#anyway. wish I could live in greenwich it’s so lovely

[thebaffledcaptain]

for my mutuals interested in my England Exploits…. finally got to the national maritime museum today (saved the best for last), made a beeline for the nelson’s navy exhibit, and felt like I was seeing a celebrity

my takeaways:

it never really struck me how small of a person nelson was… it was such an experience to realize I was essentially standing at eye level with him while I was looking at his uniform

there was, however, a disappointing lack of Homoerotic Detail during the entire section dedicated to his death (which is to say they entirely failed to mention Kiss Me Hardy). they also just didn’t mention the gruesome fate of his body between his death and his funeral (which is to say they skipped the fun part)

I have so many mixed feelings about this man. what a guy

the 1787 uniform remains my favorite pattern but the 1795 pattern is a very close second

james clark ross’s sword! the one he held in the Hot Portrait!!

twink nelson

#twink nelson <3 #anyway. wish I could live in greenwich it’s so lovely #so happy I got to go this was part of why I came #I know museums are meant for you to be able to Meander through but not this exhibit. I read this one like a novel #age of sail #naval history #horatio nelson #uniforms #i like blue uniforms and i cannot lie #lord nelson #this is your captain speaking

[thislovintime]

Peter Tork with the Fairfax Street Choir (in their bass vocal section); pictured in photo 1 with Ralph Pennuneri, Hosanna Bauer, and Bill Craig. Via the Fairfax Street Choir Facebook page, except for photo 4 (courtesy of Mark Kleiner).

Photo 2: “Peter Tork has his banjo but never played it with the choir that I remember but He was a really good musician and I remember him playing at the Lady. [...] I've heard some of his live stuff on tape that he did at the Sleeping Lady and was blown away by how great he really was as a musician.” - Marla Hunt Hanson, Facebook, January 3, 2021

“Peter showed me some banjo picking patterns... he was a nice guy fun to play music with.” - David Carlson, Facebook, January 2021

“To us, he wasn’t famous, he was just Peter. [...] He was just a sweet, dear man that, you know, everybody loved... He was just a good guy. You know, ‘Sleep on the couch, have a good one. You know, we love you. Come on in.’ [...] His destiny in this lifetime was with The Monkees. We were like his backup friends, or his backup band, whatever you want to call it.He came to us wounded, like a wounded bird, really. […] He never really got to escape from being one of The Monkees. It was very hard, you know, it was hard for him. I wish we could have given him more. [...] I said to him, ‘Well, why are you going back when they treated you so badly, and blah blah blah?’ And he said, they offered him something he couldn’t turn down, something like that, so it had to do with money of course, because… so, yeah, he went back, poor thing. God bless him. [...] [W]hen you’re a Monkee, the fans will come out of, you know, somehow they’ll seep in through the furnace floor or a little crack in the window. You’re always on display, you’re always having someone looking at you or tagging at you or pulling at you or saying, ‘God, I remember that episode…’You know, and you’re always having to be on the stage or on— in gear, or answering with a smile to your fan group, whatever that is. You’re trained to do that through the industry itself. You know, anyway, I don’t want to go that far. In this group consciousness that he was a part of for a short period of time, he didn’t have to do that. He just didn’t have to do that. And that’s why I think that was — he’ll never forget that group or the Sleeping Lady however many lifetimes he lives. And I’ll tell you this, he was happy in a very strange way for as long as he was there with us. He was happy in a different way, not in the way that you are when you’re famous. In the way you are when you’re happy. [...] Someone like Peter Tork, who shines a light out onto this world, can only shine as brightly as we allow them to. […] When you see a flame, move back and let it shine, don’t go in there and try to get it, because the reason that it’s alive is because it’s got oxygen, air, and there’s not a lot of moths hanging out around it trying to, you know, take its life. I think a lot of that is true about Peter. That’s how — what I think.” - Marla Hunt Hanson, interview with the Nesmith Tork Goffin & King podcast, February 2020

"Back in Marin. Peter Tork began to hang out at the Sleeping Lady. (He works there as a waiter now). One night The Fairfax Street Choir was there. He was amazed, saw a home, and joined. He grins as he adds: ‘In some ways I was a cold, lonely hitchhiker being picked up by a warm school bus.’ [...] He’s happy. Content. And hopeful. For the Choir. And himself." - San Diego Reader, December 6, 1973 (originally published in the Chicago Reader; interview conducted by Chuck Stepner) (read more here)

“What a group! 35 voices strong; some harmonies! It was something, very encouraging, very comforting.” - Peter Tork, Goldmine, May 1982 (x)

Peter Tork: "As soon as The Monkees was over, I went to Marin County to try to recapture some of my Greenwich-Village-days happiness, and I did. I was very, I was very lucky, there was a lovely scene in Fairfax, Marin County, and I had a great time up there for a couple of years, worked as a waiter in a cooperative restaurant and it was great, it was actually great. The thing about The Monkees, it was so difficult, was to be yanked out of — off the street, flung to the pinnacle and then, you know, and then dropped.” Q: “Yeah.” PT: “So, so I went back to the street, where I’d, you know, gotten my roots together. It was great.” - GOLD 104.5, 1999 (x)

#Peter Tork #Tork quotes #70s Tork #Fairfax Street Choir #long read #<3 #Marla Hunt Hanson #so much respect for PT #Peter deserved better #<333 #thank goodness for the Fairfax Street Choir #and their friendship and the sanctuary they were able to offer Peter #seeing him as a person and as a musician #anyway #The Monkees #Monkees #also always so much respect for Peter's unflinching honesty in interviews #1972 #1973 #1999 #2020 #San Diego Reader #WGLD Radio #Goldmine Magazine #Nesmith Tork Goffin & King Podcast #can you queue it

[justapoet]

it's a falling star you catch (and then you hope to God it stays)

“Alright,” he said. “If you don’t get on the rink, then, I’ll be calling the police,” TK told him, and Carlos widened his eyes, somehow not in fear, but definitely in shock. When the ice skater smiled at him, though, small and someway sweet, his tense shoulders seemed to relax, and he smiled back. “Okay,” the other man agreed. “It sounds fair.” It sounds like a trap, TK thought. But it didn’t quite sound like a mistake.

Or,

TK is a reclusive champion skater that takes the world in like patterns on ice. Carlos is a professor that knows everything about words ― except how to use them. And while he might teach TK how to take things more lightly than lightweight, he migh as well learn how to make sentences that are filled with meaning ― and not necessarily sense.

My dear @strandnreyes, this is for you! I was so happy that you got to be the person I'd have to gift in the @911giftexchange and I truly hope you like it. It isn't what I wanted it to be, so I'll be rewriting it ― and I hope you'll give me a second chance and read it when it's entirely done.

Have the best new year (I don't know where you're from, but where I live we're still in 2021). I wish you peace, luck, and love ― and I wrote you some, too, and from our favorite boys.

it's a falling star you catch (and then you hope to God it stays)

37.4k | Ao3

There was just so much he knew about New York.

Nothing more than that it was loud and crowded and that it was named after James, the Duke of York, back when it was still called New Amsterdam. Or that it had the third largest library in the world, had been the country's capital for five years in the past, and had far too many lights on every single corner. He also knew, of course, that Walt Whitman was born there, just like J. D. Salinger, Henry James, and Edna St. Vincent Millay ― which made him a little more curious about the anthill with neon lights.

Other than that, sincerely, Carlos didn't care about knowing much.

It wasn't something personal, and although he loved history, New York sounded more chaotic than anything on his ears ― chaos that, although sometimes welcomed, didn't need to take more place than what was strictly necessary.

He knew a few places here and there ― a good pizzeria, drugstore, libraries, and four or five restaurants, also the Central Park and a list of colleges ― but Carlos would for sure get lost if anyone asked anything else about the city. Streets? He'd be ashamed to tell he didn't know how to name more than seven. Neighborhoods? Honestly, if he knew three, it would be an evolution. Avenues and park names? Nope, not a hint.

And, in his defense, Carlos didn't really need to know much more than that ― he would rarely wander farther than that small perimeter he actually knew. Whatever he needed to do would be around the same buildings, the same sidewalks, and crowds; knowing more than that would be more of a waste of time than anything if he wouldn't use it anyway.

Therefore, that was just so much he knew about New York.

But there was just so much he didn't know about the library around him, for that matter.

The Elmer Holmes Bobst library ― NYU Bobst library, for practical reasons ― was an imponent building taking place in Greenwich Village, New York. The whole building comes up in brick color, and the black, broad windows match the gigantic sign with the name of the place close to the entry doors. The inside, much clearer than the outside itself, expands in a gallery, leading to staircases, long hallways, tables, and uncountable shelves filled with books edge-to-edge.

For those who were stepping into the building for the first time, it was, indeed, a massive, breathtaking view.

For Carlos, it was simply familiar.

He'd been there enough that all of the concierges already knew his name, and everyone who knew him would know which table to search ― the one on the corner, hidden between two shelves, with a floor lamp right over his head, on the tenth floor. Sure, he could stay on the eight where most of the books he needed would be found ― but it would rarely be crowded, and it had a better view than the other floors.

Not to mention, Carlos was well-aware that the staff liked him a bit more than the other people to show up around the library, and they knew that the man would always put everything he took out of place back to it. Perhaps because he was older than the students, the staff liked talking to him, or maybe because he actually did take his time to wish everyone a good morning, a good week, or ask them how they had been, other than just walking around and pretending they weren't even there.

Either way, the trust was something Carlos was glad to enjoy, mainly because it was nice to be alone and relish the quietness that came with emptiness and not only the one that came with the rules. Just him and the ruffle of the books and the ticking of the clock, harmonizing perfectly with some sighs that escaped his mouth and the typing on his notebook; it was far better than anything else, any noise he could find in New York City.

That evening, when the sun had already hidden behind the tall skyscrapers, the typing sound still echoed around the nearly empty floor of the library, as it had done since the sun had greeted the morning. A tired pair of brown eyes was, over the screen, as quick at the long fingers on the keyboard, and the pile of books was slightly smaller than usual. Some sighs wandered around the walls after a deep breath, and then some grumbling, just followed by the tapping of a shoe against the floor ― something as familiar as the building was under Carlos' eyes.

There were still people around the building, though it wasn't crowded by any means. Some tired students were leaving the library after hours; some others, who had just gotten off work, were coming in with exhausted faces and backpacks over their shoulders. On the tenth floor, there were only Carlos, by the corner, a tired student who he thought that fallen asleep over the table and an old lady who, apparently, couldn't wait to go home.

There was also a young lady who left silently, as another woman came in in heels and office-like clothes, in a pencil skirt, a black social shirt, and suitcase and a bag in her hands. The woman's hair was held tight on the top of her head in a bun, and her dark eyes analyzed the broad space for a minute or two, her shoes echoing around the silence.

When she found what she meant to, then, the woman walked fiercely towards it, though as quietly as she could so no one would be bothered ― or waken up ― by the click of the heels. The woman's movements were graceful, although she rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath while crossing the room towards a table.

"I still have thirty-four minutes before being late," the man's voice announced, not taking his eyes off the screen as a figure approached his own. "And that, considering I am always ten minutes early."

The woman scoffed beside him. He still didn't take his eyes off the screen.

"You've been here for hours," she said. "And I wouldn't have complained if you hadn't been here since after breakfast. At eight in the morning," she stated, placing her suitcase over one of the free chairs and her coat over the table. "Did you even have lunch?"

"I did eat a burger, thank you very much," Carlos replied, switching his attention to an open book by his side. "Did you?"

"Eat a burger? No, no. I did eat like a normal person, you know? Food and nutrients and proteins," she answered, and Carlos smiled little.

"Well, it all goes through the same tube, so I don't think your healthier choices count much," the man joked, now taking a pencil and bringing a notebook closer.

"I want you to repeat that when you're in a hospital bed after a heart failure," she said, arching an eyebrow. "Are you done for today?" she asked, tilting her head towards the laptop over the wooden surface.

"I suppose that the truth won't get me alone again," Carlos said, then he sighed. "So, yeah. I think I am," he concluded, turning his head and smiling quite playful at his friend.

The woman rolled her eyes.

"You are, by all means, pathetic," she said. "Really, I don't even know why I talk to you still."

"Because, my dear Lily, you love me," he said. "And you miss me to pieces whenever I leave New York, too," he concluded, moving to get up and closing the notebook he had been writing on.

"Yeah, and whenever you come to New York, I wonder why that happens," she grumbled, though affectionately. "Can't you go back to Texas already?"

Carlos chuckled.

"When I do go back, I bet you're going to cry. And ask me when I can come back again, which, I will tell you, probably won't happen soon," Carlos said, not closing his laptop and reaching for his own suitcase over another empty chair. "I think it is unlikely that NYU will invite me again in the next few years."

"Why, though?" the woman asked, taking the laptops' charger in her hands and starting to fold it properly to fit in the suitcase. "You're one of the most influential experts in literature out there nowadays, after all. I mean, you've been literally paid to study for years, now, in and out of the country. It's not like NYU would lose any chance to have you back," she said, and Carlos could only chuckle again. "Or any University, actually."

"Yeah, but it's not like I plan on coming back so soon," he said. "I've told you about it, remember?"

The woman frowned for a second, and then her face lit up with acknowledgment. She offered the folded wire to her friend, who thanked her silently.

"Oh, of course," she said, then. "That University in Brazil, right? For a second, I forgot about it," she continued. "It is a great opportunity, indeed. I mean, for you, who somehow loves Brazilian literature just because," she said, a hint of false annoyance in her voice.

Carlos rolled his eyes softly.

"Not 'just because,' Delilah," he corrected her, then, and the satisfied smile on her face gave away that her intentions had been accomplished. "It's fascinating! Hard to read, sure, but still fascinating. You'd think so, too, if you gave it a shot."

She tilted her head a bit.

"That's how I know that you love me," Carlos dramatically said, pretending to sniff. "I've read all the Russian books you wanted me to, and that's what you give me back. Unadulterated disdain," he said, and Delilah bit her tongue not to laugh inside of a library.

"God, gifting you with a Shakespeare book set was a mistake," she replied, shaking her head slowly. "And, one: I recommended you Russian literature because it is excellent and because finding out that you're a polyglot was a highlight in life. Two: I don't have a single thing against Brazilian literature; my problem with the idea is that you work far too much, Carlos," her tone was solemn after a second, and Carlos sighed briefly, knowing where the conversation would lead.

He didn't turn to face her, though, and kept putting his things back in place so they could leave together for dinner as they had planned the day before and let his friend speak whatever she had to say.

"I mean it, Carlos," she said again. "You've been hopping from project to project for years now. Man, you're twenty-eight and is one of the most influential names in literature and philology. That isn't normal, my friend," Delilah went on. "How many countries have you visited so you could learn? Two per year since you've graduated at twenty-one?"

Carlos tilted his head a few times to the sides, almost answering her rhetorical question. Delilah sighed again, and her tone came back much softer than before.

"I know how much you love your job, and I know how much you love learning, dear. And I am not telling you to reject every opportunity they offer you because you deserve each one of them, and I'd beat you up if you dared to leave them aside, but that's all I've seen you do these past years. Work yourself to exhaustion," she voiced. "Maybe you should slow down a bit, uh?"

Carlos took his closed suitcase in his hand, then, after putting on his coat, and turned around, waiting for his friend to copy his movements. Silently, she did, and he gestured for them to start walking, Delilah smiling thankfully at that.

"I don't know," he said, then, about what she had said before. "I like my life the way it is, Lily."

"I know that, too," she said. "You love learning, you love knowing things ― but that's absolutely everything you do. And we live half a country apart from the other, Carlos," Delilah continued as they walked side by side, both of them nodding respectfully at those who passed them by. "Look, I'm not saying that you need to change your whole life and plans and schedule," she highlighted, and he nodded. "I'm saying that... I don't know― you could find a hobby?"

Carlos turned at her, scoffing and arching one of his brows. There was a half-smile on his face, and he held back a peal of laughter, looking around for a minute.

"A hobby?" he asked, almost in disbelief. "Reading and writing are a hobby, Lily," Carlos argued, and she arched a brow herself while accepting his hand by the end of one of the staircases.

"Not if they're what get your bills paid, Carlos," she argued back. "You do that for a living. Just like movies are a kill-time, but those who make it are working when doing so," Delilah explained, waiting for him to offer his hand one more time when another set of stairs finished.

"And what is your suggestion?" he asked, then, nodding and smiling when another person of the staff, Omar, passed them on his way upstairs. "Movies?"

She shrugged.

"Painting?" she offered. "Sewing? Knitting? Running a marathon?" the woman listed it down. "I don't know, Carlos. Something that takes you out of this―" she gestured towards him with a hand, making circles in the air. "Work-mode you always leave on. If I didn't think you're brilliant, I'd find it absolutely annoying."

"Well, don't limit yourself. Particularly, I think you're both brilliant and annoying," Carlos said with a far-too-innocent smile on his face for it to be genuine. Delilah only side-eyed him, her mouth twisting in annoyance, and Carlos didn't let his smile fall at that.

"I shouldn't even worry about you," she said, rolling her eyes again and then accepting the hand he offered one more time. "You're a complete freak."

"Yet, you're taking me out for dinner," he retorted, his tone always cheerful and provoking. "Doesn't it sound lovely?"

Delilah rolled her eyes and accepted his hand to jump the last step of the staircase.

"Just as lovely as that many staircases we just walked down," she responded. "Why don't you choose a lower floor like any normal human being, Carlos?" the woman complained.

"Because the higher the floor, the longer it takes for you to reach me," the man replied. "Have a good night, Mrs. Ward. See you tomorrow!" Carlos greeted the man in the front goodbye, waving a hand and getting a smile and the identical words right back at him. Then, Carlos directed himself to Delilah again. "And because it cuts the social interaction for quite a bit," he added.

"Of course, it does. People come here to read, not to do workouts," Lily stated, smiling and waving Mrs. Ward goodbye as well.

"You're aware there are many elevators here, right?" the man asked. "So the joke's basically all on you?"

"Oh, hush," she said. "Or I'll give up buying you dinner."

"That's quite a way to woo a man, uh?" Carlos joked. "Where are we going?"

The fresh air of soon-to-be-winter night hit Carlos' face when they stepped out of the library, the sounds of the city catching up to his ears in the blink of an eye. Above them, the stars perhaps glistened, but it couldn't be seen through so many lights ― courtesy of New York and its passion for Christmas.

The arrangements started sooner than mid-November, with fairy lights and Christmas trees were placed all over the streets and sidewalks. The cold was slowly making its way to settle among the rubicund trees and leaves, and the lights and snow globes and coats slowly took over the sights and the people.

By then, when December was almost arriving for real, Carlos could almost hear Mariah Carrey's songs blaring in somewhere between the horns of the cars and the shouting crowds that hurried home after a busy day. Most houses already had ornaments and decorations hanging from their doors and balconies by then, and December was yet to make itself present on the calendar.

He breathed in the air, the coldness causing a pleasing feeling to his nostrils and lungs. Carlos gripped the strap of his bag tighter with one hand and his suitcase with the other, looking around for a second before looking back at his friend.

"I thought about going to Cinthia's," Delilah answered. "What do you think?"

"Always the right answer," he replied.

"Quite a way to woo a man, isn't it?" Delilah repeated what he said before. Carlos chuckled, following her gesture, indicating where her car was parked, not too far from the library itself. "Wanna drive?"

He shook his head.

"Tonight, I'll pass," he said. "Unless you're planning to kill us, that is," the man joked, and Delilah rolled her eyes while circling the black vehicle and opening the back door to throw her suitcase and bag there.

"You really should learn to let things go, Carlos," she said. "It was one ― and one time only ― that I ever almost crashed my car."

"Yeah, and I was inside the car," he retorted, getting into the vehicle when she opened her door to do the same, after throwing his things in the backseat as well. "I really don't plan on dying so soon, you know?"

"Considering the number of hours you spend working and the lack of them with which you take care of yourself? That's a controvertible statement," Delilah said. "Not to mention, there's only so much you can speed in New York. If you forgot, this place is a mess."

"As if I could," he grumbled, rolling his eyes. "I don't even need an alarm to wake up in the morning. Someone's cat does the job," Carlos told her.

"Do you actually sleep?" she questioned, jokingly making a surprised expression. "Now that's something new."

"Oh, hush," Carlos expressed. "You say as if I don't even get out of the apartment."

Delilah scoffed.

"The apartment-library rotation you do daily is not considered a living, Carlos. You do the very same thing in both places," she accused. "And I don't think you get actual, quality sleep in neither of them."

Carlos rolled his eyes one more time, tilting his head a bit to the side.

"C'mon, there must be something, anything, that you might try," his friend spoke up again, looking around as the city passed by them from the outside.

Her eyes analyzed the surroundings whenever they got a chance, and she was pretty sure Carlos wasn't actually paying attention to whatever was outside the window. She knew him well enough to know that any car trip would have him looking out the window with blurry vision and a lost expression on his face ― yet, she didn't quit talking.

Because she also knew him well enough to know that Carlos is nearly a genius and could make a conversation get lost forever just to escape it.

Her eyes flickered around when they turned a corner, a park Carlos didn't remember the name showing up in crows and more Christmas decorations hanging from the trees.

"What about ice skating?" she asked, then, when her eyes found an ice-rink lost in the distance. Her friend seemed to immediately snap out of wherever dimension he had gotten into, turning his head quickly at her and adjusting his posture.

"No," Carlos said. "Not ever."

Delilah grunted.

"Why not?" she asked, stopping at the red traffic light. "It's a beautiful sport!"

Carlos snorted.

"Absolutely not," he said. "It's beautiful, and what? Sincerely, it's quite honorable that you think that I am capable of even standing up on ice," Carlos continued, laughing a bit between words.

"That's why people train, Carlos," Delilah argued.

"I am refusing more trips to the hospital lately, Lily," he answered. "I don't want an open skull, nor a broken bone. Being stuck on ice doesn't sound as appealing as you think it does," he concluded.

"Oh, please. Have you never thought about sliding on ice? Almost fly? And get pretty shoes with it?!" she asked, and Carlos laughed a bit more, this time.

"Lily, we don't even have snow in Texas. And I grew up on a farm. Ice skating is one of the last things I'll ever think about trying," Carlos reasoned, and Delilah rolled her eyes briefly before stepping again for the car to move when the light turned green.

"Yeah, genius, but you're in New York right now, not in Texas," she responded. "New city, new possibilities."

Carlos arched one of his eyebrows at that.

"I don't live here, Delilah. Besides, I don't think I have ever seen an ice rink back home. If I like it, what will I do? Find something else?" he said.

"Yeah? I mean, there are endless possibilities in Texas, Carlos. It's a hell of a big state. Not to mention," the woman looked at him through the corner of her eye. "I do believe you've told me that you used to ride horses to spend time back when you were a teenager. Why don't you try it again?"

"I don't have the time to," he said. "No ice skating, Lily."

"Why not?" she asked again, and Carlos side-eyed her, quite ruffled. "Alright, okay. Hockey?"

"Yeah, a walking― sliding death trap," he rolled his eyes. "Not a chance."

Delilah groaned.

"Uh, alright. God, you're― argh," she grunted. Her bothered face fell in a smile for a second when she found a vacant parking spot close to where they needed to go, and then her expression fell sober one more time when she killed the engine. "At least walking? At the park? With earphones on, perhaps? Or just looking around? Anything that takes you out of the bizarre machine-like mood you get when studying?"

"Hm," he grumbled before opening the door and stepping out of the vehicle.

The woman did the same thing, though she waited for Carlos and his gentleman manners to round the car and open the door ― something she had learned to wait for when he was around. He offered his hand so she could step on her heels and offered an arm for her to grab after closing the door.

"Hm?" she grumbled, too, but searching for further explanation. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Hm," he repeated, now shrugging, too.

Delilah bit her tongue at that and fought the urge not to roll her eyes as they got closer to the restaurant's entrance. The two of them smiled at Jeremy, the young man receiving the clients that night, and asked for their table ― that was always vacant when Carlos was in town because Cinthia was more than an angel to the two of them and missed Carlos, too, when he was back home.

Walking in, Carlos still remained silent, and Delilah did her best to ignore completely the man holding her arm because she knew her friend quite sufficiently. Whatever was going through his mind, it took a few speechless minutes to figure out.

They both sat down and waited for the menus to be placed in front of them, which wasn't really necessary ― because Cinthia and Rodney would show up soon, excitedly offering something new for them to try. Delilah waited, looking around just because it was invariably a lovely place to be, and Carlos seemed to be focused on the towel over the table, anyway.

"Will you come with me?" he asked a few minutes later, and the woman turned her head to stare at him again. "If I choose a hobby?"

She shook her head.

"I know the two of us far too well to be naive and think that we wouldn't talk about work sooner or later," she explained, and Carlos nodded, smiling a bit. "But," she said again, highlighting the word. "If you choose something, I will start something new, too."

"So we can fail together?" he asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Hey, that's quite a Christmas gift," she replied, blinking an eye at him. "Either will cry or laugh about it; sounds like a good result, don't you think?"

Carlos smiled, almost childishly, and chuckled, but nodded too.

"Alright," he said, then. "I will try to find something, then."

"It's all I ask," she said, smiling widely at her friend. "Can I ask you to have a healthy, or at least human, sleep schedule, too?"

Carlos arched an eyebrow, frowning right after.

"Hush," he said, and Delilah laughed again, taking the menu in her hand after her friend did the same to escape any additional topic that might lead to that same subject one more time.

.

The clatter of blades on the frozen surface was the only audible echo among the empty field of the park, followed by soft thuds and crackles that faded quickly amidst the silence. Light, controlled gasps also dissipated, sometimes accompanied by disgruntled grunts or practically whispered curses.

Gliding across the ice, a slender silhouette, contoured by its black clothes and supported by its impeccable posture ― and though solitary, such a scene could not be categorized as unusual. The soft thuds repeated themselves every couple of seconds, and the beckoning figure continued on its pre-established path with smoothness, grace, and impressive strength in its long legs.

For a time, its shoulders seemed to give way to the weight of expectations hanging over its head, only for them, in a subsequent moment, to again appear tense and sustain every movement of the choreography that seemed so much carried by muscle memory. The silent dance continued, and the echoes were the only record of its subtle and graceful presence.

Not much farther, near the few trees scattered around the park, there was another solitary figure, standing and watching the ice rink with its head tilted to the side.

His outline, though also slim and correctly upright, was obviously more relaxed than the one sliding on ice, with its narrow shoulders covered with a scarf undoubtedly laxer than the tense muscles of the skater.

Whereas that silhouette's existence in that background is just as subtle as the dancing figure.

His eyes hung on the graceful figure, analyzing it in silence for a couple of minutes and a little more ― the dark orbs held respect and a strange, pained glow that was much overshadowed by the city lights and Christmas ornaments overhead.

Silently, as much as he had gotten there, stood, and watched, the slightly shorter figure set himself in motion, his steps brief and slow towards the skating rink. Halfway there, when the skater let another curse leave his lips and echo into the void, he allowed a sigh to do the same, shaking his head from side to side as if to deny what he had just heard.

"I wasn't aware that you came back to New York so you could nearly kill yourself again," his voice echoed, surprising the silence but not those around it. The skater, with messy strands over his head, turned quickly to meet the arched brows of the man at the edge of the rink, mirroring his expression. "Do you know how long you've been here?"

The skater, with only a shadow of a smile on his lips, spun quietly in place, staring at the skates on his feet and not the figure standing a few feet away. He, in turn, sighed, looking up before crossing his arms over his chest.

"Not enough, I suppose," the skater replied. "Have you been counting, though?"

"Yeah," the man answered. "And I regret each hour I had to add to it. You know, I keep waiting for the hospital to call me one of these days. 'Hello, sir. We have TK Strand in― apparently, his muscles gave up working. The curious part is: his brain seems to be dead for years already,'" the man joked, making a high-pitched voice tone when saying the last sentence.

The skater smiled at that.

"As if they'd share that much information through the phone, Paul," he said, spinning one more time and smiling still. "What brings you here, anyway?"

"What brings you here, anyway?!" Paul copied, mocking his friend by making the same high-pitched voice. Then, he huffed, and TK only raised an eyebrow at him, waiting for his answer. "Are you serious, TK?"

The other man just shrugged. Paul puffed, quite annoyed.

"You've been here since early morning, TK," his friend said. "Have you lost your mind?!"

A tiny put seemed to spread on TK's lips, right before it disappeared while he slid gracefully around the rink one more time.

"Not quite yet, I don't think so," he replied. A second later, his voice sounded a bit more solemn than it had previously been in the conversation. "I can't perform a spin, Paul," TK declared, and the other man gasped, unconvinced. "I need to know how to do it; you know that."

"I do," he agreed, nodding. "Just like I do know you can do it. Have you forgotten that I've been watching you for a while, now?" he asked, rhetorically, and the other man cocked his head to the side, letting a dissatisfied sigh echo around him. Paul narrowed his eyes. "Don't offer me any excuses, TK, and don't make a fool of me."

"I'd never do that," he said, holding up one hand. "Neither of them. They're not excuses, Paul; I really can't do it. And if I have done it before, then it's just plain incompetence coming from me."

The black man laughed.

"Of that, you can be sure," he responded. "Exhausted as you are, what do you want to happen? Grow wings?" he ironized, smiling sarcastically and following each one of the other man's calm moves around the ice. "You know all too well how things work, Strand. By pushing yourself to the limit like you're doing, you're going to get hurt. And badly."

"Don't be pessimistic," the skater said, a wry smile playing on his lips. "I know when to stop."

"I beg to differ," his friend replied, tucking part of his scarf over his shoulder. "I've been waiting for ages for you to stop being an idiot, and so far, nothing," he joked, drawing a satisfied smile from his friend's lips. However, his tone returned to a serious one when he spoke again. "Pack your things. Let's go."

TK frowned, bothered.

"I'm practicing, Paul."

"Not anymore," he stated, straightening his back once more. "I'm not kidding, TK. We agreed you wouldn't go full-crazy on training if we came to New York and wouldn't spend your days skating, so we'll come back tomorrow at a reasonable hour. That's enough for today," he said.

TK narrowed his eyes, still annoyed, and stopped sliding around to look at his friend. The man bit his tongue inside his mouth, an attempt not to throw a tantrum, and waited for whatever Paul had left to say.

"And I'm keeping the keys tonight," he added.

The brown-haired man snorted.

"Really? Even that?" he asked, and Paul arched one eyebrow. "What am I? A child?"

"No, but you're stubborn as one," his friend remarked. "And I know you well enough to know your tricks, TK."

"Tricks?" TK asked somewhat incredulously. "You're being a bit dramatic, Strickland. I'm just practicing a few spins; it's no big deal. I don't need to be treated like an idiot."

His voice saddened a tad when his last words came out, and Paul tried to offer him a small, comforting smile.

"It wouldn't be a big deal, TK, if you hadn't stayed here the whole day, just like you have been doing the last week." he pointed, eyes narrowed accusingly in the man's direction. "You're insane if you think this is normal. A few hours a day? I can't say I didn't expect it," Paul said. "But this? You're going to get hurt, man."

TK didn't look at him, somehow too busy tracing the patterns carved on ice with his eyes. If he meant to say something, anything, to retort Paul's words, his mind didn't seem to gather it before his feet were sliding towards the edge of the ice rink silently. Paul didn't move, watching his friend sit by one of the benches set around.

He's known TK for longer than a year, but he already knew enough of his friend to know that, whatever he had to say, he would once the words made sense inside his head. He'd be silent for a while, which didn't bother Paul and, if then he got to the conclusion that his thoughts were worth sharing, he'd come around.

TK was quick to remove his skates and stow them properly in his bag, doing it silently as Paul watched only a few feet away. Within a few minutes, the green-eyed man had his worn-out, black boots back on his feet and his standard hoodie over his body, messing his hair up a tad more than it already was.

He stood up and threw his backpack behind his back, hanging it by one of the straps on just one of his arms. Then he took a few steps towards his friend, an attempted smile being mirrored by Paul, who also tilted his head, indicating that they should start walking.

Their footsteps were noisy while marking the snow on the ground, and none of them said a word for a while as they walked towards the park's entrance. It was considerably empty, though it never really had too many people in there ― which was the reason why TK loved that specific park so much.

His father never really understood, for Owen had spent most of his life going to Central Park daily, and TK didn't really care about explaining. Although he loved New York with all its lights and vitality, some silence, some sense of peace, was never something to turn down, and empty, quiet places were a rare finding when it came to the Big Apple.

Not to mention, the park was always beautiful in winter, and the ice rink hardly got crowded as any others did ― and skating out in the open was a habit he had created back when he could barely perform a spin without falling down. Both his laughter at his failures and his cheering at his accomplishments would echo in the open field, and he would have the impression that, somewhere, someone would hear it and know that he was trying.

Though he didn't fall anymore and the cheering became silent smiles, the impression of someone knowing that he was improving his skills still followed him around.

"I'm sorry," he said, all of a sudden, as they got farther from the ice rink. Paul turned his head to look at TK, brows furrowed and his hands on his pockets. "I know you're trying to help, but I need to get better―"

"You're already good, TK," Paul cut him out. "You're good, you're―"

"Good isn't enough, Paul," TK cut him out, too, and Paul closed his mouth at how bitter and desperate his friend sounded. "Good isn't enough. I need to be the best. I need to leave no choice but to say that I am the best one to find out there ― I need to."

TK's tone was wavery, and his voice was almost wet. The despair could hang on the sharp air around them or even be cut in half with a knife, and Paul couldn't help but feel his heart clenching a bit on behalf of his friend.

"Man, aren't you being a bit harsh on yourself?" Paul asked, his voice low and worried.

"I messed up, Paul," he said, shaking his head and taking in a deep breath, his eyes always looking ahead of them. "It's been a year; they've found someone to replace me, to fix what I've fucked up. And if I want to make it back to where I was, then I need to train ― I need to be fucking perfect," TK nearly hissed the last word. His fists were clenched inside his pockets, and he was biting his tongue whenever he got the chance to. "They can't have a single doubt that they would be idiots by not having me back."

"TK..." his friend called, both cautious and worried. The skater only shook his head, not letting him speak.

"You know how this world works, Paul," he said. "Either you're the best, or you're out, and that considering you haven't caused such problems before. I don't even know if I'll be allowed to ever skate professionally again," he huffed a bitter, acid laugh, an equally bitter smile on his face.

"Don't be pessimistic, man," Paul said, and TK snorted again. "Look, you've messed up, alright. But you're no worse than you were ― you got even better if that's somehow possible. And I know that's not what you wanna hear, but competitions and tournaments aren't the only things you can do with this skill, TK," he said, and TK looked anywhere around him, just not at his friend.

Paul sighed.

"I get it, alright? Why you've been working so hard and sending a ridiculous amount of time training ― I get it. But you can't wear yourself off every single day, man," Paul said. "That's insane, and if you get hurt, then you'll never compete again. And you know that."

TK still didn't say a word, and they both walked out of the park in silence. The city which never sleeps was alive as it always was, and the lights and the trees offered an extra inch of liveliness to the sidewalks and tall buildings. It was something beautiful to see, indeed ― but TK could really use a bit less of so much brightness.

The thing was: he knew, and well, that Paul was right. Though inconsequent most days, TK wasn't stupid nor an idiot, and he had had that same conversation years ago, when he first started, and he hurt his leg bad enough to be out of the sport for three months. He knew he was doing too much ― but, at the same time, TK couldn't seem to stop himself from it.

He couldn't help training more and more, not when the city seemed to scream his stupidity right at his face, and skating was the easiest way to get his head out of his thoughts ― and his body out of his bed, for that matter.

His silence seemed to speak up instead of his words, and Paul sighed beside him. His friend, always patient and calm, even when the world came crumbling or people acted like idiots, turned his head a bit, smiling small but encouraging, at TK.

"Alright," Paul said. "Look, if you want to spend your day skating, that's fine ― but training isn't. I mean, you could just slide around and do your crazy spins once in a while; that's fine," he continued. "You could even do something else with it."

TK arched an eyebrow.

"Such as?" he asked.

Paul shrugged.

"Teaching?" he suggested, and TK snorted. "What? I bet that people would love to learn how to skate with an Olympic champion, dude," Paul reasoned.

"Yeah, of course," he rolled his eyes, moving to avoid hitting someone who passed by them. "No, Paul."

"Okay, now; why not?" his friend asked, arching his eyebrows high.

"Just no!" TK exclaimed again. "I've never taught a soul in my life, Paul. This isn't going to work," he said, and his friend rolled his eyes.

"How do you know?" his friend retorted. "If you've never taught a soul in your life, how can you possibly know? I mean, you could train the next Irina Rodnina! The next you!" he said, and TK frowned his nose at the last part.

"God forbid that to happen," he muttered. Paul sighed, frustrated.

"Man, you know I love you, but you make helping you a bit hard," he said. "At least, if teaching someone, you wouldn't be totally tempted to train hard as much as you do. Besides, you would have human interaction," the man added, and TK shook his head slightly.

"I have enough human interaction, Paul. You're way worse than me when it comes to that, by the way," TK replied. "And, honestly, your point doesn't make sense. How teaching anyone would help me?"

"Again, human interaction. And you'd be distracted, too. Ain't that why you skate?" Paul asked. "To forget the world and all that?"

"It doesn't mean I have to teach anyone," he replied.

"I'm not saying you have to. I'm simply offering a possibility," Paul remarked. "And don't speak as if teaching was the end of the world ― it's just a suggestion, you don't even have to do it. I'm just giving options," he said, lifting both his arms almost defensively.

"Is having dinner an option?" TK asked, then, his voice sounding more playful than anything else. Paul made a funny face, shaking his head slightly and sighing, almost like who gives something up.

"Rude," the other man complained, and TK chuckled. "For that, you're paying dinner, man."

TK only laughed, nodding his head in agreement and then throwing his arm around his friend's shoulder, getting an annoyed yet gentle groan in response.

.

Carlos was hardly an impulsive person.

From the day he got a consciousness of his moves and steps, he had barely been a whimsical someone; Carlos would think things through, evaluate every single something to its finest details, and then, perhaps, consider it less than three times before actually doing whatever it was.

That was something that hadn't changed with time, for he managed to always judge too much before making any decision that could change things permanently ― which, somehow, was almost everything in life. Which movie to watch, which book or t-shirt to buy, or even what to get for lunch? ― it would become a silent debate inside of his head.

Carlos knew that it was something dangerous ― he had heard before that such behavior could be harmful in the world and could get him in problems throughout the years, but there wasn't much he could do about being like that.

Mainly because he had gone through problems and, yet, things remained the same.

Yet, on a random, cold, and dark November night, he was walking around New York with a pair of ice skates under his arm.

It had been a tough couple of days, and Carlos couldn't quite remember when he had decided to try something new, but there he was. After another work-day straight out of hell and gathering the courage to leave piles and piles of work behind, he was walking down a sidewalk towards a park.

It wasn't because of Delilah ― relatively, not absolutely because of her. Carlos knew she was right about how he spent too much time working, and he was glad they were close enough she could be sincere about that, her words echoing in his head from the moment they were spoken.

He knew she was right ― he knew it; he did. Yet, it was hard to make a change out of nowhere, or even a change at all, and Carlos had the horrible tendency to overthink everything, which usually led to doing nothing about it.

When it didn't, it led him to do things such as purchase a pair of boots with blades that he probably would use once in a lifetime and walk down a street in New York to a usually half-empty park.

Carlos didn’t have a clue about what led to that situation, all things considered. It had been a normal day of work, the simplest things on Earth to be solved that morning ― which consisted in fitting more appointments to his calendar before Christmas ― and then having to head back to the University to solve a few other complicated things. It wasn’t like Carlos wasn’t used to be awake before the sun could unhide from behind the buildings, and it wasn’t like he hadn’t dealt with that type of migraine before.

Yet, after he had left the building and saluted his colleagues goodbye by then, Carlos was somehow walking towards a sports-thing store of which he couldn’t even recall the name. The seller, Gabi, was kind and sweet while explained the differences between each pair, and none of them quite made sense. Still, Carlos smiled, and decided for the pair she had recommended that wasn’t too costly, and walked out of the store wondering why he was doing that at all.

Once he had spent the money, though, his brain traced a map to the nearest, and most empty park.

He wished it hadn’t.

It was a small park, at least compared to other parks around New York ― then, it was a tiny park ― and Carlos couldn’t like it any better if he tried to. The crowds there were always smaller than the ones in the streets, and there was always somewhere quiet to sit under a tree and listen to music while studying, which Carlos would do whenever the work didn’t require too much attention.

It had a lot of trees around, and a cycle track, and a skate park, as well ― there were picnic areas, a playground for kids, and one for dogs, too. There were lights, and snow, and Christmas stuff, too, just like the rest of the city.

And there was a not-so-small ice rink, too, a bit further from the entrance, and close to a few trees. It was oval-shaped, with borders that Carlos didn’t remember if were always there, and had patterns on ice already from use.

Approaching the ice rink, though, Carlos can’t really get himself to admire the view around. His mind is racing, again with regret, and there is no much he can do to stop it ― even though he is, by all means, cursing himself and all following generations that might exist after him for allowing such a dumb, reckless decision to be made out of thin air.

He could lie to Delilah, and tell her that he had tried but it didn’t work out. He could, indeed ― but he wouldn’t. Carlos wasn’t a liar, and he would never try to fool his friend over such an idiotic, dumb thing like sliding on a frozen lake. When he failed, anyway, he would already be able to move on to something calmer than challenging physics.

Knitting couldn’t be so hard, could it?

Skating couldn’t be so hard either, right? Just find some sort of balance, and put a foot in front of the other slowly, until things get easier. It couldn’t be so complicated like Carlos had been imagining it to be. And he wouldn’t be trying to stand up in front of a crowd of thousands, so there was no problem if he fell over and over and o―

His feet got stuck on the snow when his eyes darted to the ice rink just a few feet ahead of his frame. His mouth went dry, his heart stopped a tad, and his hands didn’t know if they should let go of the skates of let them fall to the snow-covered ground under.

There was an angel sliding around the ice.

Carlos wish he could do anything other than just stare, openmouthed, at the figure that seemed to float over the frozen water.

The man was slim, his frames contrasting with the moonlit night and his gestures seeming enchanted by the lightweight of air. He moved quickly, his movements leading him everywhere with grace and smoothness within the silence and the edge of the day.

Carlos found himself spellbound.

His steps ceased, and he stood where he was, closer to the trees than to the ice rink he targeted to get to. Carlos’ eyes couldn’t leave the silhouette that seemed to dance to a song no one else could hear, in a choreography highlighted by the snow’s glow and the lonely hours.

He found himself unable to move as the man slid around the ice, and all his intentions to try to stand up over skates melted off his head as the dance composition went on, so beautiful it was to watch and so amazing it could be to imagine how it felt.

The man on ice didn’t seem to notice a thing around him as he kept moving, and Carlos could tell that his face carried a solemn expression of concentration. His eyes moved faster than his feet did, calculating each sequence and pattern a second before it would be perfectly executed, as if it was the simplest thing on Earth.

For him, Carlos thought, maybe it was.

And before his brain could connect one dot to the other, the professor heart his phone buzzing inside his pocket. As he took it in hand, hesitantly taking his eyes away from the dancing skater who didn’t seem to get tired for a second, Carlos realized he had spent a while ― far more than recommended or even acceptable ― watching the other man from afar.

When he caught up to such a thought, Carlos quickly found a way to move his feet again and grip the pair of skates tighter, moving as fast as he could without being noticed by anyone.

Walking out of the park, Carlos cursed himself.

There was no explanation on Earth that would make sense to a single soul if he ever got questioned about staring at someone for ages, sort of hiding in the shadows, and then walking away.

As he made his way through the crowded streets again, Carlos hoped that he had been as invisible as he had always been in live, while he was there.

.

There was a creep watching him.

He had noticed the person in the shadows a few days ago, when he supposed it had started. It was a large figure, someone tall and perhaps a man, that stood in the shadows, closer to the trees than the ice rink TK was sliding around. From the ice, TK couldn’t really see of differ whoever it was, and he hadn’t mentioned a word to Paul, on the first day.

Not that he mentioned it on the other three that followed, either.

The figure came silently, and TK would notice it only a while after, when he felt eyes over his frame. Whoever it was, they would move, sometimes, but never really get closer.

For that, TK didn’t know if he should be thankful.

On the fourth day, though, it was getting inside of his head. Again, when the night fell and the park was even emptier than usual, and it would still be a while before Paul showed up to talk him out of training any longer, the figure was standing there again. Silent, far, and a bit more fear-inducing that the other days.

It was already stalking at that point, wasn’t it?

TK didn’t know. He did know, though, that he should probably call the police, just in case it was, indeed, a maniac, and not just some weirdo that decided to follow TK around just to ask for a picture ― which had happened before, and the girl turned out to be harmless as a flower.

TK couldn’t risk, though, because it was still a creepy figure watching his every movement.

So, like he wasn’t supposed to do, he spoke up to the figure in the shadows.

“Hey,” he said, sliding through the ice to get a tad closer, and watched as the person seemed startled at being noticed. “What’s up, man?”

The person in the shadows seemed scared, which was something TK hadn’t expected to happen. Whoever it was, they seemed to trip over their feet while trying to move and, opposite to what anyone would have predicted, the person got closer. Each fumbling step caused TK’s heart to race, and left him wondering why, on Earth, he had called the person out on their creepy stalking.

He slid backways the closer the man got, and tried to recall each feature of his face. If he was meant to die, considering the whole “I’ve been watching you” thing, then he could at least be a tad smart and recall the person’s face, just because there were a few cases in which people survived attacks.

And, honestly ― TK cursed under his breath when he noticed that, dammit; that was a gorgeous person.

It was a tall man, with messy curls on the top of his head and tanned skin. He had big, brown eyes and broad shoulders, and seemed to be a walking mess while trying to get closer to the ice rink, apparently embarrassed. There were a pair of glasses hanging on his face, and a scarf that was neatly wrapped around his neck.

Gorgeous, indeed.

But still a creep.

“Uh, I―” he tried to speak, and TK stopped sliding back. “I’m sorry, I―”

“You’ve been watching me for days,” TK stated, and the man flinched. “What the fuck is up with you? Why were you watching me?”

“Because is beautiful―” the man said, and apparently immediately regrated doing so. His eyes widened, and TK slid a bit back one more time. “The skating, the―!” the man sighed, and tired to put himself together.

“I will call the police,” TK said, and the man could only sigh again. He muttered something to himself, and then looked up at the skater on the ice.

“Look, I apologize for my behavior,” he said, his tone leveled and calm. “My name is Carlos Reyes, and I work in the NYU, in case you do call the police and need to find me. And I really am sorry, sir,” Carlos continued, and TK eyes him again.

“Why were you watching me?” he asked.

Carlos shrugged, and sort of smiled little.

“As I said: it’s beautiful. The― the choreography,” Carlos replied. “I mean, I don’t know if you just make de movements as you go or not, but it’s beautiful the way it― the way you seem to float around, and―” he interrupted himself, suddenly weirdly self-conscious. “I― I’m really sorry, sir. I’ll just―”

He started to move to turn around, and TK’s eyes followed him, his brows furrowed and his gaze curious while over the other figure. When Carlos moved, TK noticed something glisten on his hands, and while it should be scary, the blades were familiar enough for him to grasp what it was.

It was almost involuntary, how he called the man again.

“What were you doing here, the first day?” he asked, and Carlos stopped. “Did you come to watch me?”

“Wha― No!” Carlos hurried to reply. “No, I― I mean,” he let out a snort, and shook his head. “This park is emptier than any other I know, and I― I bought these,” he lifted the skates on his hands, and shook his head slowly. “And I figured― I mean, I was told I should try to, you know, wear them,” the man shrugged. TK had his brows arched. “So I came, and― and, honestly, I don’t know why. I don’t have any balance, and just…”

“And you kept coming back?” TK asked.

Carlos seemed embarrassed, though TK couldn’t see the dark red shade on his cheeks within the distance.

“I didn’t intend to,” Carlos said. “That first day, I came to try to use these, or at least learn how to tie them correctly. And I would have tried, but―” he shrugged again. “You were here, sir, and I just― If I wasn’t embarrassed before, then when I saw how easy you made it look like and… I don’t know,” he said, scratching the back of his head. “I just figured it was more worth it to watch you do it so beautifully than ending up in the ER by trying to stand up.” TK found himself holding back a snort at the other man’s words, and then looked back at the man, who seemed a little more relaxed due to his reaction.

“You said NYU?” he asked, perhaps to confirm information, and perhaps just to talk to him a little longer. The other man nodded.

“Yes, sir,” Carlos replied.

“A professor, then?” he asked again, and the other man confirmed just the same. “What do you teach?”

“Literature,” Carlos told him, a slightly bigger smile over his lips. “Philology and etymology, too,” TK frowned at that. The man stuttered a tad. “Uh, words. I teach words, mostly.”

TK arched an eyebrow.

“A walking dictionary?” TK questioned, more jokingly than not. Carlos laughed a bit, and yet confirmed with a nod. “What can you tell me, then?”

Carlos himself arched an eyebrow at that.

“The word ‘sorry’ means ‘distressed, grieved; full of sorrow,’” Carlos said, and TK tilted his head to the side. “Comes from Old English ‘sarig’ and Proto-Germanic ‘*sairiga’”he explained.

TK laughed a bit.

“And I really am sorry, by the way,” Carlos added, and TK nodded. They stared at each other for a second or two, and then the other man cleared his throat, preparing to turn around one more time.

TK still didn’t know why he called him once more.

“Why did you bring the skates?” TK asked, and Carlos turned back to stare at him. “If watching me was better than ending up in the ER. Why did you bring them?”

Carlos, again, shrugged.

“Guess I hoped you’d go home sooner,” Carlos said. “Or that I wouldn’t chicken out because someone is far too good at skating.”

“You didn’t try to skate because of me?” he asked again, and Carlos tilted his head to both sides. “Really?”

“Look, although the whole skating thing is beautiful, your presence while doing it is a bit… Threatening,” Carlos said. “Especially for someone who never stood on ice before, like me.”

TK wrinkled his brows a bit, side-smiling. Yeah, it did make sense, particularly because Paul loved to mention just how much TK would keep a bored, pissed-off -kind-of expression whenever he was trying to focus on something, and mainly when it came to skating and rehearsing. And although TK still needed to keep a step back when talking to a completely stranger ― who, apparently, wasn’t a stalker ―, his reasons were not completely stupid.

But TK might as well be, though.

Paul did say he needed to find something to distract himself with.

“So, you came all the way here and are not going to skate?” he questioned, and, sincerely, Carlos’ surprise was understandable. “If it really is because I’m here, then―”

“No!” Carlos cut him off. “I’m sorry, I― it’s not because of you. I didn’t mean to disturb you. Or to creep you out, for that matter,” he said, apologizing one more time. “I’m not― I won’t―”

TK tried not to smile.

“Are you coming tomorrow?” he asked, and, legitimately ― he should pay more attention to criminal and horror movies. Carlos probably thought the exact same thing, because he seemed more puzzled than he had been when he got caught in his observation schemes. “To the rink,” he clarified. “Are you?”

Carlos sort of nodded.

“I think so?” it sounded more like a question.

TK nodded, too.

“Alright,” he said. “If you don’t get on the rink, then, I’ll be calling the police,” TK told him, and Carlos widened his eyes, somehow not in fear, but definitely in shock. When the ice skater smiled at him, though, small and someway sweet, his tense shoulders seemed to relax, and he smiled back.

“Okay,” the other man agreed. “It sounds fair.”

It sounds like a trap, TK thought.

But it didn’t quite sound like a mistake.

.

It had been a mistake.

He was lucky the ice skater didn’t call the police, undeniably, but he didn’t even know what he was doing by somehow agreeing to meet him again. Sincerely, Carlos doubted the skater himself knew what he was doing by inviting an apparent ‘creep’ to meet him again.

Thatwas inconsequent, by all means.

He could almost hear his father’s voice saying how much he had taught him better than that, if Carlos ever found himself in such situation. Which, he did ― but on the creep’s side, apparently.

If he had called the police, Carlos would’ve understood. Actually, a part of him almost encouraged the skater to do so, because he wasn’t proud of his behavior. It was weird, and one way or another bizarre ― and Carlos knew that. He had acted like a stalker, and some sort of obsessive maniac, and there was no apology to make up for that.

Even if, seemingly, meeting the man again could team up to his expression of regret, someway.

He was starting to regret that, too.

It could be a trap, if Carlos thought about it. Meeting him again could be a trap, and the man could’ve thought of that just so the police could catch him on act ― which would be smart, for sure. It could also end up in a lot of different ways than just in the ER, because Carlos also didn’t know if that man was a serial killer or a maniac.

Not to mention the fact that the man seemed to know everything about ice skating, and Carlos didn’t even know how to deal with the shoelaces on those things.

That was probably he first day in forever that Carlos didn’t spend with his head completely orbiting his work, the files, and the calendar he had to follow. Instead, his mind kept leading him back to the fact that he, probably, would have to stand on ice and try to move.

God; he really hadn’t planned on ending up with a broken leg before Christmas.

Yet, there was, walking towards the ice rink on the small park he didn’t even care about learning the name of.

It was insane, more than he had let himself consider it until the very minute he was standing beside the empty rink, by now. Part of him, seeing that, kind of wished he had been fooled and that the skater wouldn’t actually be back there ― which was understandable ― but he didn’t hold on to it. Considering his luck, he wouldn’t escape from falling on ice and getting a giant bruise.

At least he would have a colorful proof to tell Delilah he had tried.

As he got there, Carlos walked slowly towards the bench on the edge of the rink, placing there his folder and the backpack he had brought with him, just as the small bag that carried the pair of skates. The professor, then, sat down, shivering as the cold crept through his clothes and touched his skin, and looking around with expectation.

Sadly, or not, he didn’t get to wait for too long.

A while after he had sat down, Carlos could see a slim figure show up in the distance, with a backpack in hands and a coat over his arm. He walked fiercely towards the ice rink, head held up and his steps decisive as he got closer to both the rink and the back.

Carlos, who was already tense, tried to keep his posture as the man arrived.

He also tried to ignore just how handsome he was, for that matter.

“Carlos?” the skater called, and the professor nodded. “I was wondering if you would really come,” he said, his tone weirdly joyful, and not whatever Carlos expected it to be.

“Yeah, me too,” Carlos said. “About me coming, I mean. I, uh― I’m sorry again, also,” he said, and the other man nodded. “I don’t― I don’t know your name.”

The ice skater chuckled, and then stretched his arm.

“TK,” he said, and Carlos shook his hand quickly. “It’s nice to meet you, I guess.”

Carlos smiled, too, a tad embarrassed.

“Yeah, I think,” Carlos said. “Though I wouldn’t blame you for calling the police, I should say,” he joked, and the other man agreed slowly.

“It’s not a smart move to make You a real-life thing, for real,” TK said, and watched as Carlos frowned, confused with how the scene was built.

“I’m sorry,” the professor apologized. “What?”

TK arched his eyebrows.

“You,” TK repeated, and Carlos pointed to his own chest. TK chuckled. “No, not you. You, the Netflix show?” he asked, and Carlos frowned even deeper. “With― with Victoria Pedretti?” Carlos tilted his head. “You really don’t know?”

“Should I?” Carlos asked.

“Yes?” TK retorted. “Do you live in a cave?”

Carlos snorted at that.

“My friend would say I do, yeah,” Carlos agreed. “How is the show ever related to the situation, though?”

TK snorted, this time.

“It’s about a psychopath that watches his victims for weeks and learns everything about them before killing,” TK narrated, and laughed a bit louder when the other man went pale with his sentence. “Really? Not a clue?” Carlos shook his head.

“I am a bit worried that I was somehow supposed to know such a thing, though,” Carlos told him, and gulped. “God, I am so sorry for what I did,” he said again, and TK nodded smiling.

The ice skater walked past him, then, and sat on the bench as well, being followed by the other man. Carlos, though, didn’t take the skates out of the bag when TK did, watching him curiously.

“It’s alright,” TK said. “I actually did check the data you gave me, last night, just to be sure. So, I think it’s fine,” he told him, and Carlos nodded, scoffing. “You’re still going to skate, though.”

Carlos let out a peal of laughter.

“I’ll fall, you mean,” he corrected, and TK arched an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, but I’ll just bother you. I absolutely cannot stand on ice,” he said, and the skater laughed.

“Let’s start with the basics, then,” he said, getting up and sliding on ice like the show-off he was, then stopping in front of the other man. “Getting the skates on. Simple, uh?” Carlos bit his tongue.

“In thesis,” he agreed, and TK laughed.

“C’mon,” TK said. “You won’t regret it.”

.

Carlos might not regret it, but TK did.

And badly.

Because Carlos was nothing other than staggering, both as a learner and a person to just spend time with.

And TK, without a sign or a warning, found himself expecting to meet the man every sunset on the ice rink, and wave him goodbye as his tired eyes seemed to light up with expectation and kindness.

Even though things started as a tragedy, because Carlos wasn’t lying when he said he could barely stand on ice without falling down and bumping his legs, side, or even his head. It was something more tragic than funny to see, TK should be honest ― but then, Carlos would start laughing on his own expense, and TK would find himself doing the same.

He didn’t even see days going by, the calendar changing into December, and the excitement to see Carlos growing bigger each afternoon before meeting the man and each night after it had happened.

And, God; that was a mistake.

Which, of course, TK ignored, just because he tented to do it frequently in his life.

Days and weeks went by, and TK could only find himself more and more engaged into meeting Carlos every single day. Because it was easy to talk to him, and even more to want to do it ― Carlos was kind, and funny, and one of the best people he had met his entire life. His eyes were sweet, his voice was always leveled, and TK also discovered that some people could learn and spit random facts whenever they wanted to.

He adored discovering it, too.

And now, when he was trying to show Carlos how to spin in the air ― because he was a ridiculously fast learner, and TK couldn’t be more impressed ― the professor was telling him about how names changed from language to language, and how “James” in English was the same as “Thiago” in Portuguese.

It didn’t make much sense, but it was sweet to hear his excitement.

“How do you even figure these things out?” TK asked, and Carlos chuckled, shrugging.

“Documents,” Carlos said. “Some deep level of boredom, too. For example, how do you find out you can slide over ice and spin in the air?”

“Point taken,” TK said, spinning around Carlos, who chuckled.

And he didn’t know how, on the next second, his feet tripped on something ― maybe on air ― and Carlos was the collision point in front of him. From a moment to the following, they were both on the ice, and somehow TK’s back against the frozen surface was handling more than his own weight.

Carlos was over him, his face far too close, and his hands on the side of his face.

And when the brown orbs wandered towards TK’s lips, the ice skater felt the panic rising inside his chest.

So, he pulled Carlos away, startling him for a second before he noticed what he had caused and apologized, which was dismissed by a forced laughter from the other man.

They never mentioned it again.

And TK wondered what he was supposed to do with the urge to be close to Carlos, right beside the urge to cry about it.

.

“So, he didn’t want to kiss you?” Delilah asked, her heels echoing quickly as she tried to keep up with Carlos’ steps as they moved around the large hallways. “That’s the summary to last night?”

Carlos shrugged, laughing a bit at her indignation.

“Yeah,” he said. “Maybe I misread things. Or maybe it just wasn’t the time,” he stated, slowing down his pace so Delilah could reach him more easily. “Who knows?”

Delilah breathed heard behind him, and Carlos wondered if that was an attempt to scoff or she was just tired of almost running in heels.

“You okay there?” he asked, laughing a tad.

“Shut up,” Delilah hissed. “My legs are shorter, and you seem to forget that,” she murmured, lacing her fingers around Carlos’ elbow and forcing him to step behind, so he wouldn’t fall back. “And don’t you chance subjects. Did he react badly? Did things get weird?”

“I don’t think so?” Carlos replied, his words sounding more like a question. “He just turned his face and then we got up. I apologized, he said it was fine and apologized for tripping on me, and then we kept skating,” he narrated, and Delilah arched an eyebrow. “What?”

“Really?” she asked. “Like that?”

Carlos chuckled slightly, his face squirming as if trying to understand what she meant with that.

“Yeah?” he asked. “Like normal human beings, I guess? You know, like adults,” Carlos explained. “This is not a romantic comedy, Lily. We can solve problems by having dialogues and putting it behind us,” he said, and his friend scoffed.

“Don’t talk to me like I am delusional, Reyes,” Delilah adverted. “I know how life works. But,” he remarked. “I am also a dreamer, excuse moi. And you’ve been narrating the perfect romantic-cliché scenario ― of course, I’ll be picturing what is going to happen.”

“Then change any ending you’ve made, will you?” Carlos requested jokingly, laughing with her.

“What? You don’t want five children?” she asked. “That’s not a problem ― I’ll lower it to three,” Delilah added, a mischievous grin plastered on her amused face. “And what do you like best: New Jersey or a small village somewhere in Colorado?”

Carlos frowned.

“The type of village that is completely safe until the most horrible crime possible happens in the middle of August?” he asked, and Delilah snorted. “Guess I’ll stick with Texas, Lily.” “Oh, so you’re making the skater move out,” she said, and his frown deepened. “Noted. Do you think he’ll suggest it himself or you’ll have a long, heartfelt conversation after almost breaking up and then realizing you can’t live without the other anymore, and the world only makes sense when you two are side by side?”

“The world doesn’t make sense no matter who you’re with, Delilah,” he stated, and she perked up at that, too.

“So, it’s the type of conversation that leads you two to realize that it would be nice to face the mess together, I see,” she declared, and Carlos huffed. “What do you think you’ll fight about? Distance? Insecurities? The way you always cut your curls out when they grow?” the woman asked, having more fun with that than Carlos found hilarious.

“What’s the thing with my curls?” he asked, and she scoffed.

“Which ones? You kill them all,” she complained, and Carlos rolled his eyes. “So that’s the fight’s topic?”

Carlos groaned again.

“Thank God I don’t live here,” he muttered, getting elbowed on the ribs by the woman.

“Oh, shut up, you―” she started, getting her sentence interrupted by another voice that came lightly around them.

“Carlos!” someone called behind them, and both friends stopped walking to turn around. A man, with messy hair and crumpled clothes was running ― or trying to run ― towards them, breathlessly stretching his arm as if trying to reach the pair. Carlos, specifically. “Excuse me!” he said, and both friends stared at it other before looking back at the man.

“Mr. Savoia?” he called, too, when the man got closer. “What can I help you with?” Carlos asked, his voice as straight and professional as it always was when it came to his co-workers.

The man, Mr. Savoia, stopped close to them, and took a second or two to breathe in correctly one more time. Carlos and Delilah waited, curiously questioning what was the scene about.

“I apologize for my behavior,” the man said, gesturing to indicate that he meant the running. “And I appreciate that you have waited. You too, Mrs. Russell,” he greeted, and Delilah nodded with a smile. “I was wondering if we could talk?”

Carlos frowned, but nodded anyway.

“Of course,” he agreed. “Should we search for a meeting room?”

Mr. Savoia shook his head.

“I was hoping for something fast, for I don’t want to bother your plans more than what I probably will do,” he said. “If you don’t mind, of course,” and Carlos nodded again. “Mr. Reyes, you’ve been an incredible presence here with us, and that have attracted more people than we had originally thought it would,” Mr. Savoia started, and Carlos could almost hear Delilah smiling beside him. “Which led to more days needed of speeches and classes.”

Carlos arched an eyebrow, though he already knew where the conversation led to.

“So, we were wondering if there is any possibility of you being free on Christmas Eve,” Mr. Savoia continued, and Delilah was the one to widen her eyes in surprise. “Which, I know, it’s too much to ask, and I feel ashamed to have to do it. But that is the only day before the next year that we could fit so many people together here in New York,” he explained.

Carlos blinked a few times.

“Mr. Savoia, I was informed that the last speech would be on the twenty-third,” he stated, and the man in front of them nodded, sighing.

“So was I, Mr. Reyes,” he said. “And that is why I am asking. If you cannot do it under any circumstances, then we were wondering if you could come back sometime in January, or perhaps February, to do so,” the man offered, and Carlos bit his tongue to think.

Delilah knew he would accept it before he did it himself, and sighed beside him. Later, Carlos would have to convince her that he was okay, and didn’t have a thing to do on Christmas anyway ― and that it was easier to leave the city with everything done already, without anything yet to be done.

By then, he only nodded, and said he would get into planning it as soon as he could.

And as he walked towards Delilah’s car with his friend arguing with him, Carlos mentioned to himself that he should find a way to warn TK about his absence that night ― and then he noticed he didn’t have the other man’s number.

By the time he got to the loft, though, he had the impression that something had escaped his mind. But he didn’t take his time to dwell on it for too long as he dug into work and tried to have it done as soon as possible.

The skates were still on the bag by the door, when sunlight came. And so was the feeling of disremembering.

.

Sliding around the ice alone was something weird to do, Carlos noted to himself as his feet drew random patterns over the frozen surface.

He also recalled that he sort of deserved it after not notifying TK he would’ve been unavailable for the past five days, even though it wasn’t his fault that they hadn’t exchanged numbers when they met.

It was his fault, though, that he couldn’t make it to the park for five minutes just to explain things.

So, when he got to the park as the Sun said goodbye and didn’t find a slim figure dancing over it, Carlos swallowed his sadness and disappointment, sitting on the bench for a while to think and wonder if he should stay there and hope for someone to show up, or just pack his anticipations one more time before heading back to the loft, his work, and the coldness of New York.

Not so wisely, he had chosen the former option.

And as the sunlight waved its last goodbye for the day, leaving the night to the moon and the stars, Carlos could only get to the conclusion that skating alone was weird, especially when, at some point, he had stopped doing it for himself ― if that had ever happened, too. It didn’t have the same emotion, or the same reason, and not even the same warmth, just because of the hypocrisy of it all.

Yet, he didn’t leave, and slid around aimlessly and without any hint of grace. His hands were on his pockets, his eyes watched the ground, and his feet slipped their path once or twice every few passed minutes.

It wasn’t horrible, no; it was peaceful, even.

But it didn’t make it any less weird.

Mainly when his head seemed to follow the patterns carved on ice, and turn around places Carlos had avoided to visit for a while ― how TK must have felt, if he had felt something at all, or if he was mad at him. If he had waited for him for more than that one day ― if he had waited at all ― or if he had given up straight away, leaving the ice rink and pretending that it didn’t happen.

No matter how it went, though, Carlos begged that he hadn’t caused TK to be sad because, then, he’d absolutely regret accepting Mr. Savoia’s offer.

And although there wasn’t much more to do, by then, Carlos couldn’t help wondering how things could’ve gone if he had come back on that next day as his feet wandered around the ice. And it was mostly wishful thinking, that much he was sure, for talking too much with Delilah about those things, but it was something to do as the night fell and the silence took over the park and his presence.

While TK always had a choreography in mind when he stepped on ice, even on those moments when he didn’t plan on training, Carlos couldn’t care less about what he was doing. It was nice, indeed, to have some sort of control over his movements in there, and it did feel like flying, sometimes ― it felt like some shaped freedom, and it would always make him laugh.

So, he spent his time sliding from side to side, turning and trying to spin around like TK did so easily. When he almost concluded it, Carlos laughed, and then tried again until he felt his head spinning alone with so many attempts.

And when, at some point, he found the courage to jump and try to spin around without falling straight to the ground, he couldn’t stop a bark of laughter that came with it.

He couldn’t stop the fright another presence caused him to feel, either.

"That was a nice spin," Carlos heard a voice behind his back, then turning his body and snapping his head around to look at the silhouette close to the borders of the ice rink. His legs wobbled a little, and the man was almost sure it had no relation to the ice beneath his feet but with the warm, green irises that stared at him rather shyly.

He turned around fully, then, with much more grace than he had at the beginning, and smiled kindly at the man staring at him. A few of Carlos' curls fell to his face, and he didn't bother putting it back in place, both his arms folded behind his back.

"Thank you," he said, smiling warmly, almost as shy as TK seemed to be. "It's better than falling by only stepping on the ice, I think," he said, and TK smiled a bit at that.

"It's― uh, it was truly nice, actually," the man said again, and Carlos side-grinned at him, accepting the compliment. "Uh― a-also, I would like to talk to you, if I may?"

"Of course," Carlos said, sliding closer to where TK was. The skater's voice waved a bit, and he seemed to be a tad nervous, which was enough to light up the other man's concerns. "Is everything alright?" he asked, and TK nodded.

"Yeah, uh― I would like to, uh, to apologize, in reality," he said, and Carlos' frown was immediate. "For, uh― for that day when we fell on the ice."

It took Carlos a second to try to understand what he meant, and the man almost choked on absolutely nothing, but managed to put himself back together before his voice came out of his lips.

"You're... apologizing because you didn't want to kiss me?" Carlos asked, and TK seemed to flinch at that. "Why, on Earth, are you apologizing for that, TK?"

The man before him almost winced, and it somehow caused Carlos' chest to ache. TK, then, shrugged, and Carlos only waited for whatever he would reply.

"I don't―I― don't really know?" TK said. "I―I mean, it happened and― or it didn't happen and then you didn't come the next day, so I supposed that either you were mad or hurt or―"

Carlos' warm, brown eyes widened, and he hushed an apology.

"Oh, my God. No― No, TK; no. For God's sake, I―" he started, stuttering just like the green-eyed man had done before. "Jesús Cristo, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. It wasn't because of that, I―"

"No, look, Carlos; it's okay. It was― I mean," the man cut him off, awkwardly moving his hands one against the other. "I somehow hurt you; I shouldn't have expected you to―"

"You should," Carlos cut him off, too, and TK stopped talking, looking at him. "You should've expected me to come because that's just what I would've done if they hadn't invited me to make a speech before Christmas," Carlos explained. "And I forgot to tell you― I mean, I don't think I have your number?" he laughed awkwardly. "I'm sorry, TK. God, this is―"

"Embarrassing," TK said, then, and Carlos could tell he wasn't talking about anyone, or anything, other than himself by the way his eyes drifted back to the snow under his feet. "Shit. I―I'm sorry I assumed things like that, I―"

"TK," Carlos said, and it was the moment the skater noticed that he was much closer than he had first grasped, now mere steps away from him, although still over the ice. "You didn't have to kiss me, okay? Whatever you're thinking about it ― you didn't have to. Not me or anyone who might have been in that same situation," he said, smiling funny at the memory.

"I made things weird," TK said in a low voice, then; still looking at anywhere that wasn't Carlos' eyes. The shadow of a smile ghosted over his lips, though his eyes expressed some kind of shame.

Carlos smiled playfully.

"I doubt there's anything other than weird when it comes to falling over someone while ice-skating, TK," Carlos said, and TK tried to swallow a chuckle. It came out anyway, shaped as a strangled, gagged sound from the top of the other man's throat, and it made Carlos himself giggle. "I am truly sorry that I made you think that you had some kind of obligation, though," he added, his tone much more solemn than the second before.

TK opened his mouth to protest, Carlos guessed, but the professor was quicker to take over the silence again.

"I do want to kiss you, TK," he stated, and TK swallowed a choking sound. No one had ever been so open about his intentions towards him before, and that was something new. Strange, to say the least, but not unwelcomed. "I don't think I've tried to hide it. But that's about me, and me solely. You don't need to do anything you don't want to; if you want us to be friends? Best friends? I'll take it," Carlos said, with an adorable smile over his face. "If you don't want to see me anymore after you leave New York?" he shrugged, more playfully than anything. "I'll take that, too, I guess. I mean, ending up in prison for stalking doesn't sound appealing."

The last joke caused TK to chuckle, not hiding it this time. He nodded slowly, still not encouraged to look up at the man in front of him but a bit more relaxed.

It was the bare minimum; TK knew it. Not to be judged or doomed for not wanting something ― it was the bare minimum. Yet, knowing the world the way he did, those words became endearing.

"And I am sorry, too, for ghosting you," Carlos said, now a bit embarrassed himself. "It wasn't my intention, but it did happen anyway. I mean, I kind of knew that it would happen, and I did try to find a way to tell you that I wouldn't show up, but the only way that could happen was if I showed up, so it wasn't quite helpful," the man said, almost in only one breath, rambling one word after the other. "And then there were piles of paper and requests for speeches over my desk, and I ended up so overwhelmed that I forgot, and when I remembered, it wasn't like I could ask anyone for your number because then I realized you're the only thing about you that I know."

His words were fast, and TK would've seen it a bit strange if he didn't find it entirely and utterly endearing. A smile spread across his face slowly as Carlos rambled, and he was almost sure that the lightness on his chest wasn't something precisely normal.

"Not that it's a bad thing!" Carlos added, looking at his own feet. "I mean, I just― I had no way to contact you, and I couldn't come because there was just so much work, and I couldn't spend a single minute if I wanted it to be done. And every minute that I stopped working, I would remember that I didn't tell you I wouldn't come, and I swear that I thought about sending Enzo and his last-minute ideas to he―"

TK perked up when he said the word.

"Wait, Enzo?" the ice-skater interrupted him. "As in Enzo Savoia?" he asked, and Carlos frowned as he nodded. TK chuckled with the confirmation. "Oh, you could've asked him for my number, then."

Carlos' frown deepened, and TK wondered if someone could legally be that adorable while confused.

"Why would Enzo have your number?" Carlos asked.

"Enzo is my stepfather," TK explained, a playful smile on his face, which only grew when the professor's mouth fell open. "He married my mom when I was seven."

Carlos' expression was every word above "comic."

"You're joking," he said, and TK shook his head. "Oh, really? Come on," he grumbled, looking up at the sky, looking downright annoyed at it. "How come I didn't know that?"

TK shrugged, clearly having more fun with the situation than he should.

"I don't think you've even mentioned who you worked with," TK said. "NYU has quite a lot of people, just so you know."

"Oh, really?" Carlos asked sarcastically. TK nodded again, anyway.

"Yeah, quite a bunch," he said again, and Carlos scoffed a peal of laughter. The green-eyes man didn't quit smiling, though it fell shy from a second to the other, and his hand went up to scrape the back of his neck. "Uh― Will― Will you come tomorrow?" he asked, some inch of vulnerability, even hope, covering his voice.

Carlos smiled sweetly, as always.

"Yes," he replied. "Well, if your mean stepfather doesn't decide that I have to give another speech on the twenty-third," Carlos added, an ounce of fake bitterness in his voice.

TK huffed another laughter.

"Mean stepfather?" he asked, arching an eyebrow. "What am I, now? Cinderella?" TK crossed his arms over his chest, and Carlos shrugged.

"You do have the princely looks," Carlos argued. "But for it to be Cinderella, then you'd be the one to have to suffer in Enzo's hands," he said, frowning a bit while reaching for the logic on the statement. "And, in that case, I believe you'd be the one not to show up?"

TK frowned, too, somehow as invested as the other man in that (not so) logical line of thought.

"No," he said. "Technically, I would show up. But run away," TK added, and Carlos nodded in agreement. "Which, technically, happened already. And instead of not getting each other's names, we didn't get each other's numbers."

"And we didn't even have a crystal shoe to solve our lives," Carlos said, somewhat profound in his statement, his brows furrowed and his head tilted to the side, shaking it a bit. Then, he shook it quickly as if to come back from a trance and smiled at TK, just as gracious as ever. "Well, in any way, yes, I plan to come tomorrow."

The smile on Carlos' face, albeit not as wide as it could be, sent shivers through TK's arms and to the base of his neck, so sweet and bright it was at him. He smiled back, his lips perhaps trembling with how much he realized to like the other man's grin and tried to keep his voice steady as he spoke up again.

"Look, I―" he started and then corrected his own choice of words. "If my mean stepfather doesn't doom you to mesmerize another crowded room, could you meet me earlier?"

"Earlier?" Carlos' smile didn't falter, though he did tilt his head to the side again. TK could swear that Buttercup does the same when something confusing or crazy happens in front of him.

"Early," TK said, correcting himself. "In the morning," he added, clarifying what he meant, and Carlos blinked. "For breakfast, perhaps?" he asked, now, not entirely sure of how the conversation would end.

"Oh," Carlos expressed, then, now sliding a bit to the side.

TK pretended he hadn't forgotten that he was still on the ice and focused on reading the other man's reaction to his question. At that point of knowing the professor, he doubted he would refuse ― yet, he had also been wrong about Carlos avoiding meeting him after the almost-kiss fiasco.

The taller man's smile spread a bit more across his face after a second, though, and TK let out a sigh he didn't even know he had been holding in.

"Of course, TK," he agreed, his tone as velveted as his lips seemed to be. "It would be a pleasure."

TK smiled too, because how could he not?

"Alright!" he displayed and then almost moved before realizing what he was doing. "Uh, I believe I don't have your― uh, your number?"

Carlos widened his eyes for a second and then chuckled a bit. TK did the same, mirroring the man's movements when he reached for his phone on the pocket of his coat and then offered in his direction.

He typed it as quickly as he could after taking his gloves out and then retrieved it back to the professor. Carlos looked at the new number, read simply "TK" ― the skater didn't know how Carlos saved his contacts ― and smiled, which caused the green-eyed man to do the same. Again.

The professor moved his fingers a bit, his hands cold, and then tapped the screen a few times, looking back at TK when he heard the other man's phone ring shortly. TK took his cellphone out of his pocket, opened the notification from the unknown number, and smiled at the simple "hey, you" typed there.

As simple as it could be, it still made him grin.

"There's a bakery I like quite a bit," TK said, then, saving the new contact just as he had saved his for Carlos. "I'll send you the name."

Carlos nodded.

"Does eight-thirty sound good?" the green-eyes man asked again.

"Oh, I'm always awake," Carlos said, laughing a bit embarrassed. "Any time you choose is suitable."

TK arched his eyebrows.

"Nine, then," he said, and Carlos nodded. "Just so I can pretend to be awake for forty more minutes after I open my eyes," he continued, almost as a joked justificative, and Carlos laughed again.

"Sounds amazing," he said, the sweet smile now almost painted to his pretty face. TK found himself too attracted to it to simply take his eyes away and stared at the other man's smile, and cheeks, and eyes, and nose for seemingly far too long. Carlos didn't say a thing, but when TK's lips dried under the air, he could tell it's been a while without moving.

"Uh, I'll―" the skater stuttered a bit, taking his gaze away from the other man's face. "I'll go, then, and―"

Carlos frowned, and it took him a second to cut the other man out.

"Wait. So you came all the way here and are not going to skate?" he asked. "If it's because I'm here, then―"

"N―no!" TK cut him out, then. They seemed to be pretty good at that. "I mean, I didn't mean to disturb you― I didn't even know you'd be here, and― ugh," he grumbled, and Carlos did his best to contain his laughter. TK didn't notice, and Carlos took his frustration as an opportunity to speak.

"Alright," Carlos said. "Then, come on," he gestured towards the ice rink by waving his hand. "You're not wasting your trip down here, right? Besides, I do appreciate some good company," he said, just as kindly as anyone could ever say a single word.

TK smiled at the man in front of him, just curving his lips upwards. Then, he nodded briefly, and it took him no longer than five minutes to have his skates on his feet and his hand holding Carlos' firmly, more for the sake of the professor than his own ― although, of course, he wouldn't deny the touch.

"Anything in mind that you want to learn?" TK asked, then, and Carlos turned to be face-to-face with him, beaming happily.

"Hm," he hummed. "I thought that maybe we could just spin around?" he asked, and TK was quite surprised but no less delighted to the suggestion. "I think I don't suck at it anymore; you know?"

He chuckled, and TK could only smile warmly at him. He nodded again, then, and spun first, a simple thing, just because there was no hush, no pressure, and no one there but the two of them. When he stopped, looking at Carlos again, the other man's smile was wide and bright, and he was almost sure that his heart had made some unhuman thing inside his chest.

Carlos, then, copied him, spinning around simply, yet gracefully, and TK couldn't stop staring when he did it again, and one more time, and then just went away from him, spinning quickly like a child discovering the ice. Carlos barked out a laugh, and TK could only do the same, repeating the man's movements ― uncoordinated, unrestricted, and silly.

He was almost sure that was also how he felt.

Carlos laughed more and then spun around one more time, and then again, which at some point became a game of catch one, catch-all within the two of them, both somehow slipping sometimes and falling over each other repeatedly. When it happened, they'd try to push the other away as fast as they could and then try to get up before the other did, sliding away as quickly as possible.

If Carlos was asked to describe what he was feeling, he would simply spin around again.

And, if TK was asked to sum it up in a single word, TK would say "happy."

.

Carlos was there at eight-twenty-five in the following morning.

He had barely slept, though he couldn’t quite grasp the reason ― if he was anxious, if he was nervous, if he was only overthinking things that didn’t even happen for him to actually think about them ― but it didn’t keep his brain shut. He had tossed and turned between the sheets, trying to find a comfortable position to fall asleep, and it did work for a while.

Not that an hour and a half count too much, in that case.

When he gave up, around three-forty-six in the morning, Carlos just got up and walked towards the table where he had left his laptop shut from the moment he had left the loft to go to the park. It was something new, he couldn’t help but notice ― he hadn’t even remembered to turn it on from the second the ice rink was in sight.

Time didn’t even make sense when TK appeared.

It broke Carlos’ heart, sincerely, just how much the man held himself back at the professor’s presence, and it also didn’t make much sense. He wondered what he had gone wrong ― except for the failed attempt to kiss the other man ― to bring such a distance between them, and if TK was there to simply tell him that he wasn’t comfortable around Carlos anymore.

He couldn’t have expected TK to be blaming himself over a simple wanting of his, though.

He wanted to laugh, and hug TK tight against his chest. He wanted to, somehow, take that idea out of the other man’s mind, or even protect him from those thoughts whenever they came around, causing TK to feel guilty about wanting or not anything, such as a kiss. Carlos wanted to make things clear, and tell the ice skater that although he was already head-over-heels for him, he would accept any boundaries TK would set.

That made him feel uneasy, when it crossed his mind. Perhaps, that was the reason TK wanted to meet him in the morning, after all ― to say he needed them not to see each other anymore, and that he wouldn’t want to keep in touch.

Carlos wouldn’t object to it, of course; but he would walk out of the cafeteria with a cup of tea and a broken heart, just a while before Christmas.

At least, that is usually how Christmas romantic movies begin.

Yet, it wasn’t the happiest of thoughts.

Carlos waited patiently, though his foot would be bumping against the floor for a while. He dismissed the kind waiter that came to ask if he was ready to order, and tried his best not to look at the doors every two minutes, waiting for the slim figure he’d been waiting for to show up with messy strands and another colorful hoodie, holding part of his anxiety in hands.

And when his eyes weren’t directed at the doors, the little bell over it rang, and his eyes darted in its direction just because it was a common response of his body. When he did so, though, Carlos couldn’t help but to smile, his action being mirrored by TK, who wore a light-blue hoodie, this time.

“Hi,” he greeted the man that approached the table.

“Hey, you,” TK greeted back, taking a seat. He seemed nervous, Carlos could tell, although his face was technically relaxed. “Been here too long?” he asked, and Carlos shook his head.

“Not really, no,” he said. “Want to order something and stay here or just take a walk?” Carlos asked. TK pressed his lips together, wondering what to do, and then shrugged.

“We could take something to drink and take a walk at the park?” he asked. “I really need to talk to you, and walking helps me to think things clearly,” he told Carlos, who nodded briefly.

“Is everything okay?” Carlos asked as they got up, and TK nodded with a small grin.

“Yeah,” he said. “I just… I think I should be honest with you,” he said, and Carlos gulped. “It’s not bad, I promise!” he assured. “Or I think so, at least.”

Carlos nodded, then, and tried to calm down his racing heart as they asked one of the waiters for their drinks. The same man that had approached Carlos before was the one to talk to them, and smiled kindly as he prepared each one, probably sensing that both met were nothing more than a pile of nerves walking side by side.

And, even though the two of them seemed to exhale anxiety as they walked, the silence was just as comfortable as it had always been. The Central Park wasn’t far from the cafeteria, and they got there without sharing a single word, perhaps because they were both trying to find out what they should say, or maybe just because it wasn’t exactly necessary.

The park was crowded as it ever was, though it wasn’t a problem when it came to such a large area in the middle of the city. They could walk without bumping on others and could talk without catching anyone’s attention, even if they kept quiet until they were quite far inside of the park, the shallow layer of snow causing their steps to echo the farther they got.

Before TK spoke up, he seemed to hold his breath inside, almost as he feared letting it go with words he shouldn’t speak up. Carlos, wrapping his hands firmly around his warm cup, could only wait for whatever the other man had to say, hoping it wouldn’t get him to walk out of the park’s gates by himself.

“I’m an addict,” TK said, then, all of a sudden.

And that wasn’t something Carlos expected to hear.

The professor snapped his head to stare at the other man, who was looking down at his on cup of coffee ― black, without sugar ― and waited for him to develop the previous sentence. Carlos couldn’t actually put a thought together in one piece, so he waited, his grip tight on his tea.

“Recovery,” TK added quickly, almost as if he had made a mortal flaw by not saying it before. “I’m a recovery addict. I’m clean, now, I―” he breathed in. “I’ve been clean for a year and eight months.”

Carlos nodded, because he didn’t think he was supposed to say something just yet. TK looked up, facing whatever was in front of them, and refusing to look at the man standing beside him.

“I’ve been clean for a year and eight months after I overdosed,” he told Carlos, who felt his heart clenching when the words hit him. The words faltered a bit when TK spoke, and the professor found himself being careful not to trip over his feet. “And my father found me without a pulse on the floor of my apartment,” he continued. “In Brooklyn.”

Carlos opened his mouth, but it seemed that his breath only escaped his throat when he did it. He closed it, then, when no sound came out of his lips, and no thoughts could actually be formed inside of his head other than the impulse of hugging the man beside him.

Which he didn’t do because TK still wanted to talk.

And Carlos couldn’t do anything but to listen.

“I hate thinking about that day, though it feels like all I do is to be brought back,” he said, his voice with a bitter smile. “It was― stupid. A stupid, dumb mistake over something so―” he breathed in. “Something so ridiculous,” he spat, a humorless chuckle coming out with it. “A broken heart. How pathetic is that?”

Carlos didn’t reply, because he knew it wasn’t a question meant to be answered. Not yet, at least, as TK seemed to choose what he would spit out next.

“I had a boyfriend,” he continued. “At the time, we’d been together for four years. I thought everything was alright, you know? I thought we were okay, and happy, and that we would be together forever. He was like a prince, and I was just so high on drugs that―” he swallowed hard. “That I didn’t see things crumbling down.”

TK took a few seconds to breathe in deeply, and to look around for a while. Carlos tried not to stare at him all the time, but it was quite hard to do so when all he wanted was to bring the ice skater to his arms.

“That night, I was going to propose,” he continued, and Carlos did his best to hide his surprise. “I thought that it was a long-term solution, you know? To― I don’t know to what. I guess I knew, after all, that we were doomed; I was just in denial. And high all the time,” he spat, and Carlos frowned in sadness.

TK sniffed, and then shrugged.

“Long story short, he said ‘no’, I traded the ring for― God knows how many pills, and I woke up three days later with my mom crying close to my legs, my dad staring at the ceiling with a ghostly look, and Enzo holding my hand and whispering something,” TK said, and then sighed. “Then my dad and I moved out of the city to halfway across the country,” another deep breath in. “I haven’t been with anyone, or close to anyone, ever since. Haven’t been back to New York either,” he sniffed again. “Or to competitions.”

For a minute or two, both men stood silent as they walked aimlessly through the snow-covered field. Then, TK cleared his throat, and Carlos looked back at him.

“I’ve been trying to get my life back ever since,” TK said. “Not― Not New York, but skating. I probably won’t make it back to the Olympics or the worldwide competitions but,” he shrugged. “But I don’t want to let that― I don’t want thatto end everything I love. I can’t let it happen.”

There was another beat of silence as they both let the words settle around them, heavy and weighing the air as their steps echoed in the distance. Their drinks remained untouched, and Carlos doubted they were still drinkable after so long outside in the cold, but he couldn’t care less about it if he tried his best to do so.

“If that was an attempt to make me give up on wanting to kiss you,” Carlos spoke up, then, after a while. His tone, cheerful and playful, caught TK’s attention, for he turned his head to look at the other man. “Then I think I should tell that it didn’t work the way you meant it to.”

TK stared at him by side-eyeing his frame, and then snorted at his tone. Carlos smiled a bit because of it, and waited for a reaction.

“You’re not―” TK cleared his throat, and lowered his tone. “Bothered? Or upset? Or thinking ‘bout a way to run away from whatever this relationship is?”

Carlos chuckled.

“If you want me to tell me what I feel right now, I’d have to say I’m surprised,” Carlos said. “And proud of you.”

TK snorted at that, and turned his face, meeting Carlos and trying to find any sign of joke on his face. For there weren’t any, he frowned, and his bitter smile faded.

“Really?” he asked, and Carlos nodded.

Then, the professor took a deep breath.

“Do you like who you are now?” he asked, his tone now serious and low, and TK frowned.

“Who I am now?” the man repeated, and Carlos nodded. “I― I don’t think I hate it, no. It’s, uh― I’ve been told is a process. So, I―” he inhaled. “Yeah. Perhaps you could say that.”

Carlos bowed, smiling kindly now.

“There’s your answer,” he said, and TK’s expression squirmed in deeper confusion. “You asked how pathetic a broken heart was.”

TK let out a peal of laughter.

“Like those people who say ‘it doesn’t matter the problem, just how you deal with it?’” he questioned, and Carlos chuckled lightly.

“No, not really,” Carlos replied. “It’s more like… Those people say it as if a problem simply dissolves on thin air if you just don’t freak out over it. What I mean is,” Carlos breathed in, too, and the wrinkle on the top of his nose deepened. “Things have different importance depending on who you are, were, and become when they come to be in your life. What now seems meaningless and even pathetic for you, once wasn’t,” he explained. “Like… Someone is on an important meeting, on a party, and something goes wrong. They upload the wrong file, or ― or a glass of red wine stains their light-blue dress. That is going to be the end of the world at that moment, and maybe for the next few months,” Carlos narrated, and TK observed him curiously. “But on their next meeting, on another job or position, or on another party when someone walks in with the same dress they had and never really washed the stain off, that same moment wouldn’t feel the same. But it would still matter.”

TK could only watch him silently.

“The moment isn’t any less meaningful in their lives, you see. It was a bad moment, a terrible thing that happened ― but it happened, and they’ve grown out of the person who seemed to think would never recover from such thing,” Carlos continued, fidgeting a bit as the words came out of his mouth. “A broken heart isn’t pathetic, TK. It could never be. Now, you see those things that happened with the eyes of someone who changed both mind and life, and such thing might seem small ― but at some point, it wasn’t,” the man went on. “Besides, what is the misfortune of the storyteller, might just be the treasure of the poet.”

TK smiled a bit.

“And what does that mean?”

Carlos lit up in a grin.

“Tell the same ending in a poem and a chronicle, and then see what sells more,” Carlos explained. “People love misery when it comes in rhymes and hard words, I’ll tell you that much. It’s like a bad gift with a pretty box.” TK arched an eyebrow.

“A bad gift with a pretty box?”

Carlos shrugged.

“At least you got to build up expectations,” he replied. “And can still take a picture of it under the Christmas tree.”

TK laughed, just because he couldn’t seem to figure what else to do. And Carlos smiled, because that was apparently the natural reaction to the other man’s voice and presence, and the professor wasn’t about to fight that simple rule of nature.

The few minutes that followed in silence, then, were again as sheltered as they could be. Their drinks, by then cold and probably tasteless, got sipped once or twice as the two pair of eyes searched for nothing around the grass clothed in white and life.

“Thank you for listening,” TK broke the silence around them again. “And for your words. It means― they meant a lot to me,” he said, and Carlos smiled.

“Whenever you need,” he said. “I meant it, by the way. That I am proud of you.”

TK smiled fondly, and the two of them went back to walking aimlessly throughout the park. The skater’s fingers didn’t seem to stay still on the cup, though, as he fidgeted and hummed something to himself, as who makes a hard decision and thinks of it until the very last second.

Then, he sort of cleared his throat, and tried not to choke before speaking up one more time.

“Do you have plans for Christmas?” TK asked, and Carlos stared at him by the edge of his eye. He shook his head, and shrugged one more time.

“Haven’t thought about it, actually,” Carlos replied. “Guess I never really noticed just how much work took over my thoughts until recently,” he huffed. “Do you?”

TK shook his head, too.

“Not really,” TK said. “Haven’t felt really ‘merry’ this Christmas, frankly. This year’s been…” he shook his head, and Carlos chuckled.

“Yeah, it has,” Carlos agreed. “Also, I’m sort of stuck here in New York. And I’m terrified of crowds, so…”

“Not going to the Times Square?” TK asked, and Carlos shook his head.

“Not even if that’s what it takes to save my life,” he confessed, and TK laughed. “Really. I wouldn’t go there if the world was crumbling down and that was the only safe place to be.”

“A bit extreme, isn’t it?” TK asked. Carlos moved his head in denial.

“Not at all,” he said, laughing still.

Hardly any more steps further, and TK talked one more time.

“There’s a calm place,” he said, catching Carlos’ attention over again. “This calm place I know, actually. It’s a― uh, it’s a bit far from all the city lights, a simple inn. It’s hardly crowded, and the owners are a couple I met at some point in life. They invite me every year to spend Christmas with them,” TK said. “There’s food, gifts they either give you in person or send through mail, and is very, uh. Very nice, actually,” he concluded.

Carlos smiled little.

“Sounds amazing, TK,” he agreed. “Will you go?’

“Do you want to come?” the ice skater asked before Carlos could even finish his own question, startling even himself. “I― I mean, it’s calm and nice, and― and,” he stuttered. “And it’s always great to spend time with you, too,” his voice lowered, and Carlos smiled happily at him.

“I’d love to, TK,” he replied. “Won’t your friends mind, though? About you bringing a stranger to spend Christmas with them?”

TK snorted.

“Not if the stranger is you. Trust me,” he said, gladly, smiling almost childishly at anything that came to be in front of them as they still walked aimlessly around. Carlos laughed, and tried to hide the redness spreading over his cheeks and face.

.

As a child, Christmases would be a little out of place. His parents were hardly around, the decorations, if ever brought out the boxes, would be placed late in December, and taken off as soon as sunlight came up on the twenty-sixth day of the month, and midnight would come with silence around the walls.

He would try to wait for his parents so he could open the gifts, but they would hardly make it on time. His mother would be busy while trying to solve things to the firm, and his father would almost always take the shifts on the twenty-fifth ― because ‘no one should give up time with their family just because the Captain could do it’ ―, so TK would end up opening the wrapped boxes with Enzo, who would make him forget a bit about his loneliness.

He hadn’t celebrated Christmas for a few years, though ― he would have dinner with Enzo, sometimes at the fire house with Owen, but never something with lights, wrapped gifts and warm drinks.

So, driving at night towards a little inn on Christmas Eve, listening to the radio and stealing a few glances on Carlos’ direction was something brand new.

Not bad, though.

TK got rid of the feeling that he could get used to it, anyway.

He had met Carlos in front of the NYU library, for he had just finished another speech and yet didn’t give the little trip up. He was wearing a dark-blue suit, sharp and well-fitted, at which TK stared for more seconds than he should have, and his usual pair of glasses. Carlos was smiling when he got there, and offered TK the kindest of glances when he hopped on the passenger’s seat, asking the skater how his day had been.

And just like always, the conversation was light and warm from the second Carlos started it until the moment they got on the road, the two of them laughing between silences and lighthearted jokes. Carlos didn’t leave room for doubt nor fear of any reaction, and TK couldn’t help to be enchanted one more time, and then again, and even once more ― because it was Carlos, and it somehow meant something he dared to like more than he should.

Getting out of New York by the end of the day got them to the inn a bit inside the state in about three hours, in which they divided who was driving ― ‘because you invited me, and it’s only fair you don’t get there tired enough not to enjoy anything, TK’ ― and the lights already flickered against the darkness. As they parked, Carlos seemed bewitched by the place itself, and even more with the decorations and how sweet the air smelled.

The inn was simple, and looked like a long cottage taken by well-cared vines and flowers, and now by fairy-lights. The white walls contrasted with the dark tiles and the wooden windowsills and doors, and the stone path on the little path that led to the main pair of doors seemed to make Carlos’ eyes shine brighter than before.

“It’s cute, isn’t it?” TK asked, delighted with how Carlos seemed excited about it as the two of them took their backpacks and locked the car.

Carlos nodded, his smile wide on his face.

“It’s wonderful,” Carlos corrected him, his eyes frozen on the building. “This is amazing, TK. Oh, my―” he laughed. “This is amazing!”

TK laughed.

“Really? You like it that much?” he asked as the two of them started walking towards the door, and watched as Carlos nodded, almost as happy as a kid.

“It’s picturesque! And― oh, it’s amazing,” Carlos repeated, looking around. “One day I’ll live in a house like this,” he said, and TK arched an eyebrow.

“Don’t let Elena hear you,” TK warned. “Or she won’t let you even leave this place,” he said, and Carlos laughed a bit more.

Elena, turned out, was the owner of the in. When TK walked past the doors, her head immediately turned around to find him, getting up from where she was sitting on the table and opening her eyes as she walked towards both men, her eyes focused on the skater.

“TK!” she said. “Oh, my boy. I can’t believe you’re here,” the woman continued, her golden curls covering TK’s shoulder as she pulled him to a hug and kissed both his cheeks as a greeting.

“Hey, Elena,” he greeted, too. “Thank you for having me here,” TK said, and she dismissed the words with a gesture.

“Don’t say it, boy. I can’t believe you finally came,” she repeated, looking at him up and down before having her eyes finding Carlos’ frame a little behind. Then, she perked up, smiling kindly at him as well. “And who’s this?”

TK chuckled.

“This, Elena, is Carlos,” he introduced, and Carlos bowed his head politely. “A friend of mine.”

The woman let TK go, then, just to hug Carlos the same way she had hug TK at first, which took him by surprise.

“It is a joy to meet you, madam,” he said. “I value your gentleness for letting us spend Christmas here, also.”

Elena turned to look at TK, who shrugged and smiled.

“He likes hard words,” the man explained, and Elena smiled kindly.

“It’s nice to meet you too, sweetheart,” she turned to Carlos again. “Come on. I hope you’re all hungry.”

Taking one hand of each one in both her hands, Elena dragged them inside the warm environment the decorated house provided, the air smelling like cinnamon and welcoming. There was a huge Christmas tree in the middle of the living room, and a man trying to place a star without knocking it off ― Oscar, Carlos learned, who was married to Elena and just as sweet as she showed herself to be.

The night went on without anything other than happiness and lightness, TK and Carlos smiling and laughing most of the time, and somehow always close to each other. Oscar showed himself interested in ice-skating once TK mentioned it, and Elena was captivated with everything Carlos knew and could tell about History and the world he had visited a bunch of times.

They ate the food Elena had cooked, and TK found out that Carlos loved cooking, as well, as both him and Elena shared recipes and tips about baking and deep-frying things. Oscar would try to engage the conversation, too, but both him and TK would end up chatting about something sport-related or a random show they’ve watched from edge to edge.

Close to midnight, when Elena handed TK a sweater and apologized at Carlos for not having one for him ― which was dismissed and assured with a warm hug ―, the professor also handed skater a box, getting a surprised look in return.

“For the classes,” Carlos tried to justify. “And for being who you are,” he continued, and TK bit his lip so it wouldn’t tremble.

When TK opened the box to find a necklace with a little snowflake pendant, he held back a hiccup and looked around to find Carlos walking out of the room to help Elena in the kitchen. Then, he ran towards the professor, grabbing his arm and bringing him closer, nearly chest-to-chest, before thanking him in a low tone.

Carlos smiled, and then looked upwards, just for TK to copy and blush at the sight of a mistletoe.

The professor smiled sweetly, and TK gulped, but didn’t get the chance to gather words before Carlos bent a tad, pressing his lips to the skater’s cheeks.

TK, confused and delighted, smiled.

“Merry Christmas, TK,” Carlos said, and TK smiled even more.

Merry, for sure.

.

When TK’s flight back home came, Carlos was working.

They’d talked about it on New Year’s Eve, and got to say goodbye the night before the flight, with a tight hug and a promise none of them knew what was about.

He knew it was never permanent ― they both knew that.

Yet, it felt like he was leaving something behind.

Read the rest on Ao3.

#tarlos #tarlos fic #911 gift exchange #911giftexchange #911 lone star #carlos reyes #tk strand #911ls #911 fic #my writing #my fic #911 lone star fic

[umaficwriter]

SOUVENIR IS AMONG US!

KALIJAH SMUT DARINGS! 

I was feeling like shit and started this weeks ago, finally came to finish it and kinda don’t give a damn about how it turned out, still, hope you like it! 

You can read it on AO3 or FFNET or even, down below this lovely gifs. 

The light breeze of a New York’ spring night passed through Katherine mahogany curly strands as she admired Jane and Greenwich street down ten floors below. She engulfed a full breath, filling her lungs with the not so clear night air, cigarette smoke coming from the party on full swing behind her.

The balcony was empty. She had compelled anyone that came in her direction away, so it would stay that way.

Finally, Katherine Pierce had piece of mind.

She had run for so long, firstly from her past in Bulgaria, then from Klaus and all that his figure entailed, then she ran from him when he found her. And then she had made her escape when he failed her once again.

Elijah Mikaelson.

Not her biggest mistake, nor regret, but close enough to discomfort to make chills arouse in her body when she recalled his figure. His suits represented an armor she once thought she would be able to penetrate. Oh, was she wrong.

For he could never be truly hers.

Elijah was like an expensive gift you bought someone, just to regret later you gave it away when in fact you wanted it to yourself, when on his part. he seemed to consider her, them a disposable souvenir.

New York back in August, tenth floor balcony Smoke is floating over Jane and Greenwich street

 Katherine leaned over the steel railing, aiming her vision to the busy Big Apple streets. Her heightened senses catching the environment around her. The faint smell of putrid trash from the alley couple blocks away, the blinding headlights of cars so tiny from where she stood. The wind picking up the hairs on her arms, giving her body an enjoyable hum. The cigarette smoke entering the balcony from the lounge party behind her, the smell of sweat and sex lingering in the air coming from the humans inside the giant apartment that wasn’t hers.

She should go back down to hell; she was its Queen after all. Mystic Falls people had been so naïve believing she would die after the tunnels caught fire…

She was Katherine Pierce, a survivor, of the upscale kind, caring for her life, being it as a vampire or otherwise.

She had woken up, without Stefan, completely naked in the throne that had been hers for sometime now.

A smile had creeped itself on her features, her limbs stretching as if she was a sated cat after a long afternoon nap.

Since then, she had given up on tormenting that filthy gang. Stefan was truly dead, although not in Hell, for Katherine’s dismay. She wished she could enslave him for eternity, albeit looked like it wouldn’t happen.

Shrugging, Katherine looked over her shoulder to the gathering inside the condo. She didn’t know anyone there, as expected, she didn’t live in this world anymore. She was just passing by the human land, and soon enough, she would go back to Hell to ruin her tormenting souls even more.

Another strong breeze floated the NYC night, and that was when she felt it.

At first, only a discomfort in the pit of her stomach, similar of when she was being followed, or observed. Case being the latter tonight.

Goosebumps from your wild eyes when they're watchin' me

The smell the wind brought was rich blood, expensive cologne, leather from Italian shoes, moving in her direction.

Her unliving heartbeat scaled, for she knew very well whom was walking inside the recently opened balcony glass’ doors, bringing the blasting music to her ears.

Katherine didn’t dare uttering words, she maintained her position as the man closed the doors behind him, muffling the sound from the party once more.

Was he to think she was her doppelganger?

Katherine would prefer he did not make that mistake. She also knew he would not.

His presence was enough to make shivers run down her spine. Katherine wasn’t fazed by what they had in the past. She had decided to bury those feelings deep inside, still he awoke a brutal wave of desire inside her. And as a supernatural creature, her emotions were as heightened as of a vampire, if not more, considering she fed from souls as well as blood. The latter just for reminiscing the thrill of the hunt.

Shivers dance down my spine and head down to my feet

The hot night wind picked up her skin and she hugged herself, running her hands through her arms, before directing her speech at him.

“The noble, family-oriented brother so far from home. I wonder why is that?” her voice was laced with sarcasm, although Elijah picked up a faint tone of hurting. He couldn’t blame her.

After Niklaus’ death, Elijah had bid his family goodbye and decided against settling in New Orleans. Marcel had claimed his throne back, for being king had never been Elijah’s call.

Hope was attending the Salvatore Boarding School and he didn’t see the need to disturb his niece education, still he visited her and even took her to vacations when the time called for it.

Elijah had chosen traveling the world instead, although always coming back to the US for his supernatural business, New York to be precise.

The city always brought good memories into his troubled mind.

It reminded him of the second woman he had loved. So deeply, her name remained engraved in his heart and soul.

Elijah was aware he didn’t have any right to claim her, nor search for Katerina, so he had not.

He had talked to Alaric once about her whereabouts and it was then he had discovered of her last attempt in destroying them. They believed she had died in the fire.

Elijah never had.

She hadn’t the first time in 1864, she wouldn’t have this time around.

Still, imagine his surprise when he caught her silhouette in the veranda at a party one of his associates was throwing.

He wasn’t to attend, he never did. Petty, unimportant things he would justify. Except, this night he was strangely bored by his usual book and wine program, hence his presence.

Elijah couldn’t say he regretted it.

From the moment he walked into the large apartment, loud music and abusive expanse of drugs had surrounded him. The Original had gone to the bar and ordered various doses of whiskey, before his business subordinate had found him, urging him to mingle around the gathering, and have a proper drink.

Elijah had bled various wrists inside his glass, being slightly intoxicated by substances within the blood he fed from.  

And that was when he saw her.

Alone over the balcony, her slender body hugged by a lace black dress, her hair in soft waves adorning her stance and stopping over the middle of her spine.

That was, without a shadow of doubt, Katerina Petrova.

“Niklaus is dead,”

“I know,” she turned around to finally face him. “Lucifer fed from his soul,” Elijah saw the faintest of smiles quirking over her lips.

“Why didn’t you?”

“I assure you, he doesn’t remember who he is, so it’s no fun torture him,” she justified, for she knew that was what he wanted to know. “Although, he deserves it anyway, for everything he caused me,”

Elijah looked down at his expensive shinny shoes.

“Apologies are never going to fix that,”

“No, they won’t,” agreed the brunette woman.

“And what you’ve been up to?” the trivial question floated from the man’s mouth as he moved beside her and leaned his back over the steel banister.

Katherine mirrored his position with her wine glass in hand and almost scoffed with his bluntness. It was clear he already knew what she had been up to.

“You already know, skip the small talk, what is it you want from me?” she questioned before downing the last of her drink, setting her glass over the nearest surface. “I mean, aside from everything you’ve already taken, obviously,”

He deserved that; he also would take it.

“I’ve got word you’ve been ruling over Hell, although I was never certain of the veracity in this tête-a-tête,”

She rolled her eyes. Elijah was much smarter than that.

“You want to know about my line of work?” she asked a little taken aback, after all, what kind of mundane questioning was that?

“Well, you don’t seem too keen talking about our past, do you, Katerina?” he glanced at her from the corner of his eyes.

She gave him that credit.

He wanted a civil conversation? She could do that.

“I feed from blood just for the rush of it, although what I really need, all inhabitants from Hell for that matter, to survive is: souls.”

He nodded in understandment. “Any soul?”

Katherine shook her head “Supernatural souls,”

The pair didn’t utter a word for a little while.

“How’s your life without your brother?” she questioned. For anyone knowing their history, would claim she was only being cruel. Maybe a little bit yes, but Katherine really wanted to know how he felt.

Maybe she refused her devoted heart from breaking, but she still held Elijah dear. The Petrova only had a different way of showing it.

“Never thought life could be this calm,” he honestly answered, a ghost of a smile dancing in his features.

She smiled and turned her face at him.

“Do you miss him?” she already knew the answer, still she couldn’t avoid it from going out there.

“You already know the answer to that, Katerina,”

“True,”

“At first, I couldn’t stop thinking about him,” Elijah prompted and crossed his arms and legs in front of him. “but then, time has passed, and grief ran its course…” he paused “now he’s a pleasant and hurtful memory,”

“Just as me, I presume?”

He turned his upper body at her, unfolding his arms and passing his hands through his short brown hair.

“Just as you were half an hour ago,” he confirmed.

“You really did give up on us, didn’t you?”

He let out a heavy shudder “I couldn’t promise you anything, they’re were broken words, like stiches. It was shattered glass we could not put back together to perfection, so I let you be,” she didn’t turn her head back at him. “I’ve never forgotten about you, if that’s what you’re asking.”  

“You never came to say goodbye,” he didn’t respond to that “you know, Damon showed me a version of you with me, when I was in my deathbed, then you dissipated into his face and he promised he would kill you,”

“I’d like to see him try,”

“He’s human now,”

Elijah seemed surprised in hearing that piece of news; Alaric had never mentioned that, also he had never asked.

He turned to face the sky and the street ten floors down, she didn’t mirror his posture this time.

“What should I call you? To summon you.”

She let out a chuckle.

“That’s not how it works, Elijah,”

His name floating from her lips, made him aim his looks at her and smirk in amusement.

“You didn’t respond me, what is it Katherine and Katerina do?”

The woman looked down at her Jimmy Choos’ and folded her arms in front of her lace covered chest.

“Katherine rules Hell with iron fists, has no mercy whatsoever, never had, but when she comes up to the land of the living, she drinks nice wine, walks long distances…”

“What about Katerina?”

“She cooks,” they both smiled at that “and read lots of romance novels that remind her of what she never had,”

“You did have love,”

“You, then Stefan, then you again,” she pointed out unfolding her arms and counting on her fingers to emphasize. “and look how that turned out,”

Elijah looked away back into the beautiful night.

“What is it you want, Elijah?” it was her turn to question.

“Right at this moment?”

She turned her head in his direction. His eyes were locked with hers, his nose almost touching hers, his breath dancing in her face.

“Yes,” she whispered looking down through her lashes, just to look inside his eyes once more.

“You,” he whispered back and didn’t gave her time to refuse him as he advanced his lips to touch hers in a long kiss.

Katherine’s arms wrapped around his shoulders as their kiss deepened, his tongue invaded her mouth in a ferrous battle while his arms circled her waist in a vice grip, bringing her closer with nothing in between them aside from their clothes.

Elijah let out a groan when she bit his lower lip hard making it bleed, which she latched on looking up at him through her long lashes. He hissed and used one of his hands to grip the rail when she descended one of hers to the front of his trousers, fondling his half-hard member.

“Katerina,” he nibbled on her earlobe, while he moved her hand. His whisper sounding needy, and that was what he was indeed.

Elijah moved his mouth to her neck descending to the feminine jaw, ‘till he reached her plump lips again, but Katherine had other plans in mind.

The brunette woman pushed him away, until his back hit the far corner of the veranda. Elijah new what was to come. Usually, he would give her pleasure first, but she looked irrefutable into having him the way she wanted.

Katherine unzipped his slacks while attacking his mouth, his hands gliding along her slim arms, arousing modest shudders from her.

You're giving me chills at a hundred degrees

 She separated herself from his mouth and descended her body, kneeling in front of him. Freeing his length from its cloth prison, Katherine looked up at him and smirked deviously.

“Now you’ve summoned me, I must show you the extent of my abilities,”

Elijah smirked back at her, and it transformed into a board smile when he felt her hot mouth on him.

Her lips surrounding his penis felt amazing. Her skilled tongue swirling around him, making him murmur with excitement, while she bobbed her head making him harder than he was before.

His member pulsating inside her mouth made Katherine heart beat faster, he was delicious, and the sensations she was causing him, the sounds he was making as he slowly let himself relax, encouraged her to suck him harder and faster.

Her mouth left his member, as Elijah grabbed the back of her head, moving her face away from his lower region and bringing her to him, to engulf her in a passionate kiss.

Elijah spun her around and made her sit on the steel railing. With a swift move, he moved her panties away and ran his fingers through her folds, feeling how ready she was, he inserted two fingers, while she gripped his suit clad arms with such force Elijah didn’t know if it would heal as fast as it should.

The Original kept his slow pace, and when he felt her walls clenching his digits, he removed them from her, receiving a disapproving wail.

Katherine reopened her eyes only to close them shut, as Elijah replaced his fingers for his engorged shaft, filling her up with a strong thrust.

“Oh God!” she proclaimed and held his shoulders tighter.

“If saying that was wrong before, I can’t imagine how much more it is now,” he mocked as he kissed her neck and Katherine smirked, sighing as he moved almost all out of her, just to pump back in with another hard thrust.

She guided her mouth to his neck and moved his shirt collar away, biting him hard, while he started moving frenetic into her, searching their deliverance.

As their breathing shallowed signalizing their approaching climax, Elijah moved them to the glass doors.

Neither giving a damn about someone watching them.

Katherine’s back hit the surface hard, while she let out a moan appreciating the pain and feeling Elijah’s penis never leaving her aching core.

The man stopped his pace and observed the woman in his arms.

Her chest moving up and down, her face flushed and her lower lip between her teeth.

Katherine opened her doe orbs and looked straight into his.

All sounds dulled around. Her blood pumped hard against her hot skin.

“Tell me what you want,” he prompted in a throaty whisper, his whiskey-blood-laced breath hitting her face, his words transforming her insides into puddle.

She smirked and leaned her head ‘till her mouth touched his earlobe, pulling it with her teeth.

“I want you to finish what you started and fuck m-“

Elijah thrusted deep while Katherine swallowed her words.

An almost animalistic groan left her lips while he continuedly kept going, the hot friction creating a delicious sensation, building more and more, until the stars in the night sky mingled with the ones behind her closed eyelids.

Katherine didn’t speak his name when she came, although he whispered hers in a prayer to the devil herself.

His seed ran down her thighs as he collected himself and helped her lower her dress.

Neither elaborating on what had just happened.  

Calling your name, the only language I can speak Taking my breath, a souvenir that you can keep

 They met again two months later.

Mid October’ sundown shone beautifully over New York skyline while Katherine Pierce sashayed into the luxurious hotel lobby.

Elijah had invited her into his apartment in the 5th avenue, although the she-devil wanted to keep things carnal only, and frequent his place was opposite to that.

So, she had suggested a random hotel.

Knowing full well he would choose the one they’d stayed when looking for the Cure a lifetime ago.

Sunset tower lobby, waiting there for me

 And there he stood.

In all his glorified tailoress. Armani suit, combed back hair, elegant and subtle. Not giving away what was about to happen a few floors up in just a couple instants.

At the sound of high heels on the marble floors, Elijah looked up, smiling at the figure approaching.

He was hopeful she would come, as a good serve he waited so. Although regarding the possibility she could not.

Fortunately, he had been wrong.

They don’t greet using words, but he ghosts a hand on the small of her back, as he guided them to the elevator. Her hand grazes his upper thigh when they enter the gold metal box, he stands behind her, hovering over his new favorite thing in the world.

Guess she always has been, he only had just remembered one of the reasons why.

Katherine waits for the elevator to shut its double doors, before turning her neck to look over her shoulder, encountering his face inches from hers.

She smirks with the proximity that wasn’t uncomfortable anymore.

She leans up and captures his lips with hers in a sensual kiss. Her tongue darts out to touch his and that’s when Elijah moves them to the lift’s wall, his hands multiplying as he tried and touch her every inch at the same time.

Katherine’s head hangs back as he explores her neck with his mouth, only a hint of his fangs coming out to play and that pulls a moan from her throat.

When the transport dings its destination, he reluctantly breaks their contact, and lets her out into the presidential floor first.

In the elevator, fumble for your key Kissed in every corner, Presidential Suite

Opened a Bordeaux from 1993

 When Elijah opens up the room’s door, contrary of what Katherine thought, he does’t jump right back at where they left.

He aims his steps to the light’ switch and dims it, leaving the room in a comfortable yellow glow.

Outside the twilight shows itself purple and orange, subtly letting the night in.

Elijah goes for the glass’ center table, and only then she notices the wine bottle as well as two glasses siting there.

He had thought everything through then, huh?

What did he think this was?

A reconciliation encounter?

Even with those questions inside her head, she collected her tongue and accepted the wine glass when he offered it to her.

“My favorite,” she quips after tasting the grape fermented juice.

He sheepishly smiles at her , downing his own drink.

Putting her glass aside, she goes to him. Her walk purposeful, her heeled feet tapping on the hardwood floors, her hips swaying, and Elijah appreciates the sight.

Elijah deposits his glass by the side table and backings until he reaches the king sized bed.

“And now what?” he quips, his voice low and husky as he leans back, sitting on the mattress, his chin up high to face her standing figure.

“I though you had it all figured out, my Lord,” she taunts, tilting her head and smirking at him.

Elijah chuckles and meets her cockiness.

“Oh, but I do,”

Katherine’s eyes go wide, her lips forming an ‘o’.

“Is that so?” she pushes and leans herself forward, her hands gripping his parted knees.

Elijah’ smile doesn’t leave his face as he contemplates her mannerisms.

Katherine’s face is closer now, her wine hot breath blows on his face, as he looks through his lashes at her plump lips.

How he missed touching her.

But he lets her have her fun, looking back into her cocoa orbs.

Like a cat she’s slow on her actions, calculating every slight move while she climbs in bed straddling his thighs.

Her eyes never leave his and their wordless communication turns her on just as much as his touch.

Speaking of, why wasn’t he?

“Afraid I’m gonna burn you?”

“If anything is I who burns for you, Katerina,” he justifies, his head going to the hollow of her neck and shoulder, grazing his teeth there.

She hisses with the caress and her hands travel from his knees to his shoulders, moving his suit jacket away from his frame.

With his tongue darting out to taste her neck, Elijah whispers in her ear

“Delicious just as the forbidden fruit,”

“Rich, since you’re tasting the devil herself,”

He chuckles again and takes a yelp out of her sinking his fangs deep into her flesh and vamp speeding them to the nearest wall.

The coherence escapes the doppelganger as the sensations of shared blood curse through her body.

Her legs are wrapped strongly around her lover’s waist and his member is pressing between her jean-clad legs, and it feels like heaven, more so when unconsciously, Elijah starts to thrust forward into her.

“Oh, yes…” her breath is caught up her windpipe.

The sharp nails tinted black she possesses go to his man shirt and tear the fabric apart to find his bare back and scratch it with will.

His groan as he moves his head from her jugular is guttural and makes her chill in excitement.

Elijah’s fangs are out, his lips red from her blood and the veins around his eyes are prominent.

He’s the beast she wants and when she goes to kiss him, he trumps her, enveloping them in a bruising lip locking.

The Original dismisses her jacket and blouse like rag, although leaves her bra on, vamp speeding them back to bed, throwing her over the soft surface.

Katherine gets rid of her jeans and boots as the man does the same with his garments, leaving only his boxers on.

If she was to be the she-devil, he certainly was a Greek God.

Elijah’s body was built, strong and as his fangs subsided, his beauty screamed old world elegance, even more so alluring with his bloody face.

He’s standing at the foot of the bed, staring at her hungrily, his chocolate irises almost didn’t show such was his lust.

Katherine knew better than thinking her eyes were any different.

She knelt over the bed. Her hair tousled, lips parted, black lace adorning her flawless body.

Neither moved further.

It was a battle of sorts.

Who would give in first?

Katherine didn’t like losing.

Although she despised wasting time.

And thinking of that she makes her crawling to him.

A hunting peer.

She was the beast now.

Her lips reach for him.

She kisses his navel, going up to his stomach as she feels his muscles contracting there. She looks up and Elijah has his eyes half opened, trying to fight the urge to let it completely go.

Katherine giggles mischievously and ascends her kisses to his nipples, as he finally touches her again.

His hands going directly to her breasts and squeezing them through the fabric of her bra.

Katherine’s nose is nuzzling his jaw as she hums her approval. The wetness of her tongue darts out to taste her dried blood of his face, her hands running through his hair while she pulls that back, making his neck available for her to taste.

And drink.

And as she laps her tongue, filling her body with rich Original blood, Elijah moves her panties out of the way, inserting a long digit inside of her.

Katherine stops her feeding to moan into his neck while he joins another finger in.

“Don’t stop…” she pleads and he has no intention to whatsoever.

Just as expertly, her skilled hands take his briefs off the way, the heat of her palm in contact with his erect shaft.

Elijah lets out a grunt while moving his ministrations in her pussy faster, seeking her release just as she does his.

The scene was sensual, erotic in its maximum, the blood she spills when she comes with a loud wail runs down his neck and chest, just as her juices travel down his hand and wrist.

She’s panting, in her mind only his face and form.

With a strong tug, the eldest vampire alive takes off her bra, throwing the material carelessly behind him and pushes his Katerina down onto the now stained red sheets, as his head and lips descend on her hard nipples.

He plays with them, biting and soothing it after with a blow, making her writhe beneath him.

“Lijah…” she implored.

But for what?

For him to make her cum again?

For the Original vampire to let her go?

Was she begging for release? Of what kind?

Katherine liked to think herself headstrong, but when he touched her like this, doing what only he knew how and for how long and how intense, she couldn’t straight her thoughts. Every pierce of knowledge she knew of flew through the window and the only thing left were the increasing sensations.

She didn’t know how to love anymore.

For if she did, this would be their lovemaking.

As it always has been.

Although, Elijah certainly awakened something inside her being.

Something he knew how to tame.

Calling your name, the only language I can speak Taking my breath, a souvenir that you can keep

Slowly letting her flesh mounds go, Elijah trailed down kisses until he was facing her wet entrance.

Katherine’ soft gasps echoed around the room as the man sucked her clit and gripped her thighs so forcefully, restraining himself from devouring her in one go.

Teeth grazed sensible skin and his breath oh so close washed away every curse she had in mind to praise him.

The woman could only make wonderful sounds as she moved her hips in encounter with his face.

“So sinfully divine,” he complimented, shifting his position to kiss her inner thighs not allowing her to come a second time.

“Says the saint,” ironized the girl her hands up gripping the sheets, her boobs moving with her heavy breathing.

Elijah chuckled in response.

“Am not. Regardless, Katerina let me blessedly cherish you just as such,” a raised eyebrow and a light lift of his lips, as well as those chocolate irises were all Katherine had time to process, before he was plugged to her, filling her to the hilt.

Her surprised shriek, followed by a whisper of his name fueled Elijah to take himself all out and thrust with no mercy once again.

“Fuck! Yes!” she exclaimed closing her eyes with the wonderous building up sensation growing on her lower abdomen. Circling her legs around his middle, draping her arms over his shoulders, Katherine moved her hips in encounter to his.

Male hands were everywhere as he fucked her deep. His mane being tousled by her fingers as she grunted in his ear.

“You’re such an obedient subject,” she played with the words, nibbling his earlobe as their bodies shook with the force of their bang.

He moved his head from her neck to look at her, a glimmer shinning in his beautiful eyes, as he moved her away from him.

Katherine was to open her mouth in protest, only a moan came instead when he palmed her pussy and flipped her on her stomach.

“However, I might cherish you the way I choose to,” the sultry velvet pouring out of his mouth, as well as his fingers assaulting her labia were enough to make her body shudder in a second orgasm.

Katherine was almost begging for him to enter her again.

Almost.

She bit her lower lip and enjoyed as he so subtly ran the tip of his penis along her entrance.

“Enough teasing,” she commanded after an instant, albeit her body moved back and forth to try and get him inside of her.

“And what do you want me to do, Katerina?”

Maybe she should be preoccupied this man could replace her as the devil, he certainly knew about torture.

On her hands and knees she turned her head back, her long curly hair slapping the bed, and watched the precum dripping from him.

Tempting.

“You’re gonna fuck me, with that gorgeous cock of your-“

Her hands automatically sought the wooden headboard as the vampire reentered her from behind efficiently.

A ragged breathy moan accompanied by a wave of pleasure shook the doppelganger as he deliberately inserted himself in and out of her.

His hands firm on her waist guiding her to the rhythm of his groaning.

“Katerina,” he loudly whispered seeking them both their ultimate bliss.

The sound of his palm colliding with her buttchecks made her yelp in surprise and laugh in delight.

She always liked it rough and Elijah knew it. That was exactly why he full fisted pulled her hair back as he increased the speed of his thrusts.

“Say that I fuck you like no one else does,”

She closed her eyes when his breath hit her ear. A wide cat smile appearing on her features when he enveloped her neck in his hand, aiming for lightly choking her while still moving, only slower now.

“Like you needed the reassurance,” she shot back with a groan when he went deeper.  

Elijah smiled closing his hand tighter around her slim neck.

“I want to hear you say it,” he prompted taking his member almost all off and going in slapping their bodies together.

“Yes!” she chocked hanging her head back.

Elijah felt her walls clenching around him, so he retreated himself letting his fangs come out once again.

Katherine moaned in pleasure when his vampire teeth sank on her shoulder, his moves slow and languid.

This was to be the most amazing torture out there.

She wanted to let go, although without ever leave.

“Harder,” her command was clear and he bit her deeper on her shoulder.

“Faster!” she pleaded against her better judgment and felt his balls hitting on her pussy.

It was animalistic the way he was having her. Devouring her in all ways he could. Mind, body and soul.

He didn’t know if he would have her again, so he would prolong it the best he could.

“Say it, Katerina,” he quipped blowing on her ear, the blood dripping from his fangs on her glistening bare back.

Her mouth formed an arch in bliss with his never stopping but oh so slow moves.

“You have me like nobody else does,” she whispered in surrender, feminine hands back at the headboard, while his traveled back down from her neck to her waist.

“Now, I shall the devil to heaven,”

She laughed while he sank himself deep and hard into her wet inviting hole.

Their juices mixing as they both watched the lights dancing in front of their eyes.

Katherine came first in a trembling cry, her curly head hanging low as she felt Elijah cock explode inside of her.

You're giving me chills at a hundred degrees

Her body felt like the sun kissed it as they both laid spent between the blood smeared sheets.

Elijah had the sweetest of smiles, as if he hasn’t been the most pervert beast only a couple minutes prior.

Her hair was plastered on her sweated forehead and the man beside her moved his thumb to take it away from her face.

Katherine offered him a sated smile and wrapped her leg around him.

“What would you say about becoming my sex slave?”

Elijah laughed with that and leaned to bless her lips with his in a brief kiss.

“I would say you need to test drive the vassal again,” his voice sensual as they locked eyes and a smile appeared in her own face.

“Just to be sure I made a good deal?”

He nodded in agreement his hand traveling the side of her body, his fingers featherlight on the side of her breasts as he thrusted his hip into hers.

Katherine’s hands went to his short hair.

“Just to be sure,” he finally said sinking his head down for another kiss.

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[melodythefab]

An Interview with Inferno~

50 Character Builder Questions for your Tabletop Character by Ginny Di

Are you a morning person or more of a night owl?

I am much more of a morning person. I like to wake up early, to start moving as the sun rises and feel sunlight on my skin and feel the rest of the world waking up with me.

What’s the first thing you notice about a person when you meet them?

The way they stand. Do they stand proud? Or do they seem like they have something to hide? Are they fidgeting with something? Do they look comfortable or nervous?

You see a huge spider in your room. What do you do?

Catch it and let it out. I don’t want to kill an innocent creature.

If you could go back and change one decision you made in the past, what would you change?

I would change how I didn’t go to Greenwich sooner. Maybe I’d have met Shortiss, Todd, and Cochann sooner. I was fine, of course, so were they, but I wonder what might’ve happened.

Tell me about your first kiss.

*deadpan* no.

Do you give people second chances?

Of course. I believe there is good in everyone, but also that everyone has a capacity to do evil. We must work with each other to bring the light out in ourselves and others.

Except for Todd. He receives no sympathy from me.

Are you a cat person or a dog person?

Dogs ☺️

Do you think you’re attractive?

By Genasi standards or human ones? I wouldn’t say so, probably, but Basil complimented my muscles the other day, so perhaps? (Me: baby that was for a Bardic no-)

What’s your worst habit?

Letting Todd make any decision with consequences.

(It’s hair upkeep. It might be made of fire, Inferno, but you still have to take care of it).

When was the last time you cried?

It- it’s been a while. I won’t lie, I teared up fighting those black dragons about a month ago, but I also almost died, so I believe I had good reason.

But the last time I really cried- Probably the time I realized I can’t save everyone all the time. That still weighs heavily on me. I’ve come to accept it now, to some extent, but I still wish I could.

Are you a good liar?

In theory, yes. In practice, no. (Read: high charisma, but I always get shitty rolls)

What’s your biggest pet peeve?

Being Todd.

Ok, but really. I’m not sure if this counts as a pet peeve or not, but having a general disregard for the welfare of others.

Have you ever had your heart broken?

In the sense that this is asking? No. However, when we found the Sword of Tyr (I’m pretty sure it’s a homebrew weapon our DM made for her. Basically she has to prove herself worthy to the sword to unlock its full potential.) and I realized that for some reason, I’m not considered worthy by Tyr yet, I’m fairly sure that’s what heartbreak feels like.

It’s okay, though. I’m fine. I just need to do better. I won’t give up.

Are you more likely to use your fists or your words in an argument?

Words first, but then, swords are a fantastic backup option.

What’s something you’re naturally good at?

I’m pretty naturally good at healing. Of course, having Lay on Hands and Cure Wounds helps, but I’m usually pretty good at patching up my friends.

What’s something you had to work hard to be good at?

I have to work really hard to be even remotely passable in anything dexterous. You’d think a warrior like myself would be able to handle a slippery floor or even just hopping into a Bag of Holding, but those are both things that have felled me when my enemies have failed to. (Poor baby has a -2 modifier and I roll really bad for every single Dex check.)

Can you tell when someone is flirting with you?

Absolutely not. Honestly, that entire realm, romance and affection, are just entirely beyond me.

Do you think money can buy happiness?

No. Money can supply temporary happiness. Drinks at the tavern, fancy homes, that sort of thing. But real happiness- at one point, I wasn’t sure it really existed outside of fairy tales. But now I know that true happiness is found in those around you. Shortiss, Cochann, Todd, and even our two additions, Ember and Basil, they’ve all helped me realize that I need my friends just as much as they need me. I don’t think they know it, but I’d throw myself in front of a million dragons if it meant they were safe. They’ve changed my life, and I am forever grateful.

Do you believe in destiny?

Yes. Everyone has a destiny. Life is an ever-winding road leading you there. It’s impossible to avoid, but really, why would you? Destiny is what you were meant to do. Your destiny will see you at your very strongest and push you into greatness. One day I know I’ll reach mine. Until then, I’ll just get stronger and keep growing.

Are you a good cook?

I’m literally made of fire. Everything burns.

Surprisingly enough, though, Ember’s not a bad cook.

What do you think happens after you die?

Well, valiant warriors, those who give their lives for others and would fight ‘til their dying breath, those people go to Valhalla or Folkvangr to dine with the gods and prepare for Ragnarok. For others, Hel most likely awaits.

Did you have to grow up fast?

No. I was blessed with a good father and a good station. I was always mature for my age, but I know that’s not nearly the same thing.

Who do you look up to?

I’m not sure I really look up to anyone. I must carve my own path in this world.

When you go to a tavern, what do you order?

Usually something light, or nothing at all. Todd drinks enough for all of us.

What do you like most about yourself?

I’m persistent as hell. I’m also pretty hard to kill.

What do you like least about yourself?

Sometimes I get caught up and lose myself in my own competitive drive, and it causes me to lose my good judgement. *grins* I blame Cochann. He’s a bad influence. (She doesn’t really blame him. He is, however, a bad influence. Only sometimes, though.)

Are you a planner, or more spontaneous?

Spontaneous. If I make plans, I make them in the moment.

Can you keep a secret?

Absolutely.

Do you like being the center of attention?

Not usually. I tend to stay towards the back of most situations with Shortiss. Basil is far more fit for the attention, anyways.

If you knew you were going to die tomorrow, what would you do today?

I wouldn’t do a single thing different. If I’m destined to die, I’ll go down fighting.

Do you enjoy getting all dressed up for a special occasion?

Not really, but polishing my armor and sharpening my blades gives me a similar feeling, I think.

Where do you feel safe?

With my friends. Sure, they can be annoying, but I know nobody has my back like they do. *laughs* Yes, even Todd.

Do you love or hate being alone?

At one point, I probably would’ve said I love it, but now I can’t imagine being without my friends.

What’s the last nightmare you remember having?

Well, I have horrific nightmares about what will happen if the Cult of the Dragons succeeds exactly every fifth night. That is what drove me to this quest anyways.

Do you admit to mistakes when you make them?

I try to.

Do you want to grow up to be like your parents?

No. My father was a good man, but I have my own destiny.

How do you deal with being sick? Are you stoic, or super whiny?

I legitimately cannot get sick.

What did your parents expect from you when you were born?

My father didn’t truly expect much from me. He always just told me I should strive to be good and do good.

Do you have a strong sense of style?

Fighting style, yes.

Would you rather camp outdoors or stay the night in an inn?

Depends. How good is the inn? What’s the weather like? I refuse to sleep in the rain. It messes with my hair. (We’ve decided she’s like a charmander and if the flame goes out, she, like, dies. Maybe not completely but Bad Stuff happens.)

Is there a food that most people like that you absolutely hate?

I’m pretty tolerable of most foods.

Are you more of a hoarder or a minimalist?

Minimalist. I don’t carry much.

Are you superstitious?

No. (Yes.)

Are you the kind of person who remembers people’s birthdays and pets’ names and stuff?

Absolutely. My mind is an iron lock. (No it’s not. She tries, though.)

What do you do to feel better when you’re sad?

I go to my friends. They always know how to cheer me up. Maybe some friendly competition with Cochann, sitting and chatting with Shortiss or Ember, or doing whatever the hell it is Basil and Todd normally do.

Is it hard for you to trust someone?

Not really. Unless it looks like they’ve got something to hide.

Are you susceptible to peer pressure?

No. Well, not on the things that matter.

If you decided to stop adventuring and settle down, what kind of job would you take?

I’m not sure. I would probably want to be a healer. Maybe find a village to protect. Honestly, though, I cannot see myself giving up this life. I’ve sworn an oath to Tyr. Every day must be spent making sure I follow through.

As a kid, what did you want to be when you grew up?

Truthfully, this. I wanted to be a noble adventurer who helped the innocent and did good deeds. I think if, back then, I’d known one day I’d slay a real dragon, well, I probably would’ve exploded from pure excitement.

#ah! she speaks! #dnd #inferno

[thecoleopterawithana]

Omfg thank you for your precious answer you're my favorite tumblr !! I have so many things I'd like to ask you bc you explain so well lol, first of all what do you think of the story of Tony Manero ? Do you think he tells the truth with his story ? Again thank you for your answer love youuuu

Hey again, dear anon! (I’m assuming you’re the one from before) Thank you so much for your kind words! I’m truly happy you're enjoying the blog, and that it is engaging enough to make you want to ask questions. I’m more than happy to try my best at answering them because I learn a lot in the research for these posts too!

For context, Tony Manero was a Brooklyn singer/dancer (who claims to be the inspiration for the main character in 1977′s Saturday Night Fever, though no movie-related source mentions it).

He comes up frequently in Beatles’ fandom circles as a “key witness” in the ongoing case of John Lennon’s sexuality. His testimony appears in Geoffrey Giuliano’s Glass Onion (1999), where he is interviewed on his encounter with John Lennon on the streets of New York City, on May 1974:

TONY MANERO*

Interview

New York, Summer 1992

Question: Tell me your story about meeting John Lennon.

Tony Manero: It was back in May of 1974. I saw three guys walking down the block. John was always my idol. I went up to him and said, "I know a lot of people hassle you, but I just want to thank you for your music. I've enjoyed you and you've helped me through a lot of emotional times." Outside Jimmy's Bar in Greenwich Village he said, "Why don't you come inside for a drink?"

Question: Who else was with him?

Tony: Harry Nilsson was also there. After we ordered drinks, John switched seats to be next to me. He said to me, "Are you gay?" When I told him I wasn't, he looked really disappointed. He could have been joking, but he wasn't. My initial reaction was fear. And yet I wouldn't leave because it was John Lennon. I said to him, "No, man. I don't go that way." "Are you sure?" he said, "Look, I'll take you to Hollywood." John was calling me "the pretty one." He told me, "You're the prettiest chick I've seen all day." He said, "You look like a pretty little Indian or Arab chick," because of my color skin. I remember Harry was borrowing one hundred bills from him.

Question: Then what happened?

Tony: At one stage I went out, and when I came back he was talking to this woman and he said "She said, 'I thought he was Paul, meaning McCartney.'" So John turns around and says, "No, he's prettier than Pauly. He's got a nicer mouth than Pauly. Pauly's got a small mouth." Then he turned to me and said, "Let's go get some chicks." This man was giving me a dream to pay millions for. I hung out with him. John almost admitted his gay tendencies. He put his arm around me. He said, "It feels good to hold someone. You know what I mean?" Prior to that he said, "There's nothing wrong with being gay. Two people exchanging feelings is not wrong. Did you ever try it?" People were following us. We were wasted and he put his arm around one girl and said "Suck my cock." He stuck his tongue down her throat. We were loaded. Somebody stole the hat right off his head! He was so nice. I remember we had a hamburger. Later we went to his hotel rooms, 1608, -9, and -10. There was Harry's bedroom, John's, and a living room with a keyboard. He gave me a guitar, but it was later stolen. He propositioned me in the street. Hassled me if I'd ever made love to a male. "Will you give me head, man?" he asked. But I wouldn't do it. "Come on, Tony, why won't you give me head?" We went back to his hotel and he propositioned me again. After John died I wished I'd done it. He tried to kiss me. He put his arm around me. He was making moves on me like a guy would make on a woman. We were on the couch and we lay down. I said, "Wow, maybe I should have." I never asked him if he'd had sex with a man, but it was obvious to me he had. I was at the hotel for a few days. But he never bothered me in the middle of the night. He never attempted it again. There were feelings and looks. He was very loving, like when a guy is very lonely. The man was bisexual - there is no two ways about it. He was feeling me out.

Question: What do you say to people who might not believe your story?

Tony: John did come on to me. He did try to make love to me. He asked me to perform a lewd act - that's the truth. The man was bisexual - there's no two ways about it. Any of his fans who can't dig that, I'm sorry, because if you listen to his music, sensitivity and experiencing is what it's all about.*Tony Manero was the inspiration behind the seventies film Saturday Night Fever and a successful New York businessman.

— in Geoffrey Giuliano’s Glass Onion: The Beatles In Their Own Words (1999), part Seven: Friends (pages 315-317).

Concerning Manero’s recollections, some familiar elements pop up.

There is "It feels good to hold someone. You know what I mean?" which seems to echo Paul’s recollections of his last hug with John, where the latter commented, “It’s good to touch.” It is a classical example of John craving physical affection.

"There's nothing wrong with being gay. Two people exchanging feelings is not wrong. Did you ever try it?" reminded me immediately of the poem John submitted for Len Richmond and Gary Noguera's Gay Liberation Handbook, on 30 May 1972.

Why make it sad to be gay?

Doing your thing is O.K.

Our bodies our own

So leave us alone

Go play with yourself - today.

Also, there are his comparisons to Paul, "No, he's prettier than Pauly. He's got a nicer mouth than Pauly. Pauly's got a small mouth." 

First, there’s the use of the adjective pretty, which he’s used for Paul before:

I remember we were going down to the studio [...] and there was a great crowd pressing against the car. John was sitting in the back and he said, “Push Paul out first. He’s the prettiest.”

—Victor Spinetti, in the documentary You Can’t Do That! The Making of ‘A Hard Day’s Night’ (1995).

Also, there’s “that Paulie business” (note that’s it’s Paulie, not Pauly; and John will object if you use it, especially in a condescending way!).

Moreover, to me, the whole exchange strikes the same tongue-in-cheek tone as this late 1975 interview:

John: Yes, all your best friends let you know what's going on. I was trying to put it 'round that I was gay, you know-- I thought that would throw them off... dancing at all the gay clubs in Los Angeles, flirting with the boys... but it never got off the ground.

Q: I think I've only heard that lately about Paul.

John: Oh, I've had him, he's no good. [Laughter]

— John Lennon, interviewed by Lisa Robinson for Hit Parader: A conversation with John Lennon (December 1975).

John had already insinuated his relationship with Paul in a similar way in this humorous self-interview:

Q. Have you ever fucked a guy?

A. Not yet, I thought I’d save it til I was 40, life begins at 40 you know, tho I never noticed it.

Q. It is trendy to be bisexual and you’re usually ‘keeping up with the Jones’, haven’t you ever… there was talk about you and PAUL…

A. Oh, I thought it was about me and Brian Epstein… anyway, I’m saving all the juice for my own version of THE REAL FAB FOUR BEATLES STORY etc.. etc..

Q. It seems like you’re saving quite a lot for when you’re 40...

A. Yes, there might be nothing better to do, tho I don’t believe it.

— John Lennon, interview conducted by/on John Lennon, and/or Dr Winston O’boogie, for Andy Warhol’s Interview Magazine (November 1974).

I introduce all of this because if there’s one thing I at first found odd in Manero’s account, it was John’s forwardness. John doesn’t strike me as a guy to openly proposition another man. Was he really just super keen on it? Was he getting liquid courage from all the substances? Was he trying to get those rumours off the ground? A mix of all three? 

But perhaps it’s wrong to look at 1974 as just a normal year. 

Lennon’s Lost Weekend was the time of his life where we can see him be the most publicly vocal about his curiosity. He was open about being open. 

And striking friendships with gay musicians like Elton John probably gave him someone who he could talk to, or at least explore the world of gay bars with. Whatever gets you through the night, it’s alright, after all. 

One of those “dancing at all the gay clubs” episodes has been recounted by musician and music producer Mark Hudson. In a “weird but beautiful” moment, John urged the group to join him on the dancefloor, when The Three Degrees’ ‘When Will I See You Again’ came playing through the speakers and he exclaimed, “I love this song!” 

Because it’s always informative to pay close attention to the songs that were resonating with them at any particular time, I’ll provide the lyrics to ‘When Will I See You Again’ (released in the US on September 1974):

Precious moments

When will I see you again

When will we share precious moments

Will I have to wait forever

Will I have to suffer

And cry the whole night through?

When will I see you again

When will our hearts beat together?

Are we in love or just friends?

Is this my beginning

Or is this the end?

When will I see you again?

May Pang reports in her book, Loving John (1983), that after she and John left LA to go back to NY — where, after some time at The Pierre hotel, they moved to small penthouse apartment on East Fifty-second Street, around July 1974 —  the McCartney’s had paid them a visit.

John would spend the next two months recording Walls And Bridges, before releasing it on 26 September 1974. It included tracks such as the aforementioned ‘Whatever Gets You Through The Night’, ‘#9 Dream’ and also the beautiful ‘Bless You’:

Bless you wherever you are

Windswept child on a shootin' star

Restless spirits depart

Still we're deep in each other's hearts

Some people say it's over

Now that we spread our wings

But we know better, darlin'

The hollow ringIs only last year's echo, oh-oh

Bless you whoever you are

Holding her now, be warm and kind-hearted

And remember though love is strange

Now and forever our love will remain

As a song, I think it's the best piece of work on the album, although I worked harder on some of the other tracks. In retrospect, that seems to be the best track, to me.

— John Lennon, interviewed after the release of the album, cited in John Blaney’s John Lennon: Listen to This Book (2005).

(I’m sorry, I got sidetracked by their love for one another...)

But getting back to Manero’s story, you asked me if I think it is the truth or not. And honestly, there’s really no way to be completely certain of the veracity of these accounts. Having said that, I don’t really see this story as the scandalous, explosive news it is often made out to be. Not because I think it might be untrue, necessarily, but because I personally feel like John’s interests in homosexuality come through in his own words, as we’ve seen in the previous post.

For me, it seems clear that there was an attraction there. Now, an even more interesting question, I feel, is how much of that attraction was about the physicality of the male body; how much was about the contact with one’s softer, more sensitive side, not allowed in the classic moulds of toxic masculinity; and how much of it was seeking sexual contact as a way to epitomize emotional intimacy? 

And with the complexity of human beings, it is fair and likely that there were little bits of all three elements involved. But perhaps, it’s best to continue that line of thought in another post...

But what do you guys think? I'd really like to hear your thoughts on the subject!

#John Lennon #paul mccartney #Elton John #the beatles #asks me why #I'm not a homosexual or we could have had a homosexual relationship #the lost weekend #Whatever gets you thru the night it's alright #the person I actually picked as my partner #johnny #macca #for you were in my song #Bless You #3rd verse #1974 #meta #my stuff

[flameontheotherside]

Trusting in Myself and My Experience With Jimi Hendrix

Hi, it’s Autumn Wells, The Loving Teacher, again. This is a post on my thoughts on trusting in myself and my experience with Jimi Hendrix.

It was a long journey with many ups and downs, because a lot of people around me just couldn’t understand what I was experiencing. I tried to explain away the experience I had with Jimi for years, too, because I really was afraid of afterlife communication at one point.

I’ve definitely come a long way, in learning how to trust in myself and my own experiences. Because my path is kind of unconventional, I had to deal with a lot of skepticism from others, from people telling me I should question my experiences because they weren’t properly Biblical, to people telling me that it was unlikely for someone as famous as Jimi to visit me.

I always had to grin a little when I heard about how Jimi’s fame supposedly made it unlikely for him to visit me. Jimi was known throughout his life for being one of the most humble souls anyone ever knew. He never let his fame keep him from meeting people he could dig and get along with. I don’t see any reason why his humbleness would disappear in the afterlife.

Jimi grew up poor in Seattle, so he knew what it was like to not be famous and struggle to make a living. He spent a lot of his early years working as a side guitarist for bigger stars, so he knew what it was like to be an unknown. He was kind of amazed by how he became so famous in 1966, with the hit single “Hey Joe”. At the time, Jimi said in the 1960’s:

I was completely unknown in America until the word got back that the British dug my music. Now it’s sellout business here. At the clubs in Greenwich Village, we’re welcomed like gods. Nobody who is continually experimenting with music makes big money, but they get respect in the right quarters. I don’t do anything that different, but suddenly the magazines like Life and Time are writing about me.

It’s a funny feeling. These are the same people who first laughed. Ha, ha! Now I’m not stupid Jimi anymore, I’m Mr. Hendrix. They try to analyze me and come up with a psychiatrist’s report, and it doesn’t sound like me one little bit. They don’t know what’s running through my blood. We live in a different world. My world? That’s hunger. It’s the slums, raging race hatred, and the only happiness is the kind you can hold in your hand.

Like Jimi, I also had a difficult life. We both dealt with abusive situations, although the dynamics were slightly different. However, that only made us tougher in the end.

Anyway, back to the doubt from others… the fame, and the fact that I didn’t meet Jimi in person, seemed to be what people pointed out the most. I can understand being skeptical; I was skeptical about this for years, but at some point, when the experiences keep happening, and they have a profound effect on your life, you have to accept them for what they are.

I always loved Jimi, deep down inside, but it was something I didn’t want to consciously accept for a long time. I knew it wasn’t normal to be in love with someone who passed away before you were even born, so I tried to forget about it, but I was always drawn to Jimi again. When he showed me the same love, and helped heal the distrust I had for years about close relationships, I finally just lost my heart to him. He helped me learn to love myself, and he opened my heart again.

This whole experience has helped me become a much kinder, more loving person. This is why even though I’m not a literal follower of the Bible, I know that these experiences are from God. Good spiritual experiences help you become a more loving, humble person, regardless of what religion you follow.

I believe in God, through Jesus Christ, very much, but I also am open to knowledge from indigenous and shamanic cultures around the world.I don’t follow any one religion because I’ve found wisdom in many different cultures.

Anyway, I’ve learned to trust in myself and my own experiences very much. Reading Monique’s blog really helped me to see that I really can trust in my own experiences.

It took me time to build this trust in myself and my experiences. I’ve been an empathic and spiritual person ever since these experiences really came to the forefront in my life, but I didn’t know whether I could trust myself. However, after having psychic experience after psychic experience, I had to realize it was all real.

For instance, I had psychic visions of Jimi Hendrix’s life before I even knew much about it. As a child - only about 9 or 10 years old - I had a vivid dream I’ll never forget. It was about Jimi and this lady with dark hair. I was watching them, as I sat on the steps of this old house. The lady told Jimi she was tired of dealing with him, and she abandoned him, leaving Jimi to sadly gaze after her. But then he turned to me, and he said, “You look like a nice girl.” I smiled shyly, but he took me into my arms and whirled me around, and we were so happy to be with each other, so happy.

I can still remember that dream like yesterday. What stood out about it was that it was a psychic peek into Jimi’s real life, and I had no knowledge of this as a 9 year old kid. I wasn’t even mature enough to understand the dynamics of adult break-ups and relationships. But later, when I became older, I learned that Jimi dealt with many break-ups and short-lived relationships with women throughout his life. And he did have the experience of having women leave or abandon him.

This is just one example of the psychic connections I have to Jimi. There are many more, but I don’t want to make this too long, so I’ll save that for next time.

The main take-away is that as these experiences kept happening to me, I realized I had to trust in their reality. It wasn’t a one-time, wishful thinking kind of thing. These psychic visions kept happening, and they continue to happen, so now I know that what’s happening between me and Jimi is real. Once in a while, I doubt sometimes, but it’s not nearly as common as before.

I hope that you learn to trust in your own spiritual experiences, too, no matter what other people think. These are your experiences, and you know them better than anyone else would, so find the faith in yourself, and in what you experience! :)

#submissions #submission #jimi hendrix #twinflames #twin flames #twinflame #twin flame #autumn wells #guest posts #guest post #https://jimiheaven.gonevis.com

[jaeminlore]

Leap of Faith | Jaemin

summary: jaemin is spider-man. he’s also in over his head, and head over heels in love with you.

words: 7.6k+

category: ps4!spidey universe, fluff, angst, bad writing 

warning(s): brief mentions of blood, fighting, and threats

a/n: you don’t have to have played the game to read this story. but if you did play the game, yes, i changed the outcome of **** *** because i’m selfish.

The streets of Brooklyn seem almost dead at midnight. You walk to your apartment, one earbud in while the other hangs off and bounces against your name tag every few seconds. Clack, clack, clack... 

You ignore it and focus on the beat of the drums that play through your head. Work was rough, and the weather seems rougher as white breaths surge through your lips. Winter feels horrible here, and walking home during the cold and dark season is not — and never was — your first choice of transportation. However, the subway is sketchy around this time, and you feel like you’ll fend better on the streets. Your apartment is in a well-lit area anyways, so who would try anything?

Clack, clack, clack... thud!

Nearby, a trashcan falls to the ground. The clatter alerts a nearby alley cat, who runs across the road towards safety. Trash falls across the ground. You keep walking.

You reach your apartment safely, but you don’t let out a breath of relief until you’re in your living room with the door locked behind you.

Then you turn on the light and see that everything in the room has been ransacked, and your pet cat is nowhere to be seen. Drawers and cushions are scattered across the linoleum, and all your clutter is, well, cluttering up any free space. You notice an old MCR cd and focus on it as you try to figure out what’s going on.

The first thing you do is pull your cellphone out of your pocket and dial 911. It rings once, twice, then “911, what’s your emergency?”

“My apartment has been—“ your phone flies across the room. You shriek in fear when it crackles with electricity. It drops to the floor and you watch as it glitches a few times before turning off completely. 

“Oops.” Timidly, the culprit appears, and it’s Spider-Man. The actual Spider-Man, with his red suit and tall stature. Your eyes focus on the large white spider that spans across his chest. Was that always there? You don’t think so. Maybe it’s an upgrade.

You still don’t know what he’s doing in your house.

Well, right now he’s shaking his hands, letting a few crackling strings of web fall to your floor. “I didn’t mean to use my electronic webs. I’ll buy you a new one.”

You blink. “What are you doing here? Did you mess up my place?”

“No!” Then he looks guilty. Well, his mask looks guilty (you aren’t sure how that’s possible). “I mean, I didn’t do it alone. I certainly didn’t mean to ransack your place specifically it’s just... me and my friend were roughhousing and it got out of hand.”

“Just say you were fighting bad guys in my house and go.” You grumble and make your way to the fridge, where the frozen pizza you bought is luckily still residing. “Why can’t you take your fights into the street? Or, like, not in someone’s home?”

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I really didn’t mean to. I can’t exactly control where the fights go. I’ll be more careful next time.”

“I hope there won’t be a next time,” you say honestly. “My insurance is pretty nonexistent.”

“Can I bring someone to help you fix the place?” His voice sounds shameful.

You’re upset that there’s a giant dent in your cabinets, but you don’t doubt that Spider-Man’s intentions were good. “I think I can handle myself. Thank you for getting your, uh, friend, out of my house.”

“It was Hammerhead,” Spider-man says goofily. “And no problem!”

You slip the pizza in the oven and when you turn around, Spider-man is gone. Nothing but an open window and a gentle breeze is left as evidence that he was even here.

Well, except for your destroyed kitchen. You sigh and close your window, flicking the lock. “Be safe,” you whisper against the cool glass.

🕷️

The broken cellphone looks even worse under Octavius Labs’ fluorescent lighting. You grimace, wondering if you could somehow get this fixed before your mother gets worried that you aren’t answering her calls. Luckily, Octavius Labs is pretty famous in Greenwich for its kind scientist and his assistant, who will almost always fix something for little to no cost.

Dr. Octavius must be out, seeing as his assistant is the only one in the lab when you enter. You’re pretty sure his name is Jaemin. You’ve seen him around, especially when his Aunt May owns the F.E.A.S.T. Shelter in Chinatown that you work at. Jaemin is known for making quick friends of the occupants there. He makes many of them feel comfortable and safe. He is exceptionally well at it.

He’s dressed in his usual: jeans and a too-long sweater. The only thing that’s distinctive about the outfit are his bright red Converse, scuffed beyond repair. His back is turned to you, and all his attention seems to be focused on the desk in front of him. You notice he’s sewing some kind of cloth — red and blue — together. Maybe he’s patching up a hoodie? Or some kind of electrical blanket?

You clear your throat.

He jumps, and the cloth is so quickly hidden away that you wonder if it was even there in the first place. Jaemin turns around and leans against the desk casually. “H-Hi.”

You don’t think you’ve ever been this close to him, but in this cramped lab, you can see the soft brown curls that threaten his eyes. You can see his shiny white teeth, partly hidden behind chapped lips. He’s pretty; boyishly pretty, part of you thinks.

“Hey,” you say, confused by his not-so-secret secrecy. “Uh, do you, uh, know how to fix a phone?“

The boy winces when you hold up your phone in all it’s glitching glory. “What happened?”

You think about the masked stranger in your dorm last night. “I don’t think you’d believe me if I told you.”

Jaemin lets out a laugh that sounds a little too forced. “That bad, huh?” But he doesn’t question you any further. “I can probably have this done before the week is over.” 

You sigh in relief. “Thanks so much, Jaemin. I owe you one.”

“Don’t worry about it.” His eyes are leveled, lips drawn in a thin line. “Really.”

🕷️

Ever since the last bust at Rikers, Jaemin has been resuming his duty as friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. As exciting as huge battles are, battling five arch nemesis’ at once can take a lot out of a man. Jaemin thinks he has had enough broken bones to last him a lifetime. Or at the least, the next few years.

He’s perched atop Octavius Labs, listening to his headset spout off different crimes throughout the city. Sometimes he wishes that — despite the famous saying — the city would sleep. Just for a few hours. Enough for him to take a nap, or find a job more stable than Octavius Labs, or go on a date.

He scoffs at himself. “Date. As if anyone would deal with my secretive nature and inconsistent schedule.”

His earpiece beeps. He presses the call button. “Hey, Aunt May.”

“Jaemin, uh, sorry—“ the voice that comes through is flustered, but Jaemin knows he’s heard it before. “—it’s Y/n, from F.E.A.S.T.? Anyway I was just gonna let you know that I took the night shift here, and May said you might come by. I was just thinking that you could bring the phone?”

Each word sounds more nervous than the last. Jaemin is already swinging towards Chinatown when he replies. “Yeah, no problem! I’ll bring it by.”

He wonders why you sound so nervous when he’s the one who tore up your apartment and broke your phone. Not that you knew it was him, but still. His guilt should trump your nerves.

He drops onto the roof of F.E.A.S.T. and extracts the backpack he has webbed to the underside of the air conditioning unit. He quickly slides his sweater and jeans over his suit before tucking his mask in the bag. He hastily runs his fingers through his hair in an effort to look presentable, and then he’s walking down the fire escape and entering F.E.A.S.T. through the front door.

F.E.A.S.T. is essentially a giant gymnasium, with beds and chairs and tables all scattered around for whoever is occupying them at the moment. Jaemin figures Aunt May is either in the kitchen or in her office, but he finds you at a table, playing chess with an older woman. “Y/n, I brought your phone.”

You look up from the checkered board. Your cheeks are still rosy from the chilly air, and your hair — albeit tied up — is rather windswept. There’s one strand that hangs just over your eyes, and it makes him want to tuck it back behind your ear. Then he thinks that sounds too intimate, too weird when he’s just the boy who broke your phone. 

Then you’re tucking your hair behind your ear by yourself, and the moment is gone. “Thanks! How’d you fix it so fast?”

Jaemin’s neck feels hot when you smile at him like that. “I-It was nothing, really.” He doesn’t want to admit that he nearly wiped out your entire cloud, and it took him a good few hours and a few deep dives into reddit forums to figure out how to get it back. He’s still working on getting the hang of his new web designs. It was extremely unfortunate that Hammerhead insisted on fighting inside of your apartment. In retrospect, you’re lucky Hammerhead didn’t decide to ram through your wall.

“Of course it is! You saved me a lot of money and time.” You reach out and squeeze Jaemin’s arm reassuringly. “I know I probably interrupted whatever you were working on, so is there any way I can thank you? Maybe take you out for pizza?”

Jaemin nearly denies, because he knows this scenario all too well: someone nice shows the littlest amount of interest in him, and he ruins it because of his spidey schedule.  He knows what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna schedule a time for pizza, and he’s gonna get a dispatch call, and while he’s stopping thugs from holding up a gas station, you’ll be leaving the pizza place, vowing to never call him again. 

It always happens like that, because he can’t be Spider-man and lead a normal life. He’s tried. He’s failed. Horribly. Multiple times. He’s not ready to do it again.

But then May is sidling up to the two of you, and her eyes are sparkling in a way they haven’t for a few months. “Jaemin would love to go out with you! Gosh, it’s been years since he went out with someone his own age.”

You squeeze his arm again, and Jaemin knows it’s supposed to be reassuring but it’s dizzying more than anything, and he blinks a few times before he remembers where he is. He’s at F.E.A.S.T., with you, and his Aunt has just set him up for a date. Wait, a friendship get-together. Not a date. Because Spider-man doesn’t date, and that means that Na Jaemin doesn’t date.

You seem all too excited about the thought of pizza, and it makes Jaemin’s heart ache when he thinks of your pretty lips turned into a frown once you realize he’s stood you up. But he thinks you might give him the same look if he says no. “Okay. How’s tonight, after your shift?”

“Great!” Then you let go of his arm, and you’re walking away, and Aunt May has this look on her face like she knows.

So Jaemin blushes. “I’m gonna go for a walk.”

🕷️

He doesn’t go for a walk, he goes for a wall-crawl downtown, patrolling the streets as the day turns to the dawn. He put his number into your phone when he fixed it, so it’s really up to you to drop a call whenever your shift is over. He prays that until then no call comes in. He prays that for once this city’s police force can hold their own. Just until he can get pizza with you.

He thinks of this pizza when he swings towards Central Park and stops a mugger from taking a lady’s purse. He thinks of your clear and happy eyes when he rescues a cat from a tree. He thinks that he’d really like to hear your soft giggle again, because he’s almost forgotten it, and he’s sure it’s a nicer sound than cars honking and men cursing. 

Jaemin makes a joke to a robber just as the man getting pushed into a cop car, and then his phone rings. It’s Yuri, alerting him of some illegal gun trade in Brooklyn. It makes him worry, wondering if it’s anywhere near your apartment and if it’s safe for you to go home.

Someone called him while he was on the phone with Yuri, and he checks his voicemails to hear your sweet voice. “Hey, Jaemin. It’s me again. Y/n, that is. I don’t think you’ve forgotten me but I don’t know how many people you talk to. Does that sound weird? Sorry. Anyways, I was thinking we could just order pizza and eat it at F.E.A.S.T during my ten o’clock break? I know it’s late but just... just let me know, Jaemin. Thanks.”

Jaemin wants to go. He can make it too, if he busts this trade quickly. 

He’s Spider-man, so he thinks he might be able to do it, but he’s also Na Jaemin. And Jaemin is bad at time management and even worse at relationships.

The clock strikes ten o’clock and he’s still trying to get through the intricate ventilation system. He curses under his breath; he feels angry at himself once again for breaking a promise, but there’s a city at stake.

There’s no telling where those guns will go; who they will hurt. If he can get to them in time and destroy the guns, everything will be worth it. Even breaking up a relationship before it even starts.

🕷️

He reaches F.E.A.S.T. just before the clock strikes midnight. His suit is covered by civilian clothes. His mask is tucked away in his messenger bag. The guns are all destroyed.

You walk out of the back door just as Jaemin is about to walk in. “Oh. Hey.”

He feels nervous again. That jittery feeling in his chest is back, but it’s smothered by guilt. “I’m so, so sorry. I promise I didn’t mean to be so late. Something came up and—“

“It’s okay,” you say. “I wasn’t even sure if you’d get the voicemail, so don’t sweat it.”

Jaemin is sweating it. Literally. He can feel the perspiration creep up where his suit meets his skin. His heart is beating fast again. His palms are warm. “Still... I’m sorry. Can I make it up to you? Walk you home, maybe?”

“How about you walk me to my train?” You smile softly, “I’m taking Q at Canal Street Station.”

“Yeah,” Jaemin breathes, “I can do that.”

He spends most of the walk trying to keep his heart from bursting out of his chest. Once he can hear over his heartbeat, he realizes you’re telling him about your day.

“May said we’re getting more people the colder it gets,” you start. “Which is a good thing, I suppose. It’s better they stay at F.E.A.S.T. than out on the streets, but we still need more volunteers. I was thinking of staying over a few nights, so that May will get the nights off, but I have classes and an apartment to keep up, so I don’t know.”

“What are your classes for?”

“Teaching,” you reply. Your cheeks are suddenly dusted with pink under the streetlight.

“Oh yeah? What for?”

“Just early childhood education. Preschool or daycare or something like that, you know? Nothing special.”

“Nothing special?” Jaemin scoffs. “That’s like, the most important job in the whole world. Teachers shape kid’s lives. They’re like, modern day heroes.”

“I think our friendly neighborhood Spider-Man took that role already,” you say.

“Right.” Jaemin suddenly feels hot under his hoodie. He’s hoping desperately that you don’t notice the red, white, and blue suit just underneath his clothing. “What do you, uh, think of him. Spider-man, I mean?”

“Funny you should ask,” you mutter. “You might not believe this, but he’s the one who broke my phone.”

Jaemin feels a thin sheen of sweat line his suit. “No way.”

“Yeah,” you mutter, “I’m just glad you were able to fix it.”

“It was the least I could do.” For ruining your apartment. For breaking it in the first place.

Jaemin’s earpiece beeps. He pretends to scratch his ear as he answers the call. “Spider-Man, did you miss me?”

He nearly groans out loud before remembering where he is. He quickly mutes the call just as you reach your building. “Goodnight, then. Have sweet dreams.”

You smile softly, and Jaemin can’t help but return it. “See you later?”

Jaemin nods. “Yeah! Yeah, of course.”

As soon as the door closes behind you, he unmutes the earpiece. “What do you want, Screwball?”

The girl cackles through the comm. “Welcome to the grand show, Spidey! Today’s challenge is stopping the Brooklyn Bridge from blowing up! But not before you answer my riddles, and find the bombs!”

🕷️

A late night commercial is a murmur in your living room as you continue to study. You don’t have any classes or work tomorrow, so you figure pulling an all-nighter won’t hurt anything. You’ll sleep in tomorrow and then head to the store with the list of supplies May emailed you. You know she’s been overworked as winter draws nearer, so it’s the least you can do after she’s given you the day off.

The commercial ends, and it’s replaced by the late night news. You reach for the remote to turn it off, but pause when they mention Spider-Man. You turn it up. “... Screwball is a well-known adversary to Spider-Man, always creating challenges to stream live. Tonight, bombs were planted under the Brooklyn Bridge, and while police filed to the area immediately, they were unable to find the explosives. Spider-Man managed to crawl under the bridge and dispose of them just in time, throwing them toward the sky and webbing them so that they blew up out of harms way. Twitter blew up over the surprise fireworks, while Screwball was quickly found and arrested. Reports say her lawyer is willing to fight under the grounds that Screwball herself didn’t plant the bombs, only live-streamed Spider-Man’s mission. Her identity is still remaining a secret, but rest assured, she’s locked up tonight...”

The television clicks off as soon as you hear a knock on your window. Keeping the remote in your hand, you raise it above your head and quickly pull the curtain aside. You nearly shriek at the sight of Spider-Man himself, all dressed in red and blue.

You raise the windowpane. “What’s going on?”

“Aw, you didn’t miss me?” Spider-Man leans his hip against the sill and you swear you can hear a smile in his voice. He quickly straightens up. “Actually, I came to make sure your phone was okay, and that no one has broken in.”

“Since you broke in, you mean?” you quip, lowering the remote. “I’m fine. My friend fixed it, actually.”

“Oh, that’s cool.” 

You grin. “Yeah, it was cool of him to do it for free. So... this Screwball business, huh?”

Spider-Man lightly taps his forehead against the fire escape. “She’s killing me. She uses all these loopholes to basically stay out of Rikers. Stupid, really.”

He moves backwards, and then winces suddenly. 

“What’s wrong?” You don’t know why you feel so concerned. After all, Spider-Man has done nothing for you except break your phone and give you a minimum of two heart attacks. Still, he did come to check on you (a week late.)

“Nothing,” Spider-Man says. “Just sore from all the swinging. I’ll go home and take a soothing bubble bath before I get back into the swing of things.” He — his mask? — winks at you. 

It was such a stupid pun that you couldn’t help but smile. “Okay, well good luck with that.”

He’s gone after that. He shoots a web at the building across the street and swings away, like some kind of phantom. You wait until you can’t see him anymore before closing the window.

You get back to your studying, thinking only briefly about the web-crawler.

Because really, what he heck was he doing here?

🕷️

When you wake up at noon, you check your email. Then you see that Jaemin sent you a text, asking if he could come along on the shopping trip. May must’ve told him about her plans for you.

You tell him to meet you at F.E.A.S.T. in an hour, which is just enough time to eat and get ready.

Jaemin is a very cute boy. Especially when he wears his oversized blue sweater brandishing Octavius Labs’ logo. His wire-rimmed glasses keep slipping off his nose as he talks to Miles, another volunteer-slash-worker at F.E.A.S.T., and he keeps pushing them up absentmindedly. You kind of want to take a picture and keep the visual forever. But Miles peaks over Jaemin’s shoulder and notices you. “Y/n! Hey!”

“Hi, Miles.” You wave gently and sidle up to Jaemin. “Thanks for working on a weekend so I could have the day off.” 

“No biggie,” Miles returns with a nonchalant wave. “Jaemin wouldn’t forgive me if I took the opportunity of spending the day with you away.”

Jaemin’s gaze flicks towards you, and his cheeks suddenly turn red. “I thought you’d need help.”

Your cheeks lift as you smile. “I appreciate it, Jaemin. You ready?”

The two of you make it to a department store, where you stock up on the clearance blankets and pillows. May has a budget for F.E.A.S.T., and you and Jaemin intend to get as much stuff as you can with it. You pick up a small plushie shaped like Spider-Man and nearly make a quip about last night before Jaemin gets a text alert.

He checks it and groans. 

“What’s wrong?” You peak over his shoulder and glance down at the text. It’s a news alert, and the news is that Screwball has been tweeting about another challenge for the masked hero. “Again? This soon?”

Jaemin pulls his aunt’s credit card out of his wallet and hands it to you. “You can finish the list, right? I’ve gotta go.”

“Wait—“ you grab his sleeve before you can think. “Why?”

“I— uh—“ Jaemin grimaces. “I forgot I had to be at the lab. I have, uh, a project I need to finish by tonight and I’m afraid I might not make the deadline.”

“Oh, okay,” you whisper, feeling insecure all of a sudden. He’s lying, that much you know, but you don’t know why he feels he needs to lie to you.

He walks out of the store, and you finish shopping for the list.

You return it to F.E.A.S.T., ignoring the blare of the television as it covers yet another one of Screwball’s schemes. As you hand out blankets, you ignore the sick feeling in your stomach.

How much of these challenges can Spider-Man take before he fails?

🕷️

That night feels like déjà vu. Another knock comes at your window, and this time, you let Spider-Man into your apartment. He’s groaning in pain, so you ease him into a sitting position at your table. 

You’re in the middle of making him tea when he speaks. “The challenges are getting harder. She’s timing them now, and the police still can’t find a real reason to keep her in jail for longer than a day. I think she’s in for a week for this one though, so that gives me a break.” He accepts the tea with a quiet thanks.

You watch in silence as he lifts his mask up just above his top lip, enough to take a small sip from the mug. His mouth looks familiar, but you can’t really place it. Besides, he pulls his mask down after every sip, so it’s not exactly easy to tell. “Can’t you just ignore her? Won’t she go away if you let the FBI handle it? It would make it less fun for her, right?”

Spider-Man leans his head against his palm and let’s out a long sigh. “I’ve never been able to trust those guys.”

“Okay, what about Sable?”

“Ew, worse.” 

“I figured, but wouldn’t it be better for them to take the fall instead of you?”

Spider-Man lets a bitter laugh escape him, “I’d have to take the fall no matter who Screwball challenged. Jameson would certainly talk about it over his stupid radio show that everyone seems to believe—“

“I don’t,” you say, because it’s important that he knows. It’s hard to see someone who is clearly just as young as you, risking his life every day. “Anyone with half a braincell can see that you’re doing your best.”

“But is it enough?” Spider-Man says. “Because Screwball nearly flooded the Rockefeller Center today. And that’s certainly not as bad as blowing up a bridge but after a week in prison? She’ll have a horrible plan, I know. And I don’t know if I can keep up. It’s creeping into my personal life, too.”

“What do you mean?” 

Spider-Man takes an anxious sip of chamomile tea. “There’s this... friend. And I kind of really like them, but keeping my secret— my life, basically from them is really hard. I would love to tell everyone close to me, you know? But it’s such a huge risk. If anyone knew who I found important— if Screwball knew...”

“I understand.” Your words are barely comprehensible. You reach forward and grab the boy’s gloved hand. It looks kind of silly: his bright red gloves again your bare skin. But it also looks like your hands belong there; together.

Spider-Man swings away within the hour, but your mind stays fixed on him deep into the night.

🕷️

The next time Jaemin has free time, he visits you at F.E.A.S.T. Today you’re supervising the children that live there, as they paint pictures.

“Hey,” Jaemin whispers. 

You turn towards him, a bright smile on your face and pink paint on your cheek. 

Suddenly Jaemin feels too warm under his lavender sweater. “This is a cute little class. Is it new?”

“Well, May’s driving a bus full of adults to the job fair across town. I needed something to keep the kids distracted until their parents came home.”

“Do you need help?” Jaemin asks, looking around. “Is Miles here?”

“He said he has extracurricular activities,” you shrug. “It’s okay, we’re having fun.”

Jaemin gets along with the kids well enough. They like him as long as he complements them on their paintings. There’s even a little girl that seems to have a crush on him. She ends up following him around the majority of the time, so Jaemin lets her hold his hand and help him clean up the cups of dirty paint water.

You’re in your element. Jaemin can see why you want to be a teacher, as you’re good at it. You’re gentle and encouraging, but authoritative enough to keep all kids at bay. Jaemin would’ve never pictured you as the authoritative type, but now he certainly doesn’t want to get on your bad side.

He feels affection bloom across his chest. There’s something so genuine about watching someone in their element. Someone so invested in their own interests that they don’t even notice how big their smile has gotten; how their eyes suddenly seem to glow. There’s this halo of purity and love that circles around them, and right now it’s around you and Jaemin thinks he’s going to melt at the sight.

He absolutely adores you. He adores you and all you stand for. Though he’s only known you for a short time, he wants it to be more. He wants to make it official and be able to hold your hand. He wants to kiss you hello and goodbye. He wants people to know he’s your boyfriend and tell him how lucky he is so he can reply, “I know.”

He wants to show you the love you show the world. 

You look up and brush your hair out of your face. “What’s wrong? Is there still paint on my nose? I thought I got it off...”

“No, you’re good.” Jaemin clears his throat and returns his attention to the kids.

🕷️

Jaemin walks you home after your shift. Out of hospitality (and your extreme fondness for Jaemin) you invite him inside.

He walks straight to the kitchen and grabs a mug out of your cupboard. It’s the same one you usually give to Spider-Man when he comes over, and you feel a bit possessive over it for that reason.

You take it out of his hands. “Maybe... let’s use different mugs. This is— My friend, he— This is the mug he uses when he comes over.”

“Oh.” Jaemin blinks. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude. I—“ Jaemin isn’t even supposed to know where your cupboard is. Only Spider-Man has been in your kitchen.

Stupid.

“It’s okay.” Your features soften and Jaemin notices the way you hold the mug close to you.

“Is your friend- I mean- Do you like him?” Jaemin doesn’t know why he feels jealous right now. If you say yes, you’ll be talking about him. He’s not sure why it bothers him so much that you might like Spider-Man more than you like Na Jaemin.

“No...” You place the mug back in its place. “I just- You know a lot of people at F.E.A.S.T. are just people looking for safety? Away from their homes or relationships or whatever?”

Jaemin urges you on with a confused nod.

“I don’t think my friend has a place like that. He’s got a lot of enemies and I want him to always feel welcome here. So I don’t want his favorite mug to be dirty if he arrives late tonight for some tea.”

Jaemin knows it’s not the appropriate time, but he really can’t think of anything but pulling you into his arms and kissing your breath away.

There’s no one else in the state of New York as caring as you. Not to Jaemin. Even as Spider-Man, no one has so casually extended their hospitality to him. He carries danger around with him wherever he goes, and yet you make sure his favorite mug is filled with tea every night.

“Jaemin? Are you okay?”

Jaemin bites his lip to keep his affections from spilling out. “Yeah. I’m great, actually.”

🕷️

Jaemin wants to scream. Every single time he sees you, he wants to confess that he’s the masked boy that’s been visiting you every week.

But it’s hard. He doesn’t know who to trust anymore. Not that he doesn’t trust you, but he has no idea who Screwball’s minions are. What if they find you and take you away? 

Hanging out with you as Na Jaemin is dangerous enough, but as Spider-Man? Jaemin seriously begins to wonder if he has any brain cells at all. 

But he likes you. He really, really likes you. He likes you so much for just being around him — Spider-Man, that is — and never demanding anything of him. He can’t remember the last time someone has seen the mask and not asked for any favors.

And as Jaemin, he’s failed you. He always fails you because he has Spidey business to get to. He’s left you disappointed more times than not, and at this point he’s pretty sure you like his alter ego better than him. Not that he can blame you.

It’s another night of infiltrating demon warehouses when he finds himself wishing he could just be honest with you about everything. It’s really selfish, though, so he tries not to think about it and focuses on alerting the police that he’s caught more demons.

“Yuri,” he addresses the captain tiredly, “I think I’m gonna turn in for the night.”

“I wouldn’t do that yet, Spider-Man. Sorry, but the networks getting alerts of a hostage situation in Greenwich. We don’t have any other info yet, but we might need you.”

Spider-Man’s comm beeps. “I’m getting another call, Yuri. I’ll swing to Greenwich and call you back for more info.”

“Thanks, Spidey.”

He answers the new call. “Hello?”

“Aw, did the police already tell you? I was hoping to be the one to break the news! Anyways, today’s challenge is for you to go on a scavenger hunt through Greenwich and find the prize!”

Jaemin’s stomach suddenly feels heavy. “What’s the prize, Screwball?”

“Don’t you know? What’s most important to Spider-Man right now? Who owns that apartment you’re always visiting? My viewers are just dying to hear what’s up. Maybe a love story to tell?”

“Screw off, Screwball.” Jaemin swings towards Greenwich. How did she find you? How would she know that you’re important to him and not just a business partner?

Jaemin can feel the tears stinging already and it sucks because he’s gotta make smart quips to Screwball. He’s gotta play her game so she cooperates. All she wants is content. If Jaemin gives her content she won’t hurt you. It makes him so angry that Screwball is using you for views. Using you to force him to play this stupid little game. 

He wants to cuss Screwball out but he isn’t sure how young her viewers might be. 

“Are they safe?” He hopes the fear in his voice isn’t as evident as he thinks it is. 

“Your precious little darling is hanging out with me! Don’t worry, I’ve got a bucket of popcorn for the two of us and a blanket to cozy up until you get here.”

“Let me talk to them.” He swings over the Rubin Museum and perches on top of the building. He struggles to catch his breath as Screwball cackles.

“Can’t go a minute without talking to your sweetheart?” Screwball coos, but she hands the phone over anyway.

“I’m okay,” is the first thing you say, though your voice is shaky. You follow up with, “Just stay safe. Take your time; I’m okay.”

As soon as your voice catches in your throat Jaemin wants to confess. He wants to you to know that he’s not just some random boy in a mask. He’s Jaemin, your friend, and he loves you so so much. He needs you to know that just in case he- 

Just in case he fails you.

But he can’t tell you because your phone call is being live-streamed for all of the stupid world to hear and damn it if the police couldn’t do their job just once and get you to safety.

The comm begins to break up and Jaemin knows this stupid wild goose chase is almost over. He knows this is when Screwball drops the plot twist and tells him he only has so much time left. But he’s still swinging from building to building with no idea where he’s going or where you are. 

“Y/n here certainly would like you to come quickly, Spidey. We’re just chilling on the balcony, enjoying the night air. Would be a shame if they fell off, huh?”

“You do anything to Y/n and I’ll-“

“You’ll what?” Screwball cackles. “You’ll turn me in? I’m not doing anything wrong.”

“You’re blackmailing me. You’re holding someone hostage, you—”

The comm switches, and it’s Yuri in a distorted voice. “We blocked the stream for thirty seconds. You’re not live. Screwball’s stream has a private network and firewall to break through. Our team’s working on it but we need you to keep talking. Alright, time’s u-“

Jaemin listens silently while Screwball tells her viewers that she’s back online. He does his best to try and pick apart the background noises. Any small clue that might show him where you are. He knows the two of you are on a balcony, or a ledge, or something you can fall off of because Screwball doesn’t make empty threats. 

Then he hears it: the sirens. They’re loud through the stream but faint through his own ears. 

He swings toward the sound, desperate to find you before Screwball does anything.  

“What do you want from me, Screwball?” 

To keep Screwball talking, he’s gotta ask her questions about herself.

🕷️

Okay, so you don’t exactly know how you managed to get ambushed by Screwball. All you know is that you were on your way to F.E.A.S.T one minute and the next, you were being dragged into a dark van. After screaming — and being consequently gagged — Screwball revealed herself to you. 

Now you’re tied to stool, balanced on the edge of a balcony in the middle of some neighborhood you aren’t familiar of. 

You’ve managed to stop your blubbering for now and focus on the sky until Screwball lets you speak to Spider-Man. That’s when you’re voice breaks and you find yourself panicking because that’s not Spider-Man’s voice over the comm.

It’s Jaemin’s.

And it sort of makes sense now that you think about it — Jaemin and Spider-Man have never been in the same place at once. Jaemin went directly to Spider-Man’s mug as if it were his own. And Jaemin seemed almost over-eager to fix your phone, as if he somehow had something to do with it.

Right now you don’t really care. Right now you just want him here, with you. You want Screwball arrested and you want to be home, in your apartment, snuggled under a blanket with Jaemin where nothing can hurt you. Either of you.

You want Jaemin safe too.

The tears bring on an instant headache so you do your best to keep them from forming behind your eyes. Instead you focus on the city. If you try hard enough, you can ignore Screwball’s annoying voice. 

You gaze at the skyline and focus on looking for Jaemin. He’s gonna be here any minute now. He has to. 

“Better hurry up, Spidey, or it’s sleepy time for your little sweetheart!” 

“Aren’t you talking about yourself?” Jaemin swings from a nearby building and kicks the camera out of Screwball’s hand.

You close your eyes during most of the fight. Based on the quips the two keep shooting at each other, it doesn’t sound like a dangerous one. Jaemin’s probably just stalling for the police. Still, it makes you feel queasy and a little bit scared, so you’d rather not watch.

The police finally arrive around ten minutes later, after Jaemin has successfully webbed Screwball to the ground so that she can’t escape.

As soon as she’s in handcuffs, he turns to you and begins to free you from your restraints. “Y/n, I’m so sorry. I had no idea she’d ever find out about you. I didn’t know they kept such close tabs on me. I shouldn’t have been so reckless and stupid. I shouldn’t have visited you so often, but I didn’t want to stay away and—”

You grab Jaemin by the shoulders and pull him into your embrace, burying your face in his neck. “Jaemin, it’s okay.” 

He chokes out a sob and squeezes you tighter. “I’m sorry I did- didn’t tell you earlier...”

“It’s okay,” you whisper. “Now, let’s go home.”

🕷️

The two of you take turns showering at your place, and while Jaemin is cleaning up, you watch the news to make sure that Screwball is being locked up for good.

After a positive confirmation, you turn the television off and go to your room.

Jaemin walks in moments after, face red from the too-hot water. He’s got on one of your hoodies and a pair of your sweatpants, and he looks so broken-hearted that you can’t help but feel sad too.

“Please don’t blame yourself.”

Jaemin crawls under your dark blue covers. He turns to face the wall, away from you. “You could’ve died.”

“I know,” you whisper. Anxiety pools in your chest at the thought. But you don’t want to think about what happened. You want to be distracted, and you want to feel safe.

You wrap your arm around Jaemin’s waist and press your forehead against the space between his shoulder blades. “I didn’t, though, and that’s thanks to you.”

Jaemin’s body shudders again, and your heart breaks at the sound of him crying. You squeeze him tighter and kiss his nape. “We’re safe now. It’s okay.”  

🕷️

Jaemin keeps his distance from you for the next few weeks, and while you know why, it doesn’t make it any easier to bare.

You miss him greatly, and constantly ask May how he’s doing. She’s tried to get him to reconcile with you, but it’s no use. He’s blaming himself for the Screwball incident. You want to yell at him and remind him that •he’s• the hero of this story. He’s the one who saved you. 

Without him you wouldn’t even be here.

But Jaemin doesn’t see it that way. You keep up with the news and follow all the Spider-Man blogs you can, trying to figure out whether or not Jaemin is okay. The last thing you want is for him to do something reckless out of guilt. Luckily, though, he’s back to fighting smaller-scale crimes and tweeting from his Spider-Man account.

So he’s okay. At least, he’s okay enough. 

You know it’s all just one big distraction from that night, so you keep a tea kettle on the stove every night, just in case. You never know when he’ll finally break and swing by.

Your intuition rings true by the end of the week, when a familiar knock appears at your window. You open it with haste, hopeful of a tearful — or just joyful — reunion with your friend. Instead, Jaemin seems rather reluctant to be back at your place.

His mask is off, but his suit (or what’s left of it) is still on. His hair is a mess, and his face is covered in sweat and grime. There are tears in his suit from who-knows-what, and to top it off, Jaemin’s lip is bleeding.

“Jaemin, what happened?”

“I’m sorry,” he gasps, clutching at his ribs. “It’s just... I need help and no one else knows my secret. Except Aunt May, and she’ll worry too much. And Miles, of course, but he’s just a kid—“

You interrupt him. “Miles knows?” 

“Long story,” Jaemin grunts. “Can I come in?”

You help him onto your sofa and run to grab some supplies. After making him change into more comfortable clothes, you take a damp washcloth and begin to wipe the sweat and dirt off of his face. “What happened?”

His eyes stay focused on yours for a moment. Your heart skips a beat at the way his eyelashes flutter when he blinks. You don’t think you’ve ever been this close to him before.

“I- It was just a drug bust. I was distracted because my earpiece was on and it picked up Jameson’s podcast. I should’ve turned it off, but you know how he likes to insult me, and I felt like I deserved it so I listened. It cost me a kick to the rib and a punch to the face, though.” He tries to laugh, but it comes out as a strangled noise. “Ow.”

“I’m gonna get an ice pack,” you say, already halfway towards the kitchen. You open the freezer. “Do you think they’re broken?”

“No, they’ve been through worse.” Jaemin watches you walk back towards him. 

You sit right beside him and hand him the frozen pack. “Here. You apply it. I don’t want to accidentally hurt you.”

Jaemin is still watching you. Although you feel nervous under his gaze, you can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking as his eyes flit over your lips for what feels like the hundredth time. “I’m sorry for ignoring you.”

“Oh,” you mumble, suddenly too shy to look at him. “It’s okay. You needed your space.”

“Yeah, but you were affected too. You were affected more than me, and I abandoned you when you needed me. I shouldn’t have done that, and I hope I can make it up to you.”

You smile sadly. “Jaemin, all I want is for you to be safe. Safe and happy, that’s all.”

Jaemin is still looking at your lips, but this time he’s leaning in. His eyelashes flutter again as he closes his eyes and you find yourself frozen in place as you prepare for the inevitable.

Jaemin is going to kiss you.

His lips find yours within seconds. They’re warm and soft, and when they slot between yours you think some people were just made to fit together. 

You feel one hand go to cup your jaw, but it doesn’t stop there. Jaemin reaches up and takes a gentle hold of your hair, tugging at the roots every moment or so. 

Being so close to him is overwhelming. You can smell his cologne, and although it’s mixed with sweat, it isn’t any less desirable than before.

You think of Jaemin’s soft eyes and warm smile and low voice, and you sigh into the kiss. Your heartbeat quickens when he smiles suddenly against your lips. “I like you, Y/n.”

You giggle and break contact. “I hope so.”

Jaemin manages to contain his blush as he rubs the back of his neck. “I really missed you when we were apart, and I don’t want to feel like that ever again.”

“So let’s try it out,” you whisper. “Me and you. We’ll protect each other, alright?”

Jaemin hums and presses a quick kiss to your forehead. “Alright.”

#this sucks lol sorry ig #jaemin au #jaemin fluff #jaemin angst #jaemin scenario #spiderman!jaemin #nct au #ncy fluff #nct angst #nct scenario #destwrites

[raspberryparker]

Hi lovely, could you please write a little blurb for anything a/b/o with peter Parker? You have me obsessed with this au and your writing ❤️

i see the words “little blurb” and my brain interprets them as “short oneshot”, this happens every time… anywhO enjoy this is rlly soft

celebration sleepover/blurb weekend!

Nesting looks fun. All soft blankets and the scent of mate, pressing noses into shirts and breathing them in even when they’re not around. It looks cozy. Safe. But what definitely is not fun is the reason for nesting.

At this point, you’re ready to start hitting your head against the wall out of frustration. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve arranged and rearranged the small nest on Peter’s bed, wondering how he hadn’t invested in something larger than a twin bunk bed yet because it made nesting infinitely harder, but no matter which way you place the blankets and mass of his clothes, it’s not enough.

May had been gracious enough to let you in while Peter was at school. Her soft smile and the way she told you she understood already made you feel better. Pre-heat was never a fun experience. She made you some tea as you settled onto the couch, sinking into the cushions as you pulled Peter’s comforter tighter around yourself.

“I won’t be far,” she said as she handed you the mug. “Made plans to stay with a friend in Greenwich. You’ve got the week, but if it gets bad, I can stay longer. Or come back if you need me.”

The heavy blush that settled onto your cheeks was nothing new. It wasn’t like it was a strange thing to talk about with May. How many heats had you spent with Peter since you’d bonded? You couldn’t remember. May would make plans to be away for the week, but always made sure to stay close enough that, in the case of emergency, she could come running if she needed to. You were pretty sure she knew your heat cycle better than Peter did.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, fingers closing around the warmth of the mug and taking a sip.

“How long do you think you have?” May asked. Her cool palm came up to rest against your forehead, taking your temperature. Your brow furrowed as she pressed the back of her hand to each of your cheeks.

“Maybe tomorrow,” you replied. “Or the next day. I’m not sure.”

“Well, I’m leaving tonight,” she told you. She stood and walked around the counter to the kitchen. You heard her pulling the fridge open. “I got a ton of water bottles and freezer meals. Seemed like the easiest thing. Make sure Peter remembers to actually get up and make them, though. Tell me if he doesn’t.”

You laughed. “He always does, but I will.”

“He’ll be home in about half an hour,” she said. Coming back toward you, she took the now empty cup of tea from your hands and jerked her head toward Peter’s bedroom. “Go make yourself comfortable. I’ll tell him you’re here.”

“Thank you, May,” you smiled, standing and wrapping the blanket around your shoulders like a cape.

She gave you a soft smile. “You know it’s no trouble, sweetie.”

“But still,” you said. “Thank you.”

May waved you off with a chuckle. “Go do you what you gotta do before Peter gets back. You know how he is about nests.”

You did know how he was about nests. That’s why you were having such a dilemma.

As if there wasn’t already minimal room on the tiny twin sized bed for the two of you, whenever you tried to nest, he’d end up destroying it one way or another within the first twenty minutes. He was an Alpha; he didn’t understand how important they were to you. He’d groan and complain that it was too hot, too stuffy, too many blankets in between you and him. You’d always pout about it at first, but you could never deny that having his arms around you was better than any nest you or anyone could ever build.

At long last you came upon an arrangement that you liked. It wasn’t ideal, and it was far from perfect, but it would have to do.

Stripping your clothes off until you were down to the sports bra and underwear you’d thrown on that morning, you carefully climbed into the nest, slipping underneath one of the many blankets and pulling it tight under your chin, one of the many Peter had bought you once you’d bonded. It was a fuzzy blue one, and it was your favourite. In the place of pillows were piles upon piles of Peter’s clothes. The warm chocolatey scent that clung to the fabric made you almost lightheaded, and you sighed in relief as you pressed your nose into one of his shirts.

Though your lower stomach had already begun cramping that morning, the lingering aches of pain now a constant reminder of what was to come, you were finally able to relax. Surrounded by your mate’s comforting scent, you found yourself drifting off to sleep.

-

Peter was on the train when May called him.

“She’s already here,” she’d said. “I sent her to your room. You gonna be okay when I leave tonight?”

“Yeah,” he replied. “You don’t have to worry.”

“You know I will anyway. Try to hurry home, okay? For her sake.”

“Already on the subway,” he smiled. “Give me 10 minutes.”

“See you soon.”

Peter couldn’t help the wide, dopey smile that spread across his face after he hung up. He probably looked like an idiot smiling to himself on the subway. But he couldn’t help it.

His Omega, his beautiful girl, was waiting for him in his room. Waiting for him to come take care of her, ease her pain, make her feel better… there wasn’t anything else his stupid Alpha brain could ever want. He’d already told his professors that he’d be missing class for the week. The second they heard the words “heat” and “mate”, there were no questions asked and he was given the week with no penalties. He doubted they enjoyed hearing about their students’ love lives but it couldn’t be helped.

Peter practically ran up the stairs out of the station when the train stopped. If it wasn’t for the masses of people heading home from work, he wouldn’t have taken nearly as long.

The fresh air (or as fresh as it can get in New York) of the street was a welcome feeling, and he took in a deep breath before breaking out into a full sprint down the street. He didn’t care about the looks he got. He only cared about one thing. Or rather one person.

He wasn’t even panting as he got to his building, rapidly pressing the button of the elevator. Peter supposed it was the combination of his powers and his Alpha hormones, but his stamina was practically through the roof (something he knew you appreciated… very much). The elevator couldn’t go fast enough for his liking, but the second he got to his floor, he was running again.

He pushed the door open, grateful May had left it unlocked, and dropped his backpack down onto the the couch with a loud thump.

“Hi May!” he called into the apartment. He didn’t stop to hear her response, instead kicking his shoes off as he made his way to his bedroom. She understood though, so it was fine.

The second he opened his bedroom door, he was greeted by an all too familiar sight that made his smile grow even larger, if that was possible.

On his bed there lay what looked like a massive pile of laundry. Blankets, t-shirts, pants, socks; there was everything. And in the centre of it all, he saw a specific blue blanket rising and falling gently with each of his Omega’s steady breaths.

You must have been asleep.

He stepped forward carefully, making sure not to make too much noise, as he stripped off his jacket and placed it on the end of the bed. He knew you want it add it to the nest later but he didn’t want to do it himself, knowing you might not like that. Nests were a very personal thing for Omegas. Some of them didn’t even let their Alphas in them, let alone look at them. He was grateful that you were more open about it with him, but he still respected your boundaries.

“Baby,” he whispered. The pile stirred a little bit. He smiled to himself as he squatted next to the bed, pulling the blanket back to expose his Omega’s sleeping face. 

You were fast asleep, nose crinkling a little as you were woken up by Peter. He smiled and brushed a lock of hair away from your face, smoothing his thumb across your forehead as you stirred. 

“Mhm?”

He almost laughed out loud. You looked so calm, so peaceful, but he knew that wouldn’t last very long. Peter knew how bad heat pains were and he had a feeling you’d be whining about them shortly.

“Hey, baby,” he said softly. 

Your eyes fluttered open, the sound of your Alpha’s voice drawing you from your slumber. You smiled at him gently and pressed your head farther into his hand. He chuckled softly and cradled your face, fingers brushing over your cheek.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“’M okay now,” you said, your eyes falling closed again. “’Cause you’re here.”

He sat quietly as you adjusted yourself, making room on the bed for him (which was harder than it looked) before you rolled over and pulled the blanket back. You knew exactly what he was waiting for.

“You can come in now, Alpha.”

No matter how many times he heard you call him by his presentation, it still made him giddy every time. He couldn’t stop the smile on is face as he quickly tugged off his pants, leaving him in only boxers and t-shirt, and climbed in next to you. He would always wait for the invitation to come into your nest, never wanting to do anything that you would be uncomfortable with. 

You appreciated that more than you thought he knew.

He snuggled in beside you, pulling your back against his chest as his hands wrapped around your stomach. You placed a hand over his own, intertwining your fingers and he gripped them tightly.

“Does it hurt?” Peter asked. His breath was warm against your neck.

“Yeah,” you replied. “But it’s nothing I’m not used to.”

He pressed a kiss to the back of your neck, warm and soft, before his lips found the bite mark scar on the junction between your neck and shoulder and kissed it softly as well. You hummed in content, the attention to your bond mark already relieving the pain in your lower abdomen.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered against your skin. “I wish I could help.”

“You do help,” you sighed.

“I know, but,” Peter said. He paused, thinking of what he wanted to say. “I want to do more. I gotta treat my Omega right. The way she deserves.”

You giggled then, feeling the rumbling beginnings of an Omegan purr in your chest. You tried to swallow it down but you knew Peter could feel it through your back and against his chest from the way his hands wandered down your stomach to rest just above your underwear. He pressed his palms against the skin there, the warmth of them helping with the pain. 

“What are you talking about?” you teased. “You already treat me right, Alpha.”

The soft, happy growl that bled from his throat at that had you laughing again. 

“You’re so cute,” you whispered, turning your head back to face him. He was smiling widely, the deep brown irises of his eyes lighting up in happiness. 

“So are you,” he said. He nuzzled his nose into your cheek and you shut your eyes, feeling him against you and focusing on his scent. 

He smelled like chocolate and strawberries, like fresh s’mores and cookies. He smelled like home. Like mate. 

“You know,” Peter said suddenly. “With our combined cuteness…”

“Where are you going with this, Peter?” you laughed, already knowing what he was about to say.

“We’d make some pretty cute babies.”

You hummed again, turning back to press your nose into the shirt you were using as a pillow. He kissed along your neck, lips resting at your hairline and just letting you feel his breath. 

He got like this with every heat you spent together. Every time, he’d start talking about kids, starting a family together. And every time you’d go along with it, knowing it was just his biological impulses that told him to breed his Omega during her heat. But this time was different. And you weren’t sure why.

“I bet we would,” you agreed. 

“I can’t wait till tiny versions of you or me are running around all over the place,” Peter sighed. “I mean I know we’re still in college and you have work and I don’t want you to feel obligated to have kids with me or anything, if you don’t want to, that’s fine I can—”

“Peter,” you interrupted. “Stop overthinking it.”

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “It’s just… I really love you and I don’t know how I’d live without you. And if that means not having kids then I can be cool with that.”

“Who said I didn’t want to have kids?” you smirked, though you knew he couldn’t see it.

He groaned from behind you, his teeth finding the skin of your neck and nipping softly.

“Don’t say that right now,” he groaned. “May’s still here and your heat hasn’t even started yet and I’m already—”

Your loud laugh interrupted him, and you felt him groan in protest. Peter bit against your neck a little harder this time.

“Typical Alpha,” you laughed.

“’S not my fault,” he said. His words were muffled against your skin. “Can’t help it.”

“I know,” you said. You brought a hand up behind you to rest against his cheek. “But we’ve got all week.”

Peter groaned again, his hips rolling into your backside subconsciously, and all you could do was laugh as he told you to “shut up, Omega.”

At least you’d forgotten about the pain. 

#THIS WAS SO LONG #gabis500shleepover #peter parker #peter parker x you #peter parker fanfic #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fic #peter parker x reader #abo #a/b/o #a/b/o verse #a/b/o fic marvel #marvel a/b/o #alpha/omega #omega!reader #alpha!peter parker

[wistfulcynic]

CSJJ Day 11: Finding The Altar Epilogue: Destination London

A little addendum to Finding The Altar, which I wrote late last year. I had a request to write Emma and Killian’s trip to London, and what could be better for @csjanuaryjoy than a New Year's honeymoon to one of my favourite cities in the world? This is a straight-up London tourist brochure, and I'm not even sorry. It's also sweet and fluffy and super short, like candy floss on a shortbread biscuit. Grab a cuppa and enjoy! 

BTW if you haven’t read FTA, you can find it here, or if you don’t want to bother just know that this is author!Killian and deputy!Emma, just married and expecting a baby, taking a trip to London together at the New Year. 

@resident-of-storybrooke @kmomof4 @teamhook @jennjenn615 @let-it-raines @wellhellotragic @deathbycaptainswan @tiganasummertree

Destination London: 

London was everything Emma had hoped it would be. Crowded, noisy, grey, dirty, but full of unexpected corners and surprising crannies, quirky and weird and just so ridiculously British. Suddenly she understood Killian a lot better. 

They did all the touristy things: Blocking foot traffic on Westminster Bridge to get a photo of themselves in front of Big Ben, Emma rolling her eyes as Killian explained that the clock tower was just a clock tower and that it was actually the bell that was called Big Ben; taking a tour of Westminster Abbey and dawdling through Poet’s Corner, marvelling at all the famous names commemorated there; dodging the pigeons in Trafalgar Square, Emma barely resisting the desire to pout because she was too old and too pregnant to climb up on the lions’ backs; shopping in Covent Garden; gaping at the Crown Jewels the Tower; taking a million photographs from the top of the London Eye. They walked hand-in-hand along Southbank, grazing from the food trucks there before taking a river taxi to Greenwich where Killian excitedly took Emma thorough the National Maritime Museum and the Old Royal Naval College, only wincing slightly when she lit up in recognition. 

“Oh, yeah, this was in that Thor movie!” she cried, grabbing his arm.

“Indeed,” he replied, with a long-suffering sigh. “Shall we go see the Greenwich Meridian?”

Their trip coincided with the release of Killian’s third novel, which had turned out just as well as Emma had predicted and suddenly launched him from a glowingly-reviewed but lightly-read novelist into a bestselling one. His agent scrambled to take advantage of this surge in popularity by arranging book signings and other appearances in London, waving away his protests that he was “on my bleeding honeymoon, mate,” and aided and abetted by an Emma who was so proud of her husband that she thought she might burst with it, and wanted to show him off. Eventually he agreed, on the condition that he be allowed to choose the bookstores where he did the signings. 

“London has some amazing bookstores,” he told Emma as they lay curled around each other one evening, her head on his chest, his hand caressing her rounded belly. “Bookstores and tea rooms, that’s what I love about this city. There’s no such thing as a decent cup of tea in the States.”

“We dumped it all in Boston harbour that one time,” Emma deadpanned.  

“Bookstores and tea rooms,” continued Killian as though she hadn’t spoken, “And pubs. We should go on a pub crawl.” 

“You know the rugrat won’t let me drink.” 

“You can still enjoy the atmosphere, which is most of the fun anyway. I’ll plan us a route. Through Wapping and along the river, I think, that’s where I used to live and there are some great old places there. We can start at the Mayflower.” 

“The Mayflower? Like the ship?”

“Exactly like the ship.” 

When they got off the Tube at Rotherhithe, Emma was astounded. With its quiet streets lined with brown brick buildings opening onto the riverfront, it showed another facet of London entirely. Of course she knew from her experience living in New York that large cities were basically a collection of neighbourhoods, each with its own personality and style, yet for some reason the relative peace of this little corner of east London came as a surprise.  

So did the Mayflower pub. 

“This is great!” Emma exclaimed, taking in the view of the river from the small wooden balcony at the back of the upstairs room. “Are all pubs like this?”

“Not in the least,” smiled Killian. “Many of them are dank shitholes, if we’re honest. But the good ones can be amazing.” 

After the Mayflower, they took the Overground train across the Thames to Wapping, walking hand-in-hand through more brown brick streets to Turner’s Old Star, with its spacious and charming outdoor beer garden, then on to the Town of Ramsgate, another riverside establishment with a stunning outdoor deck and riverside view. From there they walked along the riverfront path to the Prospect of Whitby, Emma’s favourite pub yet. She found its dim, dark wood and flagstone interior charmingly quaint, and its iteration of the now familiar outdoor deck with sweeping view of the river enhanced by the addition of a gibbet and noose. 

“Used for hanging pirates,” said Killian, gesturing with his pint. 

“Really?”

“Aye, primarily, though there were others. In the case of the pirates, legend says the bodies were left there to hang until three tides had washed over their heads.” 

“Damn.” 

“The hazards of a pirate’s life, darling.” 

They ended their day by taking a taxi to Limehouse and The Grapes pub, where they ate fish and chips then as they were leaving shook the hand of Sir Ian McKellen, who co-owned the place. 

“I can’t believe we met Gandalf,” gushed Emma as they cuddled in the taxi on their way back to their AirBnB in Belgravia. 

“What honeymoon would be complete without it?” joked Killian. 

“Today was really fun,” said Emma. “I loved all the pubs, I can see why you miss them living in Storybrooke.” 

“Storybrooke has other attractions,” said Killian, smiling at her, his eyes warm with love. “London’s great but it’s not my home, not anymore. My home is wherever you are.” 

New Year’s Eve found Emma and Killian dressed to the nines and mingling with London’s literati on the opulent balcony of the Royal Penthouse of the Corinthia Hotel, on the north bank of the Thames. It was pretty much the last place Emma would have predicted she’d be if she’d been asked a few weeks ago about her New Year’s plans, but she wasn’t about to argue. The penthouse was taken every year by the London branch of Killian’s publisher for the New Year’s Eve party they threw for their top authors, and the fact that they thought highly enough of Killian’s new book to invite him to the party that year made her proud enough to burst. Or cry. But that could just be the pregnancy hormones. 

Killian’s agent, a nervous, bustling little man called Smee, shared her pride, though his seemed to be focused slightly more on his own foresight in backing Killian through the less-than-stellar sales of his first two books and the vindication of his third one’s bestselling status. 

“I always knew you’d hit on the right formula eventually,” he blustered as Killian smiled indulgently and Emma ground her teeth, wishing the little man would stop patting himself on the back and let her enjoy the New Year countdown and fireworks with her husband. “It’s not easy to find that delicate balance between artistry and popular appeal, but I always knew that with a little encouragement you could— is that Ben Aaronovich? I’ll be right back.” He thrust his empty champagne glass into Emma’s hand and hurried off in pursuit of the author of the popular Rivers of London book series. 

“Ugh,” said Emma, turning to deposit the glass on the tray of a passing waiter and resisting the urge to wipe her hands on her dress. “He’s a bit of a rat, isn’t he?”

“Aye, that he is. But he truly did stick by me for a number of years, so I’m prepared to overlook it. That said, I think we should disappear before he comes back.” Killian grabbed Emma’s hand and pulled her away into the crowd. 

The Royal Penthouse’s balcony offered a sweeping view of the Thames, similar to the ones they’d seen at the pubs but considerably swankier, and neither Emma nor Killian could imagine a better place to stand for the countdown and fireworks display. As the London Eye lit up and the assembled crowds below began to chant the descending numbers, Killian wrapped his arms around his wife, resting his chin on her shoulder and entwining their fingers together over the swell of their child growing inside her. When the last number was called and the noise of cheers and fireworks erupted around them, he turned his head and kissed her, tasting the sharp bite of the club soda and lime she’d been drinking mixed with the familiar precious flavour that was uniquely her. He thought about all they had to look forward to: the birth of their baby, his burgeoning career, settling in to their married life together, and felt such a surge of happiness and contentment that it brought tears to his eyes. 

“Happy New Year, my love,” he murmured against her lips, feeling her answering smile before he kissed her again. “I have a feeling it’s going to be our best one yet.”  

(Some friends and I did this pub crawl a few years ago, and I *highly* recommend it!)

#csjj 2019 #captain swan january joy #finding the altar #epilogue #fluff #fluffety fluff fluff #married cs #profdanglaisstuff

[olympivnshq]

congratulations laura !  MEGARA is a figure who beyond disney, has not been given much of a voice, nor appreciation. you gave her a real story, something to work towards, her unique way of thinking. your attention to detail in your app was incredible and adheres deeply to your character in a way that invigorates us for our own, so we’re pleased to welcome you with your first faceclaim choice: BENEDETTA GARGARI

☆ﾟ*・ﾟ  OOC INFO.

Hi I’m Laura, I’m 22 and live in GMT+10 timezone (Australia). Honestly there isn’t much more to tell.

☆ﾟ*・ﾟ  DEITY  —  GENDER. AGE RANGE.

Megara, Female, 20-25

☆ﾟ*・ﾟ MORTAL NAME. JOB/OCCUPATION. BOROUGH/NEIGHBORHOOD.

Megan Jones, Waitress (Former Student), Greenwich Village, Manhattan

☆ﾟ*・ HOW WOULD YOU PLAY THEM?

The climax of Megara’s life, the moment that forced her to face who she was, and who she had been, was the day she arrived in Hades. Everyone in Hades has a bag, a bag filled to the brim with words. Words you have said, words you have heard, words other people have said about you. Megara’s bag contained very little of herself, most of its contents concerned her husband �� Heracles.

It was to such an extent that she wondered if she had existed before her husband.

More shocking than the contents of her own bag, her own life, was the thought of what her husbands would contain once he joined her… If he joined her. Would she be more than a footnote in his tale?

Who was Megara? Often even she does not know. She gave up everything, her identity, her independence, her choices, to ensure that she did right by the people she loved. The father who needed her, the husband she always wished needed her more, and the children she would inevitably fail.

The earlier you die the longer you have to reflect in Hades, to consider your choices, and your mistakes. To reflect on all of the potential that was stripped away.

Megara had never been good at looking back, she didn’t like to regret, and she certainly didn’t like to dwell on the things she could not change. Looking forwards, however, was her specialty, she knew how to dream, how to plan. She knew how to weigh the choices, and the possibilities, how to craft a path that would lead to the greatest outcome for all. It was why she sacrificed, and it was how she realised, in Hades, just how much she would have done, had she been given the choice.

Perhaps that was what she was. Wasted potential.  A thousand lifetimes unlived.

For Megan everything was different – and yet everything was very much the same. Some may say she grew up with a very different father to Creon. He certainly was not a wealthy King, yet when he was winning big, he acted like one. He was a man who indulged in all the opulence that he could not afford. For Megan he played the same role.  

Megan’s childhood was one of extremes. Her father gambled and gambled often with little regard for the consequences. One day he would win big, would be high on the grand scheme he had planned, a scheme that would set the family up for life, and make up for every mistake her father had made in the past. These times Megan would be showered in gifts, expensive toys, new furniture, and trips to all of her favourite places. Her father treated her like a princess, and her mother like a Queen.

Within a few weeks, however, the men her father had borrowed from would arrive. Stripping everything they had gained, and then some, to ensure her father paid his debts. From there the spiral would be unbearable, until, of course, her father won and the cycle started all over again.

During this time Megan lost herself in stories. Books were one of the few things unlikely to be taken from her, and she cherished them. She chose to live in the dreams her books provided, to protect herself from the reality that waited outside.

Megan became the opposite of her father in every way. Where he spent, she saved. Where he was selfish, she became sacrificing, where he was ruled by indulgence she was led, at all times, by her duty.

It was hard to keep any money or wealth from her father, but as a teenager she managed it, putting money away, little by little, in places he could not access it. A teacher who opened a secret bank account in her name and a hole in her wall where she hid the profits from the gifts she had sold, before the all too familiar loan sharks could do the same.

It was all towards one goal. To leave her hometown for a big city, the biggest city, where she could disappear amongst a mass of people to whom she owed nothing. New York University provided every opportunity she craved.

For a while everything was perfect. She had independence for the first time in her life. Her father knew she was studying at NYU but knew nothing more about her location. She was free to live her life however she saw fit.

She worked part time as a waitress, socialising with other like-minded students and losing herself in her English Literature studies.

She was stupid to think it would last.

It was on the last day of her exams that the men turned up at her door. She did not know them, had never met them before, but she knew the look of them. In a moment everything she had built was torn away from her.

Her choice was simple, give up everything she had to work of her father’s debt, or let her father suffer. It was never really a choice.

Now Megan works full time waitressing, most of the money she earns goes back to the thugs her father owes his life to. It’s never enough, it never will be enough, Megan now watches as every dream she had disappears into dust.

answer these questions:

would you like your character to be entering the roleplay at this stage in the plot, with or without their memories?

I would prefer she enters without her memories, as I think the realisation of who she is, and her place in the universe, will be fun to play with from the beginning.

are they more likely to stand with the pantheon or against it?  ( if you are choosing a god they may endeavour to dismantle it for whatever reason )

Megan would snort at this question. What would it matter?  She would think, behind her silent sneer. What good would my choice provide to either side?

It would be a hard choice. Duty rules her, duty to those she is affiliated. Now, however, Megan has led a whole life without the pantheon, a whole life in which she felt no loyalty to any of the people asking for her help. Who are the Gods to her? Why should she stand with them, when they would not stand with her if their roles were reversed?

Of course, all of this is just talk, a feeble attempt to regain agency after all she had lost. Megan can pretend all she wants that the pantheon is meaningless to her. Megan stands by her own, even if doing so means giving up everything she has ever wanted. In the end she will stand with the closest thing Megara has to family.

what is their stand on mortals?

I found as I answered this question I was writing from Megan’s perspective, so I have written it in the form of a sample.

“Mortals. Such a dismissive word” Megan wasn’t sure if she was going to laugh or cry. The way the question was asked, it was so typical of the Gods. One word, one turn of phrase, could reduce everything other than themselves to nothing. “What am I? In this thought experiment.” She picked her nails as she leant back, eyes caught somewhere in the distance, unable to meet the gaze of her companion. “Am I mortal? I am no God. I am not divine – nor am I special, I just…” She paused there, despite all the knowledge she had gained it still felt unnatural to consider herself and Megara the same person. “She just… Heracles was the special one. Not me.”

Finally, she was able to meet their gaze. The thread of assertiveness that had always lurked under the surface of her passivity rearing its head. “But when you talk of Mortals you don’t mean me do you? You mean all those we are surrounded by, real and free and so completely oblivious of the truth. You want to know my stand on mortals? I envy them.”

She envied the choices that lay ahead of them; she envied their lives, so self-centred, concerned only with the reality within their own heads. She envied their certainty in their own identity, and their absolute irrelevance to most of the Gods. How she craved that, to disappear amongst the crowd, to be just another mortal.

To be anything other than what she was, both relevant, and yet nothing at the same time.

Megan had studied English Literature. She knew the difference between a character and a plot device.

☆ﾟ*・ GIVE US A SAMPLE OF YOUR WRITING!

The rich black leather of her purse met the top of a corner table roughly, practically mimicking the way she fell into the booth behind it. Hers was a frustration that could not be confined by her form. Hell, she practically emanated it, changing the energy of the otherwise peaceful room. The little cup before her spilled a few drops on the table from such jostling, and she paid them no mind.

“I should become a psychiatrist,” she sneered to herself. “Everyone tells me their problems anyway. Might as well make a little extra money for it.”

—

Leave it alone, the little voice in Megan’s head, the little voice that had an all too annoying habit of being right, was screaming at her right now. Just leave it alone and get on with your work. She never had been good at listening to it, even when she knew she should.

The truth was Megan was bored. She was bored of her late-night shifts at the café. She was bored of the same faces, every day, of eyes that looked right through her, eyes that dismissed her, eyes that treated her as if she were nothing more than a simpleton. She thought she could feel her brains turning to mush the longer she stayed in this café.

So, the woman who had just entered, the woman who seemed to be carrying so much weight, who communicated so much simply in the way she fell into her seat, that was a woman with so much potential that Megan could not let her escape.

Rather than listening to her little voice, therefore, Megan instead found herself approaching the woman’s table, her pot of coffee ready in her hand, the perfect excuse for some form of engaging conversation.

“You might have some competition on that front.” Megan told her, a shy laugh upon her lips. “People seem to think waitresses are a lot like psychiatrists, except, of course, they don’t have to respect us. I’m pretty sure people have told me things they wouldn’t dream of telling their shrink.”

She filled up her coffee nervously, her weight shifting between her feet. Please, she thought, please just give me something interesting. “Of course, until we actually become psychiatrists, we’re under no obligation to keep their secrets. Terrifying thought for everyone else. Fun for us.”

#semi appless rp #lsrpg #literate rp #spn rp #city rp #megara #ohq:accepted

[eulaliasims]

Replies re: pink flashing and gameplay posts. ༼ つ ◕_◕ ༽つ

@immerso-sims replied to your photoset “Emilio’s new life away from the bustle of the semi-urban Greenwich...”

'growing weed and eating grilled-cheese sandwiches' if that ain't half of my ex-groupmates at uni lol

Nothing but the finest realism for my game!

@didilysims replied to your photoset “They get a little distracted, but then! After two years, they’ve...”

History is made!!

lol, I think this means I have to actually finish writing the ghost hunting career I started, uh... two years ago probably.

didilysims replied to your photoset “Mary: All I’m saying is, there’s only so many toys one baby can play...”

Some of the spare toys are highly flammable.

So THAT’s where the teddy bear in the bonfire comes from!!

didilysims replied to your photoset “Autumn means it’s time for Ella’s sweater to make its reappearance....”

Re: syncing up with real seasons--I feel you.

We’re just doing it for the... realism? Authenticity? I’ll go with authenticity.

didilysims replied to your photoset  “Hunter: Aren’t you living in the woods? Emilio: I have this thing,...”

Cemetery wedding, Hunter!! Cemetery wedding!

Cemetery wedding! CeMETery wedding! CEMETERY WEDDING! *bangs fists on desk*

I’m still waiting on one of them to roll an engagement want. Seems like most of their peers have been rolling them (ok, Emilio and Claire/Claire’s BF, anyway), so idk. Maybe they just want to focus on other things. 🤔

@nerianasims replied to your post  “Hello! I love all the (S)images you share! It’s so nice to see them...”

My pink flashing was fixed for good when I turned shadows off, on top of all the other recommendations. The game still looks good, but not as good as it did before the horrible Fall Creators' Update (which messed up way more than just Sims 2.) I'm saving up for a new/old computer with Windows 7 for Sims 2.

I’ll keep that in mind if mine starts back up again! Yeah, I’ve heard it screwed up a lot of stuff, including other games. Luckily TS2 was the only thing on my PC it messed with. Tbh, I think a used computer with 7 is a solution a lot of simmers will be looking for--you’re not the first person I’ve heard that from.

I actually liked Windows 10 a lot at first, but since that update, I feel like new releases tend to screw with something or other on my PC. Also not a fan of the times I put it to hibernate instead of closing all my work, walked away for a couple hours, and came back to find Windows had turned on and closed everything anyway so it could update during the time span it’s specifically set not to update in. :’)

@decafsims replied to your post  “Hello! I love all the (S)images you share! It’s so nice to see them...”

Ive gotta agree with your Win 10+Nvidia+Sims 2 not working together theory bc I got tons of pink flashing when I still had ~10k GB CC lasdkl I wish they were more compatible

It just seems to be Nvidia cards that show up most in problem posts! But maybe it’s confirmation bias on my part? Anyway, come on TS2, let us shove all the CC and shiny graphics in you, it’s just b/c we love you so much. :(

@dreadpirate replied to your post  “Hello! I love all the (S)images you share! It’s so nice to see them...”

I have Win10 + a mid-range laptop NVIDIA card + 10GB of CC, and what kept me relatively pinkless is reducing my resolution + having NVIDIA handle smooth edges (turning off smooth edges in game settings) + reducing view distance depending on how large the lot I'm playing is

Good tips! I’ve definitely started keeping the view distance on medium or smaller most of the time. Which makes me sad, because I like to see the scenery around lots, but I also like being able to play.

immerso-sims replied to your photo   “Phineas: What do you think about cake for dinner? Emilio: I say go for...”

Awww that look. And also yes, cake for dinner - always. :D

His face when looking at Finn is just so sweet all the time. 💕

@dramallamadingdang replied to your photo  “After Carlos heads home, Emilio takes a moment to primp before meeting...”

He's goooooin' to the chapel and he's...goooona get ma-a-a-ried... Or so he thinks, anyway. :)

He’s definitely got wedding bells on the brain! He’s rolled that want for Peeta (the redhead) once before, but, like... Peeta isn’t as interesting as Finn. :P

dramallamadingdang replied to your photoset   “Spotted: Clara chatting with local cultist; and the park has acquired...”

I miss your game! I missed a chunk because Tumblr "helpfully" unfollowed you for me and it took me a while to realize it, and then I just haven't been keeping up with Tumblr in general. I need to just go to your blog and binge on it one of these days. If nothing else, I have no idea what's currently up with JAYNE! ;) And these pics are pretty, with the fall color. We need MOAR seasonal plants. MOAR!

Hi! Maybe someday Tumblr will stop unfollowing people for us and that will be the first sign of the apocalypse. :D Ben-Jayne hasn’t shown up for a few months, so you’re probably not behind there, don’t worry. And thank you--I love the fall colors. It helps me pretend it’s not still 80 degrees out here. :’)

moocha-muses replied to your photo  “After Carlos heads home, Emilio takes a moment to primp before meeting...”

How many husbands can he fit out there in the woods?

Currently, none! The cabin def needs some expansions first.

#replies

[gray-autumn-sky]

Sleepless in Seattle, Chapter 7

February 17, 1993- Seattle, Washington:

Robin rings his hands as he sits in the booth, staring at the door and waiting for his date.

He cancelled a few days before, and really, he thought that Emma would call off the whole thing.

He felt a degree of guilt over using Roland as an excuse—saying that his son was sick and needed him at home, and though the excuse had sounded fake and flimsy to him, Emma didn’t argue with it. Instead, she said that she understood and that his son should always come first—and then, she confessed that she was feeling a little uncomfortable about that date, anyway. Valentine’s Day brought a certain amount of unnecessary pressure, suggesting that maybe later in  the week would be better for them both.

He was glad for the less formal setting and for the proximity to home. This was a place he and Roland went often, and several of the wait staff knew him well—and when he regretfully informed them that he was not dining with his son and confessed that he was actually meeting a woman for a date, they offered pats on the back and high fives and congratulatory wishes that momentarily set him at ease and made him that that maybe this wasn’t the worst idea.

But still, he was nervous and his stomach was in knots—and of course, the two conflicting voices in his head didn’t help the situation. One told him to get up and leave, that he wasn’t ready for this and it wasn’t fair to anyone involved to carry on with a date if there was no chance at something more developing, and the other voice told him it was just pizza and conversation, that if anything, it’d be good for him to be social.

The second voice was winning out when Emma came in to the pizza shop and a slight smile tugged on to his lips as he spotted her.

Ruby and Belle were right—Emma was pretty, though not typically his type. She had long blonde hair that was curled at the ends and the boots she wore made her seem taller than she really was. She wore tight, dark jeans and a red leather jacket over a tucked in what shirt, and as she came closer, she offered him an awkward little wave and a grin.

“Robin?”

“Yes,” he nods. “You’re Emma, then.”

Nodding, she slides into the booth across from him. “I am.”

“You, um… you obviously found the place alright.”

She nods. “Yes, your directions were… very clear.”

For a moment, neither of them says anything and then a little laugh bubbles out of him, and she laughs, too.

“I’m sorry,” he says, “I’m a bit rusty.”

“I am, too.”

“My sister mentioned that you just got out a relationship? I’m sorry—“

“I’m not,” she cuts in. “I just wish I’d gotten out sooner.” He nods. “I’m new in town and staying with some friends from college—“

“David and Mary Margaret,” he supplies. “I am the architect designing the addition on their house.”

“Oh, now I feel the need to apologize. They are so indecisive about every last detail.”

“So the bay window fiasco wasn’t an act to try to put us in each other’s orbit?”

“Not entirely. I was running late, but after you left, they had tape up the walls, still debating where the window should go.”

“Oh no,” he laughs. “It’s really not that serious.”

“When you called to cancel, they were still debating and I didn’t have the heart to tell you you’d probably spend Valentine’s Day redrawing the blueprints for the addition.” His brow furrows and she laughs again, “There’s a new discussion about a skylight,” she tells him. “They didn’t tell you yet?”

“No,” he sighs. “They probably haven’t committed to it yet or they’re afraid I’ll quit.”

“You might as well just design a room for a teenager—put the window by the tree so he can sneak out in the middle of the night. That seems most considerate.”

“Or he’ll simply have to stay a baby forever.”

“I am sure Mary Margaret would have no arguments about that.”

Leaning back against the booth, Robin grins—talking to Emma is easier than he thought it’d be.

The waitress comes and they order a pizza—settling on pepperoni and jalapeño peppers—and by the time the waitress bring their beers to the table, they’ve fallen into a conversation that’s only mildly uncomfortable.

She asks about his son—a topic he could stay on forever—and so he takes the opportunity to brag. Emma listens and nods along, smiling when she should at cute little anecdotes about the antics of a six year old. She admits that she likes kids, but isn’t sure that she wants them for herself, and when he apologizes for going on and on, she brushes it off, telling him she enjoyed listening and Roland seems like a sweet boy—and that earners her a couple of points in his book.

He shifts the conversation as the pizza arrives, talking about movies and books and TV shows. Outside of a few random things, they don’t have many of the same interests, but in some ways, that’s refreshing and gives them more to talk about—and when Emma suggests a film they could maybe watch together, he takes it as a good sign, and again feels himself relax.

By the time they’ve finished their pizza and ordered slices of cheesecake for dessert, he’s feeling more at ease. And while he’s not entirely sure of its something about her that he likes or something about talking to someone who isn’t his sister or his child, he does like it and he finds himself mentally preparing a list of possible date ideas.

He likes serious films, like documentaries or comedies that he can laugh at, while she prefers mysteries or horror films; he likes leisurely hikes while she prefers rock climbing. He seems himself as a family man while she is more of a loner who occasionally likes company, and they both avoid cooking for themselves whenever they can.

She laughs at that part, telling him she now understands why Ruby is always over, and he smiles and nods and pretends that that’s the real reason.

Their dessert comes as Emma confesses that she’s never even seen a horse up close and the idea of riding one terrifies her—so, naturally he adds horseback riding to his list.

They part ways after they eat, agreeing that they’d like to do something like this again. Emma pulls out her pocketbook and suggests a movie date, and he finds himself nodding in agreement as he adds dinner—and just like that, he has a second date planned.

He spends his walk home  weighing what this actually means, and by the time he arrives at his front door, he decides that it doesn’t really matter—the company is nice and he forgot how fun it could be just getting to know someone. Emma might not be someone he ended up with for a long time, but maybe that was the point—and maybe he’d spend the rest of his life with her.

That was the fun of it—the possibilities—and he’d completely forgotten how good it felt to have possibilities, to not have everything charted out and predetermined, to just see where life would take him.

In a lot of ways, Marian had been a wonderful surprise—they’d shared a cab ride on a particularly rainy day, and the only reason he’d been in that cab was because he’d lent his car to Belle so she could take a road trip to visit a friend from high school. By the end of that cab ride, he’d been convinced that he wanted to ask Marian out, and when he helped her out of the cab, he knew they’d have something special.

But that feeling hadn’t taken away from the spontaneity of it all—and maybe, he thought as he turned his key in the lock and braced himself for the onslaught of questions from Belle and Ruby that were sure to come as soon as the door opened—he really could get that lucky as second time… perhaps not with Emma, but someone.

Only time would tell, and for the first time in longer than he could remember, he was actually looking forward to uncertainty that lay ahead of him.

_____

February 17, 1993- Greenwich, Connecticut:

To her relief--and oddly, to her disappointment--Daniel did not propose to her on Valentine’s Day.

He’d taken her to a nice restaurant and they’d had a nice meal, and their dinner was filled with easy conversation. He seemed to sense her anxiety, so he kept things light. They’d gone into New York City for the evening, and he’d planned a walk in Central Part, but the rain foiled those plans, so instead, they rented a few movies and went back to the hotel, ordering ice cream and laying in bed, laughing until their sides hurt, thanks to Cary Grant and movies like Arsenic and Old Lace and Bringing Up Baby.

Daniel was out of town—some business meeting or something that came up a the last minute—so she invited Lily and Mal over to eat the meal she’d prepared.

As always, Lily and Henry went off to play video games—this time, giggling together as they played Duck Hunt in his bedroom while she and Mal settled in the living room with a bottle of wine.

“You should stay the night.”

Mal’s brows arch. “We're not sixteen. We don’t do sleepovers anymore.”

Regina shrugs. “The kids are having fun and it’s sleeting and I want to watch old movies, but I don’t want to alone.”

Mal grins. “Sounds like you’re subbing me in for your boyfriend.”

Regina shrugs. “Or maybe I was subbing my boyfriend in for you. I’m not really sure he’d be into the movie I picked. It’s… kind of a chick flick.”

“What is it?”

“An Affair to Remember. I’m… I’m kind of on a Cary Grant kick, so I got it and then I read the description.”

“That is absolutely a chick flick,” Mal says, nodding as she sighs. “I’ll stay if you give me ice cream.”

“Deal.”

“Do you have that snickerdoodle kind that—“

“That my kid is obsessed with? Of course.”

“Excellent. You get the ice cream and I’ll let Lily know we’re going to stay.” Getting up from the couch, she sighs. “I’m sure this will be an argument.”

“I've got some cookie dough, maybe that can sweeten the deal.”

“Maybe.”

“Henry is going to be thrilled, you know. He loves when Lily’s here… even if she doesn’t want to be.”

“Lily can move in, if you want. I swear, she’s no trouble at all… ever. She’s an absolute delight!”

Regina grins as she gets up. “I really do think she’s a delight.”

“That's because you’re not her mother so she likes you.”

“Things still rough after the smoking incident?”

Mal nods. “Rough is my new normal. This morning she and I got into a fight about eyeliner.”

“Was she wearing too much?”

“No,” Mal says, rolling her eyes. “I was, and apparently me dropping her off at school is embarrassing.”

At that, Regina giggles and shrugs, watching as Mal starts up the stairs.

She retreats into the kitchen and flicks on the radio before flicking on the oven—and all of the sudden the familiar voice of Doctor Archibald Hopper fills the room.

Grabbing the cookie dough from the refrigerator, she listens as he switches topics.

I’m sure you all remember our most famous caller from Christmas Eve, a little boy from Seattle who was worried about his dad not sleeping and being alone…

Looking up, she stares at the radio, listening more intently as she grabs a okie sheet from the drying Araceli and forms little balls of dough.

...I say most popular because since Christmas hundreds of women have called in for his address—hundreds of concerned women who want to help—

Regina’s eyes roll. “Yeah, help themselves into his bed,” she mutters.

Several of you have reached out to check in on him, calling into the station for an update, and while I would love to talk to Sleepless in Seattle again, he has not answered any of my calls…

“He has a name.”

“Who does?”

Regina looks up to see Mal standing in the kitchen. “Oh…”

“Is that that radio program again?”

Reigna nods. “They’re talking about Robin… about Sleepless in Seattle from…”

“Christmas.”

“Yeah? What are they saying?”

“Not much,” Regina says, lowering the volume dial so she can hear Mal, but not turning it down completely.  “People are curious about him—“

“People like you.”

For a moment, she just glares. “I suppose.”

“Women have been writing to him.”

At that, Mal’s brow arches. “Soo, you’ve got some competition.”

“No—“

“Regina, come on. It’s not wrong to be curious about him. You heard his story and you felt something—“

“It was a sad story, Mal.”

“I’m not saying that it wasn’t. I’m just saying you felt a connection—“

“That’s a bit strong.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

“It’s ridiculous, Mal. I don’t know this man. I heard one story from his life, this one little thing—“

“This one huge thing.”

She shrugs. “Still, it was one thing that has to do with the life of a complete stranger.”

“So?”

“So… I… I’m involved with someone. Someone who is great and—“

“And you spend all of Valentine’s Day hoping wouldn’t propose to you.”

Regina bristles as she lops some Cookie dough onto the sheet. “I’m… I’m just not… not there I don’t want to rush things or—“

“Or maybe, despite the fact that you’re dating a great guy, he’s not the guy for you.” Regina’s shoulders square as she focuses on the cookies, trying to formulate some sort of zinger to reply with that’ll shut the conversation down. But before she can, Mal leans against the counter and completely derails her train of thought. “You should write to him.”

Regina's eyes widen. “You mean...write to…”

Mal’s eyes roll as Regina’s voice trails off. “To Sleepless in Seattle.”

“Robin.”

A grin twists onto her lips “Oh, so you’re a on a first name basis now?”

“Shut up.”

“No, I’m serious. You should write to him.”

“And sound like all the other crazy desperate women who want to bed him? No, thanks.”

“But you’re different.”

“Yeah,” Regina says, nodding as she spoons the last of the cookie dough onto the sheet. “I am different. I have a boyfriend. I shouldn't--”

“Regina--”

“Mal, this is insane. It’s unhealthy it’s--”

“You’re attracted to it. Admit it.”

“He’s a voice on the radio!”

“That you recorded so you could listen to him as a bedtime story.”

Regina’s eyes widen. “Oh god. Mal. I’m just as crazy and desperate as those other women. I’m--”

“Okay, okay, calm down,” Mal sighs, taking the cookie sheet from her and sliding it into the over and spinning the timer. “Let’s change the subject. We’ll get some wine and watch a movie, and forget what a psycho you are for a little bit.”

Regina pouts as Mal grabs her hand and a bottle of wine, dragging her back into the living room. Regina curls her legs underneath herself as Mal puts on the movie, and aside from a very short break to take the cookies out of the oven, she doesn’t move--instead, she gets too invested in the movie and finishes off a bottle of wine before the its even over, and all the while, she pictures herself waiting for Sleepless in Seattle--for Robin--on top of the Empire State Building, and how terribly romantic that would be.

She sighs as the credits roll, and when she looks over to Mal, she finds her curled up in the armchair beside her, asleep. “So much for a movie marathon,” she says, setting down her glass and feeling a little wobbly as she stands, moving toward Mal and carefully pulling away the carton of ice cream from her--and when she does, Mal curls into a tighter ball.

She takes the empty wine glasses, bottles and Mal’s now-empty carton of ice cream into the kitchen and sets the on the counter to be dealt with in the morning, and she grins as the handful of cookies left--Lily and Henry obviously came down for seconds, and maybe even thirds. She transfers the rest of the cookies onto a plate and puts the cookie sheet into the sink, again leaving it for morning to clean.

Turning off the light in the kitchen, she goes back to the living room to toss a blanket over Mal, then dims the light and heads up the stairs. She finds Lily and Henry curled up on Henry’s bed, video game controllers still in their hand and the music to Mario Brothers playing as Game Over flashes repeatedly on the TV screen on Henry’s dresser. She turns off the TV and kisses them both on the forehead, pulling away the controllers as she dims Henry’s lamp--and then as she retreats down the hall toward her bedroom, she realizes she’s not tired.

Biting down on her lip, she turns toward her office. For a moment, she just stood there, feeling a bit dizzy as she stared at her Macintosh--and then, drawing in a breath, she pushed herself toward, pressing her fingers to the keyboard to boot it up. Chewing at her lip, she watched as the computer started, and she held her breath as she opened up the Word Processor, then once it was open, all she could do was stare at it.

It was… like magic, she thinks, remembering the soft yet hesitant way he described that very first moment he knew that he was in love with his wife--and it made her heart ache in the best possible way.

Pulling out her chair, she sat down at the computer and started to type…

Dear Sleepless in Seattle, she types, grimacing as she looked at the words. They sounded so.... Impersonal. And then she rolled her eyes. How else would it sound, writing to someone who didn’t even know she existed.

I’ve never done something like this before.

She blinks and rolls her eyes. “Of course, you haven’t--and neither has all the other psychos out there who are writing to him.” With a sigh, her head dips forward and her face falls into her hands, and she can’t do it--she can’t write this letter, much less send it. So, she powers down her computer and goes to sleep.

#oq ff #outlaw queen #advent 2018

[weasleymama]

GMW Rewatch S1E1: Girl Meets World

I am going to focus more on individual episodes… but there is one broad generalization about the show as a whole that I really want to point out. As a single mother, I had a big problem with the mother/daughter relationships on this show. I feel like there is not enough between Topanga and Riley…but more between her and Auggie. Why is that? Why don’t we get to see those important mother daughter moments in this show about a teenage girl?

We have an episode called “Girl Meets Father” What about mother? I can understand a girl being closer to one parent than the other. But a lot of really important mother/daughter moments were missed here and it’s really sad.

The same can be said for Maya and Katy. I would have loved to see more positive single-mother moments. But you basically spend most of the first season thinking Maya’s mother is a flake who can’t be bothered to be there for her daughter. It’s not okay.

Yes, they explained she was working to buy Maya’s present on her birthday, but that’s still crap. No way she doesn’t wake up her daughter to say happy birthday, or call her… nothing? Just left alone to fend for herself? I don’t like it. Then comes the Christmas episode… where they invite Maya but no Katy? Yes I’m sure she had to work…but no mention of her mother?

The mother/daughter relationship is incredibly important to how a girl is raised and who she becomes. It should have been better portrayed, and I will never change my mind on that.

Now onto the episode!

One of the first things I notice as someone who has seen the entire show is that Maya knows a lot of people outside of the Core group (be it 4 or 6). You come to notice it in later episodes as well, but even in the pilot, she knows people in the subway by name and I like that there’s more to her. Also, I wish we’d get to see Weasel, the drummer on the subway platform, more often. He seemed like he’d be fun.

Like most TV shows set in NYC, the apartment is ridiculous. That apartment is at least 3 bedrooms along with a huge living room/kitchen space. An apartment, in a brownstone, in Greenwich Village would cost around 10 million dollars, give or take. Are you telling me that a lawyer and a middle school teacher have that kind of money? I have no doubt Topanga makes good money but come on!

Ship wars in this fandom are INSANE. I personally like Lucaya, Riarkle,  and Zaydora but I don’t deny other ships have possibilities. I won’t engage in ship wars… but I will discuss anytime with anyone how they feel about stuff. I like talking to other fans, so long as it’s a discussion and not a battle.

With that said… Maya spots Lucas first on the subway, but honestly, I don’t think she has any interest in him at this point. She can admit he’s cute, but beyond that, she’s just having fun. And I think he was amused by her as well, seeing she and Riley talking after their ‘break-up’ he had to know they were teasing him, and the look on his face seemed okay with it.

I do not think Maya pushed Riley on the subway to engage in some romantic moment between her and Lucas. They had no idea if they’d ever see him again. The whole point of this episode is Riley wanting to be like Maya because she’s so cool. Maya is okay with this at the beginning because she doesn’t see it being a bad thing for Riley (yet). I think she pushed Riley to talk to random cute boy, because it would push her to be more outgoing and ‘cool’.

But on that note… Riley, a girl who isn’t actually like that, who is shy and awkward, actually remains sitting on Lucas’s lap?! I don’t think so. She wouldn’t sit there and have some cute talk, she would stand or move to the empty seat immediately and likely blush and apologize. Then it happens again? We see how awkward she is with him in the next episode, can’t even speak to him without her phone…yet she’s chatting on his lap? Nope. Nuh uh. Not happening.

OCD Continuity Moment #1: Evelyn Rand. Okay, I get it, they liked Jackée and wanted her on the show beyond the pilot. If you’re anything like me, this doesn’t fly. She’s a billionaire who apparently needs to sit down after working a 12-hour shift right? Meaning she went to work at 5 or 6 at night…not exactly board room hours.

However, I love her character and she makes me laugh so whatever.

One of her lines that I love the most in this episode: “You ain’t got no hunk you ain’t got no story!” It really was a foreshadowing moment for this show and the fandom obsession with coupling. LOL

The first time Maya is insulted by Cory happens in the pilot episode. This really bothers me because honestly it happens a lot as the show goes on. It’s always laughed off, she always has some witty come back that makes her seem tougher than he is, but the truth is, she shouldn’t have to.

“Thank you, future Mini-mart employee of the month”

This is not okay to say to a 13-year-old girl. Not okay for a teacher to say this to any child, but especially not one that young and impressionable.  This is not how a good teacher should speak to his students (but of course, I am not totally sold on Cory as a good teacher to be honest).

Topanga (mockingly): Let’s get married, let’s have a kid, let’s have another kid

Cory: Well you listened to me, ya big stupid.

I actually love this moment between them, it’s light and joking and fun after dealing with a hormonal pre-teen. It was cute to see.

Side note, Topanga proposed to him.

I am going to use Farkle’s own words for the lunchroom scene, for the debates and the deeply discussed ‘Maya is sloppy Joe” craziness.

“Farkle’s just hungry, not everything is about you.”

I am sure people think deeply about the show and how they put it together, I have no doubt that there are small details that we may or may not notice. But the nit-picking that happens in the fandom over tiny things just wears me out. I hope that’s not what anyone is looking for here, because it’s just not me. Honestly, and no offense to anyone else, I find it hard to believe that someone who can’t be bothered with continuity in a show can be so set on things so little.

Let’s take a moment to imagine yourself as Riley… You’re talking to a boy at school for the first time, you’ve barely said hello to him, you were too nervous to even call him over to the table with your friends. And what happens next? Your dad come sup and literally pulls him away.

Now Imagine being a 14-year-old boy. Would you actually WANT to hang out with that girl after that? Would it not deter you from that group of friends, especially if you’re new in the school? I can’t image any boy at 14 not thinking it was the most uncomfortable, strange thing ever. Not to mention this dad who pulls you away is your teacher.

Cory is incredibly overbearing as a parent (the line in the next episode “do I go too far?” “always, sir” is very accurate.) It’s really inappropriate to me as a parent. 

“No homework, more freedom!” Honestly, I would have to give Maya ½ credit on her homework/not doing her homework because that’s what she’s fighting for.  (not counting the fire alarm situation yet to come)

I personally believe the moment Maya stands up to ‘gather the homework’ was actually her way to save Riley. Riley was telling Cory she was like Maya, that she didn’t do her homework. It wasn’t until Cory tells Riley that he’s not like Maya at all, that Maya raises her hand to interrupt him. I don’t see her planning to burn everyone’s homework (even if she knew Farkle had sparklers on his – which BTW, why does this kid have sparklers lit at school anyway?) I saw it more as a ploy to keep Cory from making Riley realize they’re not as alike as she thinks, that went admittingly ‘too far’. Notice how slowly she brings the sparklers to the paper.

Lucas: Why didn’t you stop your friend?

Riley: I don’t do that anymore.

Lucas: You’re better than that!

Is she though? You only met the girl a few hours before, how do you really know what she’s better than? But it gets better… not only does Lucas put the pressure on her to be responsible for Maya, so does Cory…and in an even worse way: “Because you didn’t do anything your best friend is in very big trouble.”

She is a 12-year-old girl, who wants to be like her best friend and feel cool and accepted… it’s way too much to put on her shoulders.

Maya’s admission of not having anyone at home to help her with her homework is heartbreaking. But what’s more heartbreaking is that she has to say it at all. Cory has known her since she was 5 years old. “As long as I can remember it’s been Riley and Maya” As long as he can remember. He should know by now what her home/family is like, or at least have some indication…not stand there in shock like she’s just revealed something he never considered. I don’t know if this is a continuity thing or just to put the point out there of what Maya’s home life is like, but it really just made Cory look like a clueless jerk.

“I go too far, and I don’t think that’s going to stop.” It’s the ‘I don’t think I’m going to stop’ part that really resonated with me in this moment.  She’s basically come to the conclusion that she’s bad, and she can’t change. This is quickly followed by her saying Cory doesn’t love her anymore. I feel like this needed more attention – but alas, it was about Riley’s inner struggle to be herself, not Maya’s. I connected more to Maya’s character, I think the show could have been really interesting if it were Maya’s story.

One more thing… if the creators of the show are SO picky that the tiniest little things matter, that the food on the plate really is a sign of something to come. Then someone please tell me why Auggie, a 5-year-old, is doing a peg puzzle made for toddlers. Seriously people…you can’t have it both ways, either everything tiny background thing matters, or it doesn’t.

All in all, I have some negative thoughts. I will have a lot of them. But I really do love this show. I love the throw backs to Boy Meets World, which I grew up with. I love the dynamics between friends. I love the lessons (mostly) that they tried to teach.

I love to discuss things, so please feel free to message me or send in an ask. I look forward to having fun chats with the fans still out there.

#gmw rewatch #gmw #girl meets world #gmw s1e1 #unsolicited opinions #maya hart #lucas friar #cory matthews #riley matthews

[piratekenway]

*boots down the door* HAPPY BIRTHDAY. For a prompt, what do you think would happen if Diana of Themyscira existed in the AU where Anakin spends a decade on Earth as amnesiac John Foster?

so I’m going to smash these two AUs together, bc I just love this idea and I’m gonna make like Victor Frankenstein, OG sleep-deprived desperate college student, and create A Monster.

title from P!nk’s “What About Us”.

title: we are rockets pointed up at the stars

--

The first time Diana of Themyscira meets Anakin Skywalker, he’s not Anakin Skywalker just yet. Anymore. Whichever. She doesn’t really know, per se, because she’s never had the opportunity to change her identity from the bottom-up—underneath Diana Prince and all her other aliases is Diana of Themyscira, princess, goddess, Amazon, and that has never changed.

Not the same way Anakin’s identity has changed.

What he is when she meets him, though, is a bright-eyed college student, in a Columbia hoodie, weaving in and out of the crowds and looking up, up, up at the ceiling.

She steps deftly to the side before he can bump into her, but it’s too late, his knee knocks against a bench and he goes sprawling anyway with a squawk, his papers flying.

Her mouth quirks upward, in a smile, and she bends down. “Do you need any help?” she asks.

“Please,” he says, and the two of them rearrange his papers and his things into some semblance of order quickly enough that he can still catch up with his friends. “I’m—so sorry, I didn’t see.”

“It’s all right,” says Diana. “You’re new here, aren’t you?”

He huffs out a breath, scratches the back of his neck. He’s young, she thinks, he’s never seen anything worse than a failing grade, a dead pigeon. He’s so young. “Yeah,” he says. “My friends dragged me here, I couldn’t really turn them down. Not after they said there was an exhibit here on space.”

The space exhibit, right. Diana hadn’t been responsible for that one, hadn’t even planned to go see it, had only just swung by the museum after talking to a donor because she’d wanted to check on an artifact being exhibited, but it fascinates her, nonetheless.

“Your friends have good taste,” she observes. “They’ve a rock from the moon here, did you know?”

“I know, that’s partly why I agreed to come here,” he says. “I’ve always wanted to go to space, it’s like—we were meant to be out there, y’know? Exploring, discovering, pushing the final frontier.”

“So you’ve watched a lot of Star Trek?” says Diana, amused.

He ducks his head and laughs. “Yeah, I have,” he says. “And—shit, I forgot. I’m John.” He holds his hand out. “I’m a physics major.”

“Diana,” she says, shaking his hand. “I’m a museum curator. Not for this one, I live in Paris.”

“Oh, so you’re with the Louvre?” he says, letting go. “That’s nice. All I know is that the Mona Lisa is there, so.”

“Yes, that does seem to be the main draw for many people,” says Diana, with a huff. “We do have an exhibit on clay work from Ancient Greece right now, in case someone can drag themselves away from the Mona Lisa for long enough.”

“Ancient Greece?” says John, evidently trying valiantly to keep his interest on something that’s not related to space. His eyes keep straying upward to the ceiling, tracking the constellations painted above them. “That’s—uh, pretty cool.”

“And clearly something you’re not interested in,” she says, sardonic.

John, at least, has the decency to look sheepish. “Yeah, sorry,” he says. “Most of what I know is from Professor Duke’s Philosophy classes.”

Diana can’t help it, she winces in sympathy. “I’ve met him a few times,” she says. “He’s very trying.” Which is an understatement, Duke is a rich white old man, and in Diana’s experience, those tend to be set in their ways, at the very least, which Duke is. Stubbornly so, even.

John sighs. “He’s an asshole, sorry,” he says.

“I’m well aware,” says Diana.

“Foster!” someone calls, and John startles, turns to look. “Foster, oh my god, get your ass over here and cover for us so Matt can touch the artwork!”

“He’s flirting with a girl, isn’t he?” someone else says. “Jesus Christ, it’s like Matt and his girls all over again.”

“I gotta go,” says John, with a huff of laughter. “I’m looking after some freshmen today, they’re going to get in trouble if I’m not there to terrify people.”

“You cannot possibly be that terrifying,” says Diana. It’s true enough, John might be tall and broad, but he slouches, smiles, speaks with a self-deprecating edge to his voice.

“To you,” John chuckles. “Hey, listen, do you have a pen? I’ve got some paper here.”

--

Patricia Avery is an accomplished lawyer, a woman of great renown amongst the lawyers of New York for her great integrity and her steel backbone, her compassion for the needy and her drive to do the right thing, no matter what.

She also, Diana has found over the course of their acquaintance, can be easily talked into an informal meeting with chocolate ice cream. So, well, she has good taste as well.

“So how’s your case?” says Diana, as Patricia digs a spoon into her bowl of ice cream. “I hear it’s taken an interesting turn.”

“I loathe Reyes with all my heart,” says Patricia, pleasantly. “Every time I see her it makes me weep for our legal system that she’s on track to taking over the DA’s position.”

“You have to admit, she did have a point,” says Diana.

“You’re supposed to be on my side,” huffs Patricia, with no real heat behind her tone. Her client, a witness and accomplice to a crime, isn’t having the best time of it in court right now, what with Reyes poking holes in her testimony and sowing doubt in the poor girl’s head and in the jury’s. “I swear, though, Reyes just wants to see her behind bars. And she deserves better, Diana, you know that—she’s already been kidnapped and brainwashed into being an accomplice, she doesn’t need this too.”

“I know,” says Diana, sympathetic. She could offer her help, she knows, her lariat still hangs in her apartment, but she cannot interfere in this even to help. It would hurt Patricia’s case, more than help.

Patricia sighs. “Reyes is gunning for her,” she says. “She wants a convenient scapegoat, and the worst part of it all is, the press is going along with her. You’ve seen the narrative they’re putting out.”

“You can change that,” Diana points out.

“I’m trying,” says Patricia. “But sometimes—I don’t know. I feel like it isn’t enough.” There’s something underneath her voice, the truth of her identity lurking underneath her sharp clothes, the grief of not being enough (never being enough) to effect any change, no matter how loud she shouts, how hard she pushes. “Senator or lawyer, sometimes it feels as if I can’t shout loud enough,” she says, quietly.

Diana’s hand rests over Patricia’s. The woman startles a little, surprised, but she doesn’t flinch away. “You are,” says Diana, with conviction. “Patricia. Padmé. You have made your voice loud enough in the pursuit of justice that even the deaf can hear it. You can change this narrative in the press, you can drag the truth out into the light, you can give Reyes a run for her money. I’ve seen you do it, over and over. I know you can do it now.”

Patricia stares at her, then, slowly, nods.

“Thanks,” she says, quietly. “You always know what to say to pull me out of a funk.”

“Don’t mention it,” says Diana. “You always pay for the ice cream, anyway.”

--

The second time Diana meets Anakin Skywalker, he’s earned his PhD, and it’s a year before Greenwich, before SHIELD, four before the Justice League forms, in the Avengers’ absence. He’s still not Anakin, not yet.

They meet, again, at a museum, and this time he doesn’t go sprawling in front of her.

“I’m here with Selvig this time,” he says, and his eyes are still bright, though they’re wiser now. She thinks of New Mexico, and desert sands. “How are you, anyway? I haven’t seen you in years.”

“I’ve been busy,” says Diana. “I heard you were in New Mexico.”

“Yeah, that,” says John, with a little huff of breath. He looks up once more, searching for something. “That was—wow.”

“Wow is putting it one way,” says Diana. “So. Norse gods?”

“Classified my ass,” says John, shaking his head. “Yeah, apparently. Thor was—uh. Nice.” He rubs the side of his neck, smile turning soft and sad, and Diana knows loss and longing, when she sees it. Has felt it herself, still does sometimes.

She watches John for a long moment, and says, quiet, “Come with me.”

--

She tells him: “I lost someone, once.”

She tells him: “It will always hurt like this.”

She tells him: “He may not come back.”

“He will,” he says.

“But if he does not?” she asks.

“He will,” he says, with a desperate note. “I’ll find him, if he doesn’t. But he will. I didn’t—” He stops, shakes his head. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he says. “I really am. But it isn’t the same, he’s going to come back.”

He’s so young. And yet.

Diana touches his elbow.

She tells him: “I wish you both more time.”

#words writ in starlight #asks #you ask and i write #there will be music despite everything #ow my fingers #ALSO there will be more i think??? I HOPE SO ANYWAY #words-writ-in-starlight