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lumosinlove · 18 days ago

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Seeking hope and happiness, especially today, and found some in these three...

On The Line

Part Six

New York was much as Logan remembered it. This city seemed to do nothing but change, so its fast paced lights and sidewalks always seemed the same. Finn refused to stay anywhere but Manhattan, but if his happy expression as he stood at their suite’s large windows while sipping his coffee resulted in earlier mornings for the both of them, Logan didn’t care.

He poured a cup of his own and joined him at the window. Central Park’s leaves hadn’t turned yet. Early joggers and cyclists were out. People walked their dogs. The world felt awake and happy, and Finn’s arm around his waist was warm.

The qualifiers were over, the first rounds blown through. The semifinals were today. Logan had taken out Winter easily to get past the quarterfinals, and today he’d go up against Luke. Leo had fought hard to get through Black and succeeded, which had upset and surprised everyone—even those who were hoping for another grueling Tremblay-Knut match up in the final.

Logan knew he should be nervous for tonight’s match. He had to focus on Luke, who had a way of sneaking up on people. Instead, all he could think about was the prospect of meeting Leo in the finals.

“He sleeping?” Finn asked.

“Shower,” Logan said. “He was singing last I checked.”

“Singing what?”

“I don’t know.”

Finn scoffed. “Yes, you do.”

“Willow.”

Ah-ha.”

Logan rolled his eyes, but settled his head against Finn’s chest. The park looked so peaceful. The runners knew just where they were going around the circular track of the lake. The dog walkers would soon make their way back home. Logan didn’t know what would happen tonight—if he’d make it, or if he would lose this chance at another title. He wondered when he would get tired of chasing titles. It hadn’t quite happened yet. Something still ignited in his chest when he thought about winning. It was similar to the feeling he got when he thought about those two, prized first kisses he’d received. He liked Finn in the stands. He liked the grueling training Finn designed for him.

“How you feeling?” Finn asked, scratching his fingers through Logan’s hair. “You’re playing good. Smooth. I’m proud.”

Logan nodded, settling more of his weight against him. “I’m good.” He hesitated, but Finn would find out sooner or later. Logan would end up blurting it out in a different moment just like this one. “Nervous.”

“I know,” Finn said. “But we knew this was always a possibility.”

“But now it’s close. And real.”

“Oh, you’re so sure you’re going to take Luke.” When Logan just looked at him, Finn laughed. “Yeah, okay, killer.”

“I don’t want to hurt Le.”

Finn stayed quiet for a moment. Logan closed his eyes, letting him mess with his hair, rub his neck, do anything he wanted while he thought. One time he accidentally started doing it when a few reporters caught up with them around the practice courts, and there hadn’t been a camera there but they had sure gotten a few laughs.

“You’re not hurting anyone, Lo. You’re doing your job. Leo will be in the game longer than you. He’s talented and driven and younger.” Finn looked down at him. “I think the only thing that would hurt him is you…like, going easy on him or something.”

Logan scoffed. “Going easy?”

“Not that you would. God knows you’re too stubborn for that.”

Logan let his eyes unfocus, filled only with the green and brown smudges of the park far below. A siren wailed somewhere—a sound he always associated with the beginning of a grueling hardcourt season. He already knew Finn would be setting up multiple massage appointments for him—and thought about asking Finn to do it himself like he sometimes did.

“I want to beat him. That’s there, just like in practice,” Logan said carefully. “I just… I need a way to separate it.” Logan ran his hand down Finn’s arm until he reached his wrist. He traced over the taut tendons there from holding his coffee. “I don’t remember how I did it with you. I just—I need it to be about the game and not about us because…”

Finn’s fingers paused from messing with his hair. His thumb brushed Logan’s eyebrow, and Logan took the cue and looked up at him.

“Because I love him,” Logan whispered.

A new sort of flame caught behind Finn’s eyes. His laugh was soft, satiny, and he cupped Logan’s chin in light fingertips.

“Ouais,” Logan whispered against Finn’s mouth. “Finn, I do, I do…” Finn was hushing him, smiling, nodding, then kissing him.

“Shower’s free,” Leo’s voice said.

Logan looked to see him with a towel around his waist and another in his hands, drying off his hair roughly. The droplets of water on his chest shone as brightly as the gold chain around his neck.

“I mean,” Leo continued, grinning. “Technically, it was free while I was in it, too. If we’re covering all our bases here.”

“I have to shower,” Finn said, setting his coffee down. “So, why are you toweling off?”

Leo laughed and threw the towel in a perfect straight snap to Finn’s chest.

Finn just grinned, grabbing his face for a sloppy kiss as he passed by. He turned. “Lo, eat a light breakfast and stretch now so we can get some hitting in early. And Le…” He stopped in his tracks, halfway through the bathroom doorway before he retraced his steps and took Leo around the waist for a slower, softer kiss. It left his shirt damp. He hooked a finger in Leo’s gold chain. “See you for lunch?”

Logan still managed to forget Leo wasn’t coming down to the courts with him more often than not. He’d grown so used to spending every single moment together. Seeing him across the practice courts, alone, and tall, and beautiful, felt so, so strange. Sometimes Finn had to stop Logan from crossing the lines at the sound of Leo’s coach’s harsh barks at him…Sometimes Logan had to stop Finn.

Leo bit his lip, shoulders falling some, and shook his head. “Probably not.”

Logan frowned. He took it all back. This was the hardest part. The days where they hardly saw each other. “When?”

“I’ll stick around after I play Lupin,” Leo said, offering a smile as he wiped at the water he’d gotten on Finn’s shirt. “Watch you kick Luke’s ass.”

Logan brightened. “You will?” What if you lose? There was no way Leo’s team would want him out at Logan’s match for the camera to find if he lost.

“Fuck ‘em,” Leo said, reading his mind, then looked at Finn. “But I probably shouldn’t sit with you.”

Finn’s mouth pulled to the side unhappily, but he nodded. “I know…All right, well, have a late dinner with us?”

“Gotta ask coach,” Leo said. “But I want to. Will you text me where you guys end up?”

Logan set his coffee down too, mostly untouched. “Le, we won’t leave without you. Tell your team your having dinner with—with friends, if you have to.”

“They can’t deny you us.” Finn brushed his knuckles down Leo’s cheek. “We’re yours.”

“Sweetheart…” Leo caught Finn’s hand and kissed it. “You are.”

But Leo sighed, and it sounded so heavy and exhausted that Logan wanted to take them both back to his house, back to the sun and the pool, and the open kitchen that wouldn’t ever feel the same without Leo’s happy humming in it.

Logan crossed the room and fit into Leo’s other side. He settled his palm on his neck, making Leo look at him. I love you. I love you.

“I’ll try,” Leo said. He put his hand over Logan’s. “You know I’ll try.”

Leo won his match. Logan caught the end of it on the warm-up room televisions while rolling out his back on the mats. Luke was on the other side of the room. Maybe they would have been watching together, had they not been about to play, but Logan was glad for the quiet. Finn was off somewhere preparing Logan’s drinks and fruit. He’d started leaving little messages on the insides of bottle caps and the back of Logan’s plastic forks. Love you. The camera had already caught one that said you’re hot and so he’d been sticking to love. Logan had realized that the camera caught it and had shown it on the big screen once the crowd laughed, so he’d made a point of tapping it, eyes on the camera, and pointing to himself. That had won him big media points. One headline had even read Heart Grew Three Sizes That Day.

Leo was doing well. He looked strong and energetic, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet while he waited for a serve. Logan paused, letting himself rest with his neck on the roller as he took him in. He looked devastating in the outfit his sponsors had chosen. All black, all the way to the headband tied around his golden hair.

His returns were like water. He hit a backhand, forehand, backhand, before whipping the ball down the line so perfectly that Logan had to inhale and close his eyes, pushing the roller from his neck to shoulders. The perfect dig into his sore muscles couldn’t come close to Leo’s hands on him, especially with Finn’s dark eyes watching the two of them over Leo’s shoulder.

“I know what you’re think-ing a-bout,” Finn’s sing-song voice came.

Logan opened his eyes to see Finn standing there. He held a clear cup of fruit, and three water bottles. One was clear, untouched. The other was orange, filled with vitamin C, the third pink with hydration powder.

“Ha,” Finn said. He set the bottles down as he crouched by Logan’s side. “I was right, I can tell.”

Logan pushed himself up to sit. “You were right.”

“Actually. You were,” Finn said. He twisted a bottle cap off and flashed its reverse at him.

I <3 him 2

From the court, Logan found Leo in in the crowd easily, smiling and accepting congratulations for his win. He had shed the black, sponsored clothes. For Logan, he was sunny in white and light blue. Only a small smile and a slight flutter of his fingers let Logan know Leo had seen him, too. Hi, it might have said. Or, good luck.

When Logan looked to Finn, Finn flashed him a thumbs up and patted a hand over his chest. You got this. Love ya.

Logan liked all of his and Finn’s secret messages to each other while he was on court. He wanted more of that with Leo. He wanted to be able to know for sure what ever inch of Leo meant. Every movement. He wanted Leo to know in turn that he had seen him, that he—

“Time violation,” came the umpire’s voice.

Logan blinked. Around him the audience was murmuring. He jerked his head up to the chair. The umpire was looking at him impatiently. He didn’t remember coming to stand at the baseline, but he found himself holding the ball close to his racket like he was about to bring it up for a serve. How long had he been standing that way? He looked at Finn, who was now standing up and had concern written all over his face. Lo?

Leo. Logan found him in the crowd again. Sweet-eyed. Just as concerned. Nodding at him. What did that mean? I know? It’s okay? I understand? You got this?

Logan bounced the ball, once, twice, caught a glimpse of Luke’s taken off-guard face, and served. Ace. No one could touch that shot from him. Maybe Leo could.

Leo definitely could. With his reach, with his step, with his glorious elegance. Logan narrowed in again. This was his game. His war within as his body fought to reach the finals—even while his mind dreaded playing Leo. And longed for it.

Luke put up a fight, but he simply wasn’t as quick. Logan’s win came to him easily in the third set, off a slice that cut the ball to drop right over the net.

“Game, set, match, Tremblay,” echoed through the stadium.

Luke met him at the net, clasping his hand and slapping him on the back.

“Nice one. You good?” Look said in his ear.

“I’m in love,” Logan said.

Luke pulled back, giving him a look, then laughed. “Lucky you, then, Tremblay.”

Finn was waiting for him in the tunnel, as usual. Instead of the usual hard hug—which Logan had been looking forward to—he put oh-so gentle hands to Logan’s face, looking between his eyes for signs of harm.

“You okay?” he asked softly. “What happened with that time violation? You just…You just stood there for a second, I thought you were gonna pass out on me or something.”

Logan shook his head. “Where’s Leo?” Then, surprising himself, he laughed. He took Finn’s face in his hands, a mirror, and kissed him hard. “Where is he?”

“I…” Finn laughed, too, shaking his head. “I don’t know, maybe waiting for the car if he got away—”

Logan wrapped his arms tightly around Finn’s neck. He pressed a kiss to Finn’s cheek. “I love you, mon Rouge. Mon coeur, lumière, éternité…”

Finn’s hands pressed into his back. “I love you. God, I love you, too, but Lo, just say you’re good. Say it to me.”

“I am,” Logan said, tucking his face into his neck. “I am.”

Logan tried not to appear as insane as he felt when he was stopped to sign autographs. He was probably full on grinning in photos with fans more than he had in his entire career. Finn stood a step apart, like a watchful bodyguard. He signed a few autographs and took a few pictures of his own. He placed a hand low on Logan’s back and guided him out of the arena towards where the car would be waiting.

And there he was. Logan felt like some string had been cut then refastened. All the parts of him yearning to get to Leo in that crowd, standing frozen on that court, tethered themselves to the golden boy waiting at the curb.

He would have kissed him right there. He would have willed the world’s attention their way—but first them. Just them. First, this had to be theirs.

He didn’t have to call out Leo’s name. He heard them coming and turned. The grin he gave Logan was filled with the win he himself had under his belt.

He slipped his phone into his pocket. “Late dinner, yeah? Tastes fifty times better after a win.” When Logan got close, Leo wrapped an arm around his shoulders and leaned in, away from the cameras. “Good game, Lo. You all right?”

Logan nodded and yanked open the door of the car. He guided Leo through, then Finn, who went with a wink.

The car was dark, darker than the night was outside with its people and camera lights. The door shut and took the noise with it. Finn and Leo sat in the seats opposite Logan. There was a driver, Finn was giving him a restaurant name, but Logan didn’t care. Leo had a hand on Finn’s thigh, accepting a kiss.

“He’ll say he’s fine, but you tell me,” Leo said. “Is he okay? On the court, I thought—”

Logan leaned across the pristine black carpet of the car. He steadied himself on the smooth leather seat with one hand, his other high on Leo’s thigh, and kissed Leo’s surprised mouth.

“Okay,” Leo mumbled, steadying Logan with two hands on his waist. “Moving car? Seatbelts?”

“If you’re in the stands, I want you in my box,” Logan said. “If I’m in the stands, I want to be in your box.” He feathered lighter kisses up Leo’s cheek. “I want to sit next to Finn. I want you to be able to hear us when you go for a towel. I want to be able to hear you both.”

Leo sent Finn a look through the kisses, smiling. “Okay…”

“I don’t care what your team thinks. I don’t care if they think I’m listening, or Finn’s plotting and stealing.” Logan pulled back to look down at him. “If they think I would use you in that way, they’re stupid.”

“You and adrenaline are quite the cocktail,” Leo said, but he was blushing.

Logan let himself fall back into his own seat. “And you look perfect in black.”

“A crazy cocktail, but he speaks the truth.” Finn held out a water bottle to Logan. “Drink that whole thing. Even the dregs, I’m watching you, Tremblay.”

Logan took the bottle, shaking up the hydration powder inside. “What do I get if I do?”

Finn just smiled. He was unwrapping silver foil from a piece of blue peppermint gum gum and he popped it into his mouth. “I’ll blow you in the restaurant bathroom.”

Logan blinked. “Really?”

Finn reached forward and flicked him on the forehead.

They reached Manhattan again quickly enough, and curled into the twisting streets of the West Village. Finn perked up, happy to be on familiar ground and popped the car door.

“After you,” Leo said, just as Logan motioned for him to go first. “Oh—ha. Lo, go.”

Logan narrowed his eyes. “You.”

“Not that this isn’t adorable, but…” Finn leaned down. “If I’m hungry, you guys must be starving.” He held out his hand to Leo. “Guess what they have here?”

Leo put his hand in Finn’s. “What?”

“Deconstructed chocolate cake,” Finn said, helping him out.

“What the fuck is that?” Logan asked, following.

“Sugar. You’ll love it.”

Logan sent Leo a look as Finn jogged ahead and disappeared between large, wooden doors. Inside, Logan caught a glimpse of windows lined with candles. Leo would look gorgeous.

“That was pretty sweet back there,” Leo said. He took his hand as they walked. “You sure you’re all right?”

“I was fine on the court,” Logan said, pulling the door open. “I was just thinking.”

“About?” Leo asked.

The candlelight was already hitting him, and Logan thought about telling him right there in this doorway with Finn and a—blushing—waiter looking expectantly at them.

“Just thinking,” Logan said. “All good things.”

“Um,” the waiter tucked her hair behind her ear. “This way.”

“Thanks so much,” Finn beamed.

“Classic O’Hara,” Leo whispered. He moved Logan’s hand from his left to his right and placed his hand low on Logan’s back. “But we both won today. Who’s he gonna let taste the wine?”

Logan laughed. “It’s going to be you.”

“Why?”

“Just a feeling I have.”

It didn’t feel like a day off. Not without Leo there. The two female finalists were playing their match today, and at dinner Logan had been relieved at the idea that he’d have a whole day off with Leo before they had to go against each other—until Leo told them his coach wanted him to stay away.

He woke up earlier than usual and in a too empty room. Finn, warm and solid against his back—but no Leo. He wasn’t sure why he was even awake until he felt the next stroke of fingers through his hair, absentminded and soft. It would put him straight back to sleep soon.

“Rouge,” Logan mumbled. His voice wasn’t quite there yet, coming out a gravely sort of whisper.

“Sorry,” Finn whispered back. “I was just looking at you. Go back to sleep.”

Logan pushed back against him. “I’m turned away.”

“I was looking at the rest of you.”

The sheets were near his hips now that he thought about it. Finn’s hand ran down the dip of his ribs and waist.

Logan settled into the feeling, but when Finn’s fingers moved back to his hair, he sighed and rolled onto his back, getting a hand under Finn’s head to pull him onto his chest. He closed his eyes, pressed five hard kisses to Finn’s temple, and felt Finn let out a long sigh.

“What’s up?” Logan asked.

“Leo. If there was any day he should have been able to be with us, it was today, when we have nothing going on, and the training is light because you play tomorrow.” Finn’s fingers began drumming on his chest, restless. A rare show of nerves. “He should be here right now.”

Logan could see Finn in Nice. In his library nook for the first time. Head in his hands, finally allowing himself to cry away an old life to let the new one in. This, he thought, was a version of it. Worries, brimming over because they had not been let out.

He passed his fingers through Finn’s hair. Kissed his temple and his forehead and the bridge of his nose. “It’s not your fault.”

“I should have talked to his team—”

“Non,” Logan said. “They’re angry people. I think. That wouldn’t have helped. But, hey. Look at me.”

Finn did. Sleepy brown eyes. He traced a thumb under one lower set of fair eyelashes. There was lilac there.

“No more worrying,” Logan whispered. He brushed his mouth, feather-light, over the delicate skin just under Finn’s eye.

“I’m not worried—no, I am.”

“It gets like this when you’re stressed.” Logan kissed his cheek, then the corner of his mouth. “It’s gorgeous, but it’s not good for you.”

Finn sighed and let Logan press him back into the pillows to be kissed. His jaw. His neck. “He’s not happy. I mean, he’s happy with us. But in the game. In this life. He used to be happier. At the Wimbledon Ball. He was happier.”

“How do you know? We weren’t seeing a lot of him then.” Logan’s mouth found the valley between his collarbones. Was there anything better than this? It woke him up like coffee, and settled him down like nothing else. Sometimes, panicking on the court, he pictured this. Soft and unhurried. Usually, Leo was there for him to kiss, too. “Let’s get dressed. Then call him. Tell him he has to have breakfast with us.”

Finn smiled. “What, or else?”

“Or else I…” Logan tried to think of something good, but honestly he wasn’t meant to be awake this early. He pressed his face into Finn’s neck, his hand to his cheek. He inhaled, kissed him there, then pulled back and kissed him properly. “I love him.”

Finn smiled. “I love him, too.”

It rang. Rang and rang.

“Hey, it’s Leo, sorry I missed you!”

Again. Logan leaned his forehead against the warm window pane, standing in a square of sun coming into their room.

“Hey, it’s Leo, sorry I missed you!”

“Fuck.” Logan turned, waiting for the beep.

Finn watched his face as he pulled a t-shirt over his head. His skin was still slightly damp from his shower and Logan, worried as he was, enjoyed the way it stuck to his chest.

“Hi, Le,” Logan said. “It’s us. Just wondering where you are…”

“Missing you,” Finn mumbled, bending down to lace up his shoes.

“We miss you, we are going to get breakfast at the place. Okay. Lo—Okay, cool.” Finn’s head snapped up with an open-mouthed smile. Logan flushed. “Okay, come find us, or we’ll find you.”

He hung up fast, staring at his phone. Finn crossed the room, taking Logan’s face in his hands.

“You almost said—” he began to say, laughing through the words.

Logan pushed up on his toes and kissed him silent. He pulled back, knowing his eyes were wide, and pressed three fingers to Finn’s mouth. “Quiet.”

Finn gave his chin a little jerk and took Logan’s fingers in his mouth, smiling around the gentle bite. Logan rolled his eyes and pulled his hand away.

“C’mere, lover.” Finn wrapped an arm around Logan’s shoulders. “I’ve got the room key. I’m taking you to a big breakfast full of eggs, ham, and calling Leo every five minutes.”

Finn got restless again and they had barely taken a sip of their coffees. Logan could tell. What they had started calling “the” place was a small coffee shop that Finn knew. It made generous omelettes with sides of potatoes and greens. Spicy beans and fried eggs with tortillas—Leo’s favorite. Logan had stared at it at the menu, wondering if ordering it would make him arrive faster.

A plate with a steaming chocolate croissant appeared in front of him, and Finn pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“There you go, sweetheart.” Finn slid into his seat. “I ordered for us. But I didn’t want to sit here with you while you’re hangry and drinking your coffee-milk, so…”

Logan shoved him, but Finn just pulled their chairs together and took out his phone. Logan ripped off a piece of the croissant and watched Finn find Leo’s contact. When he held it up to his ear, Logan watched Finn’s face. Hopeful. He caught Logan’s eye and put a hand on the back of his neck, squeezing.

“Hi,” Finn said, but the sigh in his voice told Logan no one had answered. “Hey, Sunshine. Us again. We’re here. Just…wondering where you are.” Finn looked at Logan, mouth pulling to the side. “Let us know.” He ran a thumb over Logan’s bottom lip. “Okay. Okay, love you, bye.”

Finn set his phone down, hand falling down to Logan’s lower back. “Maybe he’s sleeping and we’re assholes trying to wake him up.”

“It’s almost eleven.”

“Yeah…” Finn picked up the water pitcher on the table and filled Logan’s glass. Logan picked it up again and filled Finn’s.

“What did you order?”

“Got us the ham and tomato omelettes. Sound good?”

“Ouais. Thanks.”

They quieted, then laughed a little at each other when they realized they were both waiting for the phone to ring.

Finn was worrying the straw of his iced coffee when he set the cup down hard. “Oh my God.”

“Hm?” Logan got to the chocolatey center of the croissant and carefully bit so he got enough chocolate and enough pastry.

“Logan…”

Logan raised his eyebrows at his full name from Finn’s mouth. “Finn…” He mimicked his tone, but got serious when Finn put both of his hands in his hair, gripping. “Finn. Quoi?”

“I just—oh my God.”

“What?”

“I just…” Finn’s hands moved over his mouth. “Did I?”

Logan set the pastry down. “Did you what? Did you fucking what?”

He looked so panicked that Logan started looking around, trying to figure out the problem. But Finn grabbed his hand, pulling his attention back to him.

“At the end of the message, I said…” Finn whispered. “I said love you.”

Logan blinked. “What?”

They both stared down at Finn’s phone and its dark screen.

“Shit,” Logan said. “Wait, ouais. You—you did. Finn.”

Finn melted, folding his head into his arms and slumping on the table.

Logan laughed, but he wasn’t sure if it was actually funny. That wasn’t how he’d planned for Leo to know. Of all the opportunities they’d had. Dinners and late nights and soft afternoons.

“And after you made fun of me for almost saying it.”

“Shut up,” Finn mumbled into his arms. When he lifted his head, his face was flushed. “It just slipped out. I—shit. I was looking at you and your stupid chocolate, and then I saw the hot sauce on the table and I was thinking about him and the amount he puts on his fucking eggs—”

“You said okay, love you, bye.”

“I know that!”

“Two omelettes?”

They both looked up at the waiter, who took a step back—probably at the panicked look in their eyes.

“Um,” he said. “No? Not omelettes?”

“No, no,” Finn said. “I mean, yes, omelettes. Thank you so much.”

The man set the plates down with a look on his face like he wanted to get out of there. It probably had something to do with the way Finn still had his head in his hands.

Logan rubbed a hand down his back. “It’s fine. Baby, it’s fine. We do love him.”

“And he finds out on a voicemail?” Finn’s voice came out muffled through his hands. “So bad. Jesus.”

“Maybe he’s not gonna listen?”

“Maybe.” For a moment, Finn sounded almost placated, but he jerked his head up. “No phone.”

Logan nudged his plate at him. “Eat something.”

Finn turned his body towards him in his chair. “You’re playing tomorrow.”

“Finn, what the fuck?”

“I want you eating and drinking and resting.”

“Finn, what…” He gestured to his food. “Ouais. What does this look like?”

“When do you not have your phone?”

“When I’m…” Logan trailed off, finally understanding. “Non. That would be insane.”

Finn stood, gesturing to the waiter. “Let’s get this to go.”

They arrived at the practice courts in the heat of the day. Logan heard Leo before he saw him. He heard him like he’d heard him every day during those perfect months at his house. Leo had a rhythm all his own. His footwork. Quick shuffles, short squeaks of his sneakers on the hard court.

But Logan should not have been able to hear it right then. Not less than twenty hours before the U.S. Open final.

“Fuck,” Finn said, pushing a fence open. “He’s on the court.”

“Again!” they heard Leo’s coach shout.

“Fuck,” Finn cursed. “I’m gonna kill that guy.”

Logan watched him storm towards the next fence, past another player practicing with a hitter—who missed his shot when he saw Finn.

“Wait,” Logan called. “Rouge!”

Finn stopped, but barely. Every muscle in his body strained towards Leo’s court just ahead. Logan could see him now, just barely through netting and bushes and low court walls. Logan caught glimpses of blond hair as he jogged towards Finn.

“What?” Finn asked. “He shouldn’t be out there.”

Logan put his hands on his shoulders. “Stop. I know. But stop.”

Leo was on the baseline. His coach stood beside him, talking fast while Leo’s chest heaved.

“Let me go alone,” Logan said. “If it’s you, his team will get defensive. If it’s me, it’s not their business. It’s player to player.”

Finn looked conflicted. “I…” He looked towards Leo, too. “He shouldn’t be out there.”

“I know.”

“I do love him.”

“I know,” Logan said softly. “Look. I’ll get him in the locker room. You’ll be waiting there. Let me.”

He left Finn, all the while sure he would break and follow him. But he didn’t. Logan made it past another court and opened the chain-fence door into the sidelines of Leo’s. Leo was mid-rally, so his coach saw him first. The man scowled. Logan scowled back.

Leo’s hitter sent the ball into the net.

“Leo,” the coach called. Leo looked at him as he rolled out one of his ankles gingerly. A sharp nod directed his attention to Logan and, despite everything, the heat and how tired he obviously was, a smile broke over Leo’s face and jogged over.

“Hi,” Leo said, but held out his hand. “I want to, but don’t hug me.” He jerked his head subtly towards his team. “They already think I’m going to be soft on you tomorrow and I don’t…” Leo swallowed. He let out a breath. “Anyway. Hi. What are you doing here?”

Logan’s whole chest hurt. “What about I kiss you instead?”

That, at least, made Leo smile. One blue eye squinted shut against the sun. “What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here?” Logan fired back.

He squirted Logan lightly with his water bottle. “You spying on me, Tremblay?”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Logan said.

“That’s cute. A little desperate, but cute.”

“Leo.”

“I’m training,” Leo said. “I don’t know if you heard, but I’m going up against Logan Tremblay tomorrow. He’s pretty good.”

“Which is why you should be resting.”

Leo was quiet for a moment, then he looked around. “So, where’s Finn freaking out right now?”

Logan bit the inside of his cheek and looked towards the locker room building.

“You two are sweet, you know that?” Leo reached out and briefly stroked a knuckle down the center of Logan’s chest. “Look, I’m almost finished here. Then I’ll find you. I know how to take care of myself. Finn knows that, too, or he should.”

“He actually—We actually need to talk to you about something else.”

Leo frowned. “Oh?”

“Just—” Logan itched to take his hand. “Come? Please? Just for a moment.”

Leo still looked concerned, but he nodded. “Okay. Hold on.”

His coach had his arms crossed. His narrow eyes tracked Leo as he came towards him. The argument was hushed and intense. It ended with Leo grabbing his bags with an angry sort of strength. Logan knew how heavy those bags got. Leo swung them onto his shoulders like they were nothing, just beautiful baby blue and white leather there to make his hair turn even more golden.

When he reached Logan again, he looked more tired than before.

“Give me,” Logan said. Leo didn’t protest when Logan took his racket bag from him and shouldered it himself.

“You’re not supposed to be seen with Adidas.”

“They can kiss my ass.”

“Lo—”

“Then they can explain why they have a problem with me helping my boyfriend.”

Leo lightened up at those words like he always did. As they ducked away from the court, he wrapped an arm around Logan’s shoulders and kissed him. Logan wanted to whisper the phrase into his skin until it stayed with him forever, kept in that sweet freckle just under his chin.

Finn was pacing when they walked in, and then he was rushing over, holding Leo’s shoulders.

“What the hell are you doing out there in the sun? You’ve got a match tomorrow.”

“Backhand,” Leo said. He glanced at Logan. “Mine’s not as good. Coach wants…” He sighed. Annoyance was all over him. Stress. Logan hated it. He wanted to smooth it all away with his fingers, wanted to touch every inch of him to make sure it wasn’t there. “I don’t know what he wants. Oh. By the way…” He leaned forward and planted a soft, quick kiss to Finn’s worried mouth. “Hi.”

Finn pulled him in, leaving one arm open for Logan.

“I’m so sweaty, sorry,” Leo said.

Logan pushed his nose into his chest. Okay, love you, bye.

“Missed you this morning,” Finn said. “We thought…We thought we’d get to…”

There were a million ways Logan would have finished that sentence. Sleep in, breakfast, kiss, lounge, shower, read, talk, sex, doze, stretch, breathe.

“So did I,” Leo sighed. Logan felt his fingers in his hair, a kiss pressed to his forehead and held there. “Fuck. So did I.”

“Do you have your phone?” Finn asked. “With you?”

“It’s in my bag.” Leo arched an eyebrow. “Why?”

Finn just stared at him, but Logan saw each thought pass in his face as if he’d said it.

Leo saw it, too, though he didn’t know enough to understand and laughed instead, unsure. “What the hell is up with you two?”

“We’re in a locker room,” Finn whispered to Logan.

Leo looked between them. “O’Hara, what is happening?”

“I cannot do this in a locker room.”

“Do what?”

Finn groaned, then laughed, then sat down on a bench and covered his face. “I left you a voicemail today. Ugh. Well. We left you a few.”

“I’m sorry,” Leo began but Finn shook his head.

“No, no. It’s okay. It’s just—the last one I left…” His hands dragged down his face lightly, making his brown eyes look big and sad. “Ugh. Leo. I’m such an idiot.”

Leo sat down beside him, hand on Finn’s knee. “Finn…You’re not. You’re not an idiot.” He glanced up at Logan, all concerned and blue, sweat still dripping down from the ends of his hair. “The last one you left…what?”

Finn straightened. He set his hand over Leo’s. Then he held it in both and brought his knuckles to his mouth.

“When I was hanging up, I told you that I loved you,” Finn said. “And I do.”

Logan wanted to hear him say it again, in that soft way. He sank onto the bench on Leo’s other side, the very same words burning in his chest. He put his mouth to the warm fabric of Leo’s t-shirt shoulder, curling a hand around his bicep. There was a fine tremor to Leo’s muscles. Logan didn’t know if he was tired, or if it was the words, but Leo was shaking, just a little.

Logan couldn’t help it. Where he was tucked against Leo’s shoulder, he smiled. “Leo…”

The laugh jostled Logan first, and then it sounded, light and a little tearful, from Leo’s mouth. He grabbed for Finn’s shoulder, pulling him in for something that was more a smile than a kiss.

“You just blurted that out, huh?” Leo cupped the back of Finn’s neck. “Jesus, O’Hara, you had me so worried there.”

“I love you,” Finn said. “I—Logan…”

Leo laughed louder, freer, as Logan gripped the back of his t-shirt until Leo turned.

Logan swiped a thumb over Leo’s full bottom lip. He just wanted to touch that smile. He kissed him, hard, tasting the sweat from his practice.

“I love you,” Logan whispered. “I was supposed to say it first, I love you.”

“Supposed to?” Finn spluttered.

“Shh,” Logan said into Leo’s mouth. “Look how happy he is, I can taste it.”

“I love you, too,” Leo said. He pressed his nose against Logan’s cheek, then turned back to Finn. “Oh God, I love you, too.”

Logan watched them kiss. Laugh. Dissolve into each other—Finn’s chin on Leo’s shoulder, eyes closed, fingers scratching through the back of his hair. Logan put a hand on Leo’s back and felt his muscles relax. All the tension from the court earlier bled away. And tomorrow…Tomorrow’s match felt very far away.

“Let’s go,” Leo said. “I’m sweaty and hot and in love.”

“Wow, speaking Logan’s language,” Finn said.

Leo laughed, but when he stood he sent an almost nervous glance towards the door. “Quick. Before anyone tries to pull me back out there.”

“You shouldn’t have been out there in the first place,” Finn said.

Leo sighed with a smile. “Finn.”

Finn stood, hands up in surrender. “Let’s get out of here.”

Logan could relax because it was the three of them. He was finishing off a plate of pasta and chicken balanced on his thighs. Finn sat with his computer perched on the arm of the couch with Logan’s feet in his lap. One thumb dug perfectly into Logan’s arch. Leo was laying on the ground, stretching out his back and—well. Smiling the whole time.

“I keep thinking about the Wimbledon Ball,” Leo said.

“You scolded me for leading,�� Logan said.

“I didn’t scold,” Leo laughed. “I wanted you to know you could trust me.”

Logan sat up and set his plate down on the hotel’s coffee table. He pulled his feet from Finn’s lap—Finn wrapped a hand around his ankle and held on long enough for Logan to lean in and kiss him. Logan pressed down against Finn as that hand smoothed up his calve, behind his knee. Up his thigh, resting on his ass for a moment before settling on his lower back to press them together harder.

Logan smiled against Finn’s mouth, then slipped out of his hold. He made his way to where Leo lay on his back and stood over him, one foot pressed against each of his hips.

“Trust you?” he repeated.

Leo stretched his arms over his head, grinning. He was wearing Finn’s sweatshirt. He’d caught the worn cuffs in his hands and it pulled the hem halfway up his chest. Logan wanted to put his teeth on the cut of his waist, he really did.

“Mhm,” Leo said. “You didn’t. You thought I was trying to get inside your head.”

“You were.” Logan narrowed his eyes. “You just said so—trying to get me to trust you.”

Leo rolled his eyes. “Fine. Fine. But you thought I was trying to beat you. And I wasn’t.” He pulled his arms down. Like Finn, his palms found the back of Logan’s ankles. Then his calves. Then the back of his thighs. Only, Leo pulled gently and Logan lowered himself into straddling his hips. Leo smiled and pushed down on his thighs until Logan let his full weight go. “I wasn’t trying to beat you. I was trying to win you.”

A soft laugh came from the couch. “I knew something had to be up when you blatantly asked to dance with my boyfriend.”

“Would have asked you, too,” Leo said, eyes trained on Logan’s as Logan lowered himself down onto his forearms. They were nose to nose now. “A boy can only find so many excuses in one night.”

“And what are you gonna try to do tomorrow?” Logan asked.

“Oh,” Leo whispered. He picked his head up just enough to capture Logan’s bottom lip gently between his teeth—a pull and release that sent Logan’s hips rocking down against him. “Beat you.”

“Please find the bed,” Finn said absentmindedly. His eyes were on his laptop, and he’d put his glasses on. “Your knees get enough stress as it is. And don’t go crazy. I need you rested. And not sore.” Finn looked over at them and Logan wondered if he knew how red his ears were. “Both of you.”

“I’ll find a bed, if you promise to find us when you’re done with that computer,” Leo shot back.

Finn slapped the laptop shut. “What computer?”

Coin toss. They weren’t even playing yet and Logan was already sweating with the sun at his back.

“Mr. Tremblay?” the Umpire presented him with the coin. “You will choose?”

“Heads,” Logan said.

“Very well. Heads. Mr. Knut, you will be tails.”

Logan was trying not to look at Leo too hard, but it was difficult. Every time they caught each other’s eye, they both had to suppress a smile. There was joy in this. Logan dreaded to win and dreaded to lose, but there was joy. Leo across from him. The game he loved. Leo, being his.

The coin flashed in the sun as it got tossed up. It rattled, looping around on its edges for a moment before settling between their feet.

“Tails.” The Umpire looked at Leo. “Mr. Knut, you will…”

“Serve first,” Leo said.

“Knut, first service. Thank you, gentlemen.”

Logan fought the urge to roll his eyes. If Leo thought he was going to get to take a few points off of Logan with that massive serve of his, he was wrong.

It seemed to take ages for the crowd to settle down. New York was always loud, but they were more riled by the idea of of Leo and Logan on the court once again. Logan leaned down to re-tie his shoes and tried to steady his breathing. He turned to look up at Finn, who had a baseball cap on—one of Logan’s sponsors—and was leaning forward on his elbows. He was rubbing his palms together, his eyes on Leo. When he noticed Logan looking, he dropped a wink.

Logan rose and gave his racket a spin against his palm. He bounced twice, then adjusted his feet into a poised stance.

Leo had his ball pressed against his racket, ready. He looked back at Logan once before lowering his gaze to his racket.

“Leo Knut to serve,” the umpire’s voice echoed over the chatter. “Play.”

Leo won the first set. He was gorgeous and lean, and their rallies lasted minute after minute after minute until the crowd was gasping after each stroke. Quite the even match, they were called. Too even, Logan thought. Everywhere else, they would give each other anything the other could possibly want. But not here.

Here, Logan’s t-shirt was soaked in sweat within thirty minutes, and it wasn’t from the heat. They were running each other hard. Leo’s stride equaled Logan’s speed, and his height, Logan’s strength. Logan was frustrated, sure. But he was also having fun. Leo hit a drop shot that had Logan sprinting to the front of the net, only to miss it by its backspin. Leo grinned at him when Logan jokingly hit his palm against his racket in applause. For a moment, it felt like they were back at his house in one of the faux matches Finn set them to.

But it only took three rallies into the second set for Logan to see that something was wrong.

Leo stopped moving well. He wasn’t even walking right. He seemed stiff, and then at changeovers, he spent long seconds with his face hidden in a cold towel.

On Logan’s next break before his serve, he turned away from Leo, wiping his face and wrists with his towel as he looked up at Finn. Finn tapped his thigh and squeezed his hand into a fist. Muscle cramps.

Logan winced, but part of him was relieved. Those were painful, but at least they were short-lived. He made his way back to the baseline and tested out a ball with a few bounces before discarding it and tossing it back towards the ball boy. He glanced up at Leo as he withdrew the second ball from his pocket. He was bringing his knees up to his waist, trying to get the blood flowing. Logan bounced the second ball. His serve clock was winding down and Leo didn’t look ready for his serve. Not at all.

Logan let out a breath, tossed the ball up, and brought his serve down. Ace. Leo barely got his hand back properly. Leo looked behind him, up at his box, and motioned something that Logan couldn’t make out, but what he figured was that he wanted to call for a trainer at the next change-over.

“Ah-ah,” came from Leo’s box. A scolding, horrible sound. Leo’s coach gave his head a sharp shake and he pointed towards the court. Don’t, it seemed to mean.

Finn was standing up in Logan’s box when he looked, his arms crossed. Beside him, Noelle pulled him back into his seat.

He took one more game off of Leo before he couldn’t take it anymore—watching the pained way he walked and the set of his mouth as he tried to hide it.

Logan looked to the chair and raised a finger. “Medic, please.”

The walk to his chair gave him one, tiny second to lock eyes with Leo. Logan wanted to tell him silently to call. Call while I’m calling. He didn’t linger long enough to see if Leo understood. He sat down in his chair, wiped sweat from his face, and looked at Finn. He was leaning back to say something to Logan’s mom. Maybe explaining the trick. Finn would know that Logan had absolutely no reason to call for a trainer.

Even still, a woman came jogging out onto the court. Logan heard the shush and mumble of the crowd as they figured out what was happening. She dropped her heavy supply backpack and knelt in front of Logan’s chair. She had kind eyes, dark hair pulled back into a slick bun, and when she spoke it was with an Australian accent.

“Hi, Mr. Tremblay. My name is Nicola. What can I do for you, sir?”

“Nothing,” Logan said in a low voice, and put his foot out. “Just check my ankle. Take your time about it.”

Nicola looked confused. “I…what?”

“Please,” Logan said.

She looked confused still, but slowly she reached out for Logan’s ankle. She began pressing at it tenderly, like she would if she had been checking for pain. Eventually, her eyes went to Leo’s chair. So, she’d figured it out.

“Is he calling?” Logan whispered.

“Yes, sir,” Nicola said.

Logan didn’t look Leo’s way, but relief flooded him. Another medic came out onto the court, heading Leo’s way. Logan didn’t care if anyone else saw through his trick. If he beat Leo, he didn’t want to do it like this.

He could only ask Nicola to pretend for so long, but when he looked over he saw that Leo had his eyes closed while the trainer dug his thumbs into his thigh in what was probably a good-pain way. Logan paced the baseline to keep his own muscles warm, then heard Finn’s voice in his head and ate half a banana.

When Leo rose to his feet, the crowd applauded, eager for the match to resume. Leo’s box got loud, too, but the tone sounded pressing, not encouraging. It made Logan want to make a noise complaint just so he could inadvertently tell them to fuck off.

One look at Finn told him everything he needed to know. Play, it seemed to say. Logan knew he was right. All he could do right now that wouldn’t hurt Leo, was play.

He tried to turn off everything but the game. The crowd was hardly there. Leo couldn’t be Leo just then. Logan had to turn him into just another player, or else Logan might looked down to find guilt gnawing its way through his chest. He even stopped looking at Finn. Finn now meant Leo, too, so at least for these few hours, there could be neither of them. There were no faces or features around him, just the yellow blur of the ball and the burn in his muscles as he took each point more easily than the last. This was what it had felt like to play when he had been alone, before Finn. The mechanical motions of the came combined with the small adjustments to strategy—treating his opponent like a machine to be figured out. A bleak headspace filled with gray and numbers. He didn’t like it there anymore. He never had.

When he took the win, it all snapped back in. The noise of the crowd roared into his awareness. The colors and court lights made him squint.

The pained flush on Leo’s face hit him right in the chest.

Logan turned and looked up at Finn. His hat was smushed between his palms, red hair a mess from his fingers. He didn’t exactly look like Logan had just become a U.S. Open Champion. He was on his feet and clapping now, but his eyes looked as exhausted as Logan felt. Imperceptible, if you didn’t know him. But Logan did know him. He didn’t know anything better than he knew Finn O’Hara. Finn hadn’t had the game to lock into. He’d been sitting there watching Leo in pain and Logan forcing himself into a brutal, winning pace.

Logan dropped his racket and rubbed his hands over his face. He should be smiling. He might have, had he not looked to see Leo with one hand on the net as he waited for him.

When Logan reached him, his hand was cold in Logan’s, and his breathing felt shallow as Logan rubbed a palm briefly up and down his back.

“That was some trick,” Leo said, drawing them closer to hide his words from any cameras. “With the trainer.”

“I love you,” Logan said. “Are you okay?”

“I will be,” Leo said. “Go see your family. Oh.” He squeezed Logan tighter for a moment. “I love you, too.”

No one let Logan climb the stands this time, but pointedly directed him to the stairs. He sort of wished Finn would just come to him. He would have all night to see his family. Right then, he wanted a magical sort of door that took him away from all the prying eyes and into Finn’s arms.

Burying his face in Finn’s warm neck when he reached his box would have to do.

“You were going to win,” Finn whispered. “You did so good. Don’t feel guilty, you made that match end as fast as you could.”

“The thing with the trainer,” Logan mumbled.

“I know.”

Logan pulled back to look up at him. Asking. Telling. Imploring.

Finn only nodded, then gave him over to be hugged by his family.

It was excruciating, watching Leo try to fake his way through his speech. He was disappointed. Frustrated. But he was sweet and funny. Logan saw each time a muscle seized up in the way he turned away from the microphone briefly to draw a slow, steadying breath. He saw the way Leo kept one hand on the podium while he gave his runner-up speech. That same hand used Logan for support when they took their trophy photographs. Logan stood ready for him, immovable until Leo pulled away first.

“I’m so grateful to have the support that I do,” Logan said, trying not to wince as his voice echoed back at him around the stadium. “And the amazing talent I get to go up against.” He looked back at Leo. “Every single player on this tour has been in your shoes and all I’ll be thinking about is when we get to play again.”

Logan wanted off the court, he wanted Finn and Leo to himself. He wanted an ice bath and then Finn’s thumbs digging into that one point in his back.

“Finn,” Logan said, then startled back from the microphone as the stadium went wild. He even heard Leo laugh a little from behind him. Logan felt tears claw up his throat and laughed, too. “Leo.”

Because they were one now. Nothing existed without the other.

Leo’s eyes, when Logan found them, had gone a little wide.

“Je t’aime,” Logan said, then waved a hand up to the crowd, who reached back. “Je t’aime, merci.”

Finn and Logan didn’t have to agree to find Leo, but he wasn’t where they thought he would be. He wasn’t recovering like Logan had just spent the last thirty minutes doing. He was in a lounge near the locker rooms, sitting on a couch with his long legs bent awkwardly due to the sag of the old sofa cushion. Four people seemed to be trying to talk to him at once.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” one of them said under their breath when they saw Finn and Logan. It made Leo look up. He looked tired. So tired. His silver plate trophy was on the coffee table in front of him, casting shimmery reflections across his drawn face.

Finn drew in a breath, about to speak, but Logan gave the back of his t-shirt a sharp tug and stepped forward instead.

“I need a word with Leo,” Logan said.

Leo was on his feet in a second, stepped out from around the table. He was still limping.

“What for?” the coach asked. “We’re in the middle—”

“Players business.”

“His business is my business.”

Leo didn’t look at them. He didn’t even turn around. His eyes were unfocused and trained on Logan’s chest.

“But mine isn’t,” Logan snapped. “Excuse us.”

He didn’t take Leo’s hand. He wanted to drag him out of there by both hands, but he stayed perfectly still with so many eyes on them. That wouldn’t help Leo just then. Obviously, he had already been told that loving each other made them weaker players. Logan wouldn’t give them something to point at. If they thought this made them weaker, they didn’t deserve to see even a glimpse of the strength that flooded Logan every time Leo so much as looked at him.

So, Logan made to turn away, knowing Leo and Finn would follow.

“O’Hara.”

Finn stiffened beside Logan and looked back over his shoulder. Leo’s team looked like they had been having a silent conversation, but now their eyes were on Finn.

“A word, if you don’t mind,” said the coach, and he scowled at Logan. “Coach business.”

“I have a few minutes,” Finn said. He looked down at Logan. “See you in a second.” His eyes flit wordlessly in the direction of the recovery rooms.

The room was simple. An examination mattress with a cushion against the wall. A side table, a sink, a few stools, and a small, humming refrigerator in the corner whose glass door showed cold water bottles and hydration drinks. Logan went to it while Leo pulled himself up onto the bed with a groan, stretching his legs out. He’d been icing his knee. Logan could see the redness that the cold had left behind.

“I’m…” Logan set the water aside. He wasn’t sure what to say. He put a hand on Leo’s thigh where the redness was and experimental kneaded his thumb into the muscle. When Leo’s eyes closed with pleasure, he did it again.

“I fired them,” Leo whispered.

Logan let out a breath. “You did?”

Leo nodded. His chest rose and fell heavily once, then he opened his eyes and looked at Logan tiredly.

“Maybe I’ll be like you were,” Leo said. “Try it solo. For a while.”

No. Logan hated that idea. He’d done the endless plane rides alone. The hotels, the mornings, the lonely nights that came whether he won or lost. He didn’t want that for Leo. He wasn’t sure Leo would be able to do it. He was a people person, far more so than Logan ever had been. He was like Finn. He liked to talk, to laugh, to be surrounded by others.

“Leo,” Logan began to say, but suddenly, voices from the other room could be heard plain as day. Finn was—

Leo and Logan looked at each other in surprise. Finn was shouting.

“No. Nope, nope, you saw, you saw what was happening! You do nothing? What did you want him to do, push through? He’d been playing for hours, he needed help, that’s what you’re there for, you know that.”

“It’s a fucking cramp! They go away.”

“He needs water, he needs sugar—”

“Hey. Hey, where do you get off trying to tell me—”

“He needs you not to be running him the way you were the day before the match, in the heat, in the sun. He needs you to not be rolling your fucking eyes when he asks for the medic, are you fucking kidding me—

“Oh, fuck off, O’Hara. You can do fuck all with Tremblay, whatever, but Leo’s not one of your fucking whores, all right?”

There was a shocked beat of silence. Leo and Logan stared at each other, wide-eyed. Logan didn’t catch the next thing Finn said, not until he raised his voice again.

“What the fuck did you just say to me?”

“He’s not. Your. Player.”

When Finn spoke next, he sounded dangerous. Truly dangerous.

“That is not,” Finn began, “what you just said.”

If Logan didn’t know him, he would have been just a bit terrified. But he did know him. And he knew the second he came back into this room it would melt. If he was ever rough with the two of them, it only came out as pure pleasure.

“Call Logan that again,” Finn said. “Let’s see what happens. Go ahead.”

“You have no distance,” Logan heard the coach say. “You cannot run a player like you do, you have no discipline, no—”

“Run? Run a player? They’re not machines!”

“They can be! If they’re worked right—”

“They’re not animals either,” Finn thundered. “They’re people.”

“You don’t treat them like people, you treat them like playthings. Your playthings.”

Finn went silent again. Logan covered Leo’s hand with his, Leo did the same to him, and they waited. Waited.

“This can be a lonely life,” Finn finally said. “A very lonely life. And this is the last thing I’ll say to someone like you, but I am the luckiest man in the entire fucking world to have found love, real love, in this game.”

Logan closed his eyes. He felt Leo’s forehead meet his temple and turned into him.

“And if you ever call Logan or Leo ‘things’, or anything else, again, I’ll sweep your fucking world out from under your feet.”

Leo made a quiet, sad sound in his throat and tilted his chin forward to brush their mouths together. He pulled back to look at him.

“We are lucky,” Leo said.

Logan nodded.

Finn came through the door very quiet. He was red, cheeks flushed in his anger, but he looked at Leo so softly. Logan loved that about him. He loved that. Finn set down two cups on the side table, along with a banana.

“Sorry about that Le,” he said.

Leo shook his head, dazed and glancing towards the door. “No. I…”

Finn handed him the cup, then caught Logan’s eye. “Guess I’ve got no more ground to stand on when I tell you not to lose your head?”

“I love you,” Logan said.

Finn pressed a hand over theirs, then reached for a cup.

“Drink this,” he said to Leo. He cracked the banana’s peel. “You like these kind of green, right?”

Leo just stared at him for a moment, then nodded.

Finn pressed it into his hand. “Okay. Eat is slow.” He passed that hand through Leo’s hair. “Okay?”

“I’m sorry he said that to you,” Leo said. He looked at Logan. “God, to both of you, I can’t believe…He knows how much you mean to me.”

“Don’t apologize for him,” Finn said, and that angry flush began to bloom over his cheeks again. “God, I could just…” He rubbed a hand over his face. “Le. Okay. Le.”

Finn sank down on the other side of the PT pallet. He put a hand on Leo’s thigh. “Baby, I don’t—It’s not just that I don’t like the way your team talks to you anymore. I don’t like the way they manage your health. I don’t fucking like it. That, today? That was avoidable.”

Leo looked down, nodding. Logan’s anger flared up so fast that he had to squeeze Leo’s hand hard between his own. The fact that someone could put a look like that on Leo’s face made him want to kill. He couldn’t understand how Finn hadn’t hit Leo’s coach clean across the face. Logan wanted blood on his knuckles as badly as he wanted to curl up into Leo’s side.

“I want to say…” Finn glanced at Logan, who nodded quickly, heart in his throat, then back at Leo. “I’d have to train you two separately. And in different ways. But…I would.” Finn took the empty banana peel and cup and set it down, then took Leo’s hands. “Le, I’d love to be your coach.” Finn paused. “If you want me.”

“Oh…” Leo’s voice was so faint.

Logan was nodding again, even though neither of them were looking at him.

“I’ve been in your shoes as a player,” Finn said. “I’ve leveled up Lo’s game and he was already a master. And you’re brimming with talent and skill and they’re fucking wasting it. I can—”

Leo reached out and put a palm to Finn’s cheek, stopping him. Slowly, his eyes filled with tears. “I fired them tonight.”

Finn straightened. “You did?”

Leo nodded.

“Oh. Then—can I beg instead?” Finn laughed a little, then quieted. He turned his face into Leo’s hand and kissed his palm. His eyes met Logan’s, and Logan felt, all over again, what it had been like for Finn to be his in this way for the first time. “Please, Le.”

“Please? Please?” Leo repeated, and Logan watched him trace Finn’s jaw. “I’ve…always wanted someone like you.”

Finn smiled and it made Logan smile. Love. Real love in this game.

“Okay, hey.” Another kiss to Leo’s palm, then his wrist. “Hey, don’t cry.”

“No, no, I’m just relieved.” Leo’s laugh tumbled out of him and he looked at Logan. “Lo?”

“He wanted this a long time ago,” Finn said. “You should have seen him.”

Logan pulled a face, and Finn touched where his nose wrinkled up. “I don’t know what you mean by that. Of course I want this.”

“Our living room has a new groove from his pacing,” Finn said. “Let’s leave it at that.”

Leo sniffed as he laughed again. “What? But okay.”

“Okay?” Finn looked hopeful still, which was funny because Logan was sure it had been a done deal long before today. Somehow, Leo always seemed to have been theirs. Not knowing him and that foreign, guarded dance in a ballroom, felt long, long ago.

Leo looked at Logan. “You won’t feel strange? Sharing him?”

“I’m pretty sure we’re past that,” Logan said, raising his eyebrows. “And I’m pretty sure he likes it. I know I like it.”

“I mean sharing him professionally.” Leo rolled his eyes and wiped at his cheek. “God.”

“Are we talking about me like I’m not here?” Finn cut in. “Because that’s—fine. But hey, hi.”

Logan reached out and put a hand on Finn’s cheek before moving it to Leo’s. “Yes. I want you to have him as your coach, too. It’s the best decision I ever made.”

“Man oh man,” Finn said. “Boys just want me for my skills.”

“Professional decision.”

“I have a lot of skills,” Finn said. “In a wide variety.”

“Finn,” Leo said.

Finn let out a ha and pulled on of Leo’s ankles into his lap, beginning to massage his calf. Leo groaned, but didn’t pull away. “I am so excited. I am so excited, I love this fucking job.”

Leo had his brows knit as Finn dug his thumbs into his knotted muscle, but he huffed out a laugh. “Are you on the clock right now?”

“No,” Finn said. He propped Leo’s foot on his shoulder and turned his head to bite gently at Leo’s ankle. “Relax your ankle for me.” Leo complied and Finn adjusted his grip to one Logan knew well. His ankle felt twenty times better because of that grip. Leo dropped his head back. Finn flit his eyes to Logan knowingly. “Good. Now come here for a second.”

Finn gently lowered Leo’s ankle back to the bed and took Leo’s hand so he could sit forward. He put one hand on Leo’s chest, right where his heart was. Logan counted the freckles on the back of it, then took the free hand Finn held out to him and counted those, too. Like stars, like the miles he’d run for both of them, he lost count.

“My clock never starts or stops,” Finn said softly. The brown color of his eyes looked melted and beautiful in the dim light. “Same goes for Logan. I care about you. A game doesn’t change that. A green court, a blue court, a clay court with white lines doesn’t change that. Some people might say that’s a bad thing but I don’t care. There is no line for me. If anything, I’m standing on the line so I can reach both sides whenever I want.”

Logan pulled his feet up and pressed himself into Leo’s side. “Rouge.”

“Really,” Finn said, looking between them. “I’m not kidding. I used to think playing tennis was my dream, but this…” He smiled, shaking his head. “This.”

“Same goes for you,” Leo said. “Do you hear me? We’ve got championships on the line, we’ve got a shit load of money on the line.” Leo tilted his chin towards Logan. “This one’s gonna get buckets of attention and shit about his legacy.”

Logan rolled his eyes. “But none of that compares to you. D’accord?”

Finn smiled at them. “So we’re in agreement, then.”

Logan had toed the line for so long between the happiness of winning, adrenaline-soaked and nothing more, and the lonely emptiness of loss. When he’d gotten Finn, he’d saw the lines blur before his eyes and loved it so much that he’d wiped them clean with his own palms. Leo had redrawn them. Soft, and bold, and real, and theirs to cross.

“As much as I enjoy sitting here with your hands on me,” Finn said. “I would like you to drink this water.”

“Here he goes,” Logan mumbled and Leo laughed.

“You hungry?” Finn asked.

“Yep,” Leo said.

“Where do you want to go?” Finn put the next cup into his hands. “Anywhere you want. Drain that, even—”

“The dregs,” Leo and Logan said in unison.

“Anywhere?” Leo asked.

“Ouais.” Logan messed with his gold chains, watching Leo’s throat move as he drank as Finn commanded.

“For now, room service steak will do, but then…”

Finn raised his eyebrows, eager. “Yeah?”

Leo set the cup down with a soft, almost sheepish grin. “Then let’s go home.”

(And that's a wrap on On The Line! I loved writing this story so very much. Thanks for reading and all of your wonderful messages!! I love talking about these three with you all <3 This is a trying time right now and I hope this brought a spark of joy...all the love <3 <3)

#On The Line #On The Line lumosinlove #o'knutzy #Finn O'Hara #Logan Tremblay #Leo Knut #tennis au

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vintagegeekculture · 7 months ago

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Marvel's 1992 Darkhold Redeemers

“Darkhold Redeemers” was a comic created in 1992 about a group of supernatural investigators in possession of the Darkhold, an evil book of dark sorcery that has evil pages scattered over the world. In Marvel lore, the Darkhold is the book that created the first vampires. The comic was created by 90s Marvel journeyman Chris Cooper (also known for creating Starfleet Academy, a comic about the adventures of Cadet Nog that tied in to the events of Deep Space 9).

The book is notable for three reasons.

The first is that the premise is shockingly and coincidentally similar to the later Buffy the Vampire Slayer, with occult investigations carried out by a group that is led by a beautiful, tight outfit wearing vampire killer from a lineage of vampire hunters (Victoria Montesi, the Montesi Formula being the way vampires are destroyed in Marvel Comics), and also includes a mouthy scrappy everyman, an occult expert and archeologist who’s knowledge of the supernatural and collection of books leads to the secret of beating the creature of the week, a tough as nails government agent out of his depth when fighting the supernatural, and finally, a tremendously powerful and immortal dark antihero who joins the side of good despite his dark past (Mordred the Mystic is both Willow and Angel together, I suppose).

The second detail is that it was the first Marvel Comic with an openly gay lead character. You might have heard it was Northstar, but this is not true. Chris Cooper is openly gay himself and always fought for inclusion of this nature. Victoria Montesi’s debut predates Northstar coming out of the closet (a comic, incidentally, that Chris Cooper wrote as associate editor on Alpha Flight, so he worked on both).

There are, likewise, many candidates for who the first gay character in Star Trek is, but one of the characters with the strongest claim to this title is Chris Cooper’s Yoshi Mishima in his Starfleet Academy series.

Chris Cooper eventually left Marvel Comics after the 90s. Nothing happened. Most people in a freelance job like comic editing and writing are not Chris Claremont, who are there for decades. Careers in the arts don’t last forever, and they have to come to an end sometime, where you go and get a real job.

But Chris Cooper came up again decades later in the news, was the subject of an incident in 2020 when birdwatching in Central Park (he’d been a member of a birdwatching society at Harvard), where he was threatened by a female jogger, who said she would call the police as he threatened her, when we can see he did no such thing. The incident was known as either “the Central Park Birdwatching Incident” or the “Central Park Karen.”

Looking at the footage now, it’s easy to see why it was national news and viral on the internet. Apart from the obvious racial angle, it is a chilling reminder of how a woman’s vulnerability can become a weapon, and how man’s strength can turn into a vulnerability.

All the while watching the incident, I was like "...the Darkhold Redeemers guy? No, it couldn't be...it's probably a coincidence, Chris Cooper is a very common name." But nope, it really was the Starfleet Academy guy from the 90s.

Chris Cooper received a birdwatching show on National Geographic, and inspired many black people to go into birdwatching, but I could care less about birdwatching. I would like to see what happened next with Darkhold Redeemers and Starfleet Academy, which ended at a cliffhanger with a lot of unresolved plot points.

#darkhold redeemers #90s marvel #starfleet academy

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autistic-gay-demon · 8 months ago

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there’s also a lot of sexual violence from cis men but u don’t gaf abt that do u!

These are a lot of examples of something that "never happens".

By Anna Slatz March 28, 2024

A female inmate at the Women’s Correctional Center in Washington has come forward to reveal that she was sexually assaulted by a violent transgender sex offender who was transferred into the women’s prison in 2021.

For the purposes of this article, the female inmate will be referred to as “Mary” in order to protect her privacy and prevent her from experiencing institutional repercussions.

Reduxx was provided Mary’s testimony through letters she passed on to an internal source, who then relayed the information out of the institution on her behalf.

Mary explains that the incident occurred in April of 2022 after a transgender inmate named Christopher Williams asked to be moved into her cell. Williams had previously been serving his sentence at a male facility, and has a criminal history including sex offenses and violent assault.

“Christopher asked if he could move into my room because he said his current roommate was bullying him … I had no issues with him being a transgender. But then he would make weird comments like ‘it hurts when it fills up with blood,’ like he wanted me to know when he was having an erection.”

Mary says that she became increasingly uncomfortable with Williams’ behavior towards her, which had a near-constant sexual undertone. At one point, Williams appeared to become frustrated with Mary’s lack of interest in him, and started issuing disturbing threats of sexual violence.

“He said to me, ‘I don’t know why you don’t want [my dick]. Everyone else does.’ Then he started to follow me into the bathroom. And one time he told me, ‘Just so you know, I can get you wherever I want.'”

Mary says she was voicing her concerns to staff, but was “pretty much being ignored.”

By Genevieve Gluck March 27, 2024

A trans-identified male who sexually assaulted three female employees at a disability support organization, of which he was a representative, has been sentenced to six years in prison for his crimes. Kazumi Watanabe, 57, who claims to “have a woman’s heart,” was sentenced March 27 at the Osaka District Court’s Sakai branch.

Watanabe was first arrested on February 7, 2023, after he was accused of sexual assault by multiple female staff members. At the time of his arrest, Watanabe was the owner and head of Aoi Sodanshitsu, a public company that provided services for disabled or otherwise disadvantaged individuals and their families. The company had an agreement with the municipal government of Takaishi, Osaka Prefecture, which referred people with vulnerabilities to Aoi Sodanshitsu for assistance when needed. Watanabe and his staff would then provide supportive consultations and referrals to relevant welfare services.

According to the indictment, Watanabe sexually assaulted multiple female employees and patrons of the business in 2021, luring them into a vulnerable position under the guise of giving them a “massage.” In order to make his victims comfortable enough to trust him, he’d claim he was not sexually attracted to women and had the “heart of a woman.” After they allowed him to touch their bodies, he would sexually assault them. In at least one of the cases, Watanabe raped a victim by forcible penetration.

One woman, in her forties, was a client of the disabilities counseling project. As Watanabe began to massage her, groping her breasts and genitals, he made comments about touching her “pubic bone,” and suggested he could make her breasts bigger, and made her walk around in her underwear.

In its decision, the District Court stated: “The method of committing the crime under the pretense of a offering a massage by lying about his gender identity was cunning, and the fact that he repeated it clearly showed that he had sexual distortions. He also took advantage of his position. This is a strong condemnation.”

By Anna Slatz March 26, 2024

A trans activist drag queen is standing trial for 2019 charges related to the sexual abuse of a teen boy he met through gay hookup app Grindr. Dwight Evan Chisholm, also known as “Sno Wight,” was already a lifetime entrant of the sex offender registry when he began grooming the boy.

As previously reported by Reduxx, Chisolm was initially convicted in 2011 on charges of sexually assaulting a child and sentenced to three years in prison in Brown County.

Upon his release in 2015, Chisolm was listed in official records as homeless and was therefore ordered to report his whereabouts to authorities on a weekly basis. But two years later, the Wisconsin Department of Corrections lost contact with Chisolm, who had stopped making the mandatory weekly declarations of his location. For the following year and a half, authorities were unable to locate him.

In December of 2018, the state’s District Attorney’s office charged Chisolm with failure to provide information as a sex offender and a judge signed a warrant for his arrest.

That's a lot of sexual violence from mem who claim to be women

#im Not defending trans rapists btw #im js saying there’s a lot more violence from cis men #Harvey weinstein #donald trump #the burning sun scandal #woody allen #jonny depp #brock turner #the central park jogger #and many more #educate urself pls

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oneshotnewbie · 1 year ago

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A jogger finds a phone and calls the cops. When they take it and put it into a zip back, they accidentally turn on the phone - revealing a picture of The Captain of the SVU and Reader?

Possible trigger warning: This one-shot includes the mention of blood and kidnapping, the plots are presented. If this triggers you too easily or you just can´t handle the subject, I urge you NOT to read this work. I am NOT embellishing this topic under any circumstance. Read at your own risk.

ᕚ---ᕘ

William Jacobs ran across the Brooklyn Bridge at the same time every morning, trying to beat his best time. But today he desperately thought about turning back and skipping today's sports session - the weather was playing into his cards.

Despite all the negative voices in his head, the young man ran from the Brooklyn bridge to the Manhattan Central Park and back. At this early hour there were hardly any passers-by and only occasionally a few cars drove past. As he took his first step off the bridge, he was inspired by the release of happiness hormones and increased his pace.

William loved being able to look out over the East River and let his thoughts and feelings flow freely. His black hair flowed in the wind and was dampened by the drizzle, her ragged breathing evident in the chill of dawn. When he managed halfway of his way, he was panting like never before in his life - the cold air making it harder to force enough air through his lungs. The young man felt the slight sting in his side, but did not hesitate to stop.

It was not until his head moved towards the entrance of the Central Park that he saw something blue and shimmery lying on the ground. Confused, he stopped and cautiously approached the object, peering left and right to locate other people.

Startled, he jumped back and almost stepped into the street when he saw red-brown stains around it, some of them even splattered on the cell phone he had found. William did not even hear the car behind him screeching to a stop next to him and the car door being opened with an aggressive jerk. "Are you crazy? I almost ran you over!"

But the young man did not answer the older women. She looked at the black-haired guy and saw fear and disgust on his face. His shaky fingers pointed to the main reason he stopped, which was why the woman looked confused on the ground and shortly after promptly walked back to her car in shock. "We have to alert the police." he shouted in a shrill, abnormally bright voice. The stranger nodded her head and pulled her cell phone out of the glove compartment of her red car. She quickly tapped on her phone and held it trembling against her ear.

"Emergency call center, how can I help you?" A calm voice asked on the other end of the line, beginning to type on her keyboard to find out the location of the caller. "We found a phone." she spoke anxiously, earning a sigh from the 911 agent. "Mam, you know this is not an emergency, right?"

William looked confused at the device in the old lady's hand, and in his adrenaline rush he did not quite understand why the sigh was being given. So he quickly snatched the cell phone from her and continued the conversation. "Listen. Here is a cell phone lying at the entrance to Central Park, covered in blood splatters. I also recognize an original NYPD cell phone case."

“Which entrance are you at?” the woman's low voice slowly calmed his rapidly beating heart. He took a deep breath while trying not to let his mind sink into a hole of horror scenarios. He looked around, trying to figure out which entrance he really was at. "Fifth Avenue at the Plaza Hotel,"

"Do not touch anything. I will send you a unit."

ᕚ---ᕘ

The gentle rain pattered quietly against Olivia's bedroom windows and made her open her eyes just a crack wide. Her tired gaze glowered out and a hand brushed over her face as she watched the night slowly fade away. Her attention turned to the other side of the bed, her fingers curling into the cold sheets next to her.

Her fiancée was no longer lying next to her and she sighed heavily. She usually woke up before you almost every morning, kissing along your naked spine stroking her hand with pleasure over your sides before she remained on your bare hip, waking you up for another day. Olivia loved waking up next to you since she shared a bed with you and enjoyed every minute of it. But she respected your exercise routine in the early hours of the morning and was in no way offended if she started the day without you.

The brunette tried to close her eyes for another five minutes, but quickly abandoned the idea when her cell phone rang. A little angry, she felt around on the bedside table for the annoying-sounding device and answered the call. "Lieutenant Benson?" she sighed loudly, already pulling the blanket off her body.

The brunette, half asleep, rummaged through her closet for some clothes and ran into the bathroom to get ready. "Central Park, I will be right there." When she ended the conversation, she tried to reach you on your cell phone to take you home, but her attempt came to nothing and she did not think about it any further - you had already put your phone on silent often enough to avoid being distracted.

After quickly downing a cup of coffee to wake herself up, she pulled her coat off the hook and slipped through the door into the day's events. The rain worsened on the way to the crime scene, washing every possible mess back into the sewers. When she got out, Amanda and Fin were already standing at the cordoned off area that had been created to protect the evidence from the rain. "What do we have?"

"A blood-spattered cell phone," the blonde expressed, gratefully accepting an evidence bag from another officer. She carefully placed the found object in it and handed it to her boss. "A cell phone? Why were we called?" the Sergent and the detective shrugged and raised their hands in question. "The caller thought it was a cell phone belonging to one of our colleagues, which is why we were notified because a significant amount of blood was found next to it."

Olivia nodded, looking worriedly at the phone in her hand. You had the same case around your phone, she had given it to you as a small gift. She turned it around so the screen was facing her and her heart skipped a beat when she saw the scratch on it. The brunette had almost caused the same one on your phone when she saved you from a bullet a couple months ago.

She always wanted to have it repaired but you would not let her - it was a memory for you. "Liv, are you okay?" Finn asked worriedly, watching as the color suddenly drained from his best friend's face. She nodded in response, looking back from the evidence to the paving stone. A good amount of blood that was not easy to ignore. "Yeah, it is just.."

The tough woman could not finish the sentence right away. The screen turned on on its own, showing a reminder notification on the display. Underneath you could clearly see two smiling faces smeared with light gray paint as a background image.

She recognized the image immediately. Olivia shot it herself when you were recoloring your bedroom together. Olivia swallowed hard, the phone shaking in her hands as she tried to suppress her rising panic. “It is y/n’s. It is her phone."

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firenati0n · 2 months ago

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central park, nyc - a park meet cute drabble for julia 🐕

It’s a beautiful day in New York. There’s a light breeze ruffling Henry’s hair, and Central Park is full of dog walkers and runners alike. Henry’s got one hand on his tea, another gripping David’s lead.

A squirrel darts across the path, setting David off into a sprint and pulling Henry after him—intercepting an innocent jogger. A very sweaty, very pretty jogger.

“I am so sorry,” Henry says. Is he, though?

“I’m not,” the stranger replies as he scratches David’s ears, looking up at Henry. “He’s cute.”

Henry coughs. “Thank you.”

“And so is his owner.”

A beautiful day, indeed.

#rwrb #rwrb fic #red white and royal blue #roop writes #drabble #normalize falling in love with every single person who looks at you with any level of kindness #(don't)#but also...do!

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clowningaroundmars · 3 months ago

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Hobie1610 pt. 3

part 3 has finally arrived!!! at a faster rate than part 2 but a bit of a wait nonetheless lol

not entirely sure how long this lil story will go on for but hope y'all are enjoying this ride regardless, whether it ends on the next part or in 3 more chapters ldfjkdhf

in this installment: thrilling action, a high stakes chase, and we get to learn more abt our beloved hobie jones! yippee!

>pt. 1 here<

>pt. 2 here<

♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧��♧♤♧♤♧♤♧

By some miracle, Hobie did not mention the suit to Miles once they started texting semi-regularly.

Unfortunately, they also couldn't really make their lunch date (date? God, get it together, Morales. It is not a date…) as soon as Miles would have liked, due to a million different things getting in the way of them setting a solid day aside to chill together.

Just his luck, of course.

But in the hallways, Hobie actually deigned to give Miles a passing smile every now and then. They didn’t ever get to hang out like they did for those precious few moments on the first day of school, but Miles didn’t feel the crushing weight of guilt every time he saw Hobie in his same classroom anymore. What a relief!

So Miles was mostly okay with how things were going anyhow, even if the hangout ended up falling through and they both decided not to go in the end. He was able to patrol and do his homework in blissful peace for the first time in months.

… Kind of.

That look on Hobie’s handsome face as he looked down past Miles’ coat collar though…

That still ate away at an anxious part of Miles’ brain whenever he had the time to sit down and really let his worries manifest.

No time to think about that now, though. Miles was suited up again on a school night, hoping to get at least an hour’s worth of patrolling in before security at Visions noticed he was absent from his dorm room. He hoped Ganke would be able to cover for him like he always did.

It was yet another cold evening out in New York City, and Miles was steadily covering the edges of Brooklyn, heading towards Manhattan to do a quick sweep through Central Park like he did on occasion. There was always something going on in Manhattan, especially during the evening.

Miles decided it wouldn’t hurt to take a quick peek before calling it a night and heading back to Visions.

So away he went-- now fully in his Spiderman element-- vaulting and soaring over buildings, showing off every now and then by doing silly flips and tricks mid-air for the opportunistic New Yorkers looking to snap their Spiderman Sighting of the day. A little social media promo never hurt anyone, after all…

Spiderman finally swung down onto a tree branch on the western side of the park from a street lamp and was just about to lower himself down as inconspicuously as he could, before immediately feeling the tingling electricity of his Spider Senses race up and down his spine, giving him the usual headache along with it.

He crouched down quietly on a branch and watched as a familiar lanky figure streaked across the path underneath him onto the grass and beyond.

Whoever this runner was, he was fast. And hot on his trail was a gang of burly bumbling assholes cursing up a blue streak as they gave chase.

Spiderman’s eyes stayed glued to the fast runner like they were a lifeline. His senses honed in on the person and he erupted out of the leaves of the tree with one mighty leap, sailing through the air to shoot a web out and swing his way on over to the excitement.

Several joggers, people walking dogs after work, and mothers with baby carriages exclaimed and shouted as they were barreled into by the gang of men trying to keep up with their moving target. The runner didn’t seem to be giving up, though, as their long legs sent them flying over bushes and rocks and lounging people as gracefully as a ribbon in the air.

It was indeed getting dark soon again, but the darkness didn’t really affect Spiderman’s senses at all. His mask helped him fine-tune his powerful vision and anticipate the runner’s next moves.

It looked as though they were trying to make their way up towards the Great Lawn from Cedar Hill, but whether the person was planning to make a break for the now-empty Delacorte Theatre or the Metropolitan Museum Of Art… or beyond? That was the million dollar question.

Spiderman didn’t want to lose the person in case they happened to just be a petty thief, since that would be a quick and easy problem to fix. But as he silently chased down the runner alongside (and unbeknownst) to the gang, his suspicions gave way to some other... ideas.

Namely, that the runner seemed young, a bit too young for someone to be pissing off this many fully-grown gang members.

He pushed through his confusion and made a break for the theatre the second he guessed that the runner was pivoting in that direction.

The trees were getting thicker the closer they got to the Belvedere Castle and Spiderman eventually resorted himself to hoofing it, mindful of sticking to the shadows of the foliage that surrounded them on all sides.

He was super grateful now more than ever that his suit happened to be his signature sleek black and red, rather than the tacky and hyper-visible reds and blues of many of his Spider counterparts (sorry Peter!)

Once he confirmed that the suspicious target was indeed planning on hiding in the bleachers of the massive amphitheatre, he shot up a web to hoist himself into the infrastructure from the tall stadium lights. From there, he positioned himself a bit closer to the fray, hearing the loud and heavy boots of the gang following the runner, not far behind.

Then, he squinted into the dusk as he watched one of the entrances from his perch up high... and almost choked on his own saliva!

In comes none other than Hobie Motherfucking Jones, streaking down several steps like a shooting star, clutching onto… something tucked under one of his arms. He was breathless, panting loudly, and heading straight for the Belvedere Lake.

Upon hearing the heavy bootfalls get ever closer with every passing second, it seemed that Hobie got the idea to attempt a last-minute juke by throwing himself underneath the stairs that faced the lake, tucking himself as tightly as he could under the massive stage at the center.

Spiderman watched all of this happening with wide eyes, holding his own breath in. He prayed that the ugly thugs didn’t see Hobie’s sneaky last-second move, but climbed up high onto the stadium lights and prepared to swing down anyhow, just in case.

What was Hobie even doing here, out at this hour? And what the hell did he manage to steal that was so important to these men anyways? It was quite a chase they were caught up in, running nearly two entire miles all the way up to the amphitheatre just to catch him, and that was only from what he could see when he swung into action.

The group split up and pulled out flashlights, determinedly searching the bleachers and corners as best they could while the sky rapidly darkened above them.

From right below the webbed crime-fighter, Hobie poked his head out from the shadows and took a peek.

No, no, duck back down! Spiderman wanted to shout, but he couldn’t.

No one knew he had followed them and he was safe high above the action where he balanced himself on the metal bars that housed the bulbs. His muscles tensed as the bright beam of light from one guy’s flashlight swept a little too close to Hobie’s head. Damnit.

Spiderman couldn’t just sit there all day! He had a friend to save, stolen item be damned!

He rechecked his web shooters furtively and took aim.

He set his sights on another stadium light pole across from the stage, figuring that if he was quick and agile enough, he could time his swing well enough to scoop Hobie up from where he was hidden and avoid any detection. Hopefully.

Seemed like a solid enough plan though, until Hobie just. Shot out from his hiding place all of a sudden, the heels of his boots rapping loudly against the cement and echoing all around the stage as he made a beeline for the lakefront.

Shit!!!

Miles wanted to kill him. Those guys didn’t even suspect he was hiding where we was in the first place!

... Okay, plan B!

Spiderman’s brain whirred at breakneck speeds as he watched the thugs exclaim loudly and give chase yet again, this time much closer to Hobie than they ever were before.

Without thinking, he swung down from his perch and bowled over a couple of men in his haste to simply just… grab Hobie like a damsel in distress and fireman-carry him back around the gang to get a good line of web onto a nearby pole.

The men all cursed and shouted in surprise of course, flashlight beams waving around everywhere.

One of them even yelled, “what the hell was that?!” like a character in one of his dad’s favorite cheesy slasher movies.

Spiderman was too fast for them, a black blur simply whizzing by as he grabbed Hobie and hoisted the both of them up into the air with a mighty leap. Hobie yelped in surprise, grunting from the effort, and seemed to let whatever he stole slip out of his hands which then clattered loudly onto the ground below.

The thugs rejoiced then, shaking fists at Hobie and his rescuer as they flew up to the top of a tree and detached themselves so they could fall onto the stadium light opposite from Spiderman’s initial hiding spot.

Spiderman didn’t stop until he attached another web up to the lights and dangled there for a bit. Adrenaline still coursed through his veins as he shifted Hobie off of his shoulders and let him slide slowly onto his side, his friend’s wiry arms clutching him tightly.

They both watched with rapt attention at the goings-on several feet below them.

The thugs congregated around the fallen item, picking it up and turning it this way and that. It looked like a briefcase, though with the low lighting it really could’ve been anything. It was only when one of them-- the biggest and burliest of them all-- shouted out another colorful swear word that Hobie then seemed to come back to himself again.

He squeezed Spiderman’s shoulders with his arms and kicked at him. They swung a bit from the wiggling.

“Ouch!” Spiderman hissed, as quietly as he could. He was hoping the dark dusk would conceal their position now as long as they made No Noises, but even that wasn’t guaranteed.

“Go, go, go, go, man! Let’s get out of here!!” Hobie hissed right back into his ear, his face mere centimeters away from Spiderman’s mask.

Spiderman stubbornly ignored the heat radiating out from his face at that realization and jerked this way and that, looking for an easy escape from their conundrum.

Flashlight beams danced around the ground before finally swinging up to the trees and catching sight of a pair of shoes dangling in the sky.

The biggest and meanest one of the bunch pulled something out of his pocket and took aim.

Bullet! Spiderman’s senses screamed into his cerebellum.

“Goddamn,” he huffed ruefully as the shots rang out. Hobie panicked. “Bullets for us? That’s a little harsh, isn’t it?”

Hobie clung onto his hero for dear life. “Brother, if you do not get a move on from here, we are both gonna get turned into fish filets!” He shouted into Spiderman’s ear.

“Ow. Okay,” Spiderman grumbled, sticking himself to the side of the pole they dangled from and readjusting Hobie so that he clung onto his back instead.

He took a deep breath and narrowly dodged a bullet that whizzed unnervingly close to their heads. Hobie yelled again.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Spiderman began, speaking quickly. “Hold on, okay? Hold on tight. Just hold on and do not let me go for even a second!”

“On it!” Hobie shouted back, legs kicking a bit before wrapping themselves tightly around Spiderman’s torso.

They both took a breath and then Spiderman jumped, gaining some air before twin webs erupted from his web shooters-- aimed directly towards the seating area entrance.

Together, he and Hobie rocketed from their airborne position towards their escape route once the fluids connected to solid architecture. To his credit, Hobie only whimpered a little bit through the ride.

The thugs had no chance! They stumbled on tired, aching legs towards the very door the two teens had left out of, complaining and cursing some more as they searched through the steps and made their way out onto the theatre’s general admission and concessions area.

They searched and searched through the bushes and trees, going so far as to even check the sculptures near the structure.

After several tense moments of gruff shouting back-and-forth, the search eventually died down until only a couple of the men were left sweeping the area once more. The others had already given up their fruitless endeavor and called it a night.

“Fucking kids, man. What the hell,” Spiderman heard one of them grumble before kicking at the Romeo and Juliet statue angrily and following the rest of his cohorts down the path towards the Great Lawn again.

Hobie and Spiderman let out matching sighs of relief then, happy to have given the men the slip by managing to hide behind the giant 3D Delacorte Theatre sign right above the box offices. Lucky for them, most people don’t think to search behind lit-up signs, so they went completely undetected.

“… Wanna let me know what you were doing here this whole time? You could’ve gotten killed!” Spiderman breathed. He wanted his tone to be sharper, more authoritative… but he was just so glad to see his new friend still in one piece instead of riddled with more holes than a chunk of swiss cheese!

Hobie scoffed, tucking a loc behind his ear and sitting back. Thanks to the lighting of the sign and the other park lights in the area, Spiderman could see him digging around in his coat pocket and fishing out-- a USB drive?

Hobie held it up triumphantly, sleepy down-turned eyes glistening with pride.

“I got it! Suckers! Screw them by the way, I’m not the thief, if that’s what you’re wondering,”

Well. He was sneaky, alright. Spiderman had to hand that to him, at the very least.

He sat back on his heels as well and exhaled. “Fine. I believe you. What’s on that drive?”

Hobie squinted at him then, really giving him a good once-over now that the excitement had officially died down. “…Damn. You’re Spiderman,”

“Yeah, yeah. Hey, hi, nice to meet you, I’m your friendly neighborhood Sp-- ugh, seriously man, just tell me what all of that was back there or else I’m webbing you up and calling the cops.”

“Hey!” Hobie objected. “Like I said already, I’m the good guy here. I snagged this from those guys because I caught them snoopin’ around the museum over that way. I followed them and found out they were stealing this!”

Spiderman bobbed his head. “Okay? And what’s on it?”

Hobie turned the drive over a bit in his hands, admiring it. “Most likely? Security codes, schedules, maps. I’ve been uh… investigating those dudes for a while after watching them sniff around the museum for a few days now. It looks like they were just art thieves plannin' a heist, so I jumped on the opportunity to deliver justice myself.”

Hobie’s mischievous grin was met by Spiderman’s disapproving stare.

“And why didn’t you just call security and let them know? Like I said, super dangerous thing you did back there! If I wasn’t there to save you, you could’ve died, man.”

Hobie pocketed his USB drive again and rolled his eyes. “Y’know, for a vigilante hero with cool superpowers, you sure are a square.”

Spiderman sat up and placed a hand on his chest, feigning hurt. “Oof, ow. That’s mean,”

“Yeah, it is, but you know I’m right. If a kid like me walked up to some cops and tried to warn them of a possible art heist, you just know those pricks’ll laugh in my face and do literally nothing about it. I had to take matters into my own hands!” Hobie jutted his chin out defiantly.

Well. Couldn't really argue with that, especially considering PDNY’s less-than-stellar track record of taking preventative measures most times. All that they would most likely do is nod along to whatever Hobie was telling them and chuckle, shaking their heads as they walk away. Not their problem.

Spiderman rubbed his chin. “Point taken," he conceded. "So what’s your plan now?”

Hobie glanced around, as if he was checking for any eavesdroppers. “I’m gonna submit some photos to a journalist I met online before turning this in back to the museum. The journalist’ll help get those guys behind bars once a story's published and some actual adults talk to the cops. I am going to go collect my reward,”

Spiderman blinked. He had a bunch of questions swimming in his head, but the first question out of his mouth was, “what reward?”

“The reward for turning in precious security info, genius!” Hobie tapped at his forehead with a finger and grinned. “If I get to negotiate with them, I can get some money to save up and-- uh. Nevermind. Listen, are you gonna rat me out or not?”

Miles’ brow creased behind his mask. “… I don’t think I will. Sounds like you’re doing the right thing… mostly.”

Hobie cheered silently. “Yes! Okay, I take it back, Spidey. You are cool!”

Spiderman sighed. “But first, I need to know you’re gonna be safe. Like, actually, and that you’re not gonna get followed home.”

Hobie shrugged nonchalantly and pushed more locs out of his face again. “Yeah, you can walk me home if you want,”

“No, that’s not what I mean. I mean, that’s not the only thing I mean. I need you to promise me that you’re not gonna get into stupid stunts like this again. That was so dangerous and you really could’ve gotten hurt!”

Hobie exhaled as well. He stared intensely into the mask’s giant white lenses for a beat, making Spiderman shift uncomfortably.

Then, he held up his pinkie. “… Fine. I won’t do stupid shit like this again. I promise.”

Spiderman blinked a few more times and hooked his pinkie onto Hobie’s. “Uh. Okay, cool! Cool, that’s what I wanna hear, considering keeping New Yorkers safe is my job! I just wanna see you safe, that’s all. No more art heists, you gotta leave that to the professionals to handle,”

“What, professionals like you? You might’ve not even gotten to them in time before they snuck off with like millions of dollars worth of art, bro.”

“Anyone ever tell you you are just so mean? Dontcha have a little faith in me? The ‘vigilante hero with cool superpowers’?” Spiderman shot back.

They both laughed.

“Seriously, though. I do appreciate the fact that you saved my ass back there,” Hobie admitted, eyes cast downwards for a second. “I was actually gonna throw this thing into the lake and hope this drive got eaten by like… a fish or something.”

“And what about you?” Spiderman smiled despite himself.

“Well,” Hobie shrugged. “If I died, I died. I guess,”

It was Spiderman’s turn to scoff now. “You have a family, man. Don’t be ridiculous. You have friends and family that would miss you!”

Hobie’s expression turned dark, his entire face shadowing for a second before being replaced by cool detached nonchalance. A slight hint of annoyance stayed put underneath.

“… My family’s barely my family. I don’t have any friends, either. Don't worry about me.” Hobie admitted in a clipped tone. He stood up abruptly and started doing some casual stretches.

Spiderman stood up as well, knowing fully well how this song and dance was going to go.

He would never admit it out loud, but he’d seen his fair share of self-destructive citizens throwing themselves into the middle of danger in the short time he’d been doing this whole vigilante thing. He had talked many a melancholy or manic person from tossing themselves off of multiple different buildings, different bridges, stopped them from “falling” onto train tracks.

And as loath as he is to admit it, this Hobie’s particular brand of cool detachment was entirely too familiar to him as well.

A flash of his uncle Aaron’s face lit up a part of his brain that he hadn’t really allowed himself to acknowledge since that fateful day. He quickly stamped that out.

He cleared his throat and rubbed at his neck. “… Well. That sounds pretty depressing, man.”

He didn’t notice Hobie’s shoulders hitch at that phrase.

“But,” Spiderman continued, “You got people out here who care about you, even if you don’t know it. You’re still so young, you could be ending your life before you even meet, like, your favoritest person in the whole world, right? So just do me a quick favor, take care of yourself. For me. Live long enough to meet your favorite person, alright?”

Spiderman put on his best comforting expression that he could despite the mask most likely getting in the way of Hobie fully seeing it. He hoped his words were enough to convince him not to dive off the deep end, at least not anytime soon.

It seemed to work at least a little bit, because Hobie looked back at him with a much warmer-- albeit hesitant-- expression.

“Can I ask you something?” Hobie finally said after a few moments of silence.

“Uh, sure.” Spiderman replied.

“Do you know about a kid named Miles Morales at all?”

The air was sucked out of Spiderman’s lungs right then as he floundered like a fish for a minute, brain working into overdrive to make his answer sound both intelligent and convincing.

“U-uh, maaaybeee? I dunno, I meet a lot of New Yorkers everyday and I don’t get many names, yanno? S-sounds familiar, but sorr--”

“I knew it,” Hobie exhaled a laugh and surged forward to embrace Spiderman with both arms.

Spiderman stood frozen in his place, arms held in mid-air as he worked to process this.

“Uh. What--”

Spiderman felt Hobie’s chin dig into the side of his cheek a little as he turned his lips to his ear. “Your secret’s safe with me, by the way. I’m not telling anyone,”

Miles felt his whole world turn on its axis before shattering completely.

Oh no, no, no, no, no! Goddamnit!

Miles pushed Hobie off and stepped back, holding his hands up. “Oh hey, whoa, whoa, whoa. I dunno what you’re thinking or who you think I am, but--!”

Hobie sighed loudly. “Miles, I saw your suit.”

The world screeched to a halt.

Hobie picked his gaze back up off of his feet and even seemed apologetic, almost. “I, uhm. Like, back on the roof. At Visions. I wasn’t… a hundred percent sure I saw it, since it could’ve been any logo at all, but. Well, you’re a pretty bad liar too, y’know that, right?”

Miles sucked in a slightly shaky breath, gulping loudly. “Uh. W-well,”

Hobie smiled shyly. “You, uh… you’re like around the same height as Miles Morales, anyways. And you sure sound a lot like him, too.”

Damn. Damn it all.

Miles spun this way and that, placing his hands atop his head as he panicked slightly. “H-Hobie, you cannot tell anyone else about this, whatsoever. Do you understand? No one. At all. Or we’re both dead!”

Hobie held his hands up, lines creasing in his face. “Look bro, you’ve got secrets of mine too. We pinkie promised, remember? I don’t break promises.”

Miles didn’t point out that the promise was so that Hobie would stop getting himself into stupidly dangerous situations, but he accepted it anyways, albeit reluctantly.

“D-do… do you actually, like actually promise me you’ll never breathe a word about this to anyone? Ever? At all?”

Hobie held up his right hand into the air, as if taking an oath. “I, MJ, solemnly swear to never breathe a single word to anyone about your super secret identity, so help me god.”

Miles planted his fists on his hip and shook his head. “Oh my god,” he exhales on a shaky laugh.

“Don’t you believe me? What would I have to gain by selling you out? Oh,” Hobie stops suddenly, perking up. “We could even work together! I got me my sweet camera and my extensive connects, man. Think about it!”

“No, no. Hobie. Stop that, man. I’m not putting you into any danger after I just saved your skinny butt. Spiderman doesn’t do sidekicks anyways,”

Hobie looked a bit put out, but shrugged anyways. “Well, I mean… think about it sometime. We could seriously take down criminal activity around here, if you’re down! And, uh. You do have my number,”

Miles looked up and took a deep breath. “Mmnyes, I do. I do have your number. That’s… I mean you’re not wrong about that. Listen, I think it’s getting pretty late and we should both be heading back home now, though.”

The corners of Hobie’s mouth curled up mischievously. “True, true. It is a school night, after all.”

Miles couldn’t stop grinning despite the heavy anvil that threatened to burst out of his chest. “Yep, yes it is! Okay, time to get you home now. C’mon, let’s go.”

Miles moved to step into Hobie’s space and carry him on his back again so he could lower the both of them down from the lip of the theatre roof.

But before that happened, he felt Hobie place a cold but strong hand on his shoulder, stopping him.

Miles looked up inquisitively and felt his breath catch in his throat as he felt those same hands slowly slide up the smooth spandex of his suit, up his shoulders, and then they stopped at his neck, at the seam of where his suit and mask met.

The entire thing probably only took a few seconds to do, but to Miles it felt like eons passed as he felt every single muscle twitch and the pulse beating underneath Hobie’s skin while he ran those fingers up his arms.

He was standing so close to him! Oh god!

The entire ordeal was unbearably intimate, and Miles could barely stop the shudder that wracked his body suddenly.

Hobie’s soft lips were slightly parted, the lighting of the sign next to them caught in the dark brown portals that were his eyes.

“U-uhm. Sorry, this is weird...” he mumbled quietly. But his hands didn't move.

All around them, crickets started their soothing chorus.

Here they were, right behind the giant lettering of the Delacorte Theatre, intertwined in each other’s arms on a cold night-- and Miles’ core body temperature has never felt hotter before. He felt like he could melt steel, the way this night was going. He didn’t know when his hands raised to grasp onto Hobie’s arms, but they must’ve done it of their own accord because Miles then felt himself squeezing softly onto Hobie’s biceps.

Slowly, painstakingly, and carefully… Hobie made his move.

Every centimeter of the mask being pushed up was accompanied by a soft look that asked-- no, it begged-- for permission to continue. His hands seemed to move on their own eventually, as he slid the mask up over the back of Miles' head and then eased it up off of his nose.

Hobie wore a soft look of determination then, that fully came into view again once Miles felt his mask slide right up off of his eyes. Hobie’s soft hands eventually fell away, mask in one hand, no sounds in the air except for the wildlife of the park starting to wake now that the night has officially fallen.

Miles wasn’t sure why he did, but he held his breath.

After a few seconds of appraising gazes from each other, pupils meeting pupils, exchanging a million words a second with just a few looks… Hobie grinned beautifully.

“Damn. There you are,”

Miles felt a plume of heat erupt from his gut and rush up to his face. “Uh. Hm, y-yep. Here I am,” he blinked back at Hobie with his big brown eyes.

Hobie had a look of pure joy on his face before it started to melt away suddenly. “You know… I should backstab you for abandoning me out of nowhere that one time, though… I really should...”

The moment collapsed like an undone web, a delicate thing now completely destroyed as Miles leaped up in indignation.

“Hobie!”

Hobie stepped back and laughed loudly. “Re-lax! I’m not gonna actually do it. But. Y’know.”

“And if you do, I’ll leave you webbed up to that billboard near Visions,” Miles threatened, mostly light-heartedly.

“Psshh, and then get my mom’s two million lawyers on your ass? Good luck,”

“As if they could ever catch me! I’m Spiderman!”

Just as easily as they had stepped out of being just kids for a moment, they stepped right back into it, bickering like they'd been friends since forever.

Miles lowered the both of them from the sign and they headed towards the eastern side of the park, making their way over to Hunter’s Gate. They bickered and bantered back and forth the entire way there, and it was only once they made it to the outer gates of the park that Miles stopped them both.

With his mask back on and other New Yorkers now milling nearby, Miles made it a point to lower his voice as he turned to Hobie and puffed his chest out heroically.

“So, random citizen. Where are we off to today? I told you I’d take you back home safely, and that’s what I’m gonna do.”

“’Cause you promised, right?” Hobie smirked, tucking his hands into his coat pockets.

“Uhm. Yeah, yeah. I did. So, lead the way!” Spiderman made a grand ushering gesture, and Hobie chuckled good-naturedly as he stepped aside and exited Central Park.

“You gonna walk me home, Spiderman?” Hobie threw him a side-long glance.

“Yyyeah…? Why? You’d rather swing home?”

“I liked swinging, actually. Yeah,” Hobie stopped where he was on the sidewalk and nodded with an air of finality. “Yeah… let’s swing!”

Spiderman felt his heart do a few somersaults in his chest before he gestured towards his shoulders. Hobie quickly assumed the position, long lanky arms wrapping around him and leaning his body weight against Spiderman’s side.

Spiderman shot up a web to a nearby street lamp and gave his friend one more glance.

“You sure?” He asked again, really making sure that Hobie was okay with this. Not many people really liked swinging, which was understandable. Even Miles wasn't the biggest fan of it at times.

Hobie chuckled and ignored the onlookers as they slowly ambled past the two, throwing the teens questioning glances as they made their way past them.

“Yeah, I am! Let’s go,”

Miles: Do you actually actually really like on your LIFE promise that you’re not ginna tell a soul about… well…

Miles: gonna*

MJ: Yes, Miles. I PROMISE [eyeroll emoji]

Miles: I KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE

MJ: Do you actually, though? ;)

Miles: No. But I can find out… I got connects

MJ: Uh huh. I’ll tell your “connects” that if you don’t take me out on that promised lunch date, our friendly neighborhood Spiderman just might be the next trending topic on ALL social media apps again very soon……..

Miles: Oh my god. You are Evil. I can’t believe this. My next arch nemesis… damn

Miles: What a killer plot twist. The greatest foe I have yet to face happens to be none other than one of my very own classmates

Miles: It be ya own people

From his family’s Lower Manhattan penthouse, Hobie laughs out loud as he reads the text messages, ignoring all of the curious glances thrown his way by various members of his team.

From Miles’ own humble dorm room at Visions, he laughs aloud as well.

#spiderverse #mine #miles morales #hobie brown #<- well i mean not really but yall know what i mean #hope u guys enjoyed this lil installment! <3 #i tried to make the action as entertaining as possible but y'all must know.... that it really is my weak spot so if you guys read all that #and went 'huh'#well then.... Understandable Have A Nice Day!#but listen mj is more often than not a total bamf in the comics and so to make 1610's mj not nearly as cool #esp when this is HOBIE we're talkin abt here... that would be criminal. so i did what i had to do #and i'm trying to like uuhhhh not do an Exposition Dump on hobie jones' character all at once #just sorta drip feeding y'all his backstory before we Get Into It ya feel me #also @ everyone leaving nice comments so far. I LOV YOU :) <3 #thank u!#sorry abt the messy ass art on this chapter. i rushed it as i'm sure y'all can tell #they also dont match up 1:1 on the story bc i did the sketches initially before i wrote all this #just as concept art before sitting down to write so i meannnn! but! they came out p close to the finished product #so i was like 'ok close enough lets just ink it and be done'#hope yall still like them anyhow LOL oops #anyways..... i gotta quit my yappin'#see yall on the next one <3 #punkflower #← almost forgot to tag oof

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monstersinthecosmos · 7 days ago

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Vamptember Day 18 - Lost in Translation

{the veils - vicious traditions}

Who did this to you? Daniel thinks.

He doesn’t ask, though. Armand never answers, and Daniel’s not in the mood to argue about it. The ripple of hurt crosses his face though, the moment Daniel thinks it. Daniel’s nerves are too worn down to feel bad about it.

Another hour or so before sunrise, and Daniel thinks he might leave as soon as Armand does. He chews at his cuticle and stares hard at the newspaper, reading each line backwards and forwards, trying to make it take up space in his head to mask his thoughts. Armand rolls his eyes and goes to flop on the couch at the other side of the room, staring idly at the movie that’s been playing on the TV this whole time in the background.

He counts the lines on the news page, then counts all the times he sees the letter S. Every time he sees a number, he stops and adds it together. Fills his head with useless noise so that Armand will stop spying.

Maybe it works, or maybe it doesn’t. Too hard to tell, except that he’s in Phoenix by the afternoon, and Armand doesn’t follow. Daniel never knows if he really slipped from the grasp, or if Armand is just mad at him, anyway. Maybe Armand doesn’t want to come after him this time.

Still, he finds himself looking around the hotel room, as the sun goes down. Unsure if he’ll even be able to feel Armand out there, anyway, but checking for him all the same. Nothing, though, and the pull of the evening darkness has him feeling sleepy. He forgets, sometimes, how nice it is to sleep at night. How badly his body misses it.

He unzips his duffle bag, thrown onto the corner table. Digs under the layer of clothes to the little photo album—stupid tourist merch he’d grabbed in Vegas—and checks the window again before settling onto the bed with it. He’s been tucking their Polaroids in here for safe keeping. In no order, so that he opens on a photo of himself lighting a cigarette, but the next photo is their hotel suite from three months earlier, and then a few of Central Park in the daytime. Specific things that Daniel had been tasked to go photograph, though he never really understood what Armand wanted to see.

But Armand had stared at the photos for hours. One of them was of an overflowing garbage can, another of a rusting bike rack. A blurry photo of a jogger. A pigeon, beside a puddle with a rainbow-streak of oil floating at the surface. Armand had laid all the photos from that day around him in a semi-circle on their bed, and hadn’t spoken for the rest of the night.

He turns the page to a photo of Armand, and checks the corners of the room, tries to feel if he can sense Armand nearby, digging in his head. He slips the photo from the plastic sleeve and tilts it towards the lamp light, the glossy shine bringing Armand’s skin to life.

Who did this to you? he wonders again, with privacy this time. He stares at the photo, studying each line of his face, trying to imagine him alive.

Daniel can’t even tell how old he was.

His age is such an illusion. The danger around him carries a weight. Daniel doesn’t find him particularly boyish most of the time because of it. It’s like there’s a force he throws around himself, demanding that no one notices. But sometimes, away from him, sober and safe, Daniel’s surprised he doesn’t see it more often.

It’s his cheeks, Daniel thinks. He traces the curve of Armand’s face in the photos. And sometimes it’s the pathetic way you can hurt his feelings—how it shows, right in his huge dark eyes. And the way he laughs, when he really means it. Daniel always thinks he can see through the veil in those moments. It’s Armand at his most human.

More and more, he thinks the version in Louis’s interview was a lie. And he can imagine Armand lying about it as easily as he can imagine Louis protecting him.

The same way Louis didn’t quite say it, did he? Didn’t really explain it. Not really. Probably too used to being around child-vampires to even find it remarkable. Probably too inhuman to think it even mattered.

Sometimes Daniel doesn’t know why it even matters, except that it bothers him more, and more, as the time rots away. And he finds himself staring sometimes, like he had last night. Wondering too loud, maybe, until Armand gets offended. Still, he never answers the questions about it.

Daniel remembers the interview often, even these years later. He still combs over it sometimes, as if reading it one more time will reveal some clue that he never noticed before.

He’d stopped at a bookstore near the hotel this afternoon, wandering around for the fresh air and uncomfortable sunlight. His book had been tucked away in the horror section, between all the cheesy paperbacks about ghosts and monsters. Of course, Molloy, all those other books are cheesy. Not yours. How special of you to share nonfiction.

Interview with the Vampire contained ghosts and monsters, too, though, didn’t it? Whatever. Daniel rolled his eyes and checked up and down the aisle in the little store, before flipping to the chapters about Armand, knowing exactly which part was being so pesky in the bottom of his skull. Another peek for witnesses, and a pathetic fake cough to cover the noise as he tore the page out and stuffed it in his pocket.

Stupidly hit with guilt a moment later, though, as the book was half-slipped back into its little slot. His mom used to yell at him for dog-earring his library books. Told him how inconsiderate it was to all the other readers. He wondered, for just a second, if she’s doing okay. If she still reads as much as she used to. If she ever read Daniel’s book.

He shivered and grabbed the book again, blushing as he pushed the thoughts away and unable to meet the cashier’s gaze as he paid for it. He kept his hand on the crumpled loose page in his pocket as he walked back towards his hotel, feeling it grow soft and damp in his sweating palm, and threw the book out in a trash can a block away.

So now.

He pulls the page back out. Runs his hand over it a few time, flattening it against his thigh, the letters blurring before he remembers to actually focus. He knows it by heart, really, but he wants to see. Really see, as if he’ll notice something different this time.

"`No,' he said. There was a brief smile on his lips, an evanescent flush of pleasure.”

The mental image has warped over the years, as Daniel became more and more familiar with him. He holds the paper next to the album page, then flips to the next group of photos. He wishes he had one of Armand smiling.

He knows, on the inside, that he’s seen Armand smile. He can imagine Armand’s laugh, the way his face scrunches. But hard to know what an evanescent flush of pleasure looks like. Hard to know how different he must have seemed to Louis, one of his own kind. And Daniel spends enough time trying to imagine Armand as a human, but what had he looked like a century ago?

In that dark tower, maybe his hair tousled by the bad weather. Lit by the fireplace as he pulled Louis to his orbit. He imagines the old clothes on his unchanged figure, playing dress-up through time. His same face, too youthful, even back then. The same eyes, and Daniel imagines the way they might glow gold from the fire, the way they shine like a cat sometimes.

“ `But you feel an obligation to a world you love because that world for you is still intact. It is conceivable your own sensitivity might become the instrument of madness.’ “

And when had he stopped reading all of it in Louis’s voice? He even used to imagine the distortion of the tapes, from listening to them over and over. Could hear the squeak of the tape deck infused over the words. He hears Armand’s voice in his head now, though. Hears his strange accent. Imagines the crackling of the fire wound through it, maybe the wind at the open window, or rain on the roof.

“ `There was love between you and the vampire who made you?' I leaned forward.

" `Yes,' he said. `A love so strong he couldn't allow me to grow old and die.’ “

There’s no secret revelation here. No paragraph that he’s been skipping this whole time. No word that blended in, unnoticed.

The same details as always. Fifteenth Century Venice. A maker who loved him.

Daniel peels one of the Polaroids out—himself, this time. He doesn’t love this picture but Armand doesn’t like when he throws them away. Maybe Armand kept the better ones—Daniel wonders if he keeps them pinned to his coffin lid, the way real people get buried these days.

But anyway.

They could’ve been mistaken for peers when this all started. The Daniel in the photo is different, though. Worn out by now. It’s been a hard few years. Even when it’s good, it’s hard. The drinking can’t be healthy. He wears it in his face, doesn’t he?

And he’d found his first gray hair last month. During the day, thank christ. No vampires around to hear him freak out as he plucked it. And there’s circles under his eyes more often that not, these days. And the frustrated crease in his brow doesn’t disappear the way it used to.

He flips the paper over, nauseated. Flattens his palm over it, pressing it to the top of his thigh. Doesn’t want to look at it anymore. Doesn’t want to wonder about Armand’s maker and if he’s still out there. How frightening he must be, even older than Armand is. Just thinking about it makes Daniel’s stomach churn.

Maybe Armand would tell him more, if he actually planned to turn him. And maybe he’d even tell the truth. Not this weird saccharine bullshit he made up for Louis. What the fuck is an evanescent smile? This probably wasn’t even true.

It’s strange, still, trying to picture Armand as a source of calm, the way he’d been for Louis. And what about to his maker, as some fragile little human?

He grabs his cigarettes from the nightstand and turns the page in the album. The top picture was from a house party they’d crashed a few months back. Someone else had taken it of them, had grabbed the camera off the coffee table without knowing who it belonged to.

Daniel was mid-smoke, and had looked up at the camera at the last second. He’s got his elbows on his knees, and his eyes are half-shut, and the smoke clouding from his mouth catches in the camera flash to obscure half of his face. Looks like shit and annoyed to be there, but Daniel remembers having fun that night.

And Armand beside him, sitting on some guy’s lap, talking quietly by his ear. The oldest guy at the party—someone’s creepy boyfriend, or maybe an intruding older brother, or maybe just the drug dealer. Daniel doesn’t remember. But he’s tall, broad in the chest, so that his shirt stretches tight on hm.

Armand glows orange for a moment as Daniel lights his cigarette. Not quite a fireplace in an old tower, but. The man in the photo is grinning, as if he thinks Armand is cute, as if he’s said something funny, and his hand is unsubtly curled around Armand’s inner thigh.

“Get over it,” Daniel mumbles out loud. He holds the first hit of smoke inside until it hurts, and slams the book closed as he exhales.

The page flutters from where he’d flattened it against his leg, so gentle as it lands on the bedspread. Face down, but Daniel is stupid, because there’s words on both fucking sides, anyway.

You see these powers as a gift!

Not like he doesn’t know the conversation by heart, anyway, but he doesn’t need it flashing in his face like this.

If I knew a mortal of that sensitivity, that pain, that focus, I would make him a vampire in an instant.

“Get over it,” he says, again. Louder, as if that helps.

Do you see how ruthless I am in love?

Is this what you meant by love?

#vamptember #armand/daniel #armand #daniel molloy #devil's minion #marius de romanus #vampire chronicles #are wE NOW 2 MONTHS BEHIND #sorry lol time is an illusion ill post them whenever i want it was my event anyway LMAOOO #sorry a tree fell on my house and i got covid 😂#every month is vamptember if you try hard and believe in yourself #stuff i wrote

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justinspoliticalcorner · 1 month ago

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Emily Singer at Daily Kos:

The men once known as the Central Park Five—five men who were wrongfully convicted of rape and assault over 30 years ago—filed a lawsuit against Donald Trump on Monday in federal court, alleging the former president acted with “reckless disregard” for the truth when he attacked them during the presidential debate in September. At the debate, Vice President Kamala Harris attacked Trump for his history of racism, bringing up the fact that he refused to apologize for calling for the death penalty for the men—Antron Brown, Kevin Richardson, Raymond Santana, Korey Wise and Yusef Salaam—even after they were exonerated in the 1989 rape and assault of a jogger in Central Park. The five men, now known as the Exonerated Five, had their convictions vacated in 2002, after another man confessed to the crime and DNA evidence confirmed it.

Trump responded to Harris’ comments about the Exonerated Five at the debate by defending himself for taking out full-page ads in New York City newspapers that called for the men to receive the death penalty. “They admitted, they said they pled guilty and I said, ‘Well, if they pled guilty, they badly hurt a person, killed a person ultimately ... And they pled guilty, then they pled not guilty,” Trump said at the debate. But none of the five men ever pleaded guilty to the raping and beating of the female jogger. And none of the men were ever convicted of murder, as the victim in the Central Park jogging case did not die. “Defendant Trump’s statements were false and defamatory in numerous respects," attorneys for the five men wrote in the lawsuit. “Plaintiffs never pled guilty to the Central Park assaults. Plaintiffs all pled not guilty and maintained their innocence throughout their trial and incarceration, as well as after they were released from prison.” “Defendant Trump falsely stated that Plaintiffs killed an individual and pled guilty to the crime,” the lawsuit added. “These statements are demonstrably false."

The Central Park Five members have sued Donald Trump for defamation after Trump refused to apologize for calling for the death penalty for the Central Park Five.

See Also:

The Guardian: Central Park Five members sue Trump for defamation after debate comments

#Central Park Five #Donald Trump #Defamation #Antron Brown #Kevin Richardson #Raymond Santana #Korey Wise #Yusef Salaam #Exonerated Five #Central Park Five v. Trump

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sleekervae · 1 year ago

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New York Romantic .3

Masterlist

pairing: Tom Blyth x ballerina!oc

summary: hotdogs in central park

word count: 3441

taglist: @watercolorskyy @carolanns-world @alana4610

October was always an exciting period in New York. The brownstones were decorated top to bottom in thick spiderwebs, glowing skeletons and some of the most incredibly carved jack-o-lanterns one could find. The air had picked up a distinctive chill and many people's denim jackets and summer shorts had been traded for thicker-lined coats and scarves.

And of course with the turning of the seasons came midterms, written essays and memorized monologues that had to hit emotion, rhythm, believability, and of course, a time limit. While Tom had spent his evenings memorizing his lines, Noelle was busy practicing her combinations. She wouldn't come home until seven or eight at night as opposed to her usual four-thirty. Dragging herself through the hallway, bleary-eyed and exhausted, she could discern the sound of preaching through the paper-thin walls. Tom's voice stood out distinctly, booming and self-assured, a stark contrast to his usual timid and bashful demeanour.

Because midterms never held back, Tom was curious when one of his professors instructed them to come in loose-fitting, easy-to-move-in clothing. Their next lesson was on movement, and they were to have the honour of having some training from the second year ballerinas.

Tom picked out a simple t-shirt and some baggy, grey joggers, he felt more like he was on his way to the gym than he was school. He found Sunny was already up, munching on a bowl of frosted flakes while he watched some YouTube videos on his phone. He looked up curiously when Tom walked in, noting his baggy attire.

Tom threw his hands out at his sides, giving a listless shrug, "How do I look?" he asked.

Sunny shrugged back, "Like you should be asking for pennies on the street corner," he replied.

Tom glowered at him, "Are you serious?"

"Well, you don't look professional!" Sunny replied honestly, "Unless that's the assignment, today?"

He shook his head, "We're learning about movement with the ballerinas,"

Sunny stifled a laugh, "You're gonna learn ballet dance?"

"Not ballet, just movement. Posture and stuff,"

Sunny shook his head, "Well, you can't go like that," he scoffed.

"Why not?" Tom asked, glancing down at his outfit, "They just said loose and easy to move in,"

His roommate stood from the table and started for the hall, "There's a difference between easy to move in and wearing your pyjamas to school," and he disappeared into his room, "How tall are you?" he called suddenly.

"Six feet. Six one, maybe?" Tom shrugged back.

Not a moment later Sunny returned with a pair of black training pants. He unfolded them before his eyes, the crisp white Adidas logo on the pant immediately catching Tom's attention before he focused in on the rest of the look.

"Here, I wear these for football. Freshly washed," he tossed them to Tom, and he barely caught them at his chest.

"Are you sure?" he gawked back.

"Sure I'm sure. You wanna' make a good impression for the ballerinas, right?" he patted Tom's shoulder before taking his seat again at the table.

Tom's brows furrowed, "I'm not -- I'm not gonna' be scouting for a girlfriend, if that's what you mean," he said.

"I know, but still -- give them a reason to remember you... that's not those trousers, anyway," he replied simply.

"What's wrong with these?" Tom cried, somewhat defiantly.

"You look like a chav who just finished up at his nine-to-five and's about to settle in for a twelve hour GTA marathon," Sunny explained, "Trust me, mate,"

Tom changed into the training pants nonetheless, and he had to admit they made him look way less baggy than before. With that, he grabbed his notes and bag, his jacket, and was out the door in a split.

"Come in! Come in, everyone! Come have a seat!" the professor for the ballet's morning class, an older man with a moderate Eastern European accent, bellowed out to the acting students as they filed into the studio space. It was a gorgeous, large room with wall-to-wall mirrors, all accept for the window space that overlooked the bustling Manhattan streets below.

Jordan, a twenty-year-old first year acting student, had been bellyaching all morning to Tom about how ridiculous this all seemed. He was nice enough, but he had a proclivity for complaining.

"This is so dumb," he grumbled, falling into line with the others, "They're gonna laugh at us,"

Tom glowered at him, "They're not gonna laugh. We're just here to learn," he whispered back.

"Learn to do what, Swan Lake?" he scoffed.

"Would you just relax, please?" Tom grumbled back.

"We could be doing our monologues, right now," Jordan pointed out.

Tom simply shook his head and remained silent, sitting cross-legged against the mirror as the others filed in. The ballerinas were already here, clumped in their groups and sneaking glances at the actors. A handful of girls and guys, statuesque, lithe, adorned in shiny black leotards, tights, and some of them had leg warmers on. Among them was Noelle, sitting in the corner with Bianca and another dancer while she laced up her pointe shoes.

"Oh look, your ramen buddy's here," Bianca muttered. Noelle caught Tom's eyes when she glanced up, that dazzling, gentle smile pulling at her lips and she gave him a wave. Tom smiled and waved back subtly.

Their friend, Iseul, scanned the faces, "Which one?" she asked.

"The one who looks like he's shitting his pants,"

"They all look that way,"

Noelle rolled her eyes, "Would you guys keep it down?" she muttered.

Jordan spotted the small interaction from the corner of his eye, "You two friends?" he asked.

"She's my neighbour," Tom replied simply.

"You lucky bastard,"

Noelle quickly got to her feet as her instructor, Stanis, began to debrief the actors, "You originally came here to learn about acting. How to show character, evoke emotions, but a major part of theatre is how you use your body to show, not tell. Just like in a good book, you become much better story tellers when your body reflects pain, joy, agony," the man paced slowly across the studio, his hands flourishing with every exaggerated word. The dancers stood at the ballet bar behind him, casually leaning, watching, handful of eyes were passing over the doe-eyed first years some with boredom, some with intrigue.

Jordan leaned over to Tom, whispering, "Is he a ballet instructor or a high school teacher?" he was referring to Stanis' moppy jeans, beaten sneakers and band shirt. Tom hushed him.

"Of course it's impossible to exhibit any of these emotions if you're stiff," he straightened his posture but stood as still as a statue, "Or if you look bored," he slouched outwardly, posing like a delinquent teenager outside a convenience shop, "Or you look like a geek --" he hunched his back and pulled his shoulders in, making his limbs stuff.

A couple students tittered behind him.

"Now, obviously I am a ballet teacher, I am not a theatre teacher. But some of the key principles of dance are posture awareness, balance, coordination, spatial awareness, and physically expressing your emotion. These are principles utilized in ballet, and these are principles you will need if you hope to -- quote-on-quote -- break out in the industry," a hand went up from the end of the actors' group, "You there! Kip Dynamite!" Stanis called on him.

The attention turned to 'Kip', a lanky boy with thin hair and glasses, "I just wanted to ask -- are we expected to learn actual dances? Not many of us have any experience," his squeaking voice traversed the room.

Stanis chuckled, "Don't you worry, I don't expect you to performing grand jetes. You will however be learning these principles over the course of your studies," he explained, "Today we will start with the basics. Everyone please take up a position at the bar. Don't be shy!"

The actors took up spots along the bars against the mirrors. Jordan however raised his hand. Stanis nodded to him, "Ichabod Crane! You have a question?"

Jordan's face twisted momentarily, not quite sure how to respond to the nickname as he spoke up, "I don't mean any disrespect -- but why are they here?" he pointed to the ballet students.

Stanis shrugged simply, "To laugh at you, of course," he replied. Whatever little confidence Tom was struggling to hold on to, figuring there was no way in hell he was being serious. Luckily, Stanis began to chuckle, "No, no. They will be helping you. Directing your posture, your form, and I gave them permission to kick you if you're doing it wrong," he smirked.

"He's joking!" one of the dancers called, sensing the fear within some of the actors.

Stanis ignored her comment, instead he turned to his students, skimming them one by one until he settled on, "Bianca! Come be our przykład!"

The acting students glanced between each other, though Bianca didn't bat an eye as she stepped forward. Her expression was different from when Tom first met her, she had a little more get up in her step, more sparkle in her eye. That being said, her smile was a little too stiff.

"Assume first position," he directed, and Bianca did just that; shoulders back and head poised high, "Now, in this position our heels are touching and knees are squeezed together. Your bottom is also squeezed. First position improves awareness and control in your body, imbues confidence; you essentially feel like you have a string pulling you up. For some of you I imagine this may be the first time you've ever held a proper posture like this,"

He then turned to the actors, "Now, keep your right hand on the bar and assume first," and they did as they were told. Some had more poise than the others, some were loose in their arms or hunched in their shoulders, "My little soldier ants will be coming around to silently judge -- I mean help you,"

The ballerinas came around, some shyer at the approach then others, while Stanis continued to have Bianca demonstrate positions and stretches.

"When we warm up on the bar, we bend our knees into a demi plie, really focus on that plumb line being brought down from your crotch and between your heels, making sure your butt's not sticking out like a chicken," he too paced around the room, inspecting his new pupils one by one, "Keep your shoulders stacked over your hips. I'm talking to you, Kip!"

Tom followed along as best he could, he wasn't the worst but he certainly wasn't the best. He kept his eyes focused ahead, following along to Bianca's changing positions, but now and again his vision wandered to the rest of his classmates.

Jordan was two students ahead of him, and he was as stiff as stiff could be. When the female ballerinas walked by especially. It was then Tom realized why he was so opposed to this in the first place: he was trying to look cool in front of them.

Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Noelle making her rounds. He tried to keep his form as best as he could, realizing that he was suddenly no better than Jordan in the moment. Noelle approached him with curiosity in her eyes, hands clasped behind her back as she inspected.

"Hey,"

"Hi," she admired his dedication to try, but she could tell from his tight grin, his stiff eyes that he was a little uncomfortable, "You doing okay?"

"I'm great," he nodded, "Your instructor seems like fun,"

Noelle simpered, "He's got a zany sense of humour. You get used to it after a while," she said, "You ever do dance before?"

Tom shook his head, "Not as much as I should've," he replied with a sheepish grin, "How bad is it?"

Noelle stood back and looked him over, all in all she thought he wasn't doing too terribly, "Push your chest out," she told him, "And bring your toes in a little more. You'll have better balance when you bend down,"

He did as she told him and she nodded in approval, "Way better. You won't feel as much strain in your arches now,"

"Thanks," he smiled at her.

"No problem. You got any questions?" she asked.

Tom mulled it over, the exercises were the last thing on his mind though. He glanced down at her pointe shoes, the satin a pearly pink and the heels peeking out from under her long leg warmers.

"I have one,"

"Shoot,"

"When you stand in your shoes, are you fully on your toes?" he asked, chuckling, "Sorry -- is that weird?"

"Not at all," she shook her head, stepping before him and placing a hand on the bar, "My feet are fully vertical, no pressing," she pushed herself up on her toes, her long legs perfectly straight and with hardly any shake. It was such a simple move and she made herself look so elegant at the same time. They were just about at eye level.

Tom cocked a brow, "Doesn't that hurt, though?" he asked.

"No. If you stand a long time then they cramp a little but... ya know," Noelle stepped back and forth to make her point, " -- And I gain a couple inches,"

Tom gave a little smirk back, pushing up on his toes and towering over her again. Noelle scoffed and gently smacked his arm as she dropped back on her heels, "Dickhead," to which he only laughed like a rascally child. Her skin tingled at the sound, she picked off how his eyes crinkled and his chest shuddered.

"Noelle!" Stanis suddenly called for her, garnering their and everyone's attention, "Are we giving a pointe lesson today?" he asked, a snide smirk playing at his lips.

Noelle smiled politely, giving a simple shake of the head, "Just previewing what's to come," she replied. Tom simpered beside her.

Another student piped up, "Wait -- are we gonna have to wear those shoes?"

"No, no. It was just a joke," Stanis assured him, "But if anyone slouches or slacks off today, they're going to be laced up and have to work on a solo for next class!" that statement seemed to light a little more fire under Jordan.

Tom's legs burned a little more than what he was expecting, his walk was a little stiffer and his face contorted when he had to go up some stairs. Noelle walked beside him, virtually unscathed by the warm ups and practices from the morning class. She watching him move with a little concern.

"Are you sure you're okay?" she held the door open for him as they exited the campus, eager to get some lunch.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he replied, "Haven't done that much bending since... well I don't know," he shrugged listlessly.

"The more you practice the better you'll feel. Like with any workout," she assured him, "What do you want for lunch?"

Some good food was sure to cheer him up, and he hadn't really had a sustaining breakfast either. He wondered it momentarily, glancing around at the plethora of signs for cafes, sandwich shops, and hot dogs stands. In fact there was one right on the corner, vending just a block away from the gates of Central Park.

"Would I be a terrible person for suggesting a hot dog?" he asked.

Noelle's eyes went wide, "Have you not tried an nyc hot dog yet?" he shook his head with a knowing grin, "Well, c'mon then!"

Fifteen minutes later they'd found a little bench to park themselves up, bags disregarded on the cold cement beneath them as they unwrapped their foil-lined lunches. Tom opted to get the typical New York style dog with mustard and onions, while Noelle just stuck with relish on hers.

"Now -- you gotta promise not to tell my dance instructor, or my classmates, or even Bianca. Because I will be strung up for eating this," she looked at him with a point of pure earnest, leading Tom to panic for a moment.

"Wait -- if this is gonna ruin your regimen or anything --" he stumbled over his words, but Noelle began to laugh.

"I'm kidding! Relax," she patted his shoulder and he settled, "Besides, what is the point to life if you deprive yourself of all the good things it has to offer? Like cat-meat hot dogs," she spoke just as Tom was about to take a bite of his, pausing momentarily and side-eyeing her hard. She was trying to stop herself from laughing.

"Eat your fucking hot dog," he grumbled before chowing down. The meat was perfectly salted and the mustard tangy, the sweetness of the onions and bun cut the edge off of the pure sodium bite.

"Sorry," she giggled, taking a bite of her own. This was the first time she'd ever heard him swear and she wasn't mad about it.

Tom simpered back, "Have you ever eaten anything really weird? Like totally weird? No one would ever think it should exist?" he asked.

Noelle mulled it over, her pink lips pursed and her brows furrowed, "Balsamic vinegar on vanilla ice cream," she decided.

Tom gawked at her, "No!"

"Yeah," she nodded bashfully.

"On purpose?"

"... Kinda," she shrugged, "There's this fancy shmancy restaurant in Soho that has it with strawberries for a ridiculous price, and Bianca and I thought -- what's the big deal?"

"... And what was the verdict?" he asked curiously.

"It's actually really good," she admitted with another giggle.

Tom refrained from making a face, "But it's dairy and vinegar! Wouldn't it curdle together?" he asked.

"I don't know, but it's kinda' good," she replied.

"So, we've gone from 'really good' to 'kinda' good'. I'm not convinced," he smirked.

Noelle rolled her eyes, "Okay smart-ass, next time you come over I'll make it for you," she decided.

"I don't eat desserts,"

"Since when?"

"Since forty-five seconds ago,"

"Oh, please," she shook her head, "Alright, what about you: weirdest thing you ever ate?" his lips curled up, menacing and eager to spill what she only could perceive as some sort of harrowing secret, "What?"

"You're not ready," he told her.

"No, no, I'm ready," she assured him, "What was it?"

Tom didn't even have to think about it, "My mum used to make mashed potato sandwiches," he admitted.

She cocked a brow, "Mashed potato sandwiches? Like -- wait, really?" she set her hotdog in her lap and rested her chin in her palm, intrigued to learn more.

"Yeah, she's psychopathic," he nodded, trying not to laugh himself, "Mashed potatoes -- usually from a packet -- scooped between two slices of bread and some butter. And when she was feeling a little fancy, she'd put mayo on it,"

"Nooo, shut up!" Noelle gaped, "Was it good?"

"It was bread and mashed potatoes, of course it was good!" he laughed, "It was her comfort food, believe it or not,"

"That sounds very comforting," she giggled with disbelief, "Oh, bless her heart! Okay -- if I go to England, I'll visit you, I'll meet your mom, and I'll try a mashed potato sandwich,"

"You got a deal, then," he raised his hand and they shook on it, "You can bring her balsamic vinegar and ice cream and have her throw you out of the house,"

"And why would I want to disrespect your mom in her own home?" she teased back.

"Just forewarning you," he smirked back. She liked that he was opening up to her a bit more, his louder side was coming through and his quirky personality was beginning to shine through.

"How gentlemanly of you," she simpered.

Tom knocked her shoulder with his, growing increasingly at ease in her company with each passing moment. He wasn't an idiot, he could recognize that his feelings for her were starting to spark into a small crush. He found himself hanging off every word she spoke, every time she moved her hair behind her ear or she always found something new or intriguing to talk about. His stomach was flipping at every enthusiastic giggle and reaction he got out of her. It was as if her enthusiasm had a magnetic pull, leaving him captivated by her every word and gesture. The way her eyes lit up and her laughter bubbled forth filled him with an intoxicating blend of excitement and nervousness. His heart raced in sync with her infectious energy, and with each positive response he evoked from her, a cascade of warmth flooded through him, leaving an indelible imprint of happiness amidst the fluttering sensations in his stomach.

#tom blyth #tom blyth x reader #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus imagine #coriolanus fanfiction #tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games the ballad of songbirds & snakes #the hunger games x reader #original story #original character #original series #imagine blog

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follow-up-news · 1 month ago

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Members of the "Central Park Five" filed a defamation suit against former President Donald Trump on Monday, accusing him of spreading "false, misleading and defamatory" statements about their 1989 case during the Sept. 10 ABC News presidential debate, according to a new court filing. Attorneys representing the five men -- Yusef Salaam, Raymond Santana, Kevin Richardson, Antron Brown and Korey Wise -- filed their civil suit against Trump in federal court in the Eastern District of Pennsylvania, seeking monetary damages over his statements, which they say have caused them "severe emotional distress and reputational damage." The five men, then teenagers, were accused of the violent rape of a female jogger in Central Park in April 1989. The five, who always maintained their innocence, were convicted and served years in prison. A decade after the attack, a different man confessed to the crime, which was confirmed through DNA analysis.

#central park five #donald trump

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jerzwriter · 10 months ago

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A Tipsy Winter's Tale...

Oh, @annoyingmillenialnewbie! Just three words, and I knew exactly where I wanted to go with this! I hope it's what you hoped for as well! From this three-word ask.

Book: Crimes of Passion Pairing: Trystan Thorne x Carolina Rose (F!MC) Rating: Teen Warning: Drinking Words: 995 Summary: When Trystan & Carolina take a tipsy stroll through a snowy Central Park, who will have to reel the other in? A/N: @choicesjanuary2024 Day 9 Frostbite (almost)

Carolina was doing her best not to fall as she ran down a snowy slope in New York’s famed Central Park. Of course, ‘ran’ may have been a bit of an exaggeration. Given the snow and copious amounts of wine she had taken in that evening, stumbling may have been more accurate. But all things considered, it was miraculous that she was standing at all. The only thing more miraculous was that Trystan standing, too. Not only was he standing, but the man seemed to fly. No matter how hard Carolina tried, she could not keep up with him.

“Trystan Thorne!” she hollered before tripping over a cluster of snow-covered bushes. “Trystan, wait for me! Where are you going?”

But he was already far ahead, and her irritation was inching up along with the snow totals. Looking down at her feet, she cursed her decision to wear these shoes. Who is stupid enough to wear high heels when the forecast calls for snow?. She wondered as she debated what would be worse... frostbitten toes or not catching up to Trystan. In her state of inebriation, she believed that the latter would be a far worse fate. That’s how her red suede Steve Madden pumps ended up abandoned somewhere between the Bow Bridge and Bethesda Fountain. It would make several joggers wonder what the story was there as they zipped by in the morning, but for now, she was just worried about getting through tonight.

Exhaustion was setting in, and she slowed her pace from a run to a jog until she stalled with an exasperated groan. “Trystan! Please wait!”

It was please that did it. Even intoxicated, Trystan Thorne would stop the world if he felt his love needed assistance. Winded and with his cheeks red, he turned around to find her staggering behind.

“Come on, Carolina,” he pleaded. “Don’t you want to see the fountain?”

“The fountain? I’m a New Yorker, Trystan. I’ve seen the fountain a thousand times.”

“But not in the snow,” he simpered.

“Yes,” she laughed, finally coming within several yards of him. “Even in the snow.”

But just when she thought the wayward prince was within her reach, he took off on foot again.

“For the love of...” she took off after him. Her feet were freezing, but she wouldn’t realize that until sobriety reappeared, and if there was any doubt that that moment was still far off, it was erased when Trystan began climbing over the edge into the basin of the Bethesda Fountain.

“TRYSTAN!” She admonished, her patience all but gone. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I want to see the fountain!” he complained. “Why isn’t it on?”

“Oh, I don’t know? Maybe because it’s 30 degrees and snowing in January! That might have something to do with it!”

He continued his walk to the center of the fountain, almost near the Angel of the Waters statue, when he declared, “New Yorkers are weak! In Drakovia, the fountain would be on.”

“Yes,” Carolina rolled her eyes. “Drakovia is so tough that even its waters defy the laws of physics.”

But Trystan couldn't hear her; he was too busy frantically searching around the statue’s base. “Where is it?”

“Where is what?”

“The switch! To turn this on!”

“There is no switch! The fountain is not going on!”

Defiant, he stomped a foot. “Then I’ll make a fountain of my own!”

He reached down, grabbing as much freshly fallen snow as he could, and tossed it in the air. He ran in circles, slipping and falling throughout but constantly tossing snow as he did. A string of curses from the two languages she spoke fell from Carolina’s lips.

“¿Qué carajo es esto?” She swore as she hopped over the ledge and joined Trystan inside the fountain. “Trystan!” She huffed, bumbling through the snow. “Trystan! No! You have to stop! If you get arrested for this, it will reflect badly on the agency! Mafalda will kill you!”

Trystan’s eyes lit up, his lips curling into a mischievous grin when his Carolina was finally within arms reach.

“You’re right,” he said, grabbing her arm and pulling her to the ground. “If we’re going to sully the agency’s reputation, it should be for a much better reason than this!”

Landing on her back, Carolina attempted to jump back on her feet, but then she felt his weight up on her, his arms surrounding her, and just like that, the rest of the world disappeared. All that existed was the two of them, faces glowing in the dim moonlight, then his lips... his searing warm lips were on hers. She clutched his hair in her hands, pulling him in deeper, the heat between a direct contrast to the bitter cold they found themselves in. But when he started to tug at her buttoned coat, Carolina was ushered back to reality.

“OK, babe,” she giggled, pushing him away. “We’re both drunk, but thankfully, I’m sober enough to know that if we do it here, we’re going to lose our genitals to frostbite... and I think we might want to use them again in the future.”

“But Carolina,” he groaned. “This is on my bucket list?”

Carolina hopped onto her feet, extending her hand to help her disheveled lover up.

“Hon, if having sex in the Bethesda Fountain, in the snow, is on your sexual bucket list, we may need to revisit that list when we’re sober.”

“Fair enough,” he smiled. “Besides, I should take you home and warm you like the gentleman I am.”

“I'm not opposed to that,” she smiled, kissing him again.

With his arm draped over her shoulder, they began to make their way out of the fountain when Trystan noticed her bare feet.

“Where the hell are your shoes?”

Carolina looked down in astonishment, then laughed. “Honestly, I don't remember!”

“Well, we can’t have this!” He said, sweeping her off her feet and cradling her in his arms.

“Trystan,” she giggled. “You can’t carry me the entire way home like this?”

“Wanna bet?” He grinned.

Carolina nuzzled her head, starting to pound ever so slightly into his neck. “They really shouldn’t let out alone, unsupervised. Don’t you agree?”

“Without question,” he grinned. “But where would the fun be in that.”

@choicesficwriterscreations

Tagging others separately.

#choices fanfic #crimes of passion #crimes of passion 2 #trystan thorne #trystan throne x mc #playchoices #playchoices fanfic #choices stories you play

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positivelybeastly · 5 months ago

Note

[Roleplay Start]

The cryptid approached much like how a predator stalked its prey before making the kill. Instead, he placed himself in the wicker chair. There was a knowing gleam in his eye and a wicked smirk playing across his face that was infamous for getting him and his friends into more crap than most others knew how to handle. Were you most others? Who could say? Perhaps you were, perhaps you weren’t. We will just have to wait and see. “Are we sitting comfortably?” The creature spoke, his voice rich with confidence and warmth. “Stories. I’ve told a few in my time, been in a few too. Stories are like people, they come in all sorts of shapes and sizes, they can be unruly and complicated, they can get out of hand, they can be funny, they can be scary…they can be sad.”

The creature’s gaze turned away from you for just a moment, his eyes almost seeming to droop melancholically. It turned back to you before it could be commented on and he continued. “My favorite stories, the ones I like to think can place themselves in the lives of absolutely anybody, tend to be *adventure* stories. They move quickly, packed full of danger, mystery, villains, and monsters- oh yes…”

His yellow eyes narrowed and his smirk grew into a full-on grin. “So many…monsters…”

…

The sun cast a warm, golden hue over New York City, painting the skyline in shades of tranquility. The bustling metropolis, often a stage for extraordinary battles, seemed to be enjoying an uncharacteristic peace. Central Park was alive with the laughter of children, joggers taking their early morning strides, and couples enjoying leisurely strolls. The air was filled with the scent of blooming flowers and the distant hum of traffic, a symphony of what many would call normalcy.

At the Xavier Institute for Higher Learning, serenity reigned. Students practiced their powers under the watchful eyes of their mentors, their youthful exuberance filling the halls with a sense of hope and potential. The grounds were immaculate, the summer sun casting long shadows across the lush greenery. In the library, a place often filled with whispers of strategy and contemplation, there was an unusual stillness. Books, ancient and new, stood sentinel on their shelves, bearing witness to the calm.

Outside, the world seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief. The Avengers Tower stood tall and silent, its occupants engaged in routine maintenance and training drills. The Daily Bugle's latest headlines spoke of mundane politics and celebrity gossip, a far cry from the sensational crises that usually dominated its front page. Even the ever-watchful eyes of S.H.I.E.L.D. found little to report, their surveillance systems capturing nothing more than the daily grind of a city at peace.

Hank McCoy, known to the world as Beast, was seated within his apartment, located closest to the middle of these locations, surrounded by a makeshift fortress of scientific literature. His blue fur, seemed to blend into the shadows as he pored over his notes. The rhythmic ticking of a clock on the wall punctuated the silence, a reminder of time's relentless march forward. His work, no doubt a delicate balance of research and preparation, continued uninterrupted, his mind a whirl of equations and hypotheses.

*Yet, beneath this veneer of calm, there was that unmistakable tension—that collective holding of breath. A familiar sensation, one that seasoned heroes and vigilant citizens alike had come to recognize.* *The calm before the storm. It was a phrase that echoed in the minds of those who had seen too much to trust in lasting peace. The world, it seemed, was caught in a moment of delicate balance, a prelude to inevitable chaos.*

They all knew it, but few wanted to actually say it.

The silence of Hank’s office was abruptly broken. The insistent ring of his phone sliced through the quiet, yet another jarring reminder that serenity on this Earth was often fleeting. The moment of calm had passed, and the storm, it seemed, was ready to begin.

"I think it's time . . . for you to know . . ." Humming under his breath as he scrawled away at his notes, both of his fuzzy blue mitts occupied by a pen and working on different projects, Hank's half-moon glasses were perched on the very tip of his nose, very nearly on the verge of sliding off as he mumbled softly along to the song routed through his earbuds. "The awful truth . . . the truth about me, and the truth about you . . ."

Glancing up at his clock, the pre-eminent mutant scientist made a note of the time, just a half hour before he was due to give his remote lecture on genetic atavism to Cambridge, before his lambent eyes cast back downwards once more. "Cause you're a brand new species, big cat, uh, oh . . ."

Running his tongue along his teeth contemplatively as he checked back over his calculations, the Beast tutted as he realised he'd been writing so quickly the ink hadn't dried and the excess had gotten all over his forearm, though, thankfully, it hadn't ruined the work.

"Space Nazis, Robert Stack, uh, oh, god damn it, gonna snap, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh . . ." Capping his pen and dropping it atop his notes, Hank moved off to clean the ink from his arm, running it under a cool burst of water from the sink and rubbing softly to get the more persistent splotches out. "Leonard Nimoy, call me back, call me back . . ."

Just as he was about to get a little more into the song, really put his baritone through its paces, the dulcet tones of Lemon Demon were interrupted by the harsh staccato of his phone going off, and he sighed as he popped out his earbuds. A shame.

He'd almost been relaxed.

Swiping his Starkphone from the bedside table, Hank brought it up to his ear and accepted the call, moving over to the kitchen to scare up a Twinkie or three for what would pass for lunch. "Hank McCoy's phone, this is Hank. How might I be of service?"

#focuriosityblog-25 #verse: getting by

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mystictf · 6 days ago

Text

Big City, Bright Lights

Avengers x Reader (AU)

3.1k Words

The car rolls to a stop, and you hesitate for a moment, gripping the seat belt tight, your heart racing. With a deep breath, you push the door open and step out into the pulsating energy of New York City. The cacophony of honking taxis and chatter mingles with the distant rhythm of street performers, a symphony of sound that is both exhilarating and intimidating.

You gaze up at the towering skyscrapers, their glass facades reflecting the sunlight and the lives within them. Each building seems like a giant, proudly displaying its story - stories of ambition, dreams, and struggles. As your family gathers their things, you take it all in, the smell of the street food mingling with the scent of concrete, a stark contrast to the fresh air of your small hometown. Your parents, filled with a mix of anxiety and excitement, lead the way through the crowded street, navigating the bustling sidewalks as you follow closely behind, feeling smaller than you ever have. You watch as people whiz past - joggers, tourists, businesspeople - all moving with purpose. It’s sensory overload that leaves you momentarily breathless. After what feels like an eternity, you arrive at your new apartment building, a modest structure that stands among the giants, yet it feels oddly comforting. As you step inside, the cool air conditioning wraps around you, offering a momentary reprieve from the summer heat. Your family gathers around, each bearing boxes and bags, your father leading the charge, excitement edging out the fatigue from the long journey.

The apartment is small, but sunlight floods in through the window, illuminating the space. You set down your things and start unpacking, every box you open feels like a jigsaw puzzle piece of your former life. You pull out familiar items: your favourite books, photographs of cherished memories, and trinkets that remind you of home. You try to create a haven in this unfamiliar place, but each item evokes a sense of longing for the past. As evening approaches, your family finally settles into your new life for the first time. You gather around a small table in the cramped kitchen, sharing a simple meal, yet the conversation flows with newfound hope. You share laughter, but it’s accompanied by that underlying tension of change, the bittersweet tug at your heart as you remember what you’ve left behind.

The next day, you wake up with a sense of anticipation. Your parents suggest an adventure to explore the city - an effort to ease the transition and help you feel more at home. The three of you step out, sunlight pouring down as you embark on your first day of discovery. The city unfurls around you, vibrant and alive. You snap photos as you walk by the iconic skyscrapers, Times Square, and Central Park, taking in the sights and sounds that feel both exhilarating and overwhelming. The energy is contagious, and for a moment, you allow yourself to fantasise about new beginnings and the adventures that await. Your parents lead you to a bustling pizzeria, its neon sign glowing invitingly. The aroma of freshly baked crust fills the air, drawing you in as you join the line of eager customers. You scan the menu, excitement bubbling within you. This is it; today you’ll have your first authentic New York pizza. When the pizza arrives - steaming, cheesy, and generously topped - you can hardly contain your excitement. You each grab a slice, the cheese stretching in a glorious mess as you take your first bite. The flavours explode in your mouth - a perfect blend of savoury sauce, melted cheese, and fresh basil. It’s different from the pizza back home, heartier and bursting with flavour. “This is amazing!” You exclaim, joy flooding through you as you take another bite, feeling a hint of comfort amidst the chaos of change. Your parents share amused glances, pleased to see you enjoying this small taste of New York.

You spend the rest of the day exploring more sights - visiting landmarks like the Statue of Liberty and the vibrant streets of Brooklyn. Each moment brings laughter and newfound excitement, helping to momentarily ease the ache of longing for your old life. As the sun begins to set, casting a golden glow across the city, you stand on a street corner with your family, taking in the skyline. It’s breathtaking, and for the first time since the announcement, you feel a flicker of hope. Though the shadows of doubt linger, the pulsating heart of the city calls to you - a reminder that perhaps this is not just an end, but a new beginning waiting to unfold.

Monday arrives, blazing with sunlight and possibility, but all you feel is a growing knot of anxiety coiling in your stomach. The morning drags as you dress - donning the outfit you hope will help you fit in while trying not to think about how different everything is. Your parents offer encouraging words over breakfast, but they fade into the background as your heart races in anticipation.

As you approach the enormous building that houses your new school, the sound of laughter and conversation spills out from the open doors. The sight of students bustling about - some confidently chatting with friends, others navigating their phones - sends your pulse racing. “Okay, here we go,” you mutter to yourself, taking a deep breath. With a hesitant step, you cross the threshold and enter the chaotic world of University Heights High. The sheer size of the hallways overwhelms you. Lockers clang shut, mingled with the sounds of trainers squeaking on the polished floors. You clutch your schedule tightly, scanning the names of unfamiliar classes as you navigate through the crowd. You can feel the butterflies in your stomach fluttering chaotically. Just as you feel the weight of uncertainty threatening to pull you under, a voice cuts through the noise. “Hey! New girl!” You turn to find a confident girl with striking red hair approaching you. Her eyes are bright and inviting, and she flashes a warm smile. “You look a little lost. I’m Natasha,” she says, extending her hand. “Y/N,” you reply, shaking her hand. “It’s my first day here.” “Welcome to the jungle, she quips, her smile infectious. “Trust me, once you get used to it, this place isn’t so bad. Follow me, and I’ll show you the ropes.”

Feeling a sense of relief wash over you, you fall into step beside her as she navigates the hallways with ease. “What classes do you have?” She asks, glancing at your schedule. “I’m in Biology first period, then Algebra, and… um, History,” you stammer, peeking over at her as she nods. “Perfect! We have Biology together, so you’re in luck. Just stick with me, and you’ll be good,” she assures you, her confidence easing your nerves. As you enter the biology lab, the atmosphere shifts. The room buzzes with chatter as students mingle and gather around lab tables. Natasha leads you to an empty table in the back where you find a few familiar faces already seated - students who seem just as curious about you as you are about them. “Everyone, this is Y/N. She’s new here,” Natasha introduces you, a spark of enthusiasm in her tone. The others glance up, smiles appearing on their faces. “Hey, welcome!” says a girl with dark hair and lively green eyes. “I’m Wanda. If you need help with anything, I’m your go-to.” “Thanks,” you reply, feeling a warmth spread through you. “And I’m Clint,” adds a boy with a cheeky grin. “I promise I won’t do anything to embarrass you… unless you want to have a little fun with pranks. Then I’m totally in.” You chuckle nervously, the tension beginning to dissolve as the class starts. As the teacher begins to lecture on cell structure, you find yourself sneaking glances at Natasha. She takes notes with ease, clearly engaged, while occasionally sharing smiles with the others.

After class, as the bell rings and students rush out, Natasha looks at you with an encouraging grin. “See? Not so scary, right?” You nod, a grateful smile lighting up your face. “Thanks for being so nice. I was really nervous.” “Oh, trust me,” Natasha said, playfully rolling her eyes, “everyone is nervous on their first day. Just wait until you meet our lunch crew. It’s seriously a motley bunch, but you’ll love them.”

As you walk towards your next class - Algebra - Natasha continues to share tidbits about the school. “Let me guess, you’ve never heard of ‘the Great Pizza Argument’?” She asks, a knowing grin spreading across her face. “Uh, no?” You reply, puzzled. “Oh, it’s a massive debate in this school. You have to pick a side - New York style or Chicago style. It’s all in good fun, but you’ll see!” You can’t help but laugh. “That sounds pretty intense for pizza!” Natasha chuckles, her laughter infectious. “Welcome to New York. Pizza is serious business.” After a few classes, you start to feel more comfortable, especially as you chat with Natasha between lessons. By lunch, the nerves have mostly subsided, replaced by excitement as she leads you to the cafeteria.

The cafeteria buzzes with energy, students spread across tables, animated conversations swirling around you. You step into the cafeteria, the delicious aroma of food filling the air, mingling with laughter and chatter. Natasha looks at you, a playful glint in her eyes. “Brace yourself. This is where the real action happens.” You follow her to a large round table where a diverse group of students is already gathered, their laughter ringing out like a welcoming beacon. Natasha gestures for you to sit, and you take the empty chair next to her. “Everyone, this is Y/N,” Natasha announces, her voice brimming with excitement. Instantly, all eyes turn to you, and you feel the ebb and flow of curiosity and warmth. “Hey there! I’m Sam,” says a tall boy with an easygoing smile, waving a hand. “Don’t worry, we don’t bite.” “Unless it’s pizza,” adds Clint with a grin, causing everyone to chuckle. “I’m Steve,” says a handsome guy next to Clint, his demeanour friendly yet steady. “Welcome to our crazy crew.” You nod, feeling the tension in your shoulders ease a bit. “Thanks! Nice to meet you all.” “And I’m Bucky,” says a dark-haired boy, his gaze steady and warm. He smiles, but there’s a hint of shyness behind his demeanour that makes you feel more at ease.

“So, what do you think of the school so far?” Natasha asks as she digs into her lunch, and you realise you’re hungrily eyeing the spread on the table. “It’s… different,” you admit. “In a good way. A bit overwhelming, honestly.” Sam nods understandingly. “Yeah, it can feel like a whirlwind. But trust me, you’ll get used to it. How was your first class?” “Biology was okay. Pretty interesting stuff,” you reply. “And everyone seemed nice. Natasha helped me a lot.” “Of course she did,” Wanda interjects, rolling her eyes playfully. “She probably gave you all the insider tips we missed when we were new!” Natasha laughs, “Guilty as charged. But seriously, Y/N, if you ever need a breaking-in strategy for teachers or classes, I’m your girl. You just have to promise not to use my name in the process.” “I promise,” you say, grinning as you finally dig into your plate.

The conversation flows freely, each friend sharing funny anecdotes and snippets of their lives. They discuss various school traditions, classes, and upcoming events, their camaraderie infectious. You find yourself leaning in, laughing alongside them, feeling the weight of isolation that followed you from your hometown begins to lift. “So, do you have a favourite food?” Sam asks, nudging you playfully. “Pizza,” you answer automatically, then pause. “Wait, can I say that? I know it’s cliche, but I’ve been really craving it.” “Of course! You’re in the right city for it,” Steve assures you. “You’ll be having all kinds of pizza by the end of the week. Just wait until you try the slices from Joe’s or at the World’s Best Pizza. It’ll blow your mind.” “The Great Pizza Argument is on!” Natasha chimes in, mock-seriously. “New York style is the best. No contest. Chicago? It’s a casserole, not a pizza.” “Careful; you might start a war!” You say, laughing. “But I’m definitely pro-New York. after that first slice, I’m convinced.” “See? She’s already on our side!” Clint exclaims, giving you a thumbs-up. “You’ve made your first important decision in life here!”

You share more stories, passing jokes and jabs as the lunch bell rings, signing an end to your first meal with your new friends. The chatter around the table heightens as everyone gathers their things, moving toward the exit. “I’m so glad you joined us today,” Bucky says, his gaze thoughtful as he walks beside you. “You really seem to fit in. It’s not always this easy to find your groove around here.” “Thanks, Bucky,” you reply, feeling a small warmth at the compliment. “I was definitely worried about how it would go.” “Don’t stress about it too much; we’re here for you,” he assures you. “If you want, we can show you some more cool spots after school. There’s this great coffee shop nearby where we hang out sometimes.” “I’d love that,” you say, excitement spilling out in your voice. As the afternoon classes roll on, you find each lesson more engaging than the last, buoyed by the camaraderie of your new friends. Conversations and laughter spill over into each classroom, making the daunting experience of a new school feel like an exhilarating adventure. By the time the final bell rings, you’re riding a wave of happiness and belonging that feels foreign yet wonderful. Natasha nudges your shoulder, a knowing smile on her face. “You did great, I knew you’d rock it. Ready for our coffee adventure?” “Absolutely! I could use a pick-me-up after all this excitement,” you reply, your spirits lifted and the earlier anxiety replaced with eagerness.

The group shifts into motion, and you follow Natasha, Bucky, Clint and Wanda out of the school, laughter and chatter bouncing off the walls as you weave through the throng of students. The sun is bright and welcoming, casting a golden glow over everything, making the city feel alive and vibrant. As you walk, Natasha pulls out her phone, glancing at a map app. “We need to take a left on Fifth and the coffee shop will be a few blocks down.” “Sounds good,” you say, intrigued by the urban landscape around you. The buildings seem to stretch almost endlessly, and everything buzzes with life. You notice street performers setting up nearby, the sound of a saxophone drifting through the air. “Hey, check that out!” Wanda points toward a small stage where a musician is playing soulful tunes. “Let’s watch for a few minutes before we head out.”

You all gather around, momentarily captivated by the performance. The musician pours emotion into every note, the soulful melody painting the air with warmth. You lose yourself in the music, feeling a connection forming with the city, a thread of something that could be called home. “This is kind of amazing,” you say, glancing at your friends, who nod in agreement, their faces lit with smiles as they sway slightly with the rhythm. “Welcome to New York,” Bucky says, his tone light but with a hint of sincerity. “This city has a way of surprising you when you least expect it.” After a while, they start to move again, and you join the throng as you continue making your way to the coffee shop. The chatter among the group flows seamlessly as they introduce you to more jokes and stories. “I can’t believe we finally found someone who loves pizza as much as we do,” Clint laughs, playfully elbowling you. “You’re officially in.” “Does this mean I get the pizza crown?” You tease back, feeling a camaraderie building with each word exchanged. “Absolutely! But first, you have to earn your stripes at the coffee shop,” Natasha smirks.

When you finally reach the coffee shop, the smell of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods wraps around you like a warm hug. The ambiance inside is cosy, adorned with mismatched furniture and quirky decor that makes it feel perfectly welcoming. “So, what’s your go-to order?” Natasha asks as you approach the counter. “Um, I usually go for a caramel latte,” you reply, glancing at the menu board above. “I see you have great taste. I’ll get you one, on me!” Natasha says, beaming. “No, I can’t let you do that,” you protest softly, feeling a sense of guilt creep in. “Seriously, it’s no big deal,” she insists. “Just consider it a welcome gift.” As you navigate through the cafe line, you feel a sense of belonging washing over you. When it’s your turn, you place your order. Once you have your drinks, the group finds a large table near the window, sunlight spilling over the space and illuminating everyone’s smiling faces. You all settle in, laughter filling the air as you sip on your drinks. Stories and silly banter flow freely, and you find yourself relaxing into the rhythm of the group. Sam dives into a hilarious recount of a past mishap during gym class, illustrating it with grand gestures that have everyone in stitches. “Dude, you should have seen the look on Coach’s face when you fell,” Clint wheezes, wiping tears from his eyes. Even as the jokes bounce around, you feel a little spark of something magical growing within you, a realisation that you might just be starting to carve out a niche in this new place. Natasha catches your eye, and in that moment, a silent understanding passes between you: this is just the beginning.

After the drinks are finished and laughter fills the air, Natasha leans in closer, her voice lowering slightly. “I know you’re still getting settled, but I think you’re going to fit in just fine with us. We’ll show you everything there is to love about this city.” “Thanks, Natasha. I really appreciate it,” you say, sincerity in your voice. “I was really nervous about starting over, but you’ve made it feel a lot less daunting.” Bucky chimes in, his voice gentle, “It takes time to adjust. Just remember, we’ve all been in your shoes at some point. But with friends like us, you’ll have a great time, I promise.” “Right!” Natasha agrees, raising her cup in a toast. “To new beginnings and finding home in unexpected places!” Everyone raises their cups, a chorus of agreement ringing out as you clink your cups together with a soft tinkling. “To new beginnings!” You echo, the words rolling off your tongue with newfound hope. As you settle back into your seat, the chatter begins again, and you can’t help but feel a warmth spreading through you. The laughter, the friendly banter, and the sense of belonging envelop you like a cosy blanket. This was it - this was what you had been missing.

#marvel #marvel au #avengers x reader #natasha romanoff #bucky barnes #steve rogers #clint barton #sam wilson #wanda maximoff #avengers au #avengers x reader au #the New York Chronicles

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