-waisted jeans. You tossed both articles of clothing onto the bed then went to your small dresser in the corner of your room to open the top drawer, pulling out a white colored bra and a matching pair of panties to go with it. You closed that drawer then opened the second drawer, getting some black socks that rose to just under your knee. Once you had everything, you dropped your towel then threw your undergarments on, along with your socks.

During your dressing, you received a text message from the Kiri person so you rushed over to it, hoping they weren’t cancelling the get together. Relief washed over you whenever you read the message.

FROM KIRI: Morning! Wanted to send you a text to tell you that me and my roommate are getting ready and should be at the coffee shop closer to 8:30 AM. We still on?

You replied rather quickly, it was almost creepy.. like you were waiting for a text.

TO KIRI: Good morning! Yes, of course! I’m getting ready right now as well.. I may be there earlier than you both since it’s right around the corner from me!

Once the message delivered, you threw your phone back onto your bed then put on your shirt and pants, which had a special made hole just for your tail, then walked over to your full body mirror hanging on the wall. “Not bad.. Not bad at all.” It was almost like you were hoping these were men that you were meeting. You scoffed at your thought, nah. You walked back to the bathroom to grab your hair brush, one for the hair on your head and another for the fur on your tail. It was weird in a way.. you had to color coordinate what you used for your tail because the fur wasn’t as soft as your actual hair was. Once you finished grooming yourself, you put on a pair of flat-bottom, over-the-knee, black boots. 

Time, what was the— shit! Your damned tail, taking so much time to brush through. It was now 8:05 so you had to rush a little bit if you wanted to be extra early and order what you needed so you grabbed your black trench coat off your coat rack, grabbed your phone then your backpack that held your wallet and other necessities that you may need throughout the day and booked it out of your room and out of your front door. Your dad must have had to work this morning, considering his car wasn’t out front but nonetheless, you expected as much from a police officer.

NO TIME TO THINK, you thought so you turned in the direction of the coffee shop and started walking. Your walking turned into walking fast then into.. running, which doesn’t affect you much considering it’s part of who you are. You thankfully had a bottle of perfume with you, just in case you smelt like a wet dog and you sprayed a few pumps amongst your coat and a few on your neck. You took a minute to catch your breath right outside Camille’s front door then walked in.

“My, my.. Look who it is! If it isn’t my dear Y/N! I haven’t seen you in a few weeks, must be pulling extra shifts at the animal shelter, huh?” Camille practically rushed to you, bringing you into a hug. All you could do was smile and accept her embrace then return it. If you were being honest, you really needed the hug. “Hi, Camille! I’m sorry I haven’t been visiting like I normally do. I have picked up a few more shifts so I can save up for a place of my own.” You took a seat at your usual spot, right up close to where she made most things. There was a small little bar, in which, Camille practically saved your seat every morning when you started coming in. She was like a mom to you, which was nice in its own way considering yours wasn’t worth a shit. 

Camille knew just about everything about your life so you felt awful knowing that you hadn’t been around in a few weeks but you had to do what you need to first. “You know, darling, whenever you stopped coming in, these two very handsome boys started coming in every morning. It was almost fate in a way. They kept me company while you were gone, but don’t get me wrong, I’m glad my favorite girl is back.” Boys? Was this elderly woman really trying to hint at hooking you up right now? All you could do was shake your head and laugh as she set your usual in front of you— hot hazelnut coffee, extra sweet. You lifted the glass mug to your lips, speaking from behind it, “Boys, huh? Camille, are you trying to set me up?” A smirk formed along your face as you took a sip of the coffee, humming softly in satisfaction, your ears falling back some. She always did make the best coffee, it never failed.

The older woman laughed then leaned back onto the counter opposite from the one you were at, “Now, you know I wouldn’t meddle into your love life, dear. All I’m saying is, they are complete gentleman.” She leaned forward on her elbow, whispering her next statement. “If I was year and years younger, I’d probably take both of them.” This made you snort then double over in laughter, “Camille! Shame on you!” All she did was shrug then before she could respond, her eyes lit up when she realized who was entering her shop. You noticed this look and raised an eyebrow, sipping your coffee. Camille realized your eyes were on her and she nodded toward the door, mouthing that’s them. You tried your best not to make it obvious but you turned your head just enough to the side to peer over your shoulder and boy, she was not kidding. However, these were definitely not boys.. they were pure men. 

You quickly turned your head before they realized you were ogling them, your insides heating up. All you could think of was how the good Lord above took his sweet time crafting both of them. Your heightened sense of hearing allowed you to listen in on what was being said between both of the guys and Camille so you just barely turned your left ear to the side, lifting your coffee again to take another sip.

“My boys! Where have you been? Fighting crime as usual?” Camille greeted both with a big hug each before one of them answered her. “Yes ma’am, you know us. We have to make sure nothing happens to your wonderful coffee shop.” Your heart skipped a beat at that statement. Smooth. “Always such sweethearts, come. I want you to meet another regular of mine.” Please don’t, please don’t, plea— “Y/N?” Your face was probably as red as a beet at this point but you turn anyway with a smile that was semi-forced. You hadn’t much prepared well on talking to… very, very attractive men. “Boys, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is Eijiro and Hanta.” You shook each of their hands, your insides felt like they were being lit on fire at this point.

The man known as Kirishima smiled, “You can call me either Ei, Eiji or Kiri, though.” The fire was immediately put out by his statement. You were thanking all the Gods that you didn’t have your coffee in your hand because you would have dropped it. “D-Did you say Kiri?” You cleared your throat, scratching the back of your head nervously. 

“Yeah, do you know me? I mean, I’m a pro-hero but do you know someone I know or—“ You cut him off, not meaning to, but you had to get it out. “No, I.. I inquired about the roommate ad you had put up. We texted this morning and last night?” Kirishima and Sero’s eyes widened and they looked at each other. Something tells you they really weren’t expecting the person they were meeting to be a woman, but you were in the same boat because you didn’t expect for the two people you were meeting to be two gorgeous piece of asses either.

Sero spoke this time as he looked back at you, “So you are looking to be our roommate?” You blushed a soft shade of pink, not really knowing how to properly answer that but you did anyway. “Well, I-I didn’t really plan on you guys being, well… guys.” Both men laughed then Kirishima sat next to you, Sero sitting next to him on the other side. Camille put their coffees in front of him, Sero’s was partnered with a bagel. She gave you a wink then rushed back to the kitchen, peering out the little window in the door. All you could do was shake your head with a grin. “If it makes you uncomfortable, you definitely don’t have to move in with us but we’d like to be your friend.” 

You smiled at that but thought of the trouble you’d get yourself in just by being their friend. It was almost impossible not to yank both by their collars to the bathroom and— “Wolf quirk, eh?” Sero’s voice shook you out of your inappropriate thoughts. It’s almost like he knew where your head was spiraling to. “Y-Yeah. My dad is also part wolf as well.” You nodded, clearing your throat even though you really didn’t need to as there was nothing to clear. 

“What about your mom?” Sero pressed, not knowing that talking about your mother was something you hated doing. You sighed quietly, eyes darting in front of you to a blank space on the white wall in front of you. Your ear fell back, tone filled with… hatred when you spoke, which you didn’t intend for, but your burning rage for her was not controllable. “Don’t know her. She left not too long after I was a baby. Just up and left in the middle of the night and nobody has seen her since.” 

Kirishima looked at Sero, eyes saying way to go, idiot. He wanted to lighten the mood so he changed the subject quickly, “So, uh.. about your quirk..” You three sat there for what felt like hours just talking, having casual conversation. They asked about your quirk, showing high interest in every aspect of it. You reassured them that you didn’t shed hair so they didn’t need to worry about any of that. You didn’t realize that they were pro-heroes until they told you their hero names and you almost choked on your semi-hot coffee. You had heard of both but you never really are around the action to put a face to the name. They both do a lot of good work around your city, in which, you are thankful for with your father being on the police force. Without them, your dad would probably have been hurt or worse. 

Your anger about your mother had withered away and you were really enjoying yourself with the two men next to you. Your tail was moving to-and-fro the entire time, meaning you were happy. It got silent at one point and that prompted to Sero clear his throat then bump his elbow into Kirishima’s own, basically trying to push on this conversation. Kirishima turned his body a little toward you, his tone was soft, “Um.. This roommate thing.. It’s obvious you aren’t a serial killer, unless you’re a really good actor. You don’t have to give us an answ—“ You held your finger up with a smile because it was clear he was about to start rambling on due to nerves and not wanting to overstep. “You don’t have to say anymore. I’m super down for being your roommate.” It seemed like relief washed over the both of them because they smiled at you. “Hell yeah, you can move your stuff in at any time. Just let us know when so we can help you.” Sero nodded in your direction and you nodded back with a smile.

Moving in.. with two insanely attractive men.. What could go wrong, right?

[empyreanwritings]

Just a Little Complicated

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader (Florist AU)

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: mentions of losing a parent

A/N: Y’all, I actually managed to write a one shot, are you proud of me? Please be proud of me LOL! This is written for @marquiswrites​ 100 followers challenge! I am super duper late, and for that I really am sorry. You probably have already reached another milestone by the time I’ve posted this. But yeah, go give them a follow cause they deserve it!

Feedback is always welcomed and appreciated (: x

Sweat stuck to the back of Steve's shirt. He cursed himself for not getting a car already, but he didn't anticipate the southern heat being so brutal. The last thing he wanted was to go into places covered in sweat and ask for a job, but he had no choice. He couldn't afford to live off what the government deemed enough for a veteran to live on; he wasn't going to go off on that tangent, but it really was ridiculous. He almost gave his life for a country, and they acted like enough money to survive comfortably was a nuisance.

Many places gave him the same response when he asked if they were hiring: "Thank you for your service, but we just don't have an open spot!" Some of the managers hid their disdain for his lack of perfect hygiene. Not all of them, though. He could see the judgement in their eyes when he came in sweaty with a service dog in tow.

He was more than capable of handling any job, but he couldn't stop others from having their judgement. He was used to it back in the city.

But he refused to make a fuss about it here.

The last place he tried for the day was a small flower shop on the corner of the street. The entire shop window was filled with flowers of every color, and the windowsill was painted mint green. It contrasted greatly against the brick exterior, but Steve liked the way it looked; it had a quirky charm that many of the snooty "antique" shops didn't have.

And when he saw the bright yellow door with the name "Mama June's" written above it, he was sold.

Organization didn't exist in the shop, that was apparent the moment he stepped into it. Flowers, vases, and ribbons were scattered in groups throughout the different counters and containers. It reminded him of a wildflower field - chaotic yet oddly appealing.

An elderly woman rounded the corner, dirt covering her hands and arms. She let out a small 'Oh!' when she saw Steve before brushing her hands against her apron and offering one to him.

"You're not my daily lunch delivery!" She chuckled. "I'm June. Haven't seen you around these parts before - stayin' or passin' through?"

"Staying, hopefully." His smile made her smile in return, and the corners of her eyes wrinkled in the endearing way Steve always loved seeing in his own grandmother. "Steve Rogers, ma'am. It's nice to meet you."

She swatted his arm gently. "Don't you ma'am me, mister! I ain't that old yet!"

June - or Mama June, as she liked to be called - a whole foot shorter than Steve, but she acted like she was the tallest person in the room. Her round face showed her age in the way she wrinkled by her eyes and the corners of her mouth. Steve remembered something his mom used to say, "I don't get why women want to hide their laugh lines! It shows they lived a happy life!" And June clearly felt the same way.

She filled up a water bowl for Dodger and placed it down by his feet, which Steve quickly thanked her for. The poor boy wasn't used to this level of heat either.

"What can I do for ya?"

"I was hoping to see if you were hiring, ma-" She shot him a look that warned him not to finish his word, and he cleared his throat. "Mama June."

"Mhm, that's what I thought you were going to say," she hummed. "You ever work for a florist before?"

He shook his head, already preparing himself for the rejection. The closest he ever got to be a florist was helping pick out the flowers for his mother's funeral. It wasn't exactly his favorite memory.

"Well," she pretended to look around the empty shop and let out a dramatic sigh, "As you can see, we're pretty busy! I don't need much help up front, but I could use the help on delivery days. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday - that work?"

"Anything works for me. Thank you." He wanted to hug the woman for giving him a chance, but she would have probably kneed him. She was feisty.

The bells on the front door clanged as someone walked in, pulling their attention away from each other. June was just about the greet the new guest, but she was already being interrupted.

"Mama, you know you are supposed to be watching your cholesterol!" You scolded June as you set down a take-out container on the front counter. "My mother would turn over in her grave if she knew I was letting you eat the diner's burgers."

You sighed when June waved your comment off, and Steve let out a chuckle. The two of you must have known each other for a long time. The way you moved around the shop made it seem like you knew the layout like the back of your hand.

"And who is this?" Your eyes turned towards Steve, and he wasn't sure how to breathe when he noticed how they sparkled. Despite sweat and the grease stains on your diner dress, you were easily the most beautiful woman he'd ever met. And it wasn't until your eyebrows practically raised to your hairline that he realized he was too busy staring to introduce himself.

"This is my new helper!" June replied for him. "Steve's gonna help me around here on delivery days."

You gasped in mock surprise. "You're actually letting someone help you? Has Hell frozen over?"

"Stop it. I'm never to turn away someone in need, and my back has been actin' up." You whipped around, but June held her hand up. "Don't give me that look! I'm fine! I just can't be liftin' boxes the way I used to."

You shook your head, strands of your hair falling out of your bun. Concern was written all over your face. Steve couldn't help but wonder if you knew something about June that no one else did. Maybe she was sick, or just had poor health in general. Either way, he knew he was going to have to look out for the old woman when you weren't around.

You chewed on your bottom lip and finally turned back towards Steve after a beat.

"You take care of her," you said with a hint of warning in your tone. "I bring lunch every day at noon, so feel free to give a call before then to give me your order."

Steve smiled and nodded. "Thank you."

He was partially embarrassed 'Thank you' was the only thing he managed to say in your presence. Time overseas hadn't done much to help his charm when it came to women. Not that he would have instantly started flirting with you - he had manners - but still. He would have liked to appear smoother.

You left the shop almost as quickly as you entered it. June let out a laugh when she realized Steve had been staring at the door for a solid minute after you walked out. He wasn't discreet at all.

"I'll see you Wednesday, Steve," she nudged his side with her elbow, "Unless I see you at the diner before then!"

Her comment made her burst into another fit of laughter, and she grabbed her meal and headed towards the back before he could defend himself. He looked down at Dodger and shook his head. At least he didn't know how obvious his owner was.

Steve settled into working with June easily after that day. Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, he'd be there at six in the morning to unload the boxes from the delivery truck. It was a lot more work than he expected it to be, but he enjoyed it. He loved being able to stay busy and feel like someone needed him.

Working in the morning gave him enough time to avoid the southern heat that always came by ten. He was thankful to have the cool AC to unpack the boxes in because he wasn't sure he'd make it the first week if June made him unpack them all outside. He'd probably end up worse than an ice cream cone melted on the sidewalk - and he had seen a few of those in the few weeks he worked.

But the best part about working had been you.

Every day you came in at noon, not a minute before or after. June said you had a thing about always being on time, and you never explained why. She had her theories about how you missed saying goodbye to your mom because you were late, but you refused to confirm whether that was true or not. And Steve didn't know you well enough to ask.

Throughout the weeks, though, he spent as much time as he could getting to know you. Some days were tougher than others; you didn't always like answering the questions he wanted to ask you, but other days, you were generous.

He learned the basics: your favorite color, the one movie that made you cry even after you've watched it several times, and what kind of toppings you liked on your pizza. And you liked asking him the deeper questions. What made him join the army? If he could go anywhere in the world, where would he go? Why did he prefer New York style pizza over deep dish?

The deep-dish debate lasted for an hour, and you only stopped arguing because your lunch break was over.

"I'll learn to forgive your poor taste in pizza if you tell me what your favorite flower is," he said one day when you didn't have to rush back to the diner.

You shrugged your shoulders and pretended like telling him your favorite flower was the worst thing he could ever make you do. "Aren't you the flower man now? I know June's been giving you some of her tips in flower arranging magic! You should be able to figure out what kind of flower I like the most."

It was a challenge, he realized later on. You could have told him what your favorite flower was and never thought about it again, but you wanted to test him. You wanted to see if he actually paid attention to the things you told him during your one-hour visits. Of course, Oblivious Steve had to be told by June that was what you were doing.

He made it his mission to make sure you left with one flower whenever he worked after that.

You'd come in with the styrofoam takeout containers, and he would wait for you by the front counter with a single flower in his hand. Every day he worked.

The first time he did it, you crinkled your nose at the sight of the single red rose.

"Roses are apology flowers," you tutted. "Are you trying to say you've cheated on me before we've even gone on a date, Rogers?"

The tips of his ears turned bright red in the moment, and it was something you and June laughed about for the rest of the week. You knew exactly what you were doing to him, but you didn't plan on stopping any time.

You were actually curious how long he'd hold out just to find what kind of flower you loved.

Most guys would have given up by the second try; you wondered if Steve Rogers was going to be like most guys.

But even after you rejected the lilies and chrysanthemums and sunflowers, he still kept trying. He reminded you, in the most teasing way possible, he worked with a florist and had an endless supply of different flowers. He swore he'd find the one to make you swoon eventually.

When June came to you one morning and asked you to be nice to the man, you playfully rolled your eyes and reminded her that no good love story started out easy. You hadn't realized the words left your lips until June's eyes started to sparkle and she gave you the secret smile that reminded you of your mother. Steve Rogers made you think about love - something you hadn't thought about since your mother passed away.

Hell really must have frozen over then.

The next day Steve worked, after your conversation with June, your heart sunk when you realized there wasn't a flower in his hand. His focus was on an inventory sheet, which was a part of his job, but you expected him to take a break for his usual time with you. You thought that maybe he grew tired of trying to woo you.

Maybe it was too difficult.

Maybe you were too difficult.

But then he held his hands out and told you to wait in your spot, and you couldn't stop the grin from spreading across your face when he pulled a white box from behind the counter. It was small, probably didn't hold more than the bud of a flower or several flowers. And it had a black ribbon wrapped haphazardly around it.

You made a mental note to remind June to teach the poor man how to wrap ribbons around boxes and vases. He may have only unloaded the delivery trucks, but he deserved to learn the basic stuff.

You gasped when you opened the box and saw the Black Dahlia. How he managed to guess was one thing, but how he even managed to get the flower was another. You knew June didn't carry them in her shop because of how rare and expensive they were, which meant he went to a lot of trouble to make sure he had it for this moment. He went through a lot of trouble for you.

"How-"

"Mama June told me a good florist never reveals his secrets," Steve teased.

"You know, these flowers are supposed to represent betrayal and negative emotions. It's why a lot of florists don't like to use them in bouquets; it takes away their magic," you said with a small smile, your focus still on the flower sitting in your hand.

Steve shrugged. "I think there's magic that, don't you? Finding the beauty in the things that people say are bad."

"Are you saying I'm bad, Steve Rogers?" You murmured, not at all taking offense.

"Not bad, darling, just a little complicated."

[silverwhiteraven]

Borne of the Stars - Chapter 8 - An MLB Kryptonian AU

Tag List:  @eve-valution @weird-pale-blonde-person @kris-pines04 @soulmate-game @abrx2002 @amayakans @vixen-uchiha @heldtogetherbysafetypins @raisuke06 @dorkus-minimus @captainartsypants @mopester-is-here @moonlightstar64 @annabellabrookes @maribat-is-lifeblood @toodaloo-kangaroo @the-navistar-carol @elspethshadow @chocolatecatstheron​ @ivymala07

[ Summary: Marinette tries to get the group moving, and a certain elderly man interrupts their travels. ]

[ Posted on Ao3 ] [ Chapter 1 ] [ Chapter 7 ] [ Chapter 9 ]

“Wow Kara, you’re right, she really is cute,” Babs notes.

“Mhm,” Karen nodded her agreement, and Marinette laughed nervously.

Nino, ever her savior, steps forward and holds up his hands like some kind of shield. “Okay, break won't last all day, maybe we should head out and show you guys around like we planned, yeah? Mari, we can stop by the bakery for lunch, right? Would your parents approve?” 

Gratefully accepting the proffered change of subject, Marinette nodded vigorously. “Yes-Yeah, of course! They’re always ready for friends to visit, we can go before heading back” she managed to stutter out. Grabbing Nino’s hand and squeezing it in thanks, she started dragging him off, glancing back only to smile and then confirm the American girls were following along. They were.

“This bakery wouldn't happen to be the one Kara says you live over, right?” Karen asks curiously.

“Oh! I sure hope it is!” Babs piped up, bouncing on her heels as she half skipped alongside them. “I loved those goodies she brought to school last year. They really were worth skipping out on some Sweet Justice.”

“Sweet Justice?” The Parisian duo parroted in slightly alarmed confusion.

“Best ice cream in Metropolis,” The other three girls sing-songed together, Karen in a soft appreciative voice, Barbra in an excited tone, and Kara with a strong hint of pride.

“And home-base to our team!” Babs whispered conspiratorial, a glimmer in her eye to accompany the grin.

“You have a team?” Nino blurted in a hush, his own eyes filled with a few stars. He usually had a tendency to worry about his newfound superhero friend and all her heroing, but he still got caught up in the excitement of their business every once and awhile. 

The American girls all nodded, and it fully downed on the Parisians that they were in the presence of not just one hero, but three. 

“Can I, uh, ask who all is on your team?” Nino inquires in a hushed tone. “You don't have to, but it's kinda cool to know you guys, and I wouldn't want to leave anyone out in the praises.”

After a cursory glance around for anyone nearby, they shrugged and nodded before Kara decided to fill in the blanks.

“The full team would be Supergirl, Batgirl,” a slight tilt of the head towards Barbra, indicating herself by waving a hand at the civilian pair excitedly, “Bumblebee,” Kara’s head tilted over to Karen who wiggled her fingers in her own mirror image of Bab’s wave, “Zatanna, and Green Lantern- well, a Green Lantern. They’re probably planning a visit already, Zee was totally bummed she couldn't come as an exchange student,” she adds the last part as a passing thought, not fully sure yet still confident about the possibility.

“Oh!” Babs pulls their attention to her as she raises a hand. “Don’t forget Wonder Woman! She’s not exactly a teenager, but she still works with us a lot despite being mostly independent now like Superman and Batman.” The other two heroes nodded in agreement.

“Mari, bro,” Nino looked at her, the stars in his eyes still present, “how are you not, like, freaking out right now?”

Marinette really had been silent for most of the conversation as the group walked, and she shrugged in thought. “After everything that happened last year and all those visits from Supergirl, I guess I just got used to it. This is super cool, I don't deny that! I’m just more subtle in my awe, I guess?”

“Oh, yeah! That works, yes,” Karen says in support. “I much prefer a more subtle awe; all the attention can be a bit intimidating, you know?” 

“Exactly!” Marinette responded, and the two giggled at their shared experience.

Nino and Kara rolled their eyes in fond exasperation at the two, both of them being much more oriented towards the spotlights in their own ways.

The group stopped at the crosswalk of an intersection, waiting to be allowed to cross. A clattering pulled their attention to a collapsed figure in the center of the street. 

Kara heard the two cars coming while Marinette saw them from the corner of her eye.

At the same time, both moved forward.

Kara dashed forward alongside the other girl, scooping up the small elderly man as Marinette grabbed the cane that had skidded away.

They both reached the opposite sidewalk together, just as the cars passed by them, one each going in the opposite direction of the other, right at the spot the old man had been only a moment ago. 

“Woah, that was close,” Kara commented, setting down the short elder man on his feet as she looked off towards one of the vehicles. 

“Let’s not do that again,” Marinette adds, passing the cane to the person Kara rescued before she addresses him. “Are you alright? Hurt at all? I hope you're more careful next time, that could have been bad.”

“Yes, and no, not at all, thank you two,” he answers with a sweet and thankful smile. “You young ladies are rather brave,” he adds as the rest of their group rush over as soon as the light turns. 

“Are you three alright??” Nino fretted, checking them all over despite how perfectly fine they seemed to be before he joined them on their side of the street. Even Marinette, in a stroke of luck, hadn't tripped on the sidewalk’s curb.

“Kara, that was dangerous!” Karen added on in her own worry, but it had a slightly different note to it. In a softer tone, she adds: “Your cousin…You don’t think…” 

“He would consider that a little too heroic?” Barbra finished helpfully.

Kara winced at the words and rubbed her arm nervously, looking away. “I had to; he’ll forgive me for it, it’s not like I really did something bad.”

Despite her words, Kara still sent an apologetic look to the smaller old man. It wasn’t a ‘sorry for saving you’ look, but rather, ‘sorry I can’t do it again’.

Marinette smiled reassuringly in response to her friend’s frets. “We’re fine, Nino, but thank you for worrying.” 

She then turned back to the man to respond to his last words. “I’m not all that brave; Kara’s the real brave one of us. After all, I only grabbed your cane. But I’m glad to hear you’re unhurt.” She smiled again to the man, digging her box of treats out and offering it out to him. She missed the way Kara had frozen up beside her at her words.

The old man nodded and chuckled in response as he gratefully accepted an offered macaroon. “Perhaps, then, call it courage. Thank you again. Have a good day, all of you.”

They kept an eye on him as he hobbled away, waiting for him and his tropical flower-printed shirt to disappear before turning back to one another. 

There was an awkward pause before Marinette broke the silence and grinned at everyone.

“So! Now that we’re no longer in any life-risking situations, who wants to keep heading towards the Eiffel Tower? We still have a lot of time before we go to the bakery for lunch.”

The tension escaped the teens and there were a few low laughs of relief and Nino now took the lead. Marinette fell back a bit to walk beside Kara, bumping her shoulder into the other to gain her attention and a questioning hum.

“You alright there?” 

“Yeah, yeah, thanks for asking, Cupcake,” Kara gave her a sideways grin and Marinette laughed.

“Alright, if you say so. Are you worried about your Clark getting upset with you at all?”

“No, no,” she shook her head and chuckled, “He said no super-heroing, that was just normal, everyday heroing, I’ll be fine! I just…” 

“Just?” Marinette looked up at the other quizzically.

Kara turned to look back at her again, her eyes and returned smile softening.

“I just haven't heard you call me Kara before. It’s…New.”

Turning away, Marinette blushed as she realized Kara was right, she really hadn't been calling her by name since learning it.

“I guess, I just needed to get used to it. I’ve known you so long by another name, I needed a little bit to adjust so I wouldn't call you the wrong one. 

“But I think I got it now,” she adds with a triumphant grin, her fist now held up in offering for a fistbump. “It’s nice to officially meet you, Kara Danvers.”

“Please,” she responded with an eye-roll and a bump of her fist to the other’s, “It’s Kara Zor-El, my precious Geode. You’ll do well to remember it,” she teases with a wink, Marinette suppressing her responding giggles at the whole situation. 

It wasn't long before the group reached their first destination, then headed toward another and another, finally ending at their final checkpoint: The Dupain-Cheng Bakery.

[hollandsmoose]

nothing to regret (part 2)

A/N: This took so long to write, I’m sorry! I quite like it, though. So here you go, babes, here’s 2.6k of cute, first date fluff with Shawn and pizza!

part 1 in masterlist

—————–

The rules of the game have never really been clear to you. You don’t know who should text the other first, how long one should wait before texting, and how to not come off as desperate.

You sit and stare at your phone for a while, finally alone in your room after having been interrogated by your friends who had all been waiting for you to come home. That’s perhaps the most annoying thing about living with some of your closest friends; you can never really be free of them. You hear about people living with roommates that they barely talk to, but that is most certainly not the case here.

And yet, as your finger hovers over the iMessage icon, you praise yourself lucky that you have your friends on hand to help you. Because in this case… well, you might need them.

“Guys,” you say, walking into the living room, and Katie, Meg and Charlie all look up from the couch where they’re sat, watching Netflix. It’s late afternoon now, and you’re well aware they haven’t moved from that position since this morning. “I need your help.”

“With what?” Charlie asks, her voice a little hoarse. One tequila shot too many, you think.

You sit down on the armrest of the couch. “Should I text Shawn first?”

“No!” Meg shouts, horror written on her face. “Are you insane?”

“You never text the guy first!” Katie adds, looking a little shaken. “Girl, how long has it been since you dated? That’s the like the most important rule!”

You throw up your hands, confused. “But what if he doesn’t text me?”

“Then he doesn’t text you,” Charlie answers with a nonchalant shrug. “And yes, it sucks! But you got to fuck Shawn Mendes so I would argue it sucks a little less.” You’re about to reply, but then your phone lets out a loud noise to signal a new message.

Meg groans and covers her ears. “God, why do you have the volume on?”

You roll your eyes, chuckling at her hungover misery. “Sorry,” Truth be told, most of your hangover had faded away after breakfast, and after you and Shawn had spent some more time in his bed. It turns out that being eaten out until you can’t even remember your own name is a great hangover cure.

When you finally look down at your phone, you gasp.

Shawn: Hey! So it’s probably way too soon to text you, but I really like you, and I was kinda hoping I could see you again?

You squeal in excitement, hastily handing your phone over to your friends who let out another synchronized squeal, the volume control apparently having disappeared.

“Oh my god, oh my god!” Katie shrieks, giving you the phone again. “You have to say yes! But you cannot text back yet!”

“First of all, calm down,” you stop her, laughing at her instructions. “Second of all, why can’t I text him back?”

“Because you don’t want it to seem like you’ve been waiting for him to text,” Charlie says as if it’s obvious. “Duh!”

You shake your head, smiling at their antics. Maybe you should listen to them, but if Shawn is so easily scared by you texting back, then he’s not worth it.

You: Don’t worry, it’s fine. And yeah, I think you could see me again tbh

You don’t have to wait long for a reply.

Shawn: Really? When are you free?

“What’s he saying?” Meg asks excitedly, and when you look at your friends again, they’re all staring at you.

You can't fight the blush from appearing on your cheeks. “He's asking when I'm free,” They all squeal again.

You: I'm kinda busy this week but maybe Friday?

Shawn: Friday's good! I'll figure something out and text you back, okay? Can't wait

You: Can't wait either

“So?” all three of them say in sync when you return your attention to them.

“So… I have a date this Friday,” you answer, and this time they don’t just squeal, they scream.

—————–

When Shawn texts you to say he’s outside, you take a final glance at yourself in the mirror. When you asked your friends for advice on your outfit, they eventually agreed on the phrase: “Slutty, but not too slutty”.

That’s why you’ve borrowed one of Meg’s sweaters, a relatively low cut one, but still just a little modest. Shawn has already seen you naked, so you figure seeing some cleavage won’t be too much for him. It’s also just a smidge too tight on you, but you don’t think it matters much. You definitely don’t think it will bother him.

You rush out to get your coat, managing to avoid having to talk to your roommates, and once you have it on, you’re out the door. Shawn is waiting just a bit down the street, leant against the side of his Jeep, and when he spots you walking towards him, his face lights up.

“Hey,” Shawn greets when you reach him, and he presses a kiss to your cheek, an area that reddens immediately after. “You look great.” His eyes give you the once-over, and you can’t help but blush even more under his gaze.

“Thanks,” you say, smiling. “You look great too,” He really does. His cheeks are flushed too, but you can’t be sure if it’s from the cold weather or if it’s your effect on him. “So where are we going?”

He shrugs and moves to the passenger side of the car. “That’s for me to know and for you to dot, dot, dot,”

You squint, staring at him suspiciously. “Was that a fucking Vampire Diaries reference?” He nods and breaks into laughter, and you find it hard not to laugh too. You shake your head and walk over to him, letting him open the car door for you. Real gentleman move.

—————–

When you get out of the car again, Shawn is there to open the door for you as well. You don’t know this particular part of Toronto that well, but you know you’re close to Shawn’s condo. He’s parked down a side street, quiet and empty, and you can’t find any clues as to why he’s brought you here until you spot a glowing neon sign that simply says “PIZZA” in bright blue.

Shawn doesn’t say anything but locks the car and holds out his hand for you to take, and you accept the offer. Your heart beats a little faster than usual, and it’s not just because of the feeling of Shawn’s skin against yours. There’s an elephant in the room, and you don’t know how to bring it up.

What if someone sees the two of you together? What if someone takes a photo of you together? And what if that photo is posted on social media? It’s an unpleasant thought, and it settles inside you in a matter of seconds.

“You okay?” Shawn asks with a smile, concern still clear on his face, however. “Anything wrong?”

“Shawn, I have to ask you something,” you blurt out, and he waits patiently while you figure out what to say. “Are we, you know… safe here?” He tilts his head, adorably confused. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t wanna be seen with you.”

His smile only grows. “We’re safe here, yeah. I know the owners, and I promise they won’t snitch on us,” You nod, feeling reassured, and he squeezes your hand before he guides you inside.

The restaurant is definitely not crowded. There's only an elderly couple sitting opposite each other, and when they spot Shawn, they send him a wave which he returns, grinning brightly. This place has a cozy vibe, wooden panels and a calm, faded red colour adorning the walls. It’s a hard feeling to describe, but you almost feel… home.

“Shawn!” a voice exclaims excitedly, and you see a beautiful, middle-aged woman emerge from the kitchen doors. “So good to see you!” The woman looks distinctly Italian, and that’s quickly confirmed. “Oh, il mio ragazzo, you’ve brought a girl!” She walks over to you, clearly taking you in. “Very pretty.” You blush furiously, and when you meet her eyes, they practically have kindness shining out of them.

“This is Y/N,” Shawn explains. “Y/N, this is Mrs Vincenti. She and her husband own this place.”

You chat for a few minutes, finding her to be as kind as you thought her to be, before she returns to the kitchen, and Shawn leads you to a booth. You look at the menu, deciding to share a pizza but struggling to decide on which one to get.

Eventually, you come to the compromise of getting a margherita pizza, and Shawn orders some grissini as a side too, Mrs Vincenti bringing you some sodas.

“You come here often,” you state, and Shawn nods. “I get why. It’s nice here.”

“It is,” he agrees, smiling bashfully. “I’d just moved into my condo when I first found this place. I was hungry, and well… you know I’m not the best chef,” You can’t keep a laugh in. His eggs for breakfast were fine, but they definitely showed a lack of skill. “So I came here, and the Vincentis just immediately took me in. And now, whenever I’m home, I come here.”

Your first thought is what you end up saying. “That’s so cute,” As soon as you’ve said it, you feel your face heat up, obviously reddening, but you find Shawn to be looking the same.

He shrugs. “And it’s a nice sanctuary. No one really knows about this place, so I get to eat in peace,”

“Some people know,” Your eyes flicker to the elderly couple.

“Oh, you mean the Olivers over there?”

“Yeah,”

“They’re nice people,” Shawn tells you, and there’s such a fondness in his expression, something that only makes him more endearing. “They eat here like every night. I usually eat with them when I’m here,” Your heart is aching - but in a good way. He needs to stop being so cute. “But now I’m here with you. You, who I’m starting to realize I know nothing about,” It’s true. You can’t recall telling him basically anything about yourself. “I know Katie’s at university from what Brian told me. You studying anything?”

“No, not anymore. I dropped out after my first year,” you answer, and his brows raise, a little confused by the looks of it. You try and figure out how to explain it, but you decide to just be honest with him. “You know how sometimes you just do what other people want because it’ll be easier?” He gives an eager nod, and you suspect he knows that feeling quite well. “To my parents, I only had three options: studying business, law or medicine. So I chose business.”

He winces, chuckling. “Oh shit, why?”

You shrug. “Seemed like the easiest choice. Definitely wasn’t easy to study, though,”

“I can imagine,”

“But I got to meet my friends there, so it got me something - at least,”

“Your friends from the bar?”

“Yeah. Katie, Meg and Charlie,” you say, smiling just at the thought of them. “We all lived in the same dorm the first year, but then we moved into a house together, one that Meg’s dad bought for her,” Shawn tilts his head, and you can understand why. “Meg’s dad is this super-rich CEO. He pays her rent, which is like 50% of the whole rent, so it’s not that expensive for me. I really got lucky with her, eh?”

“You really did,” Shawn laughs, and then Mrs Vincenti comes out with the food and leaves again. The pizza looks so good, and you’re about to go for a slice when Shawn speaks again. “So what do you do now?”

You’re impressed with his curiosity. “Uh, I work as a secretary for a lawyer. She’s really nice, and it’s good money, so I’m not complaining,”

After that, you finally begin eating, and you could moan just at the taste of the pizza. A margherita pizza is as simple as they come, but the flavours are so deep and intricate, and you feel like you practically inhale your slices. The grissini are amazing as well. You struggle to understand why this place isn’t overrun with customers.

—————–

Once you’re done eating, you stay and chat for a while, but at one point, you do actually have to go home. After having said your goodbyes to Mrs Vincenti, you go back to the car, Shawn opening the door for you again - of course.

When you reach your street, Shawn is able to find a parking spot close to your door.

“You can come inside, but then you need to know something first,” you say, grinning, and he gives you an intrigued look. “I don’t have sex on the first date.” He roars with laughter, leaning his head back into his seat, and you’re laughing too now.

“So you only have sex before the first date, then?” Shawn continues with a smirk, and you nod, giving him your best serious look, but you instantly start giggling. “But, yeah, I’ll come in. I’m hoping I’ll at least get to kiss you, though.”

You only offer a shrug, even though you know he definitely will. “Who knows?”

Once inside, you take off your coats and shoes and make your way to the living room, only to be met with three shrieks of horror.

Katie, Meg and Charlie are all on the couch, looking more than comfy in their jammies, Meg even with a face mask on, clearly not expecting to have a man in their midst.

“Jesus Christ, Y/N,” Charlie exclaims, cheeks flushing. “You could’ve told us you were bringing him home!” Shawn only looks upon the embarrassed group with amusement.

“Well, I didn’t know, okay?” you say and roll your eyes. “But we won’t bother you anymore. We’re just gonna go to my room,” When you glance over at Shawn, his eyes widen a little, lips curling into a grin. “Shawn.” You reach out with your hand, and he takes it, letting you pull him to the stairs. As you begin ascending, there’s a noise from the living room.

“Put some music on if you’re gonna fuck!” Meg shouts, and you hear the three of them laugh. You can’t help but roll your eyes at them again.

When you open the door to your room, you can’t keep from feeling a bit nervous. You did the best you could to make it look tidy before you left, in case you did end up bring Shawn home. Clothes are no longer strewn all over the bed, and it is made to perfection.

You expect Shawn to let go of your hand once you’ve closed the door behind you, but he doesn’t. Instead, his thumb rubs over the side of your hand, and your heart flutters at the simple, gentle touch. When you lock eyes with him, your heart feels like it might burst. God, what is this boy doing to me?

You step backwards, pulling him with you, until the back of your knees bump against the bottom of your mattress. You sit down and scoot back, lying down, and Shawn crawls up so you’re face to face.

“I know you don’t have sex on the first date,” Shawn says, voice low. “But what about on a second date?” You snort with laughter, and you bring your hand up to cup the side of his face.

“That’s a really shit way of asking me on a second date, you know?” you smile, and he’s about to offer an apology, but you stop him. “But, yeah, I’m in,” You raise your head to press a kiss to his jaw. “And maybe next time, you’ll be too.” Shawn chuckles, shaking his head in mock disdain, before leaning down to capture your lips with his own.

—————–

@sauveteen @flickershawn @peachnpomegranate @yellowitsmendes @me-a-hopeless-romantic @couple100miles @rishlo @fallininyou @bluerroses @nervousroses @shavvnmendcs @rechema

[melodyrisen-a]

3 for all of the girls and a 5 for Ray

Canon Mun Questions!

3: What is something that was never addressed at all in thecanon material that you have independently developed for your muse? 

Lemme just split this into sections for ease of answering XD

Ruri: Her backstory and how she ended up with the Kurosaki family, as well as her view on being fused with Yuzu post-canon. I don’t at all think the girls are dead after the events of canon, they’re still within Yuzu just as much as the boys are inside Yuya, but all of this is my interpretation. We get some backstory with her, but… How tf did she end up with the Kurosaki family to the point even Shun thought she was born into their family and always his blood sister? What was her life like prior to meeting Yuto past those couple of flashbacks? This blog’s canon has her found by an elderly couple who loved her and realized they couldn’t care for her, and gave her to the Kurosakis with the knowledge they could. She’s a happy kid with her brother. She deserved more story than she got.

Rin: The same as Ruri’s in that I gave her a proper backstory and feelings towards the fusing. Rin was so much of a blank slate it’s not fair? We got such little info on her that as far as this blog is concerned, Rin was found by the orphanage she grew up in, but eventually started questioning why she (and the other kids) was there, just to be told her parents passed in an accident. Wondering about the ‘what if’ (What if she’d been there, could she have helped them, did they like her, if she hadn’t been there…) combined with the Tops looking down their nose at her and the others in commons gives rise to her ‘ice queen’ personality, but also results in her questioning everything by the time post-canon comes around. In actual canon she just gets like… Five minutes. Ten tops. Not enough for this girl.

Ray: She has more of a backstory with Zarc here - Namely that she’s been more involved with him for a while prior to him going bonkers. They’ve had a kind of relationship (even if she won’t call it that) and she knows him way more intimately than canon even remotely hints at. As far as I’m concerned, she also still exists within Yuzu, just differently from how the other girls do.

Serena: How she got her Lunalights, her relationship (or lack thereof) with Yuri, and growing up in Academia. We gets hints here and there of things, but they don’t really tell us anything past those hints? Blog canon has decided Serena was found by the professor and raised alongside Yuri, but kept her distance from him because there was something about him she just couldn’t stand. She recieived her Lunalights from a teacher she liked before they never came back from a mission (having been doubting Academia and got carded for it under the guise of another routine mission), and began to hate the memory probes Leo conducted on her - Part of her reason for wanting out as much as she did to prove herself. She was a solider, but if she proved herself, would the probes stop…?

Yuzu: Her Melodious deck is actually a newer archetype (not new-new, just on the newer side of things) and she picked it because she loves music. Her childhood is getting more fleshed out here, with her growing up happy and having interests and music lessons. There’s also a lot I have in mind for post-canon, with her having to learn how to live with three other voices in her head and how she came back to life- I’m still working on how much I’m looking to expand things here but there’s a lot I’m eager to work out with @pendulumrisen!

5:What is an aspect of your muse’s canon material or canonexistence that you never had the opportunity to explore but really want to?

There’s a lot I haven’t touched on for Ray yet, but I honestly want to explore her feelings towards Zarc’s possible revival and her dad’s plans to revive her. Like I mentioned above, this blog’s canon involves Ray and Zarc having had a relationship (of sorts) prior to the split, and part of her reason for stealing the En cards in my portrayal was because she knows him and wanted to try and stop him herself, on top of wanting to save her dad from a probable death if he’d tried. We know from canon she wasn’t pleased by Leo trying to revive her, but… We don’t get too deep into that? We don’t get too deep into a lot of Ray’s character and gdi I want more??

I’d also love to look more into how Ray was as a duelist. We know she’s strong and gave Zarc a run for his money but what was her deck? Did she do tournaments? Was she popular? Why the pink goggles? There’s so much to Ray I’m super eager to explore and I’m taking everyone down with me. XD

[every-last-inch-of-me]

Waterloo Sunset || Marginally Catholic

[Backdated: Late August, shortly after the HP AU.]

Gaston drags Claude on a day trip into the capital, where Claude admits his intentions of leaving the church and Gaston makes a discovery.

TW: light mentions of abuse, death and trauma

@hellfire-damnation

GASTON: 

Gaston had been up, for once, in what normal people could consider 'the morning'. The birds had been singing, the sky a bright blue and the breeze cool, wafting through his window and tickling his sleeping body awake. It felt like summer, for real this time and, since the bar's shifts were covered all day, he was desperate not to waste it.

He'd thrown on his clothes and made his way across the road to the church, where the priest was just finishing up his morning service. For a second, he waited by the doors, just to be certain that it was closer to the end of the service than the start (though really he had no idea) and threw the doors open with a resounding CRASH.

"Ok, everybody! Up and out! Church today is cancelled!" He called, as he strutted down the main aisle, before raising an eyebrow at the old lady who hadn't got out of her seat yet. "That means you too, Petunia."

"My name's-"

"Less talking more walking. We," he threw the priest a jacket and shirt he'd found spare at his house, "have places to be. Chop chop. Haven't got all day. We have trains to catch."

CLAUDE: 

Of all the things he expected to come through his door this morning, a loud and insistent Gaston LeCarriere was not one of them. Specifically, one that was up this early. Not that Gaston lazed about, really, but not many people were up with the sun like Claude was. 

A hazard of the position, he supposed, among other things. 

Regardless, the man's brow furrowed as he watched Gaston come up the main aisleway, weaving between the elderly patrons of the church easily as they shuffled about. The last one out, as usual, was Edith. 

Shaking his head at the other man's antics, not commenting because he was used to them by this point, Claude caught the clothing that was tossed to him with one hand as he moved around to help the older woman up onto her feet. Thanking him, she gave his arm a pat and he smiled, bright and warm, as he watched her walk out into the church courtyard. 

Once she was out of the building, Claude heaved a sigh and began undoing the buttons of his priest's habit. "Is this even mine," he questioned, arching a brow at the white t-shirt in his hand. "And what are you on about? Trains? Where are we going?" As he spoke he moved around the room, hurriedly putting everything away, hands untucking the collar at his throat and removing the rest of the clothing of his office like it was second nature. It probably was, but that still didn't explain why he was doing it. Other than the fact that Gaston had said they were going somewhere, somewhere that obviously did not require his being dressed as a priest. 

GASTON:

Gaston could feel his toes buzzing as he watched the priest helped the slowest old woman in the world onto her feet and watched her leave. He'd never been very patient. By that point, if the pressure in his legs that was stopping him from picking her up and throwing her straight out of the door could be used, he'd either be knee deep in the stone or levitating.

He shrugged at the first question and let out a quick, "You tell me." After the first time Claude had stayed, bloody and beaten, there had been a silent exchange of clothes. The priest had liked a jumper, so he kept the jumper out when the man came by in the evenings. A t-shirt fitted, so if it came too late to cross the street, the shirt became his. And in turn, there were bits of the priest's clothes in his basket waiting to be washed. Of course, they were technically Gaston's, in that he'd bought them. But he was fairly certain he was the less frequent occupant.

The one in Claude's hand wasn't particularly distinguishable, but it had looked small when he'd picked it up and that was good enough for him.

"And we're going out," Gaston said, crossing his arms and tapping his finger into his arm. "Hurry up or we'll be late."

CLAUDE: 

As soon as he had returned from helping Edith out the door and had his collar and habit off, Claude was slipping the shirt over his head and the leather jacket he kept at Gaston's across his shoulders. After the first night he had stayed in the other man's flat, clothing had sporadically appeared, intermingling with what was already there. He still even had one of Gaston's jumpers somewhere in the wash, though he could hardly tell you which one. 

Likewise, he had some of the man's own clothing scattered around. A jumper that was a bit bigger in the shoulders, jeans that were longer at the inseam. It had become almost habit these days to accidentally find himself tossing on a shirt and realizing it wasn't his. 

And he could not have really told you when it started happening, just that it had. 

Out? Well, that was certainly news to Claude. Still, he did nothing more than raise an eyebrow and gave a small nod, bemused at the run around he was being given. The priest didn't really have to worry, to be honest. If it was anything overly important, the other man would have told him. No, this was something he wanted to do, and Claude was being brought along with him. 

He ushered the other man out of the building with a hand between his shoulders, turning and locking the doors up once they were outside, before turning and folding his arms across his chest. "Care to tell me where it is that we are going, or is it another of your surprises?" The last time that had happened he'd been blindfolded and led into a cellar. 

GASTON:

Gaston shoved his hands into his pockets and took a deep breath, thankful they were moving before his impatience succeeded in vibrating him through the floor. It was also a relief to see that the clothes he'd picked up actually looked quite nice, in a Claude-y kind of way. The priest had a way of pulling things off that Gaston hadn't mastered. 

Of course, Gaston did look good in a lot of things because he was musclebound and had the face of a God. But there was a balance when it came to a lot of clothes, in being the right shape and size to not make him look like a) he'd dressed in a sausage skin; or b) he was about twenty-five stone, and not in the good way. It seemed the priest avoided that dilemma by merit of being perfectly slender. 

He waited until the door clicked and shrugged. "This time I'm actually selling you into slavery. Don't want to keep the human traffickers waiting," he teased, resting an arm on Claude's shoulder as he finished locking the door. "You'll be blessing black market holy water."

CLAUDE: 

Rolling his eyes at the non-answer, Claude recognized he would probably not be getting anything out of the other man anytime soon. Still, the off-color quip made him shake his head, fighting the curl of a smile as it edged at the corners of his mouth. He snorted instead. The words 'not for much longer' were on the tip of his tongue, so close he just wanted to say them. But, he knew if he did, if he said it and then was denied, somehow, he was dashing his hopes as surely as he had gotten them up. 

"They would give me back. I am a particular brand. Not many people can afford me nor do they know how to handle me," he teased, moving away from the door and speaking over his shoulder as he took the steps two at a time. He did not have to check to know Gaston was following behind him, excess energy and all. 

Whatever it was they were doing, the other man was positively brimming over with it. Stopping once he was at the end of the drive, the priest inclined his head towards his car, gave the keys in his hand a shake. "Are we walking to the station or shall I drive?" 

GASTON:

Gaston turned his head and let out a quiet laugh. "Can't afford you or handle you? What're you? An inspirational facebook post for fourteen year olds who've just broken up with their boyfriend?" He teased, prodding him in the ribs and hoping by this point the bruise was far enough healed that it didn't hurt too much.

For a moment, he stared at the priest and then his car. He'd forgotten he had a car. He'd forgotten he could drive even. Swynlake was the sort of town that there wasn't all that much need for it. Gaston had long gotten used to walking and, as a teenager, it had definitely saved him money. And, probably, brushes with the police.

"But nah, why the fuck would I choose to get robbed by the station car parking machine. If we don't drive, I've got more cash for drinks."

CLAUDE: 

Claude chose not to reply to the ribbing. Instead, he just smiled, still flicking his keys in his hand while he waited for the other man to reply. He had only been joking but there was also a part of him, a very small part, that knew it was the truth. 

With his past, with his idiosyncrasies and the way he was, very few people could tolerate him. Or, at the very least, that was always what Claude had believed. So, yes, he was grateful to the man, even if he was being an ass about it. 

"You forgot I can drive didn't you," he quipped, smile widening to show his teeth as he laughed. Then, Claude pocketed his keys and shook out his shoulders, angling alongside the man to match his gait. He didn't mind a walk, not really, and if they were going to be drinking...wherever it was that they were going, well, Claude would leave his car anyhow. 

GASTON:

The walk to the station wasn't long, though a little sticky in the swelling heat of the rising sun. He'd almost wished they'd driven by the time they'd made it. He was overheated, of course, brow dripping with sweat as he settled under the closest seat to the aircon and directed air into his shirt under the amused (or perhaps disgusted) gaze of the priest, while the landscape slid past in swells and dins of roaming hills and sneaking urbanisation - until the first tower blocks of the city sprung from the ground.

The last time he'd been to London was when his parents had died. The French, forever bureaucratic, had struggled with a detail in a translated document that, after weeks of fighting by post, had miraculously disappeared from their possession. In the end, he'd decided to go to the embassy so he could fight them face to face. 

He stepped from the station, breathing in the city air and smiled. He loved it up here. Though they'd struggled through crowds just to get to the street, there was a errectic peace to the world. It was an absolute state, between the people and the cars and the way the concrete made the heat throb, but the city seemed quite content in itself. It was the sort of thing he wished he could bottle and take with him wherever he went.

"Cool, isn't it?" He smiled, meeting the priest's gaze for a moment before glancing off down a nearby road. "I think if you head that way it's only a couple of minutes to the waterfront."

CLAUDE: 

During the walk to the station, Claude had time to mull over where exactly it was they were headed. To him, there did not seem to be a countless number of options though he knew the system could take them most places across England. It was not something he often thought about, in truth, because he had been so used to driving in France. The town he and Laurent had resided in was small, barely more than what could be considered a hamlet, and he'd had to drive into the city often. 

Once university had begun, it was a similar experience, though the loosening of his leash had only lasted so long. 

He had not, however, expected Gaston to be taking him into London. Following the other man a bit speechless at all the activity. He had not been into London since helping Quasimodo, and that was nearly a year, perhaps two, ago. Even then he had not stayed long. And what Gaston seemed to be suggesting that they stay the day, perhaps see the sights. 

Claude nodded, eyes taking in everything around him, speechless for the first time in a while. There was so much to see and, when he turned to the man beside him, a grin stretched from ear to ear across his face. He nodded his head, glancing down the street, before giving a bit of a shrug. 

"I've no idea where I am going. I have been here only a handful of times. So, please, lead the way." 

GASTON:

Gaston stepped ahead of him, beckoning him forward with a hand as his head stuck a little into the road so he could see if there was anything he recognised. Frankly, he had no idea where he was going either. But he was well seasoned in the art of winging it and at worst he could subtly look at the maps on his phone when the priest wasn't looking - like a true man, he'd never admit he was lost.

"So, what d'you wanna see?" He said before he threw himself across a line of moving traffic before the lights had completely changed, spotting a gap in the cityscape and hoping it meant the Thames was nearby. It was almost fortunate he hadn't grown up in a big city, or at least anywhere his parents could have seen him doing self-destructive everyday acts. After all, it wouldn't have taken werewolves to kill them. His mother certainly would have died of a heart attack first. "I think the London Eye's this way. Probably some street performers," he flicked a glance over his shoulder and offered a faint smile in the priest's direction, "get an honourary Mr Whippy. With a flake, obviously."

CLAUDE: 

Claude gave a shrug of his shoulders as he stepped up closer to the younger man, glancing down the street just as Gaston was. "Perhaps the waterfront, then? I do not particularly know where anything is, here. It has been longer than a year. And when I was here it was not for sightseeing." 

While he'd been talking, Gaston darted out into the street, apparently intent on getting himself hit by a bus. The Frenchman protested loudly, giving the drivers that had been heading down the roadway an apologetic look. After a moment, Claude caught up to him. His brow was screwed up in a bit of a scowl and he shook his head. Still, he couldn't help the little smile that curled around his mouth. 

"The London Eye sounds perfect. Just do not walk into anymore cars, please." 

GASTON:

Nor had he really been to London sight-seeing. But he spent so much time on his phone, staring at rose tinted interpretations of the city through another person's camera he felt as though he could guess it almost as well as knew Swynlake. Which was probably wrong. Though he planned on pretending right up until they got lost and found again.

Gaston frowned and raised a shoulder, with something of a smirk to his mouth with Claude's words. While the dream they'd shared had been a little traumatising, it had reminded him how much he'd enjoyed being young and a little cheeky. And though he wasn't making a conscious effort to try to get back to the days before - as much as he'd loved them - he found a joyful attitude bubbling back to the surface from time to time.

"Hey now, I didn't walk into any cars," he snatched his gaze away and smiled as he watched the outline of the Eye rise along the cityscape. "Just oncoming traffic. God, it's almost like you care about me."

CLAUDE: 

Following after Gaston felt almost like going into a den of lions, except he wasn't entirely afraid. It was nice to see a smile on the other's face, too. He had said it before and he would again, it was one of his favorite faces the other man pulled. And he liked when he laughed. It was something rare, fleeting and achingly personal, and it was nice. 

He'd told Gaston, as he vaguely remembered it, that he felt lucky to hear it. Claude would say it again because it was true. 

"Do not give me that look, LaCarriere. You know what you did." Still, he followed Gaston's gaze, drawn to whatever he was looking toward, though he kept an eye on the cars and the people around them. At the man's last quip, however, Claude shot him a puzzled look, brow scrunching together as he glanced at the side of his face.

"Why would I not?" It was quiet, and probably much heavier than he had meant it to be, but it was honest. There were many things he could think of not to care about, be it a person or a situation, but Gaston had never been one of them. Claude had cared about him, in whatever capacity he was able, from the moment they'd met. 

GASTON:

Gaston shrugged and let something of a smile twist his lips. "Bit gay," he smirked, ignoring the question. People didn't tend to admit they cared about him. It was part of the male experience, he thought. You didn't care and people didn't care right back at you. Granted, on occasion a girl would claim they did, but it was usually much too soon and frankly a little off-putting.

Claude, of course, was another thing entirely. A fresh entity he didn't quite understand. Because he did care and, Gaston had realised after long nights in each other's company, he cared back too, in his own way. Not that he'd ever admit it out loud. Or at least, not where anyone but Claude could hear him.

"Wanna grab an ice cream while I get the tickets?" He asked, glancing at the queue to the attraction that was beginning to loom over the cityscape. It was still quite early (for Gaston at least) and while the air hadn't quite warmed to its height, standing in the sun in a queue full of Chinese people wasn't exactly cooling. It was part of the reason he didn't spend much time aching to visit attractions. They were always too warm and he'd much rather be soaking up the sun in a beer garden with a pint in his hand and a packet of crisps.

CLAUDE:

The Frenchman huffed a laugh and rolled his eyes, shaking his head at Gaston's smile. He shrugged his own shoulders and, in the same motion, slid his jacket from them. Tugging at the collar of the shirt that was definitely not his, Claude quirked a brow at the other man, voice teasing for a moment before dropping into something like seriousness. "Whoever said I wasn't? Besides, it isn't hard. Everyone else is just stupid." 

That was showing a bit too much of a hand he didn't know he had been dealt, but Claude wasn't going to take the words back. He meant them in their entirety, even if Gaston was going to tease him about them. He did care. And, in his own way, Gaston did too. If he hadn't, they wouldn't be here. 

Nose wrinkling as he glanced at the long line in the sun, the dark-haired man nodded his head. He broke off from the man and made his way to the stand a few feet off, the vendor looking unpleasantly warm herself. But, she had a smile on her face and Claude returned it, small and warm, as he paid for the ice cream. The tip he put into the jar on his way off was met with an exclamation of surprised thanks and he chuckled quietly to himself as he accepted it. 

When he returned to the line, he held the ice cream out to the other man, licking at the rivulets of cream and sugar that had melted down the side of his fingers when it was pulled away. 

"Did they say how long the wait will be?" 

GASTON:

The barman threw a raised eyebrow over his shoulder as he began to move away, amusement tangling his lips. With a tone like that, he could never tell if the other man was being serious or messing with him. But frankly, by this point he no longer cared. After all, if a priest was going to vouch for him, he had nothing to worry about.

 "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were chatting me up," he called behind him, before dipping into the ticket office. Surprisingly, the queue for the machines wasn't as long as he'd been expecting. Perhaps that was because it was a weekday afternoon. Perhaps it was because everyone else had already bought them on their phones and was about ten steps ahead of him.

He wandered back to the priest, tickets in hand. He wasn't very good at waiting for things he wanted: always one for instant gratification. Even if it cost him in the long run and GOD this had already cost him. Probably because they were banking on impatient bastards like him being around. "Got us express tickets so as long as it takes for them to open the door on the pod I guess," he mused, glancing back up and taking the ice cream as he shoved the tickets in his back pocket.

CLAUDE: 

Smiling to himself at the quip from the other man, because really what did you say to that that wasn't incriminating?, the Frenchman waited patiently for Gaston to return, edging out of the way of other tourists. Craning his head back, his gaze was lost for a moment in the sheer enormity of the sky, the backdrop it made against the steel of the Eye. It was rather beautiful, if you thought about it in any particular way, and Claude was glad to have the sight. 

Fishing his phone from his pocket with the hand not sticky with melted ice cream, Claude scrolled until he found the camera, snapping a quick photo of the backdrop. He turned when he heard the other man coming closer and, seeing him standing there, felt his finger capture that moment, too. 

Stowing his phone without looking at either one, Claude handed the treat over, eyebrows arching up into his hairline at the comment. When he spoke, however, it was on a laugh as he shook his head. "Impatient. That is what you are. Stubborn and impatient. You did not need to buy them on your own, you know. I'd have split them but thank you, anyway." 

GASTON:

Gaston raised an eyebrow and took a bite out of his ice cream. It was a habit that his mother had always hated. She seemed convinced that she could feel the second hand pain in his teeth when he did it. But the action had rarely bothered him, especially with soft cones. 

"Split them?" He scoffed, finishing his mouthful. "What? With the 25p you have in your bank account?" He laughed at his own joke and stepped towards the entrance of the line marked Express, wondering if Claude would be offended by the thought of them taking their sticky ice cream hands into the pod. "Just shut up and enjoy yourself for once in your life. Or I'll go take these tickets to that bird over there and you can watch us from down here."

He wouldn't, of course. First off, giving women very expensive things for free set a precedent he wasn't willing to uphold. And really, he'd taken Claude out to show him what living felt like. He didn't plan on wasting the trip.

CLAUDE: 

Claude watched with skepticism as Gaston bit into the side of his ice cream, eyebrows arching. He felt the cold in his own teeth and it made him wonder just how the other man got away with such a thing. 

The comment was an old-born one, however, so all he did was roll his eyes and shove him with a shoulder. "I have a stipend, thank you. Just not a lot by the time heating and air and gas are paid for." The Frenchman shrugged a shoulder, more flippant than he normally was about it. The thought had settled more and more firmly into his mind that he would not be living like that for much longer. 

Then again, he still needed to find another place to live, too. 

"I am, actually. Despite being kidnapped again. It is...nice, being able to go out into the city." His eyes flickered to the mass of the Eye in front of them, a bit of longing in his gaze as he stared up into the sky. He missed the flying from the dream, had since he'd woken. It figured that one of the few ways he knew to obtain the feeling was to be perched on high again. 

He sighed through his nose, then, and shook his head, the curl to his lip not entirely hidden by the ice cream he was eating. "You would not. We're here to have fun, nounours." 

GASTON:

A wry smile twisted the younger man’s lips at the thought of kidnapping. He knew it was a joke, though he couldn’t quite stop himself from smirking at the thought of being to the church what Robin Hood was to the rich. If giving to the poor counted their own priests. Stealing misery and dishing out bundles of fun. Like a sexy Father Christmas. Though really, he was quite pleased to hear that his idea was somewhat appreciated, even if the execution was not.

 A hand came round and he wrestled the man’s head teasingly into his armpit. “I’m here to have fun. You’re just my sidekick. Accessory to fun. And if I choose to take Supergirl on the flight of her life there isn’t much you can do about it apart from buy your own ticket and third wheel the fuck out of it,” he said, dragging the other man into the walkway.

CLAUDE: 

Claude saw the smirk and knew it was meant to go along with his first comment yet the eyeroll and the fond shake of his head were almost second nature by now. There were many things people didn't understand about his position as a priest, one of which was his lack of money. The church was meant to provide for the people who worked for it but, even still, it was usually not enough. 

"And I make your life interesting. You would not know what to do without me," he said, humming a bit to himself. The Frenchman yelped when an arm dragged him close, pressing him into Gaston's side and caging his head beneath his arm. The hand not holding his ice cream clutched onto the side of his waist that was closest, deft fingers jabbing into his side. The man squirmed a bit beneath that arm, face turning against his bicep and nipping at the skin there to get him to loosen up, eyes bright as he laughed, quiet among the crowd. 

The walkway was crowded, though, and Claude watched the people around them with a critical eye. He pressed himself further into the other man's side because of that, grip tightening minutely against his side as they manoeuvred into the queue. 

GASTON:

The barman rubbed his free elbow into the other man's skull as he dragged him along, laughing and trying to resist the urge to flinch at the prods to his side and the teeth to his arms. Evidently, the rest of the occupants of their queue, considerably more mature and better dressed than they were, seemed to disapprove of the mass of arms and flailing ice cream. Though frankly, he'd paid an arm and a leg for the pleasure and if he wanted to cover a man in a suit with a 99 flake he was most certainly going to.

"How? By- Ow- By making everyone think of me as the loser that hangs out with the priest?" He smirked, giving the priest's head another hard jab before taking a bite of the ice cream still in his hand.

Honestly, though, he didn't care all that much about what people thought. Proximity to him elevated everyone to God status, he thought. If it had worked for Tubso back in school, it could work for Claude too. For starters, Claude was considerably better looking - even if it was disguised behind the veil of priesthood - and considerably less noticeable.

CLAUDE: 

He could feel people staring but Claude didn't rightly care. Not right now. For once, he was content to let people stare at him and not care what they saw. Gaston's arm was still wrapped around his head, though, and the Frenchman laughed louder as he pushed at his arm with a hand, teeth catching his arm again. 

"No one knows I am a priest here except you, nounours. And I am magnifique, thank you very much." Finally wrestling his head free, Claude made a victorious noise, much to the chagrin of the pair in front of them in line. Claude smiled widely back, for once not caring what anyone in the world thought. 

His excitement at the trip they were taking into the Eye was more noticeable the closer they came to the lift, eyes sparking with some contained joy he normally did not show, nearly bouncing as he walked. He tugged Gaston along beside him absentmindedly, watching the faces of the people around him.

GASTON:

Gaston followed the other man's lead, content to let him drag him about, so long as he wasn't complaining. Really, he was quite surprised by Claude's enthusiasm. Gaston had never really shown much interest in the London Eye on any of his previous visits as a teen or with family. They'd all preferred to drink and eat good food, and frankly there wasn't anything much worse that he could think of than being stuck in a bubble for forty five minutes as it very slowly did a tour of the London skyline.

Though, somehow that seemed marginally better than doing it all on foot. They could definitively say that Claude had seen the entirety of London and he could spend the rest of the afternoon drinking beer in the sun by the river.

"Calm down. You're like an African child seeing snow for the first time, it really isn't that interesting," he said, stepping up to the front of their queue as the other pair began to board and taking a memorabilia booklet from the server. Too fucking right for that sort of money, he thought, eyes quickly grazing the pages and paying little attention to what he assumed was a runthrough of the safety information.

CLAUDE: 

There was something to be said for the enthusiasm that radiated off of him, like a switch had been flipped or a light turned on. There was an explanation for it, of course, but it was hard to put into words. Still, Claude was offended by the comparison as much as he was with anything Gaston said. That is to say, he snorted and shook his head. It might be off-color but it was not technically wrong. 

Eventually, they wound their way closer to the front of the queue and waited patiently for the pair in front of them to board. Gaston was given a pamphlet and Claude tilted his head to the side to look at it, brow arching as they were held at the gate by the bored looking young man waiting there. 

The glass bubble lifted them away and then another came and they were ushered into it. Except no one else had followed, as Claude had expected there to be. Suspicious, Claude glanced at the tickets Gaston had purchased, laughing aloud when he saw the name on the top. 

In his hurry to purchase them, Gaston had gotten them express tickets on the Eye. 

"Well this is certainly nicer than I was expecting," Claude teased, grin never fully leaving his face as he settled onto one of the benches and drew his knees up, chin resting on them as he looked up at the other man. The silence stretched for a moment as they got situated, the calm of it washing over him in a way that it did not anywhere else. He spoke again as the bubble lifted into the air, eyes bright, and took in the city as it rose around them. 

"Merci, Gaston, really. The city is beautiful." 

GASTON:

Gaston snatched the tickets from the other man and narrowed his eyes as he scoured the surface for the answer as the dome continued on its slow rotation. He'd thought he'd been buying express tickets, fast track, whatever you called them. After all, he wasn't much one for waiting and at the time entering a five minute queue with all the snoots had seemed far more appealing than the one that wound half way along the river bank. 

Though, thinking back on it, the machine had served him a little pop up window with a picture of a peaceful looking couple, offering express entry and a relaxing experience and he'd clicked the enormous black yes, instead of the smaller paler 'no, thank you'. By the looks of things, that pop up had been the Premium Private experience. Or, as he thought of it, Daylight Robbery.

"Don't start thinking I'm always this charitable," he said, sitting down beside him and whacking him around the back of his head with his tickets before he reached towards the complimentary chocolates. Or… well… over them, to the child-sized bottles of champagne. But he could pretend that booze wasn't the first thing on his mind. He twisted the cork out with his teeth. "I was tricked."

CLAUDE: 

Snorting as Gaston cuffed him around the back of the head, he twisted fingers around the man's hand and tugged it away, laughing. "That is what you get. Impatient," he sing-songed, teasing Gaston with an arched brow. Settling further back into the seat, Claude tilted his head to the side and watched as more and more of the city came into sight. 

"Perhaps you should be tricked more often, then," he said, tugging the champagne bottle out of Gaston's hands with a roll of his eyes. Twisting his hand deftly, the rest of the cork came away with a pop. Handing it back to the other man, he reached over him and grabbed two glasses by the stem. He gestured with them, waiting until Gaston took one before leaning away. 

"Charity has nothing to do with this. But it is nice, all the same. I have always liked being up high, you know. Feels like nothing can get you here." 

GASTON:

Gaston shook his head with something of a smirk etched into his mouth as he took his glass and filled it, before topping up the other man's. This was always one thing he hated about booze that came with things - or food for that matter. It was always pitifully small and never enough to really get drunk on so frankly, what was the point? Though, in that breath, it was best forgotten that it took rather a lot to get the large man tipsy - something he attributed to his size, rather than his problem.

"Can't say I'm so much of a fan." Sure, flying had been fun in the dream. He'd loved it, truly. And some part of him hoped he'd find something he'd loved that much again. But when it came to being trapped in a floating glass bubble over a body of water, he was less certain. Not that he was scared, per se. Gaston didn't get scared. But his brain had chosen precisely the wrong moment to remind him that a runaway ferris wheel was just a windmill full of corpses.

"So," he rested his elbow on the other man's shoulder and touched their glasses. "Got anything to toast or are we giving this one to my extortionately large penis?"

CLAUDE: 

Head leaned back against the cushions of the bench he was on, Claude's hand curled loose around the stem of his glass, murmuring a thank you into the air when Gaston filled his glass. 

"No? Well...I suppose we all have different reasons. Mine...it was safer there than it ever was on the ground. Besides, you see many different things when you form a different perspective. It was fun, flying, in the dream. I suppose this is as close as I can get to that, hm?" 

Claude stood as he spoke, eyes watching the skyline through thick glass panes, shoulder leaned into the wall of it. There was something immensely relaxing about the sight of the city spread out beneath him, a bird's eye view to the entirety of London itself. As far as sightseeing went, this was by far one of his favorites. 

Tilting his head to the side to watch the other man from the corner of his eye, the Frenchman laughed, the sound reverberating off the walls of their little bubble in the sky, before falling silent. Was there? He...he didn't know. Glancing down, Claude felt the corner of his mouth curl into a grin, happiness radiating off of him in infectious waves. He turned, back resting against the glass, and said, quiet, "How about receiving my specification to practice law in Swynlake. And--my removal from the church." 

GASTON:

Gaston had thought, at first, that the two would go hand in hand. He'd been aware of Claude's past in law - to some degree because of the first dream they'd shared together - so somehow he'd imagined that the two lives would continue in conjunction, as they did already, books strewn over church tables when no one was looking. But, as the second half of the man's announcement fell like a tonne of concrete blocks into the sea, he found his gaze turning and his head tilting, eyebrows furrowing as he processed the idea.

"Are they kicking you out or…?"

For a moment, he felt a flash of worry settle into his chest, that it was his fault, that he'd stolen a priest from the church like he stole the clever kid from class. After all, he'd spent too much time trying to let the other man find out what enjoying himself actually felt like, perhaps he'd ignored the consequences.

Though, by the looks of things, the priest was smiling, which added another layer of curiosity to the process.

CLAUDE: 

There was something almost endearing in the worry he saw sketched across Gaston's brow at the admission. It was something he had, truly, agonized over, telling people. But...here it felt easy, like there was nothing that he could not say. Still, it was not what he had believed would happen. 

The Frenchman chewed on the inside of his cheek while he waited, head tilted to the side, waiting for the shoe to drop. It did, he supposed, in some way. But he also knew people did not know the intricacies of these things. He would have to explain them. He'd known this, but it was another thing to do it. 

It was most assuredly the reason he had not said anything to the other man until now. 

"Non, it was voluntary. I realized...after my trip to Scotland at the beginning of summer...that the way I was helping people with my position in church...it did not help me. They gained something from it, yes, and I will never begrudge them that...but it was more than theological, for me. It was...painful, continuing." 

His head tilted back against the glass behind him, Claude sucked in a breath through his nose, long fingers spinning the glass in his hand, anxiety rolling off of him now that he had begun. "It was as much a personal reason as it was a difference in theology. They are...old fashioned, do not see things the way that I do. Never have. It was squashed while I was in seminary or," he gave a shrug, a wry smile, "they tried to. But it did not...stick. And then I came here. And I found the courage to do something I have wanted to do for nearly a decade. My replacement is coming at the end of the month, perhaps a bit later, but...I have known since the lantern festival. I just...did not know how to...explain it to anyone. I know what they will say." 

GASTON:

Gaston never claimed to be the sort of person who was well versed in humanity, in the psychology of man. But it stood to reason that he might want to leave. As far as he had seen, Claude was never happy while he was there. Not in a way he saw happiness. And certainly not in a way he'd seen it inside the other man - soft and glowing and full of teasing. 

Paired with the horrors of his past, he didn't imagine Claude would ever be, if he felt the need to stay.

"Well fuck what they say," Gaston said, letting out a short, derisive snort from his nose. Though he could imagine a few of the parts. He'd remembered the drama Lady had made when he'd mentioned that the priest would be coming to prom and it didn't take much creativity to work out that people would come up with much worse comments on the idea of a priest defecting. "People say a whole lot of shit. But it doesn't make them right." 

He turned his head, voice softening as his elbow shifted and he tapped their glasses together. "But if it's good for you, it's good for you. I'm proud of you." He looped an arm over the other man's neck and squeezed him into his shoulder. "Though, I mean, obviously now we're going to have to spend the evening finding you some A-grade pussy, break your post-priest virginity, you know. Obviously, first we're going to get you absolutely hammered too." His eyes scanned the landscape and he pressed his lips to one side. "What else can't a priest do?"

CLAUDE: 

"I could say the same about the way people talk about you," he murmured, artfully shrugging a shoulder as he took a sip of his champagne. "But I do think they sometimes hurt more than you let on, yes? I understand that, believe me. It is why I waited." He would rather figure out what he'd wanted to say exactly before he opened his mouth. The only people in Swynlake who knew were the congregation themselves, and they'd all sworn themselves to secrecy, including Edith. 

"The ones who know happen to also be the ones you kicked out of the church this morning. They've sworn themselves not to mention it, for which I am grateful. Edith had a very hard time though. She wanted to tell you, actually." Again, he shrugged, swirling the drink in his glass around until he was abruptly tugged into Gaston's side. A surprised bark of laughter erupted from his throat before he burrowed his face into the other man's shoulder with a sigh. 

"I would rather not, thank you. Either one, but the drinking--" he huffed, irritated that he had to even warn about any of this, and pressed his forehead into the arch of Gaston's shoulder while he spoke, hiding a bit more of himself. "Drinking is fine but not...that much. It is...a control issue, for me. Laurent--used that." He grimaced, voice falling away as he mumbled the request into the man's shoulder, pulling away carefully to gauge his reaction. That was one of the few things Gaston did not know, in fact, and it was one of the harder ones to swallow. "There is a lot that we -- they cannot do, but those...are the main ones."

GASTON:

Gaston had shrugged the thought away. It was uncomfortable, really, how the priest (though he wasn't really a priest any more) could read him like an open book. Sometimes he wondered if it was an art form he used on all he came across. Or one he reserved solely on the barman. Something unique. Whether it was because he knew him so well, or because Gaston was rather more readable than he liked to admit.

Though, still, he pushed the man with a shoulder and raised an eyebrow in his direction. "Well, we've already worked out that I'd rip off that old pervert's dick and feed it to him, dead or alive. So you're safe." He took a slow sip of his drink - mostly because there was so little of it and he'd rather ration the drink as not to spend the rest of the journey boozeless - and loosened his grip on the older man. "Anyway, I've seen you on the dance floor after a drink. Get a couple in you and you'll forget all about Satan's dick stain." He nudged him. "Gaston guarantee."

CLAUDE: 

“And I believe I told you it was not necessary, much as I appreciate the sentiment,” he murmured, allowing himself to be nudged about before he straightened his spine with a sigh. Still, the small, barely-there-grin was enough to set the ease of his shoulders again, allowing him to fall a bit more boneless against the wall. Claude lounged back, then, a critical eye cast over the other man at his quip. 

“A guarantee, hm? Does that mean you guarantee a dance, too, or will you beg off again? Mmm, or try to, anyway. And I am not that good of a dancer. I just enjoy it, much as that may mean anything at all.” He brought the lip of his glass up for a drink, then, and considered something else, head cocking to the side as he glanced back up at the man. He noted, with some curiosity, that Gaston hadn’t moved back yet. “You obviously have a destination in mind, then. And it involves dancing. And drinking. Are you taking me to a club?” 

GASTON:

Gaston unlooped his arm and shrugged, before stepping towards the rail over the opposite window and gazing over the skyline as they crawled closer to the top of the attraction. "You're the one who said it. I was just thinking about tried and tested ways of getting you drunk, Mr Frollo," he smirked, glancing over his shoulder for a moment. A hand found the railing beneath him and slid along the smooth, cool surface. "But anyway, it's not ball dancing so I think I'll be fine. And you'll get to see what proper hip work looks like."

Honestly, before prom, he hadn't known that people still danced like they had. As far as he'd known, dancing was mostly a process of getting utterly legless and sliding your hands (and groin) all over the closest person in a low cut top. It probably wasn't the sort of thing the other man would approve of. But it was most certainly an area in which Gaston excelled. "Besides, we don't have to go there straight away. There're a few waterside pubs I want to stop at on the way."

CLAUDE: 

A quiet laugh escaped him and Claude shook his head, coming forward alongside the other man to lean against the railing of the opposite side. The slow movement of the bubble in the air was almost soothing, in a way, like time was suspended and they possessed every ounce of it here in the sky.

"And how do you know I do not, hm? You've seen me dance one time, and that was proper dancing," Claude murmured, smirking around the edge of his glass. He shook his head fondly, the image of carousing in a pub somehow different when it was not Gaston's own. 

"How about two. And then the club." 

GASTON:

Gaston's eyes scoured the skyline, as the other man came to stand beside him. He knew there was no way he would see home. The idea was faintly ridiculous. But he found it a little surprising to discover, even in the heart of the city, you could see the distant green hills of the surrounding counties. Sure, he loved the life in the city. But looking out at the green, in some parts he knew he would always be a country boy.

"Ok, deal. But that wasn't proper dancing, that was fancy wank," he retorted. As far as he was concerned, being mostly hands and groin was proper dancing. If only because he knew how to do it and he didn't know how to do anything else. After all, he was far too good looking to ever master the next most attainable style: dad dancing. You couldn't dad dance if you were hot. It didn't work like that. "It's not proper dancing if you partner isn't literally begging for your cock by the end of it. Fact."

CLAUDE: 

The silence was nice, comforting even, as they looked out over the cityscape, Gaston searching for the small, sleepy town they'd come from. You could see pieces of the countryside if you really looked, strained for it, hills rolling behind great buildings and cars and roadways. That was a comforting thought, too, that he could somehow see Swynlake and think that, maybe, he could consider it home. 

Gaston's words made him snort, hanging his head as he shook it. "There was nothing fancy about that, Gaston. They were only basic steps because I had to literally drag you onto the floor." The second half of that statement made him pause, mischief lighting up his eyes for a second as he straightened his back. Leaning a hip against the railing, Claude took a sip of his drink, letting the silence linger before he responded. 

"No one ever said I would be begging for it, but ask nicely and," he shrugged, a wicked look on his face before he laughed. "Really, Gaston, how would you know what kind of dancing I do. I could be very familiar with it." 

In fact, he was. They hadn't just taught them proper dancing in that studio. What people affectionately called 'dirty dancing' was also shockingly common. It was what people did in the clubs and, occasionally, late at night in the streets. When music played and not another soul was around to hear it. 

GASTON:

The barman rolled his eyes. As far as he was concerned, anything that needed steps was fancy dancing. Basic or otherwise. Though he couldn't help but near choke on his half a sip of champagne as Claude spoke again. While the other man had always been a little excessive, a little teasing, a little flirty, there had always been the barrier of priesthood - the fact that he couldn't and wouldn't - that cushioned the impact of his quips. Or tried to.

Without it there to catch the words, it seemed to strike with full force as he found himself half laughing and half… not.

He gave a hard, painful swallow and flicked his gaze back to the man beside him. "Edith would be spinning in her grave if she could hear you, Frollo. But I mean, I'd pay money to see it. The dance, not your cock," he said, mouth crooked with a smirk. "Could probably film it too: Horny Priest Goes Wild in Club. I reckon we could get a few hundred quid for that." He gave the other man a nudge with his elbow. "Law or porn, you know? Feel like there's probably more money in porn."

CLAUDE: 

Gaston choked on his drink and Claude looked like that cat that'd gotten the cream. The look on his face was smug, to say the least. It was always amusing to see what reaction he could pull from the other man, though he was not always kidding when he said the things he did. Far be it from him to let on to that fact, but sometimes the off-color quips were, privately, a little bit true. 

Claude rolled his own eyes at the other's statement, the corner of his mouth ticking up as he took another swallow of champagne. "Edith is not dead, but I hardly think she would be surprised. She was one of the worst of them." The last bit of champagne was drained from his glass and Claude set it to the side, knocking an elbow into Gaston's side while he did. 

"No photos. No filming. That will cost you extra, cher." He winked, then, and laughed, the sound bouncing around the room. "I would be an awful porn star, for the record." Too many hang ups, he thought, but that was another matter entirely. "Law is much easier. I can argue people into submission." 

GASTON:

For a moment, he felt a spot of warmth grace his chest. As a teen, most of his enjoyment had come from terrorising others. But over the years he'd found a kind of happiness in knowing he could please those he was closest to. And Claude, by some magic, had been the closest for a long time. Closer, he sometimes wondered, than Tubso had been before he'd left after college. And certainly with the same amount of lewd jokes, even if these were directed down slightly different roads.

"I dunno, Claude. I'm pretty sure there's people out there who wouldn't mind paying  you to argue them into submission either," he said, clapping him around the shoulder and giving him a flick on the cheek. "The internet is a dark place and I'm just saying I probably wouldn't be too bad of a pimp. As internet pimps go."

CLAUDE: 

Snorting at the other man's words, Claude leaned back against the railing. He angled himself towards Gaston, elbows resting against the rail. "Other lawyers, you mean? They butt heads too often. At any rate, I think I am okay." 

Wrinkling his nose at the younger man as he flicked him on the cheek, the Frenchman waved his hand away with one of his own. "Is this like the black market? Take me back when people do not want me anymore, Gaston?" The tone was teasing but there was a curiosity, as well, that lingered. 

GASTON:

Gaston laughed and shook his head. Other lawyers. Though frankly it wasn't much of a surprise that the priest wasn't aware of the intricacies of internet fetishes. A lot of people probably weren't. But he'd ended up down a few rabbit holes while searching for interesting porn when he was bored. A lot of it he wouldn't recommend... and the rest he wouldn't admit to, for various reasons.

"Nah, not quite. I'd probably just sell people angry voice lips that they can wank to. Or you know, feet pics. Perverts love a good foot pic," he said with a teasing smirk, elbows nudging the older man's ribs. "So really, you wouldn't have to go anywhere. Disappointing, but I guess I'm stuck with you for now."

He finished his drink, wondering if perhaps he'd brought down the tone of the afternoon. And possibly ruined a rather nice view of the city with his less than appropriate talk. But then again, where was the fun in an afternoon if you couldn't talk about porn?

CLAUDE: 

Pulling a face again, Claude let that thought roll around in his head for a moment before promptly locking it away in the section of his mind that had a giant "Do Not Disturb" sign plastered across it. "Should I be concerned about a foot fetish, Gaston? Is that what this is?" All things considering, it was weird, but it was not the strangest thing he had heard. You heard a lot of things in a confessional, some of them best left to oneself. 

Still, he was only joking. He highly doubted Gaston would be the kind to have a foot fetish. Or, really, fetishes of any kind. "It is okay, cher, I will keep your secret." He grinned before patting the other man on the bicep and straightening up, shaking his head at the last comment. 

Heaving a put upon sigh, Claude shrugged, ambling hack towards the benches and laying himself out across them, raising his voice so the other man could hear him over the barrier. "I suppose you are. What a shame that must be for you, hm?" 

GASTON:

The barman threw a faint smirk at the priest and raised a shoulder. He'd noticed earlier that they'd come to the top and were starting their slow descent back down. But the way the wheel hovered over the water, he'd hardly registered that they'd made it back to the stands before the doors slid open and the operator was ushering them out.

"Not feet," he called teasingly over his shoulder as he stepped out of the bubble and into the crowded gift shop. "Nuns."

From there, they wound along the waterfront, pub by pub, and making a short tour of the cathedral. Though Gaston had possibly had one too many beers by that point to appreciate the heights or the art or the fact that Claude didn't get a free ticket for having been a priest - though, eventually, the person in the ticket office had given him a discount, probably to shut him up. By the time the dark crawled in, they'd been in a bar since dinner, knocking back made-up cocktails (which felt a little ponsey, though in Gaston's opinion, anything was better than Fosters) and laughing at the shit 80s music that seemed to penetrate every corner of the space from its speakers mounted by the dancefloor. 

They'd come in because it was cheap and stayed because, despite all the creepy middle aged men and the hen parties they seemed to be preying on, it had its own unique charm.  

"What's next? Wanna share a slippery nipple?" The barman laughed as he knocked back the sour bottom of his last drink, properly enjoying himself for the first time in a long while... if you didn't count the times he'd been having sex - after all, that was a different kind of enjoyment. Though he could help but tease the idea of introducing a few of those drinks into his own pub when he got back.

CLAUDE: 

When the doors to their private little bubble opened and the next pair was being ushered in, Claude was surprised to find that they'd passed the time so quickly. He had discovered that, with Gaston, it was easy to lose track of himself, his anxieties and inadequacies he always felt. The laughter he let loose at the quip about nuns had him doubled over as he walked, tears pooling at the corners of his eyes. 

Following after the other man from pub to pub along the waterfront was an interesting experience. Lunch at one place and then milling about at others, a walk through an old cathedral that made him miss the ones in France with a heavy pang. The architecture and the stained glass had always been his favorite part. They'd found themselves staying at one of the pubs for the music, the atmosphere somehow more enjoyable even with the older men that lingered at the peripherals of his vision. 

But Claude ignored them in favor of chatting with some of the women around them, women who were there with their friends for a fun afternoon. Gaston, as well, seemed to be enjoying himself. It was nice to see the man laughing, enjoying himself. Gaston did so little of it, after all. Always working, always running around. He'd tried so hard to get Claude to enjoy himself that, sometimes, the older man thought he'd forgotten to allow himself to enjoy his time, too. 

"Please do not ever say that again," he groaned, laughing, his head leaned up against a palm, body angled towards Gaston on the barstool beside him. Eyes straying past him to the dance floor, Claude gave a lazy shrug of a shoulder, gaze lingering on the dancers for a moment before focusing muzzily back on the other man. There was a pleasant hum settled beneath his skin, warm from the few drinks he'd had and the pleasant afternoon. He resolutely ignored the man at the end of the bar, the one that had set himself down and wouldn't stop staring since they'd walked in. Instead, he quirked a brow and nodded his head to the floor, "How about a dance?" 

GASTON:

Gaston's eyes skimmed the drinks menu, locking his jaw to one side and muttering "I'll take that as a 'no'" quietly to himself as he perused the rest of the drinks. He'd felt eyes on them for a little while, though he'd got used to ignoring the feeling. Sometimes gay guys with nothing to lose liked to hit on him and other people were certain they recognised him somewhere they couldn't quite place - probably a crappy Next catalogue from 2008 before his dreams got ripped out from under his feet… not that he'd ever say that. Though really, he felt like he gave off enough 'fuck with me and I'll turn your penis inside out and not in the good way' kind of vibes to keep most creeps away for a thousand years.

"But I guess we could," he shrugged, pushing the sheet to one side. "Is this the bit where you show me you're able to dance without looking like a ponce?"

CLAUDE: 

Cocking his head to the side, the Frenchman raised a brow. Despite the loudness of the pub around them  he was close enough to hear the other man's mutterings. "I did not say no to a drink. Just the name," he said, the corner of his mouth curling. He was about to speak again, comment about the dancing that he could, in fact, do without looking "like a ponce" when something caught his attention. Movement behind Gaston made him stiffen before he could continue, body going rigid and fingers curling around the edge of the bar top, eyes wary. 

The man that had been there, staring past Gaston's shoulder, was walking closer. Nudging himself closer to the larger man, Claude started talking, voice low but loud enough the other man could hear him, words strained as he kept his heart from thudding too loudly in his ears. There was something about him that was unsettling, cold. It reminded him of Laurent. 

"There is a man coming over. He has been staring for the past half hour. I have ignored him but he seems not to care. He tried to talk to me while you went to the restroom. He had also bothered some of the women."

GASTON:

Gaston felt the sudden frost in the air, saw the way the man's body seized up, and followed his gaze over his shoulder with a stormy look. He wasn't much one for ignoring things like that. Mostly because he wanted people to know that he knew, that they couldn't get away with that kind of shit without incurring his rage. After all, most of the time creeps and thieves and criminals were banking on people ignoring them as a means to get away with it.

"Well, he can fuck off then, can't he," he said, pressing an agressive smile into his lips and locking eyes with the stranger, before turning back to his companion. Though somehow, he had the strange feeling that the creeper would stay where he was. And in turn, Claude wouldn't enjoy the rest of the evening for the weight of the man's gaze against his skin. "How about we just go outside for a second? Gives me more room to relocate his nose into his skull if he decides to follow us," he continued, hoping that he'd spoken loudly enough to be heard by both parties.

CLAUDE: 

It was like watching a slow motion car crash, Claude decided. It had the same type of energy, chaotic and possibly dangerous to the person in its path. That was what watching that grim look cross over Gaston's face did and, for a moment, Claude could breathe again. He had been better at deflection once, could usually tell someone no and they'd leave. But this guy was another story entirely. 

A twitch of a smile appeared on the older man's face at the words before it was gone just as quickly. He knew what Gaston was doing. He had already seen the man stop, hesitant at the loudness and the words directed his way. When Claude was offered a chance to leave, to breathe, he jumped at it. 

Sliding from his barstool quickly, the Frenchman shrugged his jacket back over his shoulders before wrapping a hand tight around Gaston's forearm. Then, he tugged at the man, an urgency to his movements as he pulled him away from the crowd and through the bar. Gaston barely had enough time to leave any bills behind. 

The moment cool air hit his face, Claude sucked it in greedily, allowing himself the chance to close his eyes, lean his head back against the wall, and breathe. He would be fine with Gaston out here to watch him. He just needed a moment, some time to gather his heart and his head back in one piece. Claude was proud when his hands did not shake as he reached into his jeans pocket for a cigarette and a lighter, sparking up in the alley behind the bar. 

Sucking in a lungful of air, Claude held it for a moment before exhaling, slowly through his nose, a billow of smoke wafting out around his head. 

"I used to be better at that. Getting them to leave. Some days...it is not so easy. Merci," he murmured, voice quiet, eyes flickering to the other man's face for a moment as he held the cigarette between his fingers. He took another drag before offering it over. It wasn't a drink, but it was a start. 

GASTON:

Gaston didn't need Claude to tug at him to get him moving, though he followed quickly anyway. It was hard to miss the aura that rolled of the priest's skin, even as they met the cool air and tucked themselves down the side of the bar, where the rest of the world - or more importantly, that freak - couldn't find them.

He hovered beside Claude, an eye at the end of the street, watching the orange light cast shadows in the darkness, just in case one turned out to be their unwelcome addition. Though he found his eyes flicking back, as the first few sparks illuminated the priest's face and the smoke curled around him. "It happens. No one's perfect all the time. Well," he smirked, taking the cigarette and slumping on the wall beside the other man, "apart from me."

His mouth closed around the cigarette. To one side, just to be careful - he'd heard the tales that it would stop the wrinkles from forming around your mouth. Not that he was a frequent smoker regardless. The last he'd had was at a wedding two years ago. After all, cigarettes paired quite nicely with the buzz of alcohol and the setting sun.

He passed back the cigarette.

CLAUDE: 

Tipping his head back against the cool tile of the wall was enough to get Claude’s breathing to slow, if only a fraction, his heart no longer beating wildly in his chest. The panic was subsiding into a dull throbbing, something like a full-bodied, bone-weary aching. The air was cold on his face, which helped, and when he breathed in through the smoke it burned down into his lungs. It was something to focus on, something other than the way Gaston was hovering at his side, watching him and the street at the mouth of the alleyway. 

Snorting, the man turned his head against the stonework, a smile easing over his face at the quip. There was a bit of a tiredness hanging around him, faint but consistent with their day and the last half hour. When he spoke his voice was rounded at the edges, accent peeking through more heavily than normal, no longer attempting to regulate it. 

“Yes, yes of course, because you are perfection in human form, eh?” Looking up at the darkened sky and not the other man for a moment, Claude sighed, glancing back over when the bright light at the tip of the cigarette flared closer to him. Taking it back after a second, the Frenchman let it hang between his lips, speaking around it, before taking another drag. 

“The stars are always brighter outside of the city. I have often wondered...whether that will change one day. If I stop noticing. I do not want to.” A pause, then he glanced back at the other man, “I remember them from the Titanic, actually, all those stars. Before the-before it sank.” 

GASTON: 

Gaston threw a wink through the darkness. He was well aware of the other man's sarcasm but somehow he couldn't help himself from playing into the joke. Following the other man's gaze up to the sky, he borrowed the cigarette from his mouth as he listened to him speak.

"Don't think it will. The city's full of shit, it's easy to see something's missing." His eyes searched the sky for a moment, peering into the few faint dots that were visible through the orange haze. He wasn't much of a stargazer. He didn't know the constellations - for all but Orion's belt, which had only stood out to him as a child because Orion had a sword. Though even that was obscured by the brightness.

He took a quick drag of the cigarette and flicked the long ash into the ground before taking another. "Though can't say I remember much from the Titanic. Apart from being pissed and having a kid and a wife and you." He took another drag, feeling the nicotine - or possibly the alcohol - tingle in his lips and burn in his cheeks. There had been rather a lot about that dream that he'd tried to forget. But there was no harm in admitting he'd known he was there, that they'd had a connection and that, to some degree, he'd tried to save his life. Even if he'd blurred out the bits in the middle. For his own sanity. Or to stop him from doing something stupid.

CLAUDE: 

“I wasn’t done with that,” he grumbled, turning to arch a brow at the other man as he stole the cigarette from his mouth and breathed smoke out into the alleyway. He hadn’t caught the wink, but he’d heard the sound of it in his voice. Instead, he leaned a shoulder and a hip against the wall and watched him as he spoke, the tip of the cigarette glowing bright in the dark. 

Humming out his agreement, too content where he was standing to utter anymore in that stitch of time, Claude reached up and snagged the cigarette back, unconcerned when their fingers tangled, fumbling over the filter before letting it sit snugly in the V of his fingers. Licking his lips as he turned away, the older man set the stick of nicotine between his teeth, sucking the feeling of it down into his lungs and back out. The smell of it was sweet, packed with cloves and herbs, a rarity that he only kept around every so often. He did not smoke nearly as often as he had when he was a younger man, but the feeling of it was something he occasionally missed. 

You. That word made him look, eyes widening for a second. He’d thought, after so long, that the memory had faded, that it would eventually disappear. They hadn’t. Sometimes, he still flinched at the sound of rushing water. He couldn’t take a cold shower, even if he wished to. And the memories remained. 

He stared at the side of his face for a moment longer before looking down, shoulders dropping towards the wall as he heaved a full-bodied sigh. “It is hard to forget, yes? Something like that...it stays. And...everything else, too. It is funny...I was a lawyer then. And I am again.” Not that he had never stopped, but the exclusivity of the job was permanent now.  

GASTON:

"But you're not the same," Gaston returned quietly, shifting ever so slightly in the direction of the other man and watching the glow at the end of his cigarette bounce softly off the angles of his face. It was one thing he'd used to justify the dream the longer their friendship had grown, that neither one had really been them. Claude had lacked the darkness in his past and Gaston had been driven by some sense of ambition that hadn't been quelled by the death of his parents. It had been what had led him to the man in the first place. The desire for something better. 

And perhaps the same could be said for this world too, but for a different kind of better. Not want of money and acclaim, but because he'd been guided by a greater purpose. Or, at least, given into his own superstition.

He rested an arm against the wall and followed the line of the drain along the pavement with his eyes, feeling his face buzz warmly from the drink. "Do you think everything happens for a reason? You know, all that flowery wank the church wants you to believe. That God puts things in your path to lead you or to test you?" He asked, eyebrows furrowed as he gazed into the distance, before returning his sight to Claude. 

His family had never been one for the softer side of religion. They believed that God would smite you for wrong doings in the end - by the bible, not by general morality - and that one must confess their sins in order to be forgiven. But the idea that God was all good and all loving and interfering with human life at every turn had been lost on them. After all, far too many decent people failed and far too many awful ones triumphed. And frankly, God had better things to be doing with his time than constantly testing farmers.

But in the event He did, that He had drawn them together as part of some celestial ritual of good and evil, Gaston couldn't quite tell who was being led, who was being tested or whether or not they were headed in the right direction.

CLAUDE: 

There was something about the way Gaston said it —’but you’re not the same’—that gave the other man pause. This was something he had mulled on in the quieter moments of the evening, after, when he could not sleep and there were too many thoughts running around in his head. He had been different. Less burdened, carefree in a way he was not in this aspect of life. Claude in that dream had been able to do things he would not have in life, not then, anyway. It had almost been as though that reality...dream...whatever it was meant to be was showing him things he could have had if scars did not riddle his body and a demon did not plague his dreams. 

Claude could feel the other man’s eyes on him, watching, his voice careful, and he wondered at it. Wondered why he continued, that he did not change the subject. It made him think Gaston, too, had pondered on such things. Still, when Gaston posed his question, leaned up against the wall with his face turned away from him, Claude felt like he could look, like he could listen. He snorted quietly, smiling a bit around the cigarette stuck in the corner of his mouth. “It depends. I was meant to. But meaning to and doing are entirely different things. Sometimes, I do think that, other times—” Claude paused, mulling over his choice of words as he shifted against the brick at his back, leather rubbing against the brickwork. The sound of it was deafening in the silence.

“If what was meant to happen to me did not take place, I often imagine what would have been different. If that...dream...was at all accurate. There are times that I think...maybe, perhaps. In others, I see nothing. Laurent existed, and now he does not. I choose to believe that was meant to happen. But..I do not know if I am meant to believe it. I never have.” It was not lost on him, how fallible he sounded. So many people believed that he was all-knowing, that his job as a priest made him a font of wisdom and godly divinity. But Claude Frollo was just a man. He wondered and he doubted. He did not know. 

“If it did not, I would not be here, after all. So...yes, I suppose some things are meant to happen. But not all. And that was the hardest part to reconcile, doing what I did...I did not agree with everything they tried to teach, and it created frustrations, rifts. In a way I wanted it to happen...because then I would have gotten away. I still did but,” he shrugged, sucking on the cigarette until smoke obscured his face in a haze, “certainly not in the way I expected. If Laurent was God’s way of being a--a test or...an obstacle, it was a poor way to get me here. I do not think I could ever forgive that....” Claude shook his head, brows furrowed at the thought. Flicking the ash from the end of the filter, the Frenchman offered it to the man beside him. 

“Did that answer your questions, nounours?” 

GASTON:

Gaston's eyebrows stayed pinched, listening, curious as the other man spoke, as his words bounced around the alley and slid through the dull thump of the music radiating from the bar walls. It was all a little complicated, possibly why his sober mind spent more time thinking about its next drink than it did about religion and philosophy. But to a degree it made sense, yes. Claude's mixed interpretation of it, at least. Though it didn't quite answer the question he'd asked - or rather, the question he'd skirted around asking.

His fingers slid beside the other man's and gently pinched the cigarette from his hands as he leaned the top of his head against the wall. Someone - probably him - had made the filter damp. He'd never been very good at smoking. The deep, bitter taste only ever called to him when he was quite drunk, and when he was quite drunk, he was also quite sloppy.

He let the smoke curl from his mouth and shrugged. "Maybe. I suppose. And," he gazed into the light at the end of the stick as he flicked it - though really there was nothing to flick off, "what about us? Do you think we were supposed to meet?" 

It had been his largest preoccupation in all of this. Their lives had skirted, meters from each others' doors for years and then, when it seemed Gaston's life was reaching its bottom, their paths had finally crossed, been cemented by a call from his mother in the darkness and the pull of the church bells. He still wasn't sure if that had been a true connection with the dead or no more than a figment of his sleeping mind and a happy coincidence. But in some parts, he hoped it was the former. If only because it justified the odd connection he felt to the other man, the way they shared space and clothes and contact and felt like they were supposed to.

CLAUDE: 

Gaston pinched the cigarette from between his fingers and Claude dropped his hands to his sides, a hand coming up to toy with the edge of his jacket. Watching the other man, there was a disquiet that brewed beneath his skin. His thoughts were messy, written all over his face, and Claude could not tell if it was because of the drink or something else. Or both. Still, he slumped against the wall and he listened, eyes flicking over Gaston's face. 

The question he asked made him pause, head cocking to the side in confusion, not expect that line of thought. Him. Them...that was something he did not know Gaston ever even thought about. They were friends, perhaps the best of friends, but Titanic had happened before all of that. For a time, it had colored his thoughts, had made him wonder. 

Running a hand over his mouth, Claude leaned back against the wall and mulled over what he wanted to say, words coming to mind and then discarded as quickly as they'd come. What he settled on, though, he hoped was enough. 

"I...believe that if I had never left France, I would have never met you. But I did. And we have. And--" he sucked in a breath, hand going up to his hair, brow pinched as he thought over what it was he wanted to say. "Do you know what I think about you? I am sure you may not believe it but...I never believed the things you would say about yourself, what other people say. Because the first night I met you...you thought I was cold and closed the pub door. That was not it. But you did not ask, you did not tell me to put on a coat. Did not ignore it. And that was how I knew you. You are a good man, Gaston. And I am glad to have been meant to meet you." 

GASTON:

The barman listened quietly, as his eyebrows, once furrowed, seemed to relax. For a moment, the silence had injected a shred of nervousness into his heart. But as the words came, it was replaced with something else entirely. He watched the arm go up, the fingers into Claude's hair, and felt the space enclose around them. A corner between the other man's elbow and the wall behind them, for just their heads and just their thoughts.

He'd hardly remembered that first meet, for all but the request drunks. But it crept back hazily and he tilted his head a little further at the thought. No one had ever deemed him good before. Protective, perhaps. Charming on occasion. But never good. Nor had they admitted to being glad of meeting him. If anything, more people seemed to rue the day.

For a moment, he lingered in that sensation, in the way his body warmed, unsure what words should come next, if there were words to come at all. His eyes searched the shadows, the faint glint of light in the other man's eyes. And when he found nothing his lips spoke for him, edging nearer to the closest thing to being wanted for something more than want, until they pressed ever so softly into the plump, full mouth he'd kissed once before, somewhere in the depths of a dream.

CLAUDE: 

For a moment, Claude believed that the other man's silence was telling. But he didn't move. It was like he was frozen, breathing the air in the alleyway with nothing else to latch onto. His one hand fiddled with his jacket, not knowing where this put them or what he had done. The man should have known...Claude hoped he did...he had never made it a secret, that he thought Gaston was good, that he was rough around the edges but inherently decent. 

He thought--

Claude stopped thinking. Stopped breathing. Just...stopped. 

All he could feel and see and breathe and think was the other body crowding him close to the wall, hands and arms bracketing him in, caging him. But for every time he had been frozen, afraid, vulnerable, there was nothing here that frightened him. Nothing about Gaston could ever. The soft hesitance of the other man's mouth against his own was like a shock to his system, Claude's lips falling open with a shaky exhale. 

In a second, he was pressing close, kissing back, teeth finding the other man's lip and tugging, a whimper escaping him as a hand came up to wrap around an arm. He had wanted to do that since he'd met the man. Did not because it was Gaston, because he was important. And, for another, he had been a priest. But now...now…

Now, he angled his head and gripped fiercely, their mouths connected in a tangle of lips and teeth and tongue.

GASTON:

Gaston had been surprised by the quiet whimper, the way the other man's fingers had squeezed into the flesh of his arms, the way his teeth teased at his lips - in a way he'd only seen through a television screen. His body had moved long before his mind had and now, with a moment to think on his actions, he'd half expected a soft push apart, a gentle rejection - because you could be good in someone's heart but not good for them. But instead he'd been taken. And so his arms moved of their own accord, pressing a hand into the wall behind them as their bodies drew ever closer, the slighter body sandwiched against the wall.

Blood pulsed in his lips, a dizziness swilled in his head and left the world around him feeling blurred, for all but the points at which their bodies met and burned hot against his skin. Though the dream had been months passed and Claude hadn't quite been Claude, his lips felt just as soft, had tasted just as sweet. And for a short moment, his chest was overcome by the same swell of want, of lust, as he had in the depths of the boat, finding its way back through the motions it had memorised from that night.

CLAUDE: 

Gaston shifted closer and Claude, all at once, found himself pressed into the brick at his back by the bulk of the other man. A hand came up by his head, the other somewhere else, almost far away with the way his senses had narrowed down, all at once, to the feeling of everything surrounding him. 

His breath sounded loud in his ears, heavy as it heaved from his nose, unwilling to disconnect from the kiss quite yet. He didn't know yet if this was the drink or something else, but he was in enough of a right mind to angle his head and deepen the kiss, a hand coming up to wind fingers into Gaston's hair. 

In a way, it was like muscle memory, something he remembered from the swill of his thoughts. 

GASTON:

The breath that escaped him was soft and wanting, his lips pressing ever more fervently as Claude's fingers found his hair. His free hand slid along the line of the other man's shoulder, up the soft, hot skin of his neck and cupped his jaw, pulling it towards him. Really, somewhere in the heat and the touch, he'd imagined it would feel stranger than it did. But he'd spent so long connected with the other man, whether by the ribbons of Fate or the friendly comfort of another body to his side, it seemed natural, like nothing had changed. For all but the tongues that teased together and needy press of Gaston's body to the one beneath it.

CLAUDE: 

Claude's breath puffed out of his nose against Gaston's skin, the pull of mouths against mouths and hands trailing across clothed skin an almost foreign sensation. Of course, he had kissed people before. But this...it was different. There was something different about it, but he was too drunk on it to care, whatever it was. 

When Gaston's hand came up to tug at his jaw and pull him closer, head tilted further back against the brick, Claude thought he would feel skittish, somewhere in his mind, that this was too close, too much but all he was thinking was that it was not enough. 

The loudness of someone crashing into the door beside them, slamming it open from the inside, had the man wrenching his head away, hissing at not only the loss of contact but the teeth that had nipped the skin of his mouth. He could taste the faint coppery tang of blood. He didn't know if it was his. Chest heaving in the space they'd created between them, Claude found himself dropping his head back against the brick and laughing to himself, low and wrecked sounding.

He hadn't taken his hands from Gaston's hair. 

GASTON:

Gaston felt his heart stutter at the sound of the fire exit rattling open. His head snapped away, staring to the open door as the hand that had cupped the older man's face fell to his side. Usually, when he was caught doing things he wasn't supposed to, he kept on going, throwing challenging glances at any witnesses and daring them to stop him. But even though the light that poured through the opening bore no figure, he found himself easing to a stop, just in case. He didn't want people to see. It meant admitting things to himself that he wasn't quite ready to admit.

But still, he kept the closeness, the palm buried in the brick behind his head as he turned his gaze back with  the soft sound that escaped the other man. His eyes skimmed the smile on the other man's lips. "When's-" His gaze twitched back towards the open door, "the last train back?" He asked, half wanting the peace of home, privacy and a safe space to struggle through the feeling; and half worried that if they missed it, they'd have to spend the night in a hotel - because God, he suddenly wanted to stay the night in a hotel, wanted to taste the body of a man and see if it felt just as sweet as its counterpart. The thought itself scared him, terrified him that once he'd tried it he'd never go back. 

CLAUDE: 

The loss of the palm and the heat that radiated from the other man’s skin left a bit of an ache behind Claude’s breast, like it had taken all the warmth with it. Or maybe that was the fuzziness that’d overtaken him at the feeling of a bit of drink mixing with the feeling of something pooling lower in his gut. Something he hadn’t quite had to define in...years. Not in the way this was making him feel, anyway. Claude breathed, then, and turned his head to watch Gaston’s face. 

Tilting his head in thought, the Frenchman gave a small shrug, nudging the other man’s arm to get a glance at his watch. He really needed to stop leaving his at home. “Mmm...we probably should have been to the station, but--if we run…” Claude watched the other man’s face for a moment, eyes searching, before he sighed, quietly. 

“It is up to you. We can walk, but that means hours on the road in the dark. Or...we can stay.” 

GASTON:

Gaston stared into the darkness and laughed. Because he kind of wanted to stay, wanted to drink more, get lost in the moment, lost in sensations he'd never felt before. Because he kind of wanted to grab a crate of beers from an off licence and make the day's walk back to Wiltshire, because it was ridiculous and every good adventure started with drink. Because he kind of wanted to wake up in his own bed and pretend it was all a dream.

Because he kind of didn't know what he wanted.

For a moment, the hand at his side strayed, slid into Claude's palm for want of anything else to do and gently stroked circles into the back of his hand. A smile etched into the corner of his mouth. "Race ya," he said, quickly pushing their hands apart and spurting from the alley into the live street and past the figures of the night.

CLAUDE: 

Claude listened to Gaston’s laughter with his eyes closed, as though if he didn’t see him doing it there wouldn’t be something that connected it to this moment. If the other man chose to stay or if he decided to leave, it would be a decision made and forever connected to the sound of that laughter. There was something comforting about living, for a split second, in that sound before it was gone. The silence stretched for one second and then two and, then, there was skin sliding against skin and a warm hand slipped against his own. Claude did open his eyes then, gaze a bit hazy, breath coming in a sharp, inhaling hitch at the contact before it evened out once more. 

The feeling of where the younger man’s fingers had drawn circles into the back of his hand was hot, like a fire, warm to the touch and burning all at once.

And, then, he was gone. 

This time, Claude laughed, too, and followed, jogging to keep up, head swimming with the smell of Gaston’s cologne, the drinks, and the sound of the night around them. He supposed, then, that he had his answer. 

GASTON:

The cool night air burned against his cheeks as he ran, letting out a loud whoop of laughter as he skidded around a group of people, half slipping on the pavement, and darted across the road as the crossing turned green. He could hear the steady beat of Claude's feet beneath his own erratic thump, echoing off the tall buildings as they passed and turning heads as they went. Headlights rushed passed, shadows danced under streetlights. His head flicked back, grinning happily at the man on his heels, and set off even faster.

In that moment, it was almost as if the years slipped through his hair and ran free on the breeze. His tongue burned with the taste of the drink, his lips with the taste of the kiss. He felt childish, unguarded, free. In ways he never felt at home, in fear someone might catch him in the act, might see his joy and shoot it down because they thought he was undeserving.

His hand caught a lamp post and swung into the next street, watching the glowing red sign of the train station rise from the distant end of the road.

"Last one to the gate is a fucking fagot!" He called behind him.

CLAUDE: 

Gaston was really fucking fast, incredibly loud, and Claude couldn’t tell if they’d drunk enough for these types of antics. He didn’t rightly care. He was having fun. Keeping the other man firmly in his line of sight, the Frenchman used his smaller size to weave through the crowds, zigging and zagging around people in an attempt to catch up to the younger man. Claude was in no way unfit; contrary to what people may believe, he worked out when he could. He just didn’t broadcast it to the world. The muscle he possessed was lean, fitting to his body type rather than attracting to it. Most of the time, one would not even know. 

Picking up his pace with his legs outstretched as long as they could reach, Claude sprinted past the other man when the sign for the train station came full into view, a triumphant grin on his face when he flung himself onto the platform and then, promptly, bowed over, chest heaving. His chest heaved as he braced hands on his knees but when he righted himself there was a grin on his face. Cheeks red and hair windblown, Claude knew he probably looked a mess, but he could not find it in himself to care. Gaston came into view minutes later and Claude tilted his head, watching him, self-satisfaction oozing from his very being. 

“I believe that makes me the winner, non?” 

GASTON:

Gaston hadn't spotted the smaller man whiz past him, concentration spent trying not to trip over members of the crowd or get hit by cars as he skirted the pavement in an effort to gain time. Perhaps if he had, he might have tried a little harder. But as it was, he'd thundered through the entrance to the station, ticket at the ready, thinking he'd won by miles as he slammed through the gates - tempted to vault them when the barriers threatened not to open for a moment.

The smirk slipped from his lips, however, as the half crouched body raised its head, to reveal the shit eating grin of a certain Claude Frollo. "Yeah well," he started, taking the other man's wrist and slamming his palm into the door release, before pulling him onto the train. It'd be just his luck for the train to leave while they were standing right next to it. "We all knew you were a fucking fagot anyway so I guess we didn't need a race to prove it." He shrugged, stepping backwards into the crook of the corridor, a teasing grin flickering onto his face. 

His hand made no effort to let go. Instead, he gently tugged the other man's body into the space he was occupying.

CLAUDE: 

The self-satisfied smirk only grew when he saw Gaston make him out in the crowd. The other man’s own smirk fell from his face and Claude raised a brow, about to comment when Gaston came forward and grabbed him around the wrist. He’d seen the look on his face when he’d come through the gates, that competitiveness of his making him contemplate vaulting the gates or barreling through the people to win, but this was different. The touch was never so deliberate and, startled by it, Claude let himself be dragged onto the train. 

Despite the other man’s words, Claude merely rolled his eyes, ignoring the dirty looks tossed their way from the rest of the people shoving their way onto the train. The Frenchman pressed himself closer, disquieted by the amount of bodies surrounding him, especially with the alcohol in his system. 

With Gaston pulling him closer, they were basically chest to chest, Claude’s chin tilting to rest up on Gaston’s sternum. He cocked his head to the side, an easy smile curling the corners of his eyes. “Oh you knew did you?”

GASTON:

Gaston gazed into the other man's eyes and pressed his lips into a lopsided smile.  For that moment, despite the bodies that weaved around them, the eyes on his skin, the way the doors beeped as a last warning and the train shuddered to life, the world was just them. Just the point their bodies touched and the sound of his voice and the look in his eyes. Sure, it might have been the drink. Or his expertise in tunnel vision.

Or perhaps it had always just been them. Sometimes it felt like it.

"I reckon I could have called it," he said, eyes raising a moment to check the distance for a pair of empty seats, with no luck. Though he was sure the train would clear the closer they got to home. "You were always a bit of a woman. Fairy. Whatever you want to call it."

CLAUDE: 

Returning the smile, Claude followed the other man’s gaze when he went looking for a seat. Finding none, the Frenchman sighed, shifting on his feet as someone jostled him from behind, a slight frown pulling his forehead into a crease down the middle. The last warning of the doors’ closing sounded and then they were moving, Claude planting his feet to ensure he didn’t topple over with the movement. 

Swaying, he and Gaston seemed to be connected at the hip, conjoined in a way that wouldn’t separate them even if one moved and the other didn’t follow. 

“Do you? I do not think so,” he teased, humor more than anything in his voice. The words did not bother him, partially because he knew Gaston was not being serious and partially because it had always been a peculiarity of his speech. Gaston had called him a woman multiple times since they’d met, and it had only been said in jest. But, maybe there was something in that, too. “How about just a man who likes men, hm? That is as good a description as any, though I do not just like men. You, I like you. Most,” Claude shrugged, the movement halted by the arm that curled around him and crowded him close. “They do not make it easy. Nor did being a priest, for that matter but...before seminary it was different.” 

GASTON:

Gaston's shoulder twitched as he thought on it, though it may not have been felt over the sway of the moving train, over the gentle rock of their bodies as they rattled against one another. Perhaps Claude was right. Perhaps he never would have sensed it. If he had, he doubted he would have allowed himself to enjoy the comfort of the other man's presence in the way that he had. Or perhaps that was why he had. Because he'd sensed it, but it had been held in a place that was unattainable and therefore no worry to his own senses or to the priest's. Perhaps it was that gentle curiosity that had guided him. Perhaps it was nothing at all.

And yet, here he found himself, stealing a moment of otherness with the man before him. Before he had to return to the grips of Swynlake and wonder what would happen if anyone found out.

Though the little admission checked him, left a soft, awed smile on his tired lips. Gaston wasn't sure if he was a man who liked men. He knew he preferred the company of men. Was that the same thing? Perhaps he'd never know. Perhaps it didn't matter. Not right now at least. Not until they set foot on Swynlake's cobbled streets.

 "I like you most, too," he echoed softly, leaning back against the train doors behind them.

CLAUDE: 

Claude’s eyes crinkled at the small smile he’d pulled from the other man, soft and secretive, and it lit his face up with one of his own. It had been Gaston, after all, to kiss him. Gaston who had somehow wormed his way into his life and into his brain and stayed when no one else had tried (or, perhaps, where very few had succeeded). Gaston who has seen his scars, had touched them, and had done nothing but accept them and his past. The medication, too, that Claude took was taken as it was, never made more of than it had to be. It was, perhaps, that easiness that had made him care about the other man. 

Or, maybe, it was planted there from the first night they’d met and they’d sat and talked for long enough that the pub had almost emptied and Claude had not felt subconscious about anything for the longest time. Maybe it was because Gaston had seen a man and not the office he wore. Maybe it was because Claude had let him. Whatever the reason, the Frenchman did not want to squander it. The relationship he had with this man was more important to him than any other he had had in a very, very long time. Gaston was his best friend, but he was also that tight feeling in his chest, that peace of mind and safety that came with Gaston standing beside him. Just like tonight, Claude had known that, whatever happened, the other man would be there. 

It was what gave him the courage to lean in again, an arm wrapping around the larger frame pressed against his and press a careful kiss to the other man’s jaw. “Good,” he said, the word almost like finality, “I had hoped you might.” 

GASTON:

Gaston closed his eyes and tilted his head into the wall, hand curling up into the hair of the head that had risen to kiss him. There was a strange peace in the moment. A warmth in the other man's body, that he pulled closer. Intimacy was something he scarcely afforded himself and yet with Claude, it was abundant. Their friendship before that moment had been laced with quiet moments of intimacy, of legs sprawled over legs, heads in laps, the gentle caress of fingers through hair. And in the louder moments, it was still a tangle of arms and elbows and, occasionally, feet in your face.

He could feel the drink more now. And the weight of the tiredness behind his eyelids. Though he cracked them open one more time, to smile and place a kiss on the other man's forehead.

"Think I saw some seats clear," he hummed as the train pulled into a stop and the crowd shuffled past them.

CLAUDE: 

Claude hummed against the other man’s skin for a moment, swaying with the movement of the train. He’d propped himself up against the bulk of Gaston’s upper body, the hand that had snaked its way into his hair holding him close. It was comfortable, comforting, something they’d had before this but Claude had never chosen to identify. There was a comfort in knowing that the man had been there, been his friend. His closest friend. In a way, Claude wondered if that was where this sudden feeling came from, this tightening in his chest and the ease with which he let the other man pull him into his space, his kisses. 

But Claude knew that was not all that it was. 

Head tilting with a quiet sigh, the Frenchman nodded and braced himself as the train slowed. He returned the smile and, once the train car had cleared a few of its passengers out, Claude pushed away from Gaston’s chest to manoeuvre them to the empty seats the other man had spotted. 

GASTON:

Gaston threw himself into the chair, lolling his head back against the cold plastic panel of the nearest wall, where he kicked his feet up onto the opposite seat - much to the displeasure of the person sitting beside it - and wrapped an arm around Claude. "Not exactly my normal night clubbing," he mused quietly into the top of the other man's hair. "But I'll take it."

Between the soft scent of the other man's head, only fractions closer than he usually placed it, it was the only thought that preoccupied his mind, as the train rocked them into a shallow sleep all the way home.

Everything had changed and nothing at all.

CLAUDE: 

Claude was too drowsy to make any apologies or fuss for the other man, so he just shook his head and offered the person beside them a look. They harrumphed back at him, a critical eye on the pair as the Frenchman was pulled into the larger man's side and tucked there. 

It was warm and comforting and there was something about the way the other man's chest rose and fell that lulled him into a false sense of security on the train in the middle of a throng of people, like he was safe here. He was always safe here, really, but it was in the midpoint between awake and asleep that he truly felt it, keen, like heartache.

The rocking of the train helped him nod off and the heavy arm around his shoulders kept him there. At least, that was, until they were shaken awake by a kindly old hand. 

Claude startled, gaze fuzzy, as he glanced up at the woman that had been seated beside them, hair graying and curling at the edges of her face. She glanced at him, once, before walking away. Rubbing a hand down his face, Claude nudged the other man in the ribs so he could stand, waiting for him just a few feet away before weaving his way back toward home. 

GASTON:

Gaston's consciousness peeled back to the stark yellow lights inside the train and the gentle jostling of Claude nudging him awake. It seemed a lot less cosy, now they were far from the city and the huddle of bodies had become a faint scattering of men and women between the seats.

He pulled himself upwards and tumbled out of the train. It was probably past curfew, he realised, as they exited the station to find the world void of life. Though instead of hailing a cab, he tugged gently on Claude's arm and lead him by the back streets to where a narrow cobbled path skirted undergrowth on the outside of town and curled behind the houses, straight to his back door. He'd often take the route as a teen, to avoid trouble or more likely get into it. Of course, there hadn't been a curfew back then. But he'd come to know the streets and the trees as a safe spot from authority. 

And on that warm evening, with the town hidden from view, its safety seemed all too appealing. The birds sang and a sloppy arm slung around the other man's shoulders, as he pulled them through the slim gap between the Deer and the building beside it. 

CLAUDE: 

The streets were empty, was Claude's first, sleep-fuzzy thought as he made his way onto Main Street, Gaston close behind. He hadn't thought they would be walking at this hour but it did wonders for clearing the fog from your head. Enough to know that the grip the other man had on his arm was one he didn't mind leaning into, now that he could, nor the fact that the path they were taking led them behind the houses. 

Away from Main Street, on the outskirts of the town. 

It wasn't one he'd seen used before and it didn't look it. Claude wondered how Gaston had even found it, known about it, but then those thoughts tumbled away. Gaston was raised here. Of course he knew pathways like this existed. 

So, Claude let himself be led by the arm wrapped loose around his shoulders. Let himself be steered between the gaps of the buildings. He recognized the outside, vaguely, as the Deer but he didn't quite know why they hadn't gone inside. Gaston had the keys (or, Claude hoped that he still did. Gaston had moved the spare, but the Frenchman still knew where it was, regardless. Showing that meant he had to give that away). Beyond that, Claude was content to lean against the solid bulk beside him for a moment longer before pulling away. 

Head tilting to the side, the corner of Claude's mouth curled up into a smirk, mischievous as it always was. His brows hiked up his forehead, asking a silent question. Were they just going to stand here all night, or was Claude going to have to trudge further down the street in the dark? 

Or, maybe, was Gaston going to let him stay? 

GASTON:

Gaston didn't know why he hesitated. Only that he did. The pressure of drink on his body had largely subsided, to nothing more than a faint dryness in his mouth and a twinge just above the eyebrow. He wanted water and blankets and to mindlessly pump social media directly into his brain for the next 24 hours. He also, surprisingly, didn't want the moment of soft summer warmth to end. Not in the raw, animalistic way he usually didn't want a moment to end - right up until it did end, at least for him, and he couldn't care less any more. Well… not much, anyway.

His eyes flicked across the street to the cold outline of the church, and then back to the man in front of him. "Do you," he threw a thumb over his shoulder, for once in his life unable to follow with a witty comeback (possibly because no matter how it went, the joke was probably on him) "wanna come in for a coffee?"

CLAUDE: 

The smaller man watched Gaston's face for a moment, noticed the way his eyes glanced behind his shoulder. The church was behind them, looming in the dark like some malevolent entity.

The hooked thumb back towards the flat made his eyes crinkle, a huff of a laugh curling the edges of his mouth. Claude nodded his head, a hand coming up to run through his hair. 

"Oui, I would like that." His hand moved, then, and wrapped, first, around the back of a bicep, tugging at it, and then skimmed higher, fingertips careful, always with a question curling his brow. 

GASTON:

Gaston let the touch guide him closer, soaked into the warmth of another human being. That human being. Knowing that coffee wasn't the intention, nor the end result. Not even the beginning. He stepped closer, hands finding the other man's waist, torsos meeting gently in the middle. For a moment, he lingered like that, listening to the sounds of the morning birds as his gaze skimmed the older man's features, the lines of his face and soft fan of his eyelashes, filled with a strange tangle passion and apprehension at the night's discovery.

"I'd like that too," he answered quietly, before pressing another eager kiss onto his awaiting lips.

[thecaroliner]

That awful CBR Kataang article

I don’t normally do metas but this was so bad I had to respond. I think I actually had a stroke reading it

1. She shouldn’t teach him waterbending

At the beginning of the series, Katara was a waterbending novice, barely capable of maintaining a feeble orb of water in midair. As she traveled with Aang, they grew as waterbenders simultaneously, each growing through their journey to the north pole where they were taught by the same teacher.

After that, Katara assumed the duty of Aang’s waterbending tutor, which doesn’t really make sense considering that they should both be at the same approximate place in their training. In fact, Aang was shown to be more naturally adept at waterbending and capable of picking up the techniques easier.

So, like, did you completely miss the episode where Katara is shown to have advanced more than Pakku’s other students who have been training for months or maybe even years at this point? Yeah it’s a little weird considering that she’s only been there about a month, but Katara is just really, REALLY good at waterbending once she had a proper teacher. And yes Aang did pick it up really quickly but we also see in said episode he was lounging around playing with Momo rather than practicing, unlike Katara who it seemed like practiced hours each day.

2. They did their best work separated

Both Aang and Katara were intensely powerful benders who accomplished many amazing feats through their powers. However, it’s interesting to note that their most formidable feats were accomplished by themselves and separate from one another. Katara learned her most powerful techniques, bloodbending and water healing, completely without Aang’s aide. And the amount of incredible things Aang accomplished without her are immeasurable.

For starters, he was able to embody the spirit of the ocean, beat Fire Lord Ozai, and impressed the last dragons. In fact, he had to intentionally abandon her to attain his highest form and gain control of the Avatar State, pretty much definitively proving that they are more powerful when separated.

....What does this have to do with anything. Like, seriously, anything. Should they not be amazing, powerful benders unless the other is there to help them?? I genuinely don’t understand the point you’re trying to make here. Also do you not know how the Avatar state works? 

3. The Cave of Two Lovers

One of the defining moments in Aang and Katara’s romance was the episode “The Cave of Two Lovers.” In it, Aang and Katara are separated from everyone else in a system of caves on the way to the city of Omashu.

The romantic nature of the story inspires Aang to hint his true feelings to Katara and, after some rom-com levels of shenaniganry, the two almost kiss for the first time as their light goes out. Without the light, however, the pathway of glowing crystals becomes clear and the two are able to escape. The episode is generally never brought up, both in discussion and the show’s lore, because it is, for lack of a better word, cringy.

Great argument, just explain what happened in the episode and then don’t explain why it’s bad or weird

4. Political Disagreements

Their biggest obstacle came in the comics, where they came within moments of splitting up over political disagreements. Specifically, their fight was over the Harmony Restoration Movement, which attempted to remove Fire Nation colonies following the end of the war. After Zuko had a change of heart and wanted to keep the older colonies in place, Katara agreed with him.

Aang was initially of the mind that all Fire Nation presence in the Earth Kingdom needed to be removed to ensure peace. Their conflict came to the point of violence when Katara had to talk Aang down from the Avatar State to prevent him from ending Zuko.

Again you just explained what happened and not why it was bad

5. Aang’s grandkids are better without him

There’s clear evidence that Aang and Katara weren’t the best parents, as evidenced by the emotional and psychological hang-ups of their kids, but the most telling proof that they weren’t fit to raise kids is how their grandkids turned out. Given that Aang never met them, Tenzin’s kids were never directly influenced by their grandfather and they were all nearly ideal children. Sure Ikki and Meelo are hyperactive, but they’re kids and are shown to mature somewhat with age while retaining their energetic personalities.

Free from Aang’s influence, Jinora even becomes a more powerful spiritual advisor than her father, who was so burdened with Aang’s pressure that he was never able to fully embrace his spiritual side.

Um, WHAT? Are you freaking serious right now? Of course we gotta go with the dumb “Aang was a bad dad” argument, AGAIN, which obviously was blown way outta proportion. But I can’t believe you’d actually say that they are better off not knowing him

6. They both have PTSD

While to romance between Aang and Katara is often framed as being between two kindred souls who knew from childhood that they were meant to be together, that couldn’t be further from the truth. Even from the first moments they met each other, both exhibited acute symptoms of post traumatic stress disorder.

Katara’s maternal instincts are likely derived from witnessing her mother’s demise and the prospect of vengeance. Aang had a tendency to misdirect, project, and avoid his issues over abandoning his culture and being lost in time. He also demonstrated a consistent lack in ability to process his anger, often snapping and yelling at his comrades over his perception of their failures.

ONCE AGAIN. WHAT DOES THIS HAVE TO DO WITH ANYTHING. Also, are you literally implying that PTSD victims shouldn’t be in a relationship? ok

7. Aang kept her from seeing her dad

In one of the most despised episodes of the entire series, “Bato of the Water Tribe,” also featured a moment that probably should have destroyed Katara and Aang’s relationship. In the episode, Aang intercepts a letter that would provide Katara and her brother information on where their father, who they haven’t seen for three years, might be stationed and give them a chance to see him. Worried that they might abandon him, however, Aang hides the letter from them.

Katara’s father was at war and could have died at any time. If Aang had prevented the water tribe siblings from seeing their father, there’s no guarantee that they would have ever seen him again.

This is as close to a legitimate point as this article gets. But I guess they’re forgetting how Aang felt guilty about it and how neither Katara nor Sokka took it lightly and it took a while for them to forgive him. 

8. They gave their kids inadequacy issues

If there’s one thing that could be gleaned from the Legend of Korra spin-off series, it’s that Aang and Katara weren’t the best parents. The oldest, Bumi, was born a non-bender and even in what appear to be his mid-50s, and after an illustrious military career, was still dealing with the inadequacy issues imparted by his father who always wanted an airbending child.

His sister Kya was so affected by her parents’ pressures that she spent several years traveling the world by herself before being forced to return to the south pole to take care of her co-dependent mother. Tenzin, the only airbending child was denied a childhood by his father hoisting the burden of an entire culture on his young shoulders.

Nothing in the show implies Kya was forced to come back and live with Katara. Katara was an elderly woman, devastated by the loss of her husband of 50+ years. My grandpa died many years ago, and if we hadn’t already lived in the same town as them, my family would’ve definitely moved up there to be with my grandma who was all alone. Taking care of your family is bad, I guess.

9. Their relationship got worse in the comics

The romance between Katara and Aang was a slow build on the show, developing infrequently from beginning to end. After the show ended, the generally laudable comic series took over the narrative and fumbled their relationship worse than a clumsy wide receiver. After affirming their relationship, the series depended entirely on an unfair dynamic between the two.

Katara was jealous of Aang constantly flirting with other girls closer to his own age, Aang bragged about being able to kiss her to everyone who would listen, and neither could think of a better pet name than “sweetie.” Overall, their romance just sort of went on automatic in the comics.

Show me ONE TIME where Aang flirted with other girls. Being friends with other girls is not flirting with them. Aang only mentioned being able to kiss her ONCE, and it wasn’t in front of close friends. He didn’t freaking go out in the middle of a crowd and go “HEY EVERYONE LOOK I CAN KISS KATARA”

10. Their kiss at the end was weird

The only time when Katara and Aang’s romantic relationship really picked up steam was in the final season of the show, culminating in the final scene of the original series where the two finally share a reciprocated kiss. As romantic as the tone was, it was offset somewhat by the atmosphere between the two leading up to that moment.

Mere episodes earlier, with the looming threat of genocide, death, and continued global war hanging ever-present over their heads, Katara was still uncertain and upset over Aang’s advances and made that abundantly clear to him.

Whoa, Katara took time to think about her feelings before jumping into a relationship?? Wow, how stupid of her.

11. They worked better as friends

The Kataang relationship was present throughout much of the series, but was only addressed and developed a few times at sporadic intervals. For the vast majority of the series, their relationship was one of matriarch and dependent. Aang needed Katara to keep him humble and focused while Katara’s motherly nature made her want to keep Aang safe.

Put bluntly, they were friends and their relationship worked well in that regard. But whenever romance was forcibly inserted into the equation, Katara began questioning how she felt about Aang and stated openly that she was uncomfortable with his affections. I.E. red flags that they probably should just stay friends.

Man, how dare Katara and Aang have a solid friendship before being romantically involved!!!!!!! You’re not supposed to be FRIENDS with your significant other!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

12. The age difference

Though Aang is technically over 100 years old, he’s biologically only 12. And though Katara herself is only 14 at the start of the series, the gulf between a 12-year-old and a 14-year-old is far greater than that between a 30-year-old and 32-year-old.

Despite having moments of genuine sage wisdom, Aang’s everyday behavior is more on par with an 8-year-old than anyone in his actual age bracket. This might not be his fault as his isolated, holistic upbringing instilled in him a strong sense of detachment, which might have prompted some of his more selfish actions, but even the most mature 12-year-old should not be making out with someone two years older.

I am forever baffled by y’all thinking that someone with a fun-loving, carefree personality is childish. When you get to a certain age are you supposed to stop having fun?? Stop telling jokes??? What a miserable life that would be

13. It was a one-sided relationship

When Aang was freed from the iceberg he’d been trapped in for the past hundred years, his first instinct was to fall head over heels in love with Katara. However, she didn’t see things the same way for quite some time. In fact, during the entire series, their romance was viewed through Aang’s lens with little to no input from Katara’s opinions on the matter.

In fact, she made it obliquely clear from the beginning of the series that she saw Aang more as a little brother or pseudo-child rather than a potential love interest, a view that didn’t change until very late. And even then, she was more embarrassed and confused by Aang’s affections than reciprocal.

Yeah, because relationships in real life are always 100% mutual from the beginning, and one person is never interested before the other is. That NEVER happens.

14. Their romance was unnecessary

While they were one of the primary pairs of the show, Katara and Aang’s relationship was only focused on in a handful of episodes in the original show’s three-season run. And those episodes tended to be considered weaker or filler between more significant arcs. Overall, their ship was not integral to the narrative of the show, both figuratively and thematically. You could remove all the Kataang content from the show and it wouldn’t change anything.

It wouldn’t even effect the series’ general quality, only improve it slightly. This might have been an issue in the writing staff as central breeding pairs are a trope in most shows, animated or otherwise. But just because stereotypes exist doesn’t mean they have a purpose or need to be used.

This was a show about magic, martial arts, and war. All the romance on the show was technically unnecessary. Doesn’t mean it shouldn’t have happened.

15. Zuko would’ve been a better match for her

The main rival of the Kataang ship is the Zutara vessel, the faction of viewers who believed that Katara would be better off with the series anti-hero Zuko. And they’re probably right. Zuko and Katara have expressed an interest in each other before, launching their ship in the first place, but it’s more because Zuko is more mature and, for lack of a better word, attractive than the alternative.

There’s also the pretty significant matter that they both have similar emotional baggage. Katara has issues with her father abandoning her for the war, Zuko has problems with his father being a dictatorial jerk, and they both lost their mothers at a young age due to the intricacies of politics and conflict.

*eye roll* “Zuko and Katara have expressed interest in each other before” Where? Show me where.

Ok so before you said that one of the reasons Kataang doesn’t work is because they both have PTSD. Buuuuut Katara and Zuko having PTSD is a reason..they should’ve been together? And full offense, but Katara having hard feelings towards her dad for a short time in one episode that was resolved quickly is in no way equal to Zuko experiencing lifelong physical and emotional abuse by his father. I’m actually really angry and kind of offended you would even think this was a reasonable comparison.

16. Their personalities never changed

One of the most important aspects of fictional characters is how they change. Round characters are indefinitely more interesting than flat, one-note characters. And while Aang and Katara are in no way flat characters, they didn’t change much within the confines of their relationship. That is to say, while their presence in each other’s lives changed the others’ personalities, they did not change all too much to each other after their childhood.

As seen in Legend of Korra, Katara is just as maternal and wise as she was in her youth. Korra’s brief flashbacks to Aang’s life demonstrated that he grew somewhat more serious as he aged, but was still immature enough to pose for pictures of him doing his marble trick.

fklafj;afjea;fef; if AANG MAKING A FUNNY POSE FOR A PICTURE IS IMMATURE. god i’m just. i am so done with this article.

17. Aang decided how many kids they had

One of the biggest decisions a long-term couple can make together is if they want to have children. It’s a choice that, if made in the affirmative, can never be taken back, and if they do decide to have kids, they both need to determine how many kids they want or can afford to have.

While Katara never said anything on the subject, their kids were more than happy to discuss how Aang was insistent on having children until at least one of them developed airbending so he had a surefire way to pass on his near-extinct culture. Presumably Katara was more than happy to have three kids with Aang, but if Tenzin had turned out to be a water- or non-bender, he would have demanded that she continue.

LITERALLY WHAT SHOW ARE YOU WATCHING HERE, MY DUDE. Where was this EVER said or even implied. Might I point out in Legacy where Aang literally says that he and Katara were open to the idea of having more kids after Tenzin

18. She lived without him for 20 years

t’s stated in Legend of Korra that Aang died when he was 66. Given that Katara is approximately two years older than him, that means she was about 68 when he passed. By the end of the spin-off series, Katara was 89, according to the official wiki.

That means that she had around 20 years to live, grow, and evolve as a person without Aang around. In all likelihood, if Aang had somehow returned to her after all that time, he might not even recognize Katara as the same woman he fell in love with. As far as the series is willing to tell, Katara’s only company after Aang’s death was her daughter, the Order of the White Lotus, Korra, and infrequent visits from her other children.

Wow, how dare Aang DIE and leave Katara all alone. What a jerk!!!!!!!! I guess my grandpa is a jerk for dying and leaving my grandma all alone, too! Men SUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

19. She had a crush on Jet first

Kataang shippers tend to consider the start of the relationship to be the moment Aang saw Katara. He looked at her through rose colored glasses the moment she broke him out of the iceberg, framing her in light and a romantic breeze. It took Katara a little while to come around to having feelings for him, but she had a few different non-starter relationships along the way.

The first, and by far most impassioned of these, was with the freedom fighter Jet, who she met all the way back in the first season. Her crush was apparent and strong enough that she was disproportionately upset when she saw him several months later. She may have wound up with Aang, but she clearly had stronger initial feelings for Jet.

Wow because nobody in real life ever has multiple relationships throughout their lifetime or crushes on other people before meeting their significant other. And yeah, Katara totally shouldn’t have been upset to see the guy who tried to wipe out an entire innocent village unless she was madly in love with him

20. The (older) age difference

Despite only looking like a pre-teen, Aang is actually over 100 years old. He was born and raised before the start of the 100-year war at the Southern Air Temple. Upon learning he was the reincarnated Avatar, Aang was surprised. He and Appa were caught in a ferocious storm that sent them below the waves.

In a moment of self-preservation, his Avatar state activated for the first time and he bent himself into a frozen iceberg, which preserved him as he waited for a century beneath the seas near the Southern Water Tribe. The series is riddled with Aang’s hang-ups about his long-dead culture. It often causes rifts between himself and the other characters.

What does this have to do with their age difference or Kataang at all

[izzy-b-hands]

Happy At Home-Part One

This was gonna be a short bit of Sledgefu about them moving house. Turns out it is more than that, and a lot longer now! In any case, thanks to all who read/like/reblog and I hope you guys enjoy! 

Part Two to ? (idk how long this full thing will end up lol) I will post asap as I finish them!

The apartment was starting to show its age. 

Granted, it was old when they started to rent it, but now...

Eugene pondered if an apartment could be called elderly as Snafu thunked the handset of the phone down with a clatter. 

“Fuckin’ landlord. Fuckin’ bullshit. We got no heat, and that ass goes on about how we should be able to tough it out,” Snafu shouted. 

“Snaf-” 

“I toughed it out! That fucker-he didn’t even ship out! We finished the damn mess for him, now he inherits this fuckin’ piece of shit building from his father or grandfather or who the fuck knows, and he thinks he can talk to me-”

“Merriell!” Eugene shouted, only so Snafu would snap back and really hear him. 

“For what we pay for this shithole...” Snafu grumbled, then stomped back to join him on the couch. “Sorry.” 

“You don’t have to be sorry for anything. I get it-but you’re gonna destroy your voice yellin’ like that. And the cold won’t help it if your throat is sore,” Eugene said as he tossed one of their many accumulated blankets over Snafu. 

Snafu pulled the blanket so most of his face was covered, only his eyes free. “I know. He’s still a fuckin’ asshole.” 

Eugene bit his tongue not to giggle at Snafu’s voice, muffled by the blanket. “He is. But we’ll make do. We always have, always will.” 

Snafu brought the blanket off his face and frowned. “We been livin’ here for over two years. The heating coulda been fuckin’ fixed by now.” 

Eugene sighed and pulled Snafu close. He was right-they’d been asking and now begging damn near every winter they’d been there for it to be fixed. 

“If I could find us a house-” 

“People might talk,” Eugene started. They’d had this discussion a lot, as of late. 

“I don’t give a shit. Tell ‘em we both had girlfriends before the war, but when we came back they were gone, so we stuck together,” Snafu spat. “So now we have each other, and if that bothers anyone, I’ll go find one of the grenades we used to carry and jam it so far up their-”

“Okay, okay. I think I get the picture you’re painting. And it is a hell of a picture,” Eugene replied. “But let’s say we find this house. How the hell are we paying for it?” 

Snafu shrugged and snuggled closer to him. “We’d figure it out.” 

“Someday, maybe. Least we got a roof over our heads now.” 

The phone rang, shrill and overly loud in the quiet apartment. The cats jumped, all lumped together in a basket with a blanket over them  as Eugene stood to answer it, a blanket still wrapped around his shoulders. 

“Eugene?” Sid sounded tired.

“Hey, how are you?” Eugene asked. It had been a good few months since they’d talked, longer since Sid had visited. He missed him-plus, it was one of the only ways he could get updates on how his family was. 

“Your father-” Sid sighed, but it edged on a growl. “Is a wonderfully kind man, except for right now when he’s being a damn stubborn ass who won’t just do this himself. I, as middleman, am supposed to ask you if you and Snafu won’t come down and do your parents a favor of sorts.” 

“They know Snaf would be coming with me, no matter what this ‘favor’ is, right?” 

“I already told them. They still keep callin’ him your ‘roommate’. Not sure if they haven’t figured it out yet, or if it’s straight up denial. But either way, they said this applies to the both of you,” Sid replied. “Now, your parents decided to build a new house-” 

“What? Where, and why?” Eugene laughed. “What bullshit is that, anyway? This country can’t even house all of us that came back, and they went and built something new?” 

“Eugene-” 

“Look, Sid. We’re sittin’ here in a damn tiny place that hasn’t had proper heat in the winter, or ventilation in the summer since we moved in. We pay out the ass for it, no matter how many extra hours we both pick up at work. We’d love a goddamn house, even if it was barely warmer than this place. So hearin’ this-” Eugene choked on his words. “Just-what the hell do they want with us?” 

“They don’t want to sell the old place. They consider like piece of the family history, or whatever. Your brother said no to staying there-he’s got his own place, his own things goin’ on, as you already know.” 

He did. His brother called a bit more than Sid, but the calls were always on edge. Still filled with ‘I love you’s and ‘hope you’re well’s, but there were questions unasked in between them. 

“Okay, so? They have two houses instead of just one, pity them,” Eugene sighed. He loved Sid, but tonight wasn’t the night to listen to how well other people were doing while they struggled. He just wanted to sit back down and warm up next to Snafu, who was watching him with an increasingly confused look on his face. 

“The cold made you dense or somethin’? What the fuck do you think I’m about to ask you?” Sid laughed. “You get the house, so long as you two are willing to move back down here.” 

“I’m sorry?” 

“You. And. Snafu. Get. The. House,” Sid replied. “They’re tryin’ to do a nice turn for you, while also making themselves happy by keepin’ the house. Furnished, ready to go for you, all you have to do is come back.” 

“Forgive me, Sid. But there’s no way it’s that easy. They’ve got to have some motive-” Eugene started, but Sid cut him off with a heavy sigh. 

“As far as I know, they don’t have any motive other than greedily wanting two houses.” 

Eugene moved the handset from his head, and turned to Snafu. “So, you were talkin’ about that house.” 

Snafu pushed his blankets off and walked over to him. “What the hell is goin’ on?” 

“We got a house waitin’ for us in Mobile-my parents’ old house. Apparently, all we have to do is show up, and the place is ours,” Eugene said. “It feels...too easy.” 

Snafu nodded. “Maybe. Or maybe...” 

“What?” 

“You miss them. I know you do, don’t try to lie to me. And I bet they miss you. And I’d bet they’re just as stubborn as you-” Snafu continued. 

“I am not that stubborn,” Eugene protested. 

“Yes, you are,” Snafu and Sid spoke at once, Sid’s voice tinny from the handset. 

Eugene sighed, and shot Snafu a look. 

“Anyway, I’d gather they needed some way to show they care for you, without meetin’ up with us and everyone bein’ all emotional and messy. A nice place to live where they know you’re safe might be that way,” Snafu said. 

“We’d have to pack fast,” Eugene protested. There was something in the pit of his stomach that made him too nervous to just say yes to the prospect of going back. Even if Snafu and the cats would be with him. 

“I can manage that,” Snafu said as he gently pulled the handset from Eugene’s hand. “Hey, Sid? Tell ‘em we’re comin’ down. The cats, and whatever junk we want to keep that we can fit in the car.” 

Snafu listened for a moment, then nodded. “And we’ll meet you to get the key. Sounds good. Yeah, I’ll wrangle him into a better mood by the time we get there, don’t you worry. Be seein’ you, Sid.” 

Snafu hung up the handset, and wrapped his arms around Eugene. “C’mon. Smile, at least a little. We’re gettin’ out of this frozen tundra-” 

“It could be colder, if we’d ended up further North,” Eugene said as he let his head fall onto Snafu’s shoulder. 

“You get to show me around Mobile, we’ll have a nice clean place-I’ll get to see your old room!” 

The tears started to fall before he could stop them. He let the blanket fall as he grabbed hold of Snafu and clung to him. 

“Whoa, what is this? C’mere, sit down,” Snafu slowly walked them back to the couch. “Talk.” 

“They’re doin’ this because they love me?” Eugene choked out. “I mean...it isn’t that I don’t appreciate it, even if don’t agree with all of this, like them building another house when there’s plenty like us who can’t find anywhere to live. But if they love me still...I mean, we invited them here, how many times, to show them the town and have dinner with us?! And they never even acknowledged any of those invites-just had Sid tell us they couldn’t make it. I sent them letters after we made it back, made it here, and the few they sent back-” 

He was a mess, tears falling faster than he could brush them away, his sinuses already aching. “Anybody could have sent those back to me. Hell, Burgin sent back nicer, warmer letters than what they sent. They love the idea of me, of who they want me to be. And I’m sure they feel some sense of obligation to me, as their child. But I don’t know that they truly love me, as I truly am. Or if they ever will.” 

The silence hung between them, until Eugene slowly raised his head. 

Snafu was weeping, tears running fast down his face. “Sledgehammer. I-” 

He sighed and sniffled as he looked away for a moment, as if the words he needed were running away from him. “Eugene. I can’t tell you exactly what they feel; I know you know that. But I can tell you how I see it. And the way I see it, is that no matter how they feel, it seems like they’re tryin’. Tryin’ to do somethin’ at least. Now, we could use the place-someplace a little bit nicer, bit bigger. I understand why you’re nervous about it, because who knows if they’ll come by or what they’d say if they did.” 

Snafu sniffled again as he grabbed Eugene’s hands and held them tightly in his, so tight it almost hurt. “But I can tell you this. If they do come by, after we’re down there, and they try and hurt you at all, or make some ultimatum about us in order for us to keep the house, then we’ll just go.” 

“Snaf-” 

“I know, I know, that would be hard and scary because where would we go and what would we do. But you know what? Just like you said-we’d make do. We’d find somewhere to land. Find jobs, find another apartment. Hell, if we really struggle then we’ll go to Sid or Burgin and tell ‘em we’re sleepin’ over for a few weeks. But we sure as hell wouldn’t stay, if that’s how they’d be treatin’ you. If that’s how it would be, then they can let that house rot, empty and lonely,” Snafu said, tears still falling, but now with something strong behind his eyes. They were piercing, but loving all at once. 

“Okay,” Eugene said shakily. “I think...I can do it, if we keep that as a plan, just in case. Would be nice, not havin’ to worry about the cats freezing overnight. They’d have my mom’s garden to play in and run around.” 

Snafu nodded. “You could plant whatever you like there. Dress the house up however we want. Actually have room for shit, even!” 

They laughed, and Eugene let himself fall against Snafu slowly to push them both back into the couch. 

“We’re really doing this,” he sighed. 

“We really are,” Snafu replied. “Tomorrow, at least. I am not packing up anything tonight though. I want to get some sleep, and keep you warm.” 

Eugene moved to press a kiss to Snafu’s neck in agreement. That at least gave him time to will his stomach to calm, before they’d be packing and getting on the road. 

[roslinadama-sinequanon]

Christmas in Connecticut-Chapter 9

I started posting this fic last Christmas but after 8 chapters I got involved in a big BSG Adama/Roslin fic that I was writing and kind of put it on the back burner. I got back into it just as we were moving into season 6 but wanted to finish it so I didn’t leave people hanging like the last time. I figured I’d work on tweaking it and start posting as a lead up to what I naively thought would be a heart warming first family Christmas for the Flynn’s.  You know, the one where the newlyweds had just returned home from their honeymoon in Ireland and were planning to have Emily, Ricky, Rusty, Nicole, her husband and two kids over to their new home for Christmas dinner--all while trying to solve a murder. After all, Christmas used to be a happy affair on MC. With the shockingly depressing turn season 6 took I found it hard to be inspired and after the unmentionable event that occurred on December 19th,  a day that shall live in infamy, I feel like was curled up in a fetal position unable to even look at fan fiction or you tube videos let alone work on tweaking my own fic. My heart was truly broken.

I have finally pushed myself far enough into denial to be able to dip my toes back into the world of Shandy--but only a Shandy world where Sharon exists, for a Shandy world without Sharon is not a world worth living in.

You will notice I do not mention Andy having a son. I was going to re-tweak that and add him in once we met him at the wedding. Yep, was definitely naïve. But since we never got introduced to him and he was so insignificant Duff didn’t even bother giving him a name. He doesn’t exist--like Andy’s 2nd wife.

So, I hope there are still people out there who still want to read Shandy and for those who do, here is Chapter 9 of Christmas in Connecticut. Chapters 1-8 are already available if you haven’t read them, and if you did, just a little heads up that I did do some minor tweaking on them.You can find all 9 chapters here with more to come.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/13293105 

And

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12789981/1/Christmas-in-Connecticut

Oh, there's no place like home for the holidays, For no matter how far away you roam When you long for the sunshine of a friendly gaze, For the holidays - you can't beat home, sweet home

++++

“So, munchkin?”

In bed, curled up in Andy’s arms, her fingertips playing with his chest hair, Sharon could feel his smile against her forehead and nuzzled into his shoulder. “Somehow I knew you wouldn‘t let that one go. Why is it that no matter how old you get when you come home you still feel like a kid?”

“I don’t know, but it’s true.”

“I mean I’m in charge of my life in LA. I put murderers behind bars, but every time I walk through those doors I’m that skinny little girl looking in the mirror every morning to see if my breasts finally started to grow.”

Andy gave a soft chuckle, his hand sliding up over her ribs to cup over a warm full mound. “And thankfully they did.”

She smiled and rested her hand over his, grounding her in the present even as her mind began to wander nostalgically as it often did when she came home to Connecticut. “My life was so influenced by growing up in this house.” She mused. “Did I ever tell you that my grandfather was part of the American contingent in the Nuremberg Trials?”

“He was? No, you didn’t. So, like, putting Nazi’s on trial runs in the family.”

“Apparently so. How sad is it that I’m still fighting a battle against the same kind of people that my grandfather tried to put away 70 years ago.”

“Ah, sweetheart, there’s always going to be evil in the world, no matter how hard we try to clean it up. The world is full of dirt bags.” He pressed a kiss to her temple.

“Hmmm…I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, should I?”

“I think the day we can’t be surprised anymore is the day we need to walk away. I’ve been working homicides for 23 years and there are still times the dirt bags can surprise me. My father was barely 18 years old when he landed in Normandy. He fought all the way to Germany. He liberated a concentration camp with Patton. And he hardly ever talked about it. I wish I could have met your grandfather. I bet he had some interesting stories.”

“He did. So did my parents. Before he was a judge, my dad was a civil rights attorney and my mother was always involved in social justice issues so you can imagine what our dinner conversations were like. I grew up thinking I’d go to law school and get out there and change the world, make it better.”

“Was your father very disappointed when you chose to join the LAPD instead of going to law school like you’d planned?”

“Well, it wasn’t so much a choice as a necessity.” A negative hum rumbled in Andy’s chest, vibrating against her cheek. He knew her history with Jack--how he’d reneged on his promise to put her through law school after she’d done her bit and gotten him through. “I did come to love what I do and it ended up being a great fit for me, but I think my not going to law school disappointed my mother more than my father.”

“Really? I didn’t get that kind of impression from your mom.” Colleen O’Dwyer had been so open and welcoming; Judge O’ Dwyer on the other hand had been a little more circumspect.

“My mother dropped out of college to marry my father so it was very important to her that Chris and I get our degrees and follow our dreams.”

“You think she gave up her dreams to marry your dad?”

“Maybe, some of them. But that‘s the way it was back then. Most women in college in the 50‘s were there more to get an MRS than they were to get a BA or BS.  Not that I think she regrets marrying my dad. They have a great marriage, the kind I’d dreamed about having, but I think she regrets not getting that degree. It’s crazy really. She is a very successful woman. She helped my father tremendously when he was just starting out and she raised three children. She’s an amazing mother and she’s always been very engaged in the community. When I was a child, she was always raising money for some cause or another. But for her it wasn‘t just about writing and collecting checks, she got down in the trenches.”

“What kinds of things was she involved in?”

Sharon lifted her head to gauge his level of interest. “Do you really want to know or are you just asking to be polite?”

He snorted. “I’m not that polite, Shar. I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t interested. Everything about you interests me.”

Sharon swallowed past the quick lump that formed in her throat. How had she been so lucky to find a guy like Andy? “It was mostly through our church. People think everyone in Greenwich is rich, but there are poor people here too and there are far less services and resources available to them than for those in big cities with high poverty rates. My mother became a Vincentian, delivering food and clothing to the needy, feeding the homeless, visiting the elderly in nursing homes and the sick in hospitals. She also worked in the thrift store at St. Marys. She used to make Chrissie and I help out sorting clothes at the store on Saturday mornings.”

“Oh yeah. How’d you feel about that?” He had a lot of experience being roped into doing things you didn’t want to do. As a kid, he’d been frequently asked to help out at his grandparents small Italian restaurant when he would much rather have been playing stickball with his friends.

“At first Chrissie and I did a lot of complaining about having to get up early on a Saturday. It was the only day we didn’t have to get up early for school or for catechism and mass. My mother wasn’t too pleased with our attitude and took us over to our closets pointing out all the nice clothes we had and reminding us how lucky we were. She made sure we knew that there were girls our age who never got Manhattan shopping trips to Bloomies and Saks and Macy’s and if they didn’t have the thrift store they would never be able to have new clothes, well, at least clothes that were new to them.”

“Yeah, well, I know how that feels. I grew up in hand me downs, but we didn’t have to go to the church’s thrift store.  I had an older brother and dozens of cousins whose clothes got handed down to me when they outgrew them, but I never had much choice in what I wore.”

Sympathy radiated in Sharon’s eyes as she gave him a tender smile.  It was no wonder Andy had become the well-dressed peacock of Major Crimes. His wardrobe of colorful, attractive, good quality clothing was apparently in compensation for a childhood lacking in choice. “You’ve certainly made up for that now,” she said.

He grinned. “I guess I have. So, how did it go with you and your sister helping at the store?”

“Actually, we ended up enjoying it. My mother had convinced a local department store to donate some mannequins so we could make it look like a regular boutique, you know, to try to alleviate some of the stigma of shopping in a thrift store. I found that I loved putting outfits together on the mannequins. My mother said I had very good sense of color and style.”

“She wasn’t wrong about that.” His fashionista fiancée had a walk in closet filled with designer labels; Armani power suits, St.John and Michael Kors dresses, Von Furstenburg eveningwear and Burberry trench coats. Her sweaters were cashmere, her tank tops and lingerie, silk. Her shoe rack was filled with expensive killer heels and stilettos, Manolo, Laboutin, Ferragmo--even her casual wear, jeans and t-shirts and boots were Rag and Bone and Ralph Lauren. Sharon didn’t overbuy and she wasn’t obsessed with labels, for her it all came down to good quality, comfort and fit and she was very clever at using the nice pieces she had to create different outfits.

“My mother is so loved in our church and our community. She’s done so much good and helped so many people but to this day, I think she regrets not having her degree and not having options when it came to a career. So, I know everyone thinks that when I decided to put off Yale law to marry Jack and help him get through UCLA that my father was the most upset. He wasn’t. He wasn’t happy, mainly because he wasn’t a big fan of Jack’s but it was my mother who was crushed. I think she saw some parallels between us.  I was 20 when I met Jack, the same age she was when she married my dad.”

“But you didn’t drop out of college to marry him. You graduated…with honors.”

Andy’s easy pride in her never failed to amaze her. “Yes, but she knew my dream didn’t end there. She knew I wanted law school and when I said I was going to marry Jack and follow him to California to put him through school first she was afraid I was giving up my dreams on a man she felt was not worthy. Those were her exact words. ‘Sharon I hate to see you giving up on your dreams for a man who is just not worthy. I don’t want to see you have regrets.’ I was so hurt and so angry with her for saying that. I wanted so badly to prove her wrong. But she was right about Jack. Even if I hadn’t gotten pregnant, I doubt he ever really intended on coming back east and putting me through Yale. He turned out to be such a huge disappointment.”

“So, do you regret marrying him?”

“I have regrets, of course. I don’t think you can get to be our age without having regrets.  I regret that Jack didn’t turn out to be the man that I thought he would be, that I needed him to be. I regret that my children grew up without a father. But I don’t regret marrying him, no. In spite of whatever pain and disappointment he brought to my life, I wouldn’t have Emily and Ricky if I hadn’t married him. I wouldn’t have moved to LA, I wouldn’t have joined the LAPD, I wouldn’t have had Rusty come into my life and I never would have met and fallen in love with you.  So, God bless the broken road, right? “

Andy slid his thumb under her chin and gently lifted her face so he could lean down and touch his lips to hers.  “God bless the broken road,” he agreed.

Besides,” she laid her head back on his shoulder, enjoying the feel of his fingers stroking through her hair. “Going through what I did with Jack made me who I am today. As you can see from all of this.” Her gesture encompassed the house. “I grew up pretty sheltered from the hardships of the world. Because of Jack, I had to grow up very fast and learn to be independent and self- reliant. I had to take full control and responsibility for my finances, my children and my career.  It made me stronger and resilient. I‘m proud of that.”

“You should be.” Part of his attraction to Sharon had been her complete confidence. Sexy and confident were a pretty intoxicating combination in his book. “But you have more than that to proud of.”

“Hmmm…”

“You said you wanted to be a lawyer to change the world, but you do change the world, Sharon, every day. You take the dirtbags off the streets, you protect the people of LA from threats they don’t even know exist and you give the family of the victim’s closure. You make the world, at least our little corner of it, a better place. And---”He raised her hand, kissing the back of it. “You sure as hell make my world a better place, every single day.”

+++++

After showering and shaving, Andy padded quietly back down the hall to the bedroom he and Sharon were sharing, careful not wake the other inhabitants on the second floor. Stepping through the door, he paused. Sharon was standing by the window, her hand outstretched to allow the early morning sunlight to catch in her diamond. The smile that curved on his face at seeing her admiring her engagement ring faded when he saw a tear slowly trail down her cheek. That tear nearly knocked the wind out of him.

“Sharon?”

Sharon turned to see Andy standing hesitantly in the doorway. He was still in his plush green bathrobe, his hair wet and spiky from his shower, his brow furrowed with concern. Quickly she swiped the tear from her cheek and gave him a wobbly smile.

Andy set his toothbrush down on the bureau and moved to her. “Why are you crying?”

“I’m not crying.”

“I saw you.”

“That was just a tear.”

Andy rolled his eyes. “A tear is crying Sharon. So, what’s making you sad? If you don’t like the ring we can change it for something you might like better, or…”Sharon cut him off by placing her fingers over his lips.

“Andrew Flynn. I love this ring. Why do you think I took it out to admire it? I can’t wait to show everyone and to be able to wear it every day.”

“So, you aren’t having second thoughts?”

“Of course not. I want to marry you, Andy.”

There it was again, that look of sadness clouding the usual bright sparkle in her eyes.

“What is it then? Why do you look so sad?”

“I was just thinking about our wedding.”

“And that made you sad?” She was confusing the hell out of him. Did she want to marry him or didn’t she?

“A little. Like you said when you proposed, we love each other, we trust each other, we’re committed to each other and we don’t need a piece of paper to prove that. We’re already emotionally and physically joined, the only thing missing is the spiritual element. When I think about marrying you I see the two of us at the altar at St. Joseph of Nazareth with Father Stan blessing us, joining us as one.”

“I see that too, and I’m happy to marry you wherever you want. I just want you to be my wife and I want to be your husband.”

“Andy, it’s not going to be that easy. We’re both divorced Catholics. We can’t marry in the church and if we get married outside of the church, we’ll be denied the sacraments. I know that may not be important to you but---”

“But it is to you. I know that, Sharon. There has to be some way to make this work.”

“Annulments, but that isn’t going to be so easy either.”

“You don’t think Jack will give you an annulment? After all the shit he’s put you through, you think he’d deny you your happiness?”

“Have you met Jack? “ Her lips twisted wryly and she turned to stare out the window at the glimpse of Long Island Sound in the distance. Her relationship with Jack was so complicated and she’d made it even more so by staying married to him for so many years, even if they were legally separated. At the time, it had seemed like the best decision, the only decision.

Financially she couldn’t afford to divorce Jack. It had taken years to build back her savings after he’d stolen it and to un-entangle herself from his debt. If she divorced him, he would be entitled to half of her savings and half of everything they owned. At the time that included their house. Her children’s home. There was nothing more important to her than protecting her children. Jack had never been interested in raising their kids, but she couldn’t take the chance that he might fight for joint custody just to spite her. She wouldn’t put it past him. When Jack was threatened, he could be as nasty as he was charming, and she couldn’t risk that, not with the instability in his life and his drinking. By staying married to him, he could visit Emily and Ricky in the safety of her home, under her careful supervision.

But there was more to it than that. There was a dirty little secret that many women would understand. Staying married to Jack didn’t only protect her children. It protected her as well--especially before she‘d begun weeding out all the bad seeds in the department. As a woman, an attractive woman, in a male dominated profession, there were far too many times that promotions came with propositions and that the bruised egos of the male colleagues who asked her out resulted in creating animosity and enemies. Being able to say she was a married woman gave her an out—and she’d had to use it, more times than she liked to remember.

But of all the reasons she’d stayed in a marriage that had been dead for years, the toughest to admit to was her pride. She didn’t fail at very many things, was in fact uncomfortable with failure, so it had taken many years for her to admit that her marriage had failed. That SHE had failed. She was a roll your sleeves up and fix it kind of woman and the acceptance that she couldn’t fix Jack had been hard won.

Still, for all her good intentions, her unwillingness to take that final step that would sever her completely from Jack had come with consequences. Because they weren’t officially divorced, Jack still considered her his wife and as such, he returned to her periodically. She was his enabler, his lifeboat, his safety net. She was the person he turned to each time he hit rock bottom. And as irritated as she often was with his invasion into her life, she was always there for him, ready to lend him money, help him find a rehab or an apartment or even to let him stay with her, platonically, until he could get back on his feet. She’d long since fallen out of love with Jack, but she still cared about what happened to him and there was no doubt that he could be charming, especially when he was down on his luck and trying to wheedle his way back into her good graces. He had a way of making her feel sorry for him and he was the father of her children. While she was no longer interested in a relationship with him, she did want him to have some kind of relationship with their kids, a sentiment that he used to his advantage. He took her for granted, thought she’d always be there to help him and he hadn’t liked losing that when she divorced him and changed her locks. Jack needed her in ways she hadn’t needed him since he’d walked out the door along with their savings and left her with two young children, debts and a mortgage.

“He didn’t fight you on the divorce, maybe he’ll surprise you.”

“Oh, he would have fought me. He threatened to take half my savings and half my pension in the settlement. “

“You never told me that.” Andy shook his head with disgust.

“No, I didn’t.”

“Why not?”

“ Because it was my battle to fight and you wouldn’t have let it go. There is already enough tension between you and Jack, the last thing I needed at that point was you going after him.”

Andy sighed. She was right. It was no secret that Sharon’s ex-husband knew how to push his buttons and could set him off in a heartbeat. “He is such a fucking prick, Sharon.”

“You aren’t telling me anything I don’t know. The only reason he didn’t fight me on the divorce was because I threatened to take him to court for all the back child support he never paid me if he did.” In the end, he’d signed the divorce papers without contesting, money having won out yet again, over whatever feelings he had for her. And she didn’t doubt that, despite the absences, the sometimes verbal and emotional abuse and the cheating, he did have feelings for her. Over the long years of their separation he‘d continued to feel married to her in ways that she didn‘t with him. He always came home to her thinking he could slip right back into his role as her husband, seemingly surprised and hurt when she didn‘t allow him into her bed. In fact, in his own rather pathetic way she knew he still loved her. She could see it in the jealousy, anger and bitterness he displayed over her relationship with Andy. Jack didn’t like to lose. He hadn’t liked hearing that she was dating Andy and he really hadn’t like hearing that she had fallen in love with him and that they were moving in together. And if he hadn’t liked hearing any of that, he sure as hell wasn’t going to like hearing that they were getting married or do anything to help them in that endeavor. He‘d be more likely to dig in his heels and fight her every step of the way.

“You’ve seen him Andy. Jack isn’t going to let this happen without a fight.”

“Well then, he’ll get one. We’ll do what we have to do Sharon.”

Sharon slid the ring off her finger, put it back in the box and slipped it into her underwear drawer. “We don’t have to think about this today. It’s Christmas and we’re going to tell our family that we’re getting married. It’s a happy time. Let’s just be happy, we can revisit the logistics of our wedding when we get back to LA.”

TBC

[themarauderlife]

First Date with Sirius

So finally I wrote something! It’s a little shitty but I’ve had awful writers block, so thank you so much for being patient with me and now my exams are drawing to a close I’ll hopefully be able to write much more over summer! Enjoy x

The museum opened out onto a little courtyard with a square of grass and blossom trees planted around it. The path was still cobbled, but it was neater here, well cared for. My heart was hammering in my chest, nerves writhing in my stomach at the thought of seeing Sirius again; I knew all the girls in my year would be thrilled to be in my position, but I just felt anxious. I stood at the corner of the grass, clutching my satchel bag to me tightly. Where was he?

Just as I was about to go in search of him around the museum, a voice appeared behind me.

“You’re late.”

I jumped and whirled around, glaring at him. “Do you always have to do that?” I demanded, shifting my bag uncomfortably. He looked just as handsome as I remembered in a long-sleeved grey top and black jeans, his dark hair tucked behind his ears and grey eyes sparkling in the sunlight; my throat went dry at the sight of him. He smirked, and butterflies exploded in my stomach.

“Do what?” he asked, his voice dripping with innocence.

I scowled. “Come up behind me and-” seeing the amusement twinkle in his eyes, I cut off abruptly. “You’re messing with me, aren’t you?”

He laughed. It was a startlingly pleasant sound, filling with warmth, and I had to wonder where the hell his sarcastic twin had gone- the usual snarky Sirius I crossed paths with seemed to have disappeared off the face of the earth. “I’m known to be a troublemaker, (Y/N).”

He winked at me, but his joke bought back the unease I’d felt earlier; why would Sirius Black want to go on a date with me? It had to be some kind of joke. “Speaking of which, you haven’t bought anyone, have you?” I checked, glancing behind him. “James isn’t going to jump out from behind a bush, I hope.”

He laughed again, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Nope. That I can promise. Just me.”

Hmm, I would never describe Sirius as ‘just’ anything, but let the comment slide, feeling relieved. “Good.”

There was a slight pause.

“So,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “What do you want to do first?” He glanced around and I felt a twinge of worry; I loved this museum, hidden away in the middle of London, but I wasn’t so sure if Sirius would. He’d probably think it was boring, and me nerdy for liking it.

“I was thinking we could go around the museum first?” I suggested, tugging nervously at the sleeves of my jumper.

He swung his arm around my shoulders, dispelling my worries with that easy grin of his. “Lead the way.”

Sirius completely took me by surprise, and I felt guilty for ever underestimating him. He looked intently at the different artifacts on display and pointed out things I’d never even thought about before; I began to notice details that were really cool- the intricate designs on the tomb of the founder of the museum, and the way some of the paintings had been created just to show off his best side. Sirius read out all the information from the plaques, and I don’t know if it was the way he said it, his eyes lighting up with interest, but his version was much more invigorating than the many times I’d read it before.

“I was worried you wouldn’t like any of this.” I admitted, as we walked past another display. “I thought you might find it a bit boring.”

He smiled, rubbing my arm comfortingly. “Nah, I’m a bit of a sucker for historical artifacts. I guess it was drilled into me by my parents.” He pointed to an expensive-looking jar. “I could probably tell you where and when this was made if I tried really hard. My lovely mother and father have it in their heads that the oldest, most expensive heirlooms made for the most respected family.”

His voice was light and jokey, could sense the bitterness behind the words.

“Yeah, well, the coolest artifact we have in our house is this electric cheese grater my Dad bought two years ago.” I replied.

He grinned, eyes twinkling. “Cheese grater?”

I blushed. “Yeah, it’s a little weird I know.”

“I might think it weird if I had a clue what it was.”

I laughed, smiling playfully. “Oh, yeah. I forgot you’re completely oblivious to the muggle way of life. It’s a way of slicing up cheese.”

“Oh” he still looked perplexed. “I see. Cheese grater.”

“Go on then.” I said, pointing to a strange looking antiquity. “What’s this?”

“Hmm.” He peered at it closely. “It’s from the 1850′s, most likely the time of the Crimean War. Looks as if it was used as some kind of washing bowl.”

My eyes widened. “Seriously?”

“No.” He burst out laughing. “I have no idea what that thing is.”

I thumped him in the stomach.

Eventually, we left the museum and headed out into the muggle town. It was a pretty simple place, with a few high street stores and restaurants lining the road.

“I forgot to tell you I like your top.” Evan stated, examining the quote with a smirk. “‘Dream away your fears’. Very interesting.”

I laughed. “It’s not mine, though I have to say it’s kind of growing on me. It belongs to my sister. I don’t think you’ve met her.”

“No. Well, she certainly has an interesting fashion taste.”

“She does.”

“Is she a witch too?”

“No. She’s a muggle like my parents.”

“I see.”

I wanted to ask more about his family, but I wasn’t sure if I’d be intruding- I knew that they’d treated him badly. Hell, everyone knew about the notorious Black’s and their rebellious, runaway son. I also wanted to ask him how he felt about me- what it really was that we were. Of course, we’d been friends for a while, but I wanted to know if he could ever think of us as something more. Well, I thought, there’s no time like the present. Mustering up as much courage as I could, I took a deep breath. “Sirius…”

But his attention was suddenly captured by a display outside a little tourist shop on the high street. “Woah. Look at this.” he said, picking up the postcard and examining the picture of London on the back. “It’s like those muggle books you were on about! The pictures don’t move!”

I frowned. “You’ve never seen a post card?”

“Well, yeah of course I have. Obviously.” He ran a hand through his hair as I raised my eyebrows. I might not have been able to read his mind, but I had pretty good instincts when someone was lying. Sirius grinned at my expression. “Okay, maybe I haven’t.” He put the card back and pushed open the shop door. “Come on. Let’s look inside.”

It was a cramped shop, with little ornaments stacked on the shelves and dream-catchers hanging from the ceiling. Everywhere I looked there were pictures of London and the British flag adorned the walls, decorating almost everything under the roof.

I fiddled with a couple of dolls that someone had been hand-stitched almost perfectly, whilst Sirius disappeared somewhere behind a rack of fridge magnets. It reminded me of some of the stuff me and Mum used to make. She’d taught me to sew on her mother’s old sewing machine when I was younger, though I hadn’t put the hobby into practise for years now; it had felt too strange doing something we’d done together, without her.

“What’s that?’ Sirius appeared behind me, making me jump, and I placed the dolls down swiftly.

“Nothing.” I said quickly, noticing the piles of ‘Team GB’ sweets he was holding in his arms. “What have you got there?”

He smirked, and my stomach flipped a little. “Couldn’t help myself. What do you want? Strawberry laces or raspberry bonbons?”

“Strawberry laces, all the way.” I replied immediately, grinning. “I’m a sugar nut.”

He laughed. “I’d never have guessed.”

As we walked down the high street, feasting on our sweets, Sirius was smiling. It was the happiest I’d seen him so far- even in photos of him at premieres, he always wore the same brooding expression, but now there was a warmth in his eyes. “You know.” he said, manoeuvring past an elderly lady with a trolley, “My Mum always hated me eating sweets when I was little. I figured that’s why I like them so much.”

“Oh, you rebel.” I teased, bumping his arm gently. We walked side by side along the cobbled street, shoulders brushing, and I glanced up at him. “Do you still see her?” I asked, quietly. “Your mum?”

His smile fell, something in his eyes tightening. “No. I don’t see her.”

“Oh.” I didn’t know what else to say to that- I didn’t want to pry.

He sighed, jaw clenching. “She hasn’t tried to contact me since I moved in with the Potter’s, though I think she’s sent them a few howlers. They try to hide it from me, but I know what she’s like. I lived with her for sixteen years.” He laughed humorlessly. “I know by now that she’s a psychopath.”

My heart ached for him. “I’m sorry.” I said, meaning every word. “That you had to experience all that.”

He shrugged. “Don’t apologise. It’s no ones fault but hers. She can be sour all her life for all I care.” He shook his head, as if ridding himself of the negative thoughts, and glanced up at a sign down the street. A slow smirk spread across his features.

“What is it?” I asked, following his gaze.

“You said your idea of lunch as sausage and chips, right?”

“I think I can see where this is going.”

“Come on, I’ve never been to a ‘chippie shop’ before. Let’s do it.” He tugged me inside.

We sat down on the old picnic tables outside the restaurant, and Sirius handed me my battered sausage and chips. He didn’t hesitate and dug in, his eyes widening. “Oh my god.” he groaned, taking a bite of his own sausage. “This is divine.”

I watched him, holding back a laugh. With the sun shining down on him he looked incredible- his dark hair tucked behind his ears and his lightly tanned skin glowing in the light. “I can’t believe you’ve never done this before.” I told him, taking a bite of a chip. I had to admit they were insanely good.

“I can’t believe I’ve missed this. God, I feel deprived.”

“I think you were far from deprived, Sirius Black. Think of all the butter beers I missed in my childhood. The chocolate frogs, the exploding snap cards.”

He shook his head. “You’re not getting out of this one (Y/N). You’ve been holding out on me.”

I smiled.

We looked in a few more shops and then headed back up the cobbled street towards the museum for ice cream, our footsteps falling into sync. He was a lot taller than me, so I got the impression he was slowing down for my smaller strides. As we neared the museum courtyard, I looked up at the building as I’d often done when I was younger. “My mum always used to bring me here.” I said, feeling wistful. “She used to bring my favourite book and we’d read it on one of the benches.”

“What was your favourite book?” he asked, glancing at me.

“Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.” I replied, grinning. “I have a theory that it’s the root cause of my sweet tooth.”

He smiled, then his brow furrowed. “Do you miss her?” he asked, softly.

“Everyday.” Then my brow furrowed in confusion. “How did you know she was dead?”

For the first time, he looked sheepish. “I, er, heard you talking about it one time in the library. Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“That’s it’s okay. I’m just not used to people… knowing stuff about me.” I glanced at him, feeling a rush of shyness.

His eyes warmed. “Well, I think you’re worth knowing (Y/N).”

We headed back through the stone archway to the ice cream van parked in the middle of the patch of grass. “99 cone?” Sirius asked.

I laughed. Was this boy ever not hungry? “All the toppings, please.”

He handed me mine, careful not to spill any of the dripping sauce. “This is a thank you.” he announced. “For today, (Y/N). It was the most fun I’ve had in ages.”

At his words, so sincere, my heart hammered hard in my chest, soaring above with the clouds. “Thanks, Sirius.” I replied, biting back a smile. “Me too.”

He glanced at me, his eyes sparkling, and his face spread into a grin.

“You’ve got ice cream on your nose.” he stated, leaning towards me. And before I knew it, his lips were moulding onto mine. I felt as though my heart was going to explode right there and then as I reached up to entwine myself in him, forgetting all about the ice cream in my hand and only focusing on the fireworks exploding in my stomach, and the buzzing in my ears.