#i want drawn out weekend mornings when i can afford to distract you just because i want to and we can spend hours focused only on each other

[chosenlcvers]

homesick for a home that doesn’t exist yet

[tails89]

Whumptober 2020

No 9. FOR THE GREATER GOOD “Take Me Instead” | “Run!” | Ritual Sacrifice

Fandom: Teen Wolf

***

“Boyd and I are heading to the supermarket.”

“No, wait. Take me instead.” Stiles plants his hands on the kitchen table, pushing his chair back to balance on two legs.

“You’re supposed to be studying,” Derek tells him. He collects his keys and wallet from the bowl they keep on the counter. “You made me promise not to distract you.”

“That was like two hours ago,” Stiles whines. “People change. I’ve changed! Please distract me.”

“It’s a twenty-minute trip to the supermarket.”

“It’s outside. Do you know how long it’s been since I saw the outside?”

“We went for a walk this morning,” Derek reminds him. “Fine.” He hip-checks the chair, grinning when Stiles almost overbalances. “But you’re not allowed to complain later that I’m an enabler.”

“You are an enabler,” Stiles smirks, bouncing up from the table. “I love it.” He smacks Derek on the ass and disappears into their bedroom to find his shoes.

When he returns, Derek’s waiting for him in the living room with Erica and Boyd.

“How long have you two been here?” Stiles asks, sitting on the arm beside Boyd. “What’s wrong with your house that you gotta come watch my TV while I have to study?”

“Technically,” Derek points out. “It’s my TV.”

“It’s the principle Derek.”

“It’s pack night,” Erica says. “And I want icecream.”

“You don’t deserve icecream.”

“Boyd Junior wants icecream.” Erica pouts, smoothing her hand across her swelling belly.

“Fine,” Stiles tells her. “Boyd Junior can have icecream.”

He hops off the couch and follows Derek down to the driveway.

“Can we take the Jeep?” Stiles pats the hood as he circles around to the driver’s side. “I haven’t driven her in ages, have I girl.”

“Your car has no legroom,” Derek says, pausing beside the Camaro. “I have to sit there with my knees up around my ears just to fit. I can think of better things to do with my knees up around my ears than sit in a car.”

“Well…” Stiles says slyly. “You can do that in a car too.”

“Yoga?”

“You suck.”

Derek pulls a face.

“Don’t you dare say it.”

“I didn’t say anything. We should take my car. It’s better.”

“Agree to disagree.” Stiles waits with his hand on the door handle for Derek to give in with a long drawn out sigh and walk across to the Jeep.

“You did the right thing Der,” Stiles says, patting Derek’s thigh and backing out of the car park.

*

Stiles had the green light.

He knows he had the green light. He’d been stopped on the red, it had gone green, and-

He doesn’t remember seeing the silver car fly through the intersection, but he remembers the noise. The crunch of metal and glass, the squeal of rubber and car horns blaring.

Then there is silence.

The sedan hits the Jeep on the weekend, sparing the squishy human the worst of the collision. Had it had hit the driver’s side; Stiles would likely be dead. It sends the Jeep skidding across the asphalt and onto the grass, finally coming to rest pinning the Jeep up against a telephone pole.

“’les-“

Pain.

“’iles-“

But distant, like it’s happening to someone else.

“Jesus Stiles, open your eyes.”

Okay, maybe not so distant.

“Please Stiles.”

Pain.

Stiles makes a noise, low in his throat, and scrunches his face against the waves of agony crashing down on him.

“Stiles?”

He blinks sluggishly, willing the world around him to stop spinning and focus. There’s an itch down the side of Stiles’s face and a rhythmic pounding behind his eyes that’s matching pace with his racing heart.

The blurred lump beside him leans closer and a face materialises.

“Hey.”

“’rek?”

Stiles squints at him. Derek’s half twisted in his seat, leaning against the door which has buckled inwards from the force of the collision. There’s blood running down his face, matting up his hair. There’s more blood on his jeans, too much blood.

Stiles swallows down the panic, and his chest burns. It steals his breath and he pants, desperate for air but terrified of breathing too deep and jostling his ribs.

“-iles, I’m okay. I promise.” Derek reaches across to grab Stiles’s hand. “I’ll heal. It’s okay.”

It’s not, but Stiles forces himself to nod, to winded to respond verbally. He turns his gaze to what was once the windshield. The glass is gone, scattered throughout the totalled car.

Outside, a hysterical bystander is talking into a phone.

“No,” Stiles groans, struggling with his seatbelt.

“What?” Derek tries to sit up, grimacing as the movement pulls against healing injuries.

“I can’t afford ambulance.”

“Stiles stop. Stop.” Derek covers Stiles’s hands with his own. “Stop moving. I can pay for the ambulance.”

He holds on until emergency services arrive.

*

The police turn up first.

There are more of them than necessary, but every law enforcement officer in Beacon Hills knows the distinctive blue Jeep and they had all responded when the call came through dispatch.

The fire brigade arrives minutes later.

The fire fighters assess the incident while a deputy comes around to Stiles’s window.

“Hey Stiles, Derek,” she says. “We’ll get you guys out real soon okay?”

“That would be great, Clark,” Stiles says, his voice strained.

“Roberston’s calling your dad, too,” Clark tells them as the paramedic’s swoop in.  She steps out of the way to let them get to work.

One of the paramedics test Stiles’s door, but the pole prevents it from opening.

“Guess we’ll have to do this the hard way,” she jokes, keeping the mood light and reaching in through the window. “My name’s Sarah, this is Mike. Can you tell me your names?

Mike goes through the trunk and over the back seat to get to Derek, who tries to brush him off. He heals quickly, Stiles doesn’t. Eventually, he resigns himself to the paramedic’s ministrations. Despite the healing factor, he hurts. The door pressing into his back is cutting off the feeling in his legs and working with the emergency services will get them out of the car faster than arguing with them.

Sarah and Mike work like a well-oiled machine, calling out instructions and passing things to each other while the firemen outside work to get Stiles and Derek free.

But the adrenaline of the accident is beginning to wear off and Derek notices Stiles is fading.

“I told you we should have taken my car,” Derek says, trying to catch his attention.

“How woul’ this be diff’rent?” Stiles asks. His eyes are closed, his breath fogging up the oxygen mask that he’s now sporting.

“My car has crumple zones.”

“Y’re a crum’e zone,” Stiles murmurs.

Beside him, Sarah’s brows knit together infinitesimally. Derek only notices because he hears her heartrate speed up a notch.  

“What’s wrong?” Derek asks.  

“His oxygen saturation- how much oxygen is in his blood- is lower than I’d like,” Sarah explains. “But we should have you both out of here soon.”

Derek is the first to be plucked from the wrecked vehicle. Once he’s out of the way they can reach Stiles.

The numbness in Derek’s legs is easing now that nothing is pressing on his spine and his healing has kicked in, but it’ll probably be a few hours before he can get up and walk. There are a few staff at the hospital in the know, so he’s not too concerned about freaking anyone out with his healing abilities.

He’s not ready to go to the hospital though, not while Stiles is still trapped.

He watches as Stiles is pulled from the wreckage on a backboard and placed on the ground. Someone kneels by his head, squeezing a bag that’s replaced the oxygen mask.

Then the ambulance doors close.

“No, wait.”

*

Melissa is waiting for him when the ambulance pulls up to the hospital. She holds Derek’s hand while he’s wheeled through to triage, murmuring reassurances the whole way.

Derek barely notices her. He can’t erase that last image of Stiles lying lifeless on the grass.

The triage nurse is a friend of Deaton’s. She and Melissa check Derek over before confirming that his healing seems to be kicking in. There are pin and needles running up and down his legs - it’s an improvement.

Melissa finds Derek a quiet spot to wait for Stiles, away from the hustle and bustle of the emergency room. They wait together until the commotion down the hall heralds Stiles arrival.

With a promise to keep him updated, Melissa ducks out of the room to find out what’s going on, leaving Derek alone with his thoughts.

His mind immediately turns back to that image.

Not Stiles. Please, not Stiles, he thinks to himself. Take me instead, but don’t take Stiles.

Almost thirty minutes after she left, Melissa returns with a wheelchair.

“They’re about to take him to surgery,” she explains quickly, helping Derek transfer to the chair. “His dad is with him now, if we’re quick you can see him before he goes upstairs.”

She pushes the chair back into the bustling emergency room, expertly dodging around medical staff. There’s a cubicle about halfway along the room with a drawn curtain. A nurse exits, holding aside the curtain for Melissa and Derek to head in.

Inside, on the bed, is Stiles.

The first thing Derek notices is his chest.

There’s a thin blanket across Stiles’s hips and legs. He’s bare from the waist up, the left side of his chest painted in pinks and purples and reds. There’s a tube protruding from between his ribs on the left side, the skin around it stained orange.

Melissa pushes Derek right up to the bed. John stands on the opposite side, his hand resting in his son’s hair.

Their eyes meet, and Derek looks down.

A tube snakes out from between Stiles’s slack lips and his chest rises and falls with a mechanical wheeze. Derek stares at it, unable to process anything else.

The loud rattling as the curtain is suddenly, pulls him abruptly from his reverie.

“Time’s up I’m afraid,” Melissa tells them. She pulls Derek away from the bed so he’s not in the way as Stiles is whisked away.

*

“-going to wake up properly this time?”

Stiles feels his lips pull down in a frown.

“He will if you don’t shut up.”

“Mama McCall said he should be waking up. I’m doing him a favour really, keeping him on track.”

Someone is holding his hand, running a thumb across his knuckles. He squeezes their fingers.

“Stiles?”

*

His lips are so dry.

He tries to wet them with his tongue.

His mouth is so dry.

“Wake up sleepy head.”

He shifts, trying to get comfortable, and something pulls.

“D’rek?”

“I’m here.”

The hand Stiles is squeezing, squeezes back.

Stiles blinks, opening his eyes.

The pack is perched in various places around the room, watching Stiles expectantly.

He closes his eyes.

*

“Wha’ happened?”

Stiles can hear the rustle of Derek shifting in the chair beside the bed.

“We were in a car accident,” Derek tells him. “Do you remember?”

Nodding vaguely, Stiles looks around the room.

“Was my dad ‘ere?”

“Mel took him home for some dinner and to get some rest.”

“Mm, what time’s’t?”

“About seven pm.” Derek stretches his legs out with a slight wince. “You’ve been here for a bit over twenty-four hours. You’ve been drifting in an out for a while. Melissa said you probably wouldn’t remember.”

“When can I go home?”

Derek smiles. “A few days maybe, once the chest tube stops draining blood.”

“Huh?” Stiles is wearing a gown, but it’s not tied up. Derek helps him tug it down to reveal the tube and bandage and patchwork of bruises which have darkened over the day. “Are you okay?”

“Werewolf, remember.” He’d been walking again, albeit slowly, by the time Stiles was out of surgery. “I’m fine.”

“Good.”

Exhaustion clings to Stiles like mud, dragging him back down into the depths of sleep.

*

One week later, Stiles is released from hospital. He’s sent home his painkillers and antibiotics and instructions not to do any strenuous activity.

Derek and Stiles have very different ideas what constitutes strenuous activity.  

“Oh!” Stiles lurches upright, trying not to jostle his broken ribs. “I totally missed my exams. I need to email my professors.”

He goes to stand, but Derek is already there with Stiles’ laptop.

“You’re supposed to be resting,” he says, scowling.

“I am resting,” Stiles protests, taking the computer. “The doctor also said I should be walking around a bit.”

“You did.”

“From bed to the couch? That hardly counts.” Stiles rolls his eyes fondly and pats the cushion beside him.

Derek sits down, guiding Stiles to lie back and snaking a hand under his shirt. He splays his fingers across the healing bruises and starts drawing out the pain that lies under Stiles’s skin.

“How about tomorrow,” he says once Stiles has melted into a puddle human goo. “You can walk from the bed to the kitchen.

“You drive a hard bargain, Derek Hale.” The last two words are almost lost around a yawn.

“What do you want to watch?” Moving to the opposite end of the couch, Derek settles in with Stiles’s feet in his lap.

“Hmm, The Mummy.”

Derek keeps one hand on Stiles’s ankle while he flips through the Netflix catalogue.

Stiles is asleep before the movie starts.

[onebatch2batch]

kastle + “Do you even own a shirt?” please!!

Thank you so much for the prompt, this was really fun to write!!

–

The worst part about finding a new roommate, Karen finds, is the staggering amount of bullshit to wade through just to find someone who isn’t going to kill her. Or smell her hair in her sleep. Or something equally as horrifying. The first person to answer her ad in the newspaper had been a small, mousy girl that wore cat ears and cried when Karen asked about it. The second person had been a man a few years her junior who reeked of weed and waggled his eyebrows when he asked if they’d be sharing the room and the rent. The next blunty told her he was only interested in the room as a rendezvous point for his mistress.

And so on.

Karen likes to think she’s not picky. She’s honestly, truly not picky. She’d been living with Foggy for three years before he and Marcie got engaged, prompting them to get a place together uptown. Foggy had been a good roommate—never late on rent, easy to spend time with, non combative about sharing a bathroom and chores. He also never took out the trash and was a serial dish-breaker. But everyone has their quirks, and she’s prepared for some level of weird. Just not as weird as the people she’s met with today.

So when the sixth person knocks on her door, Karen is less than optimistic. According to their brief phone call earlier in the day, his name is Frank Castle. He’s an ex-Marine, fresh out of service in need of a place in the city. He’d been polite and cursory on the phone, giving nothing else away–so when she opens the door to a handsome man with a clean shaven face and a charming smile, she’s a little shocked. And when he takes off his jacket during the tour to reveal thick, corded arms and a shirt drawn tight across his chest, she very nearly gives him the room on eye candy potential alone.

Common sense overrules her–if she really does give Frank the room, it would be a living nightmare to hook up with him. What if they sleep together and then have a falling out? She would still have to see him every day. She’ll have to vet him just like everyone else and make a decision fairly. Part of her hopes that he has a pet tarantula or something. Any reason to turn him down.

Unfortunately, the universe doesn’t work that way.

“I’m clean,” he tells her as he casts an eye over the vacant room. She watches the back of his head, enraptured by the low timbre of his voice. “And I’m quiet–I do play guitar sometimes. If that’s alright.”

Because of course the stupidly hot, charming man asking to live with her plays guitar. Of course.

“Do you work?” she asks him, leaning on the doorframe as he opens the closet door to look inside.

“Uh huh. I work construction. Sometimes I work odd jobs on the weekends.” He flashes her a quick smile. “And I promise to keep the parties down to a minimum.”

She offers him the room.

–

Two months after Frank moves in, they’ve settled into a rhythm. Admittedly, not the kind of rhythm that Karen thinks about when she’s alone at night and with him just across the hall but–

–yeah, they have a rhythm.

After a brief period of awkwardness and some time spent learning each other’s little quirks, Karen finds that she really enjoys Frank’s company. He’s funny in a very subtle, deadpan kind of way. He’s respectful of her space and privacy, and just like he said before–he’s quiet. Most nights find them at separate ends of the couch, Karen typing up an article for the paper she works at while he reads or strums his guitar. Sometimes he’ll cook them both dinner, pulling some old family italian recipe out of nowhere, table set by the time she gets home. She’s pleased to find he’s as clean as he claimed, and that sharing a bathroom isn’t as terrible as it could be. It seems neither of them have a very active social life, which suits her (and her growing crush) just fine.

Four months in, Karen decides that Frank is trying to kill her. She knows that he is a disciplined man; he starts every day the same way. He wakes up long before her. She knows this because the coffee pot is always nearly done brewing by the time she drags herself out of bed around 6am. In fact by the time she’s done pouring them both a cup–his black, hers with cream–his keys jingle in the door like clockwork. Frank spends every morning, seven days a week, running five miles before the sun even decides it’s going to rise. And then he walks in like it’s nothing, and Karen sits in her bathrobe and makes small talk and pretends not to notice the sweat glistening on his skin.

It really sinks in that Frank’s trying to kill her on a humid June morning. Even in the apartment with the AC circulating she feels the wetness of the air, and she lounges at the kitchen island with her coffee and watches the door. Frank’s keys sound a moment later, and then he walks in and nearly has her falling out of her chair.

Of course she’s seen him shirtless once or twice, but it’s always a brief flash between the bathroom and his bedroom door after a shower. It still leaves her wholly unprepared for the sight of Frank Castle’s chiseled abs, sculpted chest and thick, sinewy arms at half past six in the morning. She’s suddenly very awake.

“Mornin’,” Frank tells her easily, picking up his mug with a quick nod of thanks. He heads down the hall towards the bathroom and Karen takes a sip of her coffee, heart thundering in her chest. The image of him half naked, sweating for a whole different reason, fills her head. She thinks about him balanced above her, moisture beading on his forehead as he bruises her hips with his own. She thinks of what would happen if she made his heart race without even leaving the apartment–and if she even could.

The shower turns on and Karen groans, snapping out of her daydreams. She’s fucked.

–

She suffers through this newest form of torture in silent agony. Day after day, morning after morning, she considers staying in her bed until the shower switches on. And then day after day she pulls herself out of bed, far too eager for someone who can’t afford to have this big a crush on someone she’ll be splitting rent with indefinitely.

It’s seventeen shirtless morning later–not that she’s counting–when she finally cracks.

Frank strolls in before she can even take her first sip of coffee. As soon as she sees him, a flush rises on her cheeks. He’s got a nice, even tan over his skin that seems to glow under the lights of her kitchen. His hair is a little shaggier than normal, which means it’s about time for a trim. It gives him a softer look. There’s a sheen of sweat on him that she’s not embarrassed to say she finds ridiculously hot. When he directs one warm, wide, post-exercise smile at her she feels her insides turn to mush.

“Mornin’, Karen,” he greets, picking up his mug.

“Good morning.” By some small miracle, she only sounds a little strained.

Regardless, Frank raises a brow at her, leaning against the counter. “You alright?”

“Mhm.” She searches for a safe topic, one that will steer him away from looking at her like that when she knows she must be flushed red. All she can come up with is: “Do you even own a shirt?”

Frank blinks once. And then once more, for good measure. He glances down and then back up at her with a sudden clarity. The slow, shit-eatening grin that spreads across his face makes her palms sweat.

“Am I makin’ you uncomfortable?” he asks with a lilt in his voice that tells her he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Not at all,” Karen mumbles, watching through lowered lashes as he makes his way around the kitchen island. “Just…you know. Um. It’s not really fair.”

“Yeah? What’s not?”

Frank’s close now. He smells of sweat and sunshine, and he should smell gross so why she’s suddenly getting poetic about it gives her pause. Enough of a pause for him to huff out a laugh.

Karen’s eyes lower unwittingly to the sharp jut of his jaw and the slopes of his collarbone. She traces it down, over nipples pebbled in the cool apartment air, past the uneven ridges of his abs, and then back up into his amused gaze. She panics. “I can’t walk around without a shirt,” she tries, grappling at something–anything–other than it’s not fair because I want to see you take your shirt off after you take off mine. And then I want it to stay off, and I want to–

“You could take your shirt off.”

Karen gapes at him. “What?”

“I wouldn’t be complainin’.” Frank fixes her with a wide eyed look that she thinks is supposed to mimic innocence.

This is it. This is how I die. Frank Castle is the world hottest roommate and we shouldn’t be flirting. But we definitely are. I think. And he’s–he’s–

–he’s walking away.

“I’ll put a shirt on after my shower,” he tells her, tossing her a grin over his shoulder. The bathroom door closes softly.

—

Now…now he’s just doing it on purpose.

One day Karen sits on the couch and types an article. At soft footsteps she glances up only to meet the wide plane of Frank’s bare chest as he casually traverses the carpet towards the kitchen.

Or another day, late afternoon on a Sunday, she walks into the apartment and he’s doing shirtless push ups in the middle of the living room.

Or another day she comes home from work and he’s cooking dinner in gray sweatpants and her apron—the one that says “whisk it real good” that she got for her birthday from Foggy last year–is far too small on him. Karen stares as her face flames, knowing how the next time she wears it she’ll only think of him.

And then the day that she snaps:

Karen comes home late. It’s nearly eight o clock by the time she manages to get her key in the lock, and she can think of nothing but bed, wine and food. And not particularly in that order.

“Frank,” she calls. “I’m home.”

There’s a scuffle from his room, and then the closing of a door before he appears in the hall. He has a guilty look on his face that almost distracts her from his shirtlessness. Almost.  

“What?”

“i got somethin’ to show ya.” He pauses. “Don’t be mad.”

Karen sets her bag down, eyeing him with trepidation. “O…kay…”

With a gesture, Frank leads her back to his bedroom. She’s only been inside it once or twice–she knows it’s sparsely decorated, neatly kept, and the bed is always made. In any other instance she’d be excited that he’s bringing her into his space. Now, with the tautness of his shoulders and stiff, awkward smile–she’s just nervous. He puts a hand on the doorknob and then pauses, looking back at her.

“It’s nothing bad,” he starts, and then opens the door before she can reply.

A large ball of fur comes barrelling towards her and careens into her legs. Karen yelps, stumbling forward into the room. Her hip bumps his dresser but she doesn’t pay it any heed.

“Frank–”

“Aw, come on, Kare–” Frank leans down to scoop the excitable, yipping puppy into his arms. It’s young with that blueish grey sheen of a pitbull and wide blue eyes. It wiggles in his arms in an attempt to escape, snout sniffing in her direction.

Karen crosses her arms, trying and failing miserably to be upset with this new development. She certainly doesn’t have time to take care of a puppy, but if Frank wants to she knows she’ll be unable to say no. He takes in her failing stern expression as he wrestles with the writhing mass of fur in his arms.

“She’s just a puppy,” he says in a rush. “I found her out behind the buildin’. She was diggin’ through trash, Karen. I figured I would bring her in and get her cleaned up and then if you don’t want her in the apartment then I’d–…”

He doesn’t finish, trailing off. It’s obvious he didn’t have a plan for her rejecting the dog. Frank peers at her over the puppy’s head, and the image is too much for her to handle. The puppy, the imploring stare he is directing at her, his half-naked state, being in his room with his masculine, earthy smell in the air–Karen huffs and smiles in defeat. “What’s her name?”

Frank’s eyes widen, and then his grin nearly knocks her over. He steps closer and hoists the puppy up, holding her so that Karen can pet her. The dog nearly falls out of his arms with excitement when Karen starts to stroke her soft fur. Karen laughs. Frank watches her, smile gentling.

“I liked Blue.” He meets her gaze with a touch of shyness. “Unless you can think of somethin’ better.”

He’s standing close enough that she can feel the heat of him on her skin. At this distance, she sees the five o'clock shadow across his face. He smells of laundry and cologne and a little bit of wet dog, but that doesn’t stop her from stepping close. “I like Blue. We can keep her.”

His expression perks up, and then quickly shifts to cautious hope. He ducks his head slightly, hiding a smile. “We?”

Something tells her that if she were to inch closer, lean close and brush her lips over his, he wouldn’t mind. That instinct is right because before she can muster up the courage, Frank beats her to it. His kiss is brief and chaste. He pulls away to gauge her reaction but Karen pulls him back impatiently, slotting her mouth over his in a kiss that he reciprocates gladly. It would almost be perfect except for–

“Blue,” Karen sighs, pulling away as the dog clambors out of Frank’s arms into her own. The puppy whines excitedly, licking at Karen’s cheek until she laughs and pulls away. “Okay, okay. You’re lucky you’re cute–I’ve been waiting on that forever.”

Frank chuckles, reaching over to scratch under Blue’s chin. When Karen meets his gaze, it’s warm and pleased. She feels it all the way to her toes.

“She’s not sleeping in the bed with us,” she tells him, fighting a smile.

Frank’s eyebrows raise. He huffs. “Try tellin’ her that.”

But she wont–she’ll let the dog sleep in the bed every night as long as Frank’s there too.

[desirexwolf]

Night Before Christmas

Summary: Christmas had always been a quiet affair for the Parkers and when Peter met Tony Stark, he didn't think anything would change about that. Tony proves him wrong.

Word count: 2951

This is my entry for @irondadsecretsanta! I wrote this for the amazing @whumphoarder, happy holidays. <33

Winter had always been Peter's favorite time of the year. Ever since he could remember, December was the time of fairy lights, hot chocolate and May's burnt Christmas cookies. Ben would take Peter to pick out a Christmas tree and all three of them would decorate it afterwards. His uncle always picked Peter up to put the star on top even when Peter was already a teenager.

And then it was just May and Peter.

They spent their first Christmas after Ben's death in a diner down the street after May burnt the turkey, both of them silently wiping away tears. Neither of them really was in the Christmas spirit.

After that, May tried to give Peter a proper Christmas every year. The weeks leading up to the holidays she would take countless double shifts in the hospital to afford at least a Lego set for her nephew. It was different from what they were used to, but they made it work.

When Peter met Tony Stark, he didn't think anything would change about that.

But after the whole showdown with the vulture, the two of them got a lot closer than either of them originally anticipated. Peter regularly went to the compound for upgrades and after a while, he would spend whole weekends with Tony tinkering in his lab.

They didn't spend Christmas together, but they got each other presents and for New Year's Tony even invited him and May up to the compound.

Barely half a year later, Thanos invaded the earth. Then Titan happened.

When he woke up, five years had passed and Tony almost lost his life defeating Thanos. And now, December 23nd, he is sitting in the Stark's living room, surrounded by fairy lights in each corner of the room when a little thatch of brown hair comes rushing in and barreling into his legs.

"Petey!" Morgan climbs up on the spot next to him with a serious look on her face, skipping the greeting to focus on more serious matters. "Gerald needs a bell."

Peter grins. "Oh yeah and why is that?"

"Because someone's got a little bit too deep into the Christmas spirit while shopping," Tony calls. He enters the living room with a bag so huge he has to use both arms to carry it and drops it onto the dining table with a huff. "Isn't that right, Madam Secretary?"

Morgan just giggles.

Peter picks her up and walks over to Tony, sparing a glance into the overflowing shopping bag. "Jesus, how much did you buy?"

"Don't ask me, I just paid for the stuff. But someone else here was very convinced we could not celebrate Christmas without these," - Tony pulls out a box with obnoxiously white and pink Christmas balls - "very beautiful Hello Kitty decorations."

Morgan hides her face in Peter's neck with a mischievous smile and presses her cold nose against his skin. He wraps his left arm around her waist so he can look through the bag with the other hand, pushing through numerous fairy lights, candles and Christmas balls.

"Well, I don't see a bell," Tony quirks an eyebrow at him and Peter shrugs. "The Chef said Gerald needs a bell and I do agree. He does need a bell."

Tony scoffs. "You're supposed to agree with me here, you know?"

Peter just smiles while Morgan throws her arms around his neck in a strangling hug.

"Unbelievable, betrayed by my own blood. Savages, both of you." Tony says and wraps his arms around his daughter, pulling her away from Peter and tickling her sides.

Morgan squeals loudly and wiggles out of Tony's grasp. She slaps his hands away when he playfully jabs her side again. "Can I go look for Uncle Happy?"

"Sure you can. But don't talk him into Juice Pops before dinner, Mom sees everything, you know that!" Tony calls after her, but Morgan was already dashing out of the living room in search of her uncle.

Peter stifles a laugh and Tony turns to the teenager, clapping a hand down on his shoulder. "Yeah, laugh it up. Don't think I'm letting you off the hook, you'll help me unpack all of that."

Peter whines, but starts to take the decorations out off the shopping bag and throwing them onto the dining table. He's at his fourth packing of fairy lights when he speaks up. "Not to judge but, uh, where do you plan to put all of that?"

"The basement," Tony picks up a ginormous, fluffy elk with a Santa hat and examines it with a skeptical frown. "Pepper is going to have a fit when she sees all of that stuff, so let's pick up the pace, kiddo."

Peter grins, but keeps unpacking silently.

To be honest, Peter enjoys the overbearing Christmas spirit the Stark's have going on. And that does include all the unnecessary Christmas decorations, so he actually doesn't mind helping Tony unpack everything. Peter just hopes that May will think something similar when she joins them on Christmas Eve instead of finding it too overbearing. She was at a staff training in New Jersey over the weekend, which is why Happy had picked Peter up from school and brought him to the lake house to spend the days leading up to Christmas there.

"- Hey, kid, you listening to me?"

Peter jerks up, blinking at Tony. "Sorry, what? I- I didn't catch that."

"Yeah, I noticed," Tony smirks, but his smile is soft and his eyes held a fondness that was reserved only for his kids. "I asked how your Spanish exam went. You tired, kid?"

Now that Tony mentioned it, Peter realizes that he was tired. He had been generally exhausted for the past two weeks, but between finals and patrols he had paid that not a lot of thought. Now that he could relax, the ache in his bones became unpleasantly obvious.

"Worn out from finals, I guess." he admits sheepishly.

Tony nods and walks around the table to Peter. "Yeah, you look it." he mutters, running his flesh hand through the teenager's hair. Peter makes a sound of protest but it quickly dies down when he leans into the comforting touch. He reminds Tony of a kitten. "You wanna catch a quick nap before dinner? I got the rest of this. And

don't worry, I'll cover for you with Madam Secretary."

Peter chuckles quietly, feeling drained all of the sudden. "You sure?"

"100%. Now go before I change my mind." Tony says and gives Peter a gentle push towards the hallway before turning back to the dining table.

Peter just gives him a mock salute in return.

He can hear Morgans‘ enthusiastic chattering outside when he walks down the hallway to his room and closes the door behind him, blocking out the noise. He shuts the window for good measure as well and pulls the curtains closed before crawling under the covers. Peter falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow.

X

It’s already dark outside when Pepper comes home from work. Tony had thankfully managed to clear all evidence of their Christmas shopping, stuffing most of it into already overbearing corners in the hope that his wife wouldn’t notice that way.

Morgan had claimed the hideous elk they bought as hers though, dragging both Happy and the stuffed toy into the living room to play while Tony prepared dinner.

After hearing his wife greet Morgan and Happy in the room next door Pepper joins Tony in the kitchen, giving him a peck on the cheek. “Where are you hiding Peter?”

“In his room, catching up on sleep before dinner.”

Pepper hums and leans over her husband’s shoulder to peek into the cooking pot. Tony turns around, putting his hands on Peppers waist and gives her a kiss to greet her properly.

“You’re just trying to keep me away from your chili, aren’t you?” she grins up at him, wrapping her arms around Tony’s neck.

“Well, is it working? It’s the only thing I can cook, you know.”

Pepper just chuckles quietly before going in for another kiss.

Tony breaks the embrace first, picking up the wooden spoon from the counter and holding it out to his wife. “Don’t let the food scorch while I go and wake Peter.

He hands the spoon over to Pepper and sticks his head into the living room to tell Happy and Morgan that dinner’s almost ready before heading down the hallway to

Peter’s room.

Tony stops in front of the door and knocks. “Peter,” he calls out. “Dinner’s ready.”

When he doesn’t receive a response, Tony huffs and opens the door. Unsurprisingly, Peter’s room is immersed into darkness, lights shut off and the curtains drawn. It’s only from the faint light in the hallway that Tony can see the bed and Peter, completely hidden under his comforter.

Tony makes his way over to him and peels the blanket away from the heap that is Peter. Woken up from the sudden movement, the teenager blinks up at him owlishly. “Good morning, sunshine,” Tony says and sits down on the edge of the bed. “Dinner’s ready. You want to try and emerge from your cave?”

Peter groans. He sits up and rubs his eyes, curls falling loosely into his face. “I slept. Why am I still so tired?”

“Burden of being a teenager, huh?”

Peter just glares at him halfheartedly and Tony pats Peter’s calf through the blanket. “C’mon, chop chop. Dinner’s getting cold.”

With a sigh Peter moves to get up from the bed and Tony waits until he’s on his feet before leaving the room.

In the kitchen Pepper was already serving the food while Morgan’s sitting at the table. Morgan beams as Tony enters room and he blows a raspberry on her cheek while passing by her seat. She giggles, but is already distracted when Peter shuffles into the kitchen.

“Petey”, she cheers and Peter tries to smile. “You’re awake!”

If you can call it that, Tony thought. In the bright kitchen light the kid looks the worse for wear, two shades too pale and deep bags under his eyes. But even though the kid’s obviously exhausted, he still tries to keep up his banter with Morgan and sits down beside her.

Tony keeps up conversation with Pepper during dinner, she tells him that Happy had to leave before dinner because he was needed in town, but he can’t help glancing back at Peter every now and then. He’s barely touching his food and when everyone else is already finished, not even half of it is gone.

“Didn’t you like it?” Morgan wonders loudly, suspiciously eyeing Peter’s plate.

Before Peter can response, Tony chimes in. “Morguna, why don’t you go in the living room and pick out a movie we can watch,” he gets up and loops an arm around Morgan’s waist, picking her up. “That sound like a good idea?”

“Yeah!” she cheers and Tony presses a series of kisses onto her cheek before she runs into the living room.

Pepper had already begun to collect the dishes and Tony quickly jumps in to help her with dish washing. Peter now gets up as well, bringing the last bowl over to the sink before asking if he can help out.

“Oh no, sweetie, I’ve got it covered.” Pepper assures him with a smile.

Tony goes to ruffle Peter’s hair, but halts when he comes into contact with his skin. He runs his hand through the kid’s hair until he can cup the back of his head and holds Peter in place to put his lips onto his forehead.

Peter balks, but Tony doesn’t pay that any attention and instead moves back with a frown and replaces his lips with a palm to the cheek. “You’re warm.”

“What’s going on?” Pepper asks over the running water, turning her head over her shoulder.

“Kid’s coming down with something.”

“I’m not,” Peter protests, moving back so he’s out of Tony’s reach. “I’m just tired, okay? Finals were exhausting and- and patrols just take longer now because apparently no one got the memo that you don’t do crimes on Christmas and-”

“Woah kid, hey,” Tony interrupts Peter, putting his hands down on his shoulders. “It’s fine. Let’s just take it easy tonight. C’mon, we’re going to sit down on the couch, I’m sure Morgan needs help picking out a movie.”

He guides one hand down to the small of Peter’s back and steers him towards the living room, but not before throwing a subtle look over his shoulder to Pepper. She looks after Peter concerned before catching Tony’s eye and giving him a meaningful look.

Tony gets Peter settled on the couch and tellingly, Peter lets Tony manhandle him for the most part. He’s just opened out a blanket and places it over Peter when Pepper joins them and sprawls out on the seat next to Tony, pulling Morgan into her lap after she chose Nightmare Before Christmas for them to watch. Tony snorts at the irony of that.

Peter curls up onto the couch, rearranging the blanket until it covered most of Tony’s lap as well before putting his head on Tony’s shoulder. Tony moves his arm around Peter and runs his hand through Peter’s curls, discreetly pulling out his phone to check Peter’s temperature.

He rarely uses FRIDAY these days, but for occasions like this he still had her installed in the lake house. Tony didn’t need her to power the suit anymore, so she was more of a convenience than anything else.

Peter’s temperature sits around 99.8 and while that wasn’t exactly a fever, it was an elevated temperature. Tony frowns as he looks down at Peter, brushing hair away from his forehead.

“What?” Peter suddenly asks, almost slurring with tiredness, and looks up at Tony blearily.

“Hm?”

“I can feel you starring at me,” he mumbles quietly to not distract Morgan from her movie, closing his eyes again and cuddling into Tony’s chest. “S’creepy.”

Tony snorts in amusement and lowers his cheek onto Peter’s head. “Go to sleep, kiddo.”

“M’kay.”

Sometime during the movie Morgan had moved to lay on both Tony and Pepper’s laps, snoring quietly and outstretched like a starfish which, to be honest, was pretty impressive given the little space she had. Pepper was leaning against his metal arm, playing with Morgan’s hair in her lap while Peter was asleep on Tony’s chest

Tony was drifting off himself when Pepper leans in. “I’m going to bring Morgan upstairs and then go to bed,” she whispers. “You want me to wait for you?”

Tony glances at Peter, then shakes his head. “No, it’s okay.”

“Alright.”

Pepper gives Tony a goodnight kiss before lifting Morgan up into her arms. She stirs but doesn’t wake and Pepper carries her out of the room, giving him and Peter a

soft smile before closing the door behind her.

X

When Peter wakes up the next morning it’s to a splitting headache.

He opens his eyes with a low moan, blinking until his vision clears up and realizes that he’s, in fact, not in his bed. He’s sprawled out on the couch, curled up to Tony with his head on the man’s chest.

Tony’s still asleep so Peter tries to sit up without waking him, but as soon as he moves pain shoots through his head and he flinches, letting out an involuntary groan.

“Peter?” Tony asks groggily, propping himself up onto his elbow. But as soon as he sees Peter, grimacing in pain, he sits up abruptly and puts a hand on Peter’s back. “Hey, kid, talk to me. What’s wrong?”

“Headache.” he croaks out and Tony puts the back of his hand to Peter’s forehead.

“Shit. Friday, temperature.”

“102.4° Fahrenheit, boss.” the AI answers and Tony pats Peter’s shoulder in sympathy, the teenager whining quietly.

Tony gets up from the couch. “Sit tight, kid.”

He disappears into the kitchen and Peter falls back onto the couch, curling up around a pillow and squeezing his eyes shut.

He must have dosed off again because he startles at the sound of the curtains being pulled shut. When he opens his eyes again, the room his comfortably dark and he watches Tony sit back down on the couch holding pain killers and a glass of water.

“Here,” Tony hands both over to Peter. “How are you doing? You feel like eating?”

“Not really.”

Peter takes the painkillers and drinks about half the glass of water before he puts it down on the coffee table. Tony’s not taking his eyes off him, face set into a worried frown.

“C’mon, say it.” Peter sighs.

“Say what?”

“That you were right and told me that I was coming down with something beforehand”, Peter settles down against the back off the couch and Tony moves to sit beside him. “I’m ruining Christmas.”

Tony ducks his head to meet Peter’s eyes. “You’re not ruining anything, kiddo, okay? I’ll take care of you and you’ll be fine by tomorrow, just wait. We'll make it work, I promise.”

Tony puts an arm around Peter and pulls him back against his side. Peter cuddles up to him again, resting his head on Tony’s chest while he pulls the blanket back over Peter. “You just rest now. I’m not going anywhere.” At the end of the day, Peter is still sick on Christmas Eve. He's running a decent fever and Tony dotes on him like a mother hen, making him broth and massaging his scalp to try and ease the headache while Morgan brings him Juice Pops he can't eat because he's nauseous. He wouldn't have it any other way.

My very tiny, very cute taglist of very tiny, very cute people (let me know if you want to be tagged for future works): @baloobird @toomuchtoread33 @fourleafchloe @gabesgoldwings @starbirks @yepokokfine ​@thatmarvelstan @autisticbabynurse @crytallized @mysterio-is-a-little-bitch @sbiderman-ironcan @iron-damn

[ladyreapermc]

Fic: This isn’t a rom-com (Keanu x OFC) 2/?

Author’s notes: Thank you so much to everyone who dropped a feedback on part 1. Here’s part 2. Hope you guys like it! Thank you @caryled​ for being my wonderful beta for this one!

Wordcount: 2760

Warnings: None. This is all fluff.

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

When Keanu made his way to the wardrobe department to return the suit he had worn that day, he had a smile on his face. It had been a really good day of shooting. They finished all the nightclub scenes and on Monday they would move on to some night shootings and the action scenes, so the real fun was about to begin.

He was truly excited about this project. Not that Keanu wasn’t excited for the other movies he’d done in the past years, but John Wick just felt different. The entire thing excited him, and Keanu felt almost as if he was in his thirties again filming The Matrix.

He handed the suit back to Luca and just as he was about to step out, his eyes caught a flash of white on the floor and Keanu paused to pick it up. It was a driver’s license and he couldn’t help but smile when he recognized the face in the picture. It was the extra Keanu had spent some time talking to that morning.

He always made sure to talk to everyone involved in a project and he had only meant to say hi, just like he had done with everyone else. But he caught the title of her book and he ended up staying longer than he intended. Lilah had been fun to talk to and it had been a while since he had a chance to talk philosophy with someone other than Lawrence, but it wasn’t a big deal.

It couldn’t be a big deal because he was in the middle of a project and he couldn’t afford any distractions. No matter if he thought the way her dark eyes brightened up with excitement as she talked and the hint of an accent over some words were cute; or how endearing it was when she blurted out the Kant thing without even noticing…

“Hey, I was looking for you!” Chad’s voice startled Keanu of his musings. “What’s that?”

He snatched the license from Keanu’s hand before he could even think of reacting and his smile turned into a smirk.

“Isn’t this that cute brunette you were flirting with this morning?”

Keanu saw Luca look up from his task of organizing the costumes, suddenly way too interested in the conversation. With a quick wave, Keanu pulled Chad out of the room, glaring at his friend.

“I wasn’t flirting,” he started, but he could already feel his neck warm with embarrassment. “But, uh… You saw that?”

“Everyone saw that,” Chad said with a grin. “Maybe don’t flirt with women in the middle of the set.”

“I was just saying hi,” Keanu protested. “Like I always do.”

“Right,” Chad snorted. “At some point in saying hi, did you get her number?”

“I didn’t think of that,” he said, rubbing his nape and Chad just gave him a disbelieving look. “Fine, maybe I did, but I shouldn’t have.”

And if Keanu picked up his pace a little to try to get away from this conversation, he knew Chad wouldn’t call him on it, but it didn’t mean his friend would let him escape it either.

“Look, I’m just saying… when was the last time you’ve been on a date?”

Keanu took a moment to think about it because he had had quite a few busy years.

“Ok, if you have to think about it, it’s been too long,” Chad piped in before he could even open his mouth. “Look, I’m not saying marry her. One date. What’s the harm?”

“Should I make a list?” he snorted, shaking his head. “Besides, I don’t even know if she would be interested.”

Chad just scoffed at his words, shaking his head, before he handed the ID back to Keanu.

“Then find out. Get her number from production. See what happens. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you smiling like that.”

“Like what?” Keanu asked confused.

Chad snorted again, rolling his eyes as he left Keanu standing in the middle of the set with a confused look.

Keanu stared at the smiling face on the license, contemplating what to do with a sigh. Well, even if Chad was talking crazy, he should make sure Lilah got her ID back.

So, Keanu tracked down one of the casting assistants and stuttered his way into asking for Lilah’s number and why he needed it.

“Hello?” she answered after the third ring, sounding a little distracted.

“Hi. Lilah?” Keanu asked to make sure and she hummed in agreement. “It’s Keanu.”

“Hi…” she greeted after a pause. “How did you get my number?”

“Production,” Keanu answered with a wince, because how creepy was that?

“Listen, I think you dropped your driver’s license.”

“I did?” she asked sounding confused and he heard some rustling on the other side of the line. “Shit! I did. Thank you! I’m heading over to pick it up.”

“Set is closing down for the weekend,” he said as he paused by his bike, tapping the tank. “I-uh… could bring it to you.”

“No, no. I don’t want to trouble you.”

“No trouble,” Keanu assured. “I was heading out anyway.”

“Are you sure?” she seemed to hesitate. “I mean, I’m in Brooklyn…”

“I’m sure,” he assured once again. “Give me an address and I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Ok,” she replied, and he could hear the smile in her voice. “Thank you.”

The address Lilah gave him turned out to be this small bookstore/coffeeshop called Novelsy. Its storefront was so discreet Keanu ended up driving past it a couple of times before the green awning with white letters finally caught his eye.

As soon as he stepped inside, he was greeted by the smell books, coffee, and baked goods as a small chime tinkled, bringing forth a blonde young woman. Her greeting died on her lips as her eyes went wide. Keanu shifted uncomfortably, moving his helmet from one arm to the other.

“Hi, I’m looking for Lilah,” he said, silently praying she wouldn’t make a big deal out of his presence.

“I’ll take care of this, Mandy,” said a tall brunette, her green eyes giving him a quick once-over. “Lilah had to take a call. Why don’t you look around and I’ll make sure she finds you?”

Keanu hesitated for a moment, before nodding and moving towards the aisles of bookcases, still feeling her gaze following him. It was a little unnerving.

He walked around, browsing the shelves aimlessly, pausing here and there to pick up a book that caught his attention. When had been the last time Keanu had done that? Had the time to do that? He really couldn’t remember but walking around in Novelsy just for the sake of it felt really good and when Lilah finally found him, Keanu had picked a couple of books he had been meaning to read, among them a poetry anthology by Pablo Neruda.

“Hey!” Lilah greeted with a wide, warm smile that made his own lips drawn upward. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“No problem. I kept myself busy,” Keanu replied gesturing to the books in his hands, while he sneaked a quick once-over.

Lilah had exchanged the red party dress, which was probably a costume piece for the movie, he realized it now, for jeans and a sweater that said Hogwarts alumni and Keanu actually thought she looked more beautiful like that. And he should not be thinking that at all.

“Anyway… is this your card?” he asked, pulling out her license from his jacket pocket with a flourish and could he be more of a goof?

“Yes, it is. Thank you!”

Lilah’s chuckle turned into a grimace as she took it from his hand and glanced at it.

“Urgh! I hate that picture.”

Keanu looked over at the ID again like he hadn’t stared at it several times for the past couple of hours.

In the picture, her brown hair fell to her shoulders in messy waves, framing her face quite prettily. Her rimmed glasses made her brown eyes look larger and her shy smile showed braces in her teeth.

“It’s not bad,” he commented, and Lilah snorted in disbelief, pocking it.

“Anyway, thanks for taking the time to bring it to me.”

“No problem,” Keanu reassured again with a smile.

They lapsed in that awkward silence of people who didn’t know what to say to each other, which was weird because their conversation had flowed so well this morning.

“Did you find everything you needed?” she asked, gesturing at the books in his hands.

“So far, yes. But I want to take another look.” It was almost six after all and if he left now, he would get stuck in traffic.

“Go ahead, there’s a used book section on the other side of the store if that’s your thing, and if you need anything, I’m your girl!”

Keanu ducked his head, hiding his chuckle with his hand. He liked the sound of that way too much.

Once again it took Lilah a second too long to realize what she said, and her eyes went wide, as she covered her mouth.

“Oh my God, I didn’t mean… I’m so sorry. I’m not trying to hit on you or anything…” Keanu couldn’t help but wince a little at her words.

“Not that I wouldn’t hit on you,” she continued, having picked up on his discomfort. “I mean, you’re you. Who wouldn’t…? I’m gonna stop talking now.”

Lilah’s face was bright red and she couldn’t meet his eyes at all. Keanu just huffed another chuckle and shook his head. The way she blundered with words was adorable.

“It’s ok, Lilah. I get it. I’ll call if I need anything.”

She gave him a quick nod, leaving Keanu to move through the aisles again, eyes scanning the titles in front of him, but after another fifteen minutes of wandering around, he decided was for the best just stick with the ones he already got. He barely had the time to read anything but scripts lately.

Keanu returned to the front of the store, finding Lilah behind the register counter, finishing the sale for an elderly lady. Once she moved away, Keanu stepped up and Lilah’s expression opened again in that warm smile of greeting.

“So you work here?” he asked because he noticed most employees had a green apron over their clothes.

“No, but I help out whenever they need,” she explained taking the books along with his debit card.

As Lilah handed him the payment terminal, Keanu raked his brain for something to say. He was almost 50, shouldn’t he be better at this?

Before he managed to figure out, she handed him his receipt and books in a paper bag and Keanu was left with no other excuse to be there and keep talking to her.

He fidgeted with his helmet. Because there were only two options right now: ask her out or leave. And Keanu really wanted to ask her out. Not for a date or anything, but maybe just a coffee. Talk a little more. She seemed like an interesting person and it didn’t have to be a big deal.

He looked up at her, catching the way she quickly glanced away, ducking her head and tucking her hair behind her ear. The words were on the tip of his tongue, but when he opened his mouth, all he managed was thank you.

“Hey, uh, would you let me buy you a cup of coffee?” Lilah asked, stepping away from the register counter again. “As a thank you for coming all this way.”

“You don’t have to,” Keanu rushed to say. “It was no trouble.”

“Please?” she gave him a hesitant smile and his heart actually sped up. What the hell was wrong with him?

“Sure.”

Lilah grinned wide and led the way to a quite charming café with mismatched sets of colorful tables and chairs, star-shaped hanging lampshades and intricate flower pattern wallpaper. The scent of sugar and spice was stronger here and made Keanu’s stomach growl, reminding him that his last meal had been lunch.

“I’m over there,” she gestured to a table tucked away in a corner, cluttered with a laptop and books. “How do you take your coffee?”

“Black, no sugar.”

Keanu moved towards the table while Lilah headed to the counter to place their order. He set his helmet and books on a free chair while taking the other, glancing at the book titles scattered around.

“Alright, coffee for you, tea for me and cookies for both!” Lilah announced as she returned with one Styrofoam cup in one hand, one mug on the other and balancing a plate on top. “If you could move those two.”

Keanu complied with her request, picking up the books she pointed out so she could set her burden on the table and sat down.

“I’m guessing you’re studying psychology?”

“What gave it away?” she took the books from him and set on the floor, by her bag. “I’m a Ph.D. candidate at Steinhardt. On my last year, hence the chaos…” Lilah gestured at the mess of books and notes and he chuckled.

Once again the awkward silence set between them and Keanu cradled his coffee cup, trying to figure out what to say. It had been so long since he felt like a tongue-tied teen like this. His only comfort was that Lilah seemed to be just at loss for words as he was.

“So, uh, you got a Neruda book. I’ve, uh, head some great things about him,” Lilah said, finally breaking the silence and he sighed in relief.

“He’s pretty good,” Keanu said, picking up the book and offering to her.

“I’ve never been a big fan of poetry,” Lilah said flipping through it. “There a few I like, like The Raven and some by Augusto dos Anjos, but I prefer prose.”

“I don’t know that last one.”

“Oh, he’s Brazilian. I’m not sure if his stuff was ever translated to English.”

Lilah took out her phone and searched for something, before offering to Keanu.

He took it from her hands, his fingers brushing against hers and it felt like a spark of electricity had shot through him. When Keanu met Lilah’s gaze again, she was frowning, and he wondered if she felt the same.

Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Keanu looked back at the screen, attention being drawn by one of the darkest and most bizarre sonnets he ever read in his life.

“Why on Earth do you like that?” he asked once he finished.

“Because it’s weird!” Lilah declared, grinning. “It almost feels like he looked at everyone else doing love poems and shit and just: Nah, let’s get scientifically morbid. I’ve always thought that was pretty awesome.”

“What’s wrong with love poems?” Keanu asked, leaning forward on the table a little as he watched her.

Her eyes seemed to glow with excitement as she talked, her entire face lid up and her smile was gorgeous.

“Nothing’s wrong with them,” she commented tracing patterns on the table. “If you like reading millions of versions of the exact same thing.”

Lilah looked up at him, spotting a small dismissive smirk on her lips and Keanu chuckled, pushing the book towards her.

“Neruda’s different,” he assured with a smile. “Give it a try.”

“Keanu, no. You’ve just bought this.”

“It’s just a loan,” Keanu said. “Just give me a call when you’re done, we’ll get coffee and talk about it.”

“You’re sure?” She asked, taking the book and he nodded. “Thank you. I promise I’ll take good care of it. There is a special level of hell for people who mistreat borrowed books, you know?”

“Oh really?” he couldn’t have but smile at her.  

“Yes! It’s the same one reserved for people who talk during movies and E.L. James,” she joked, and Keanu laughed.

“Good to know,” he replied, picking up his helmet as he noticed the time. It was almost seven. He completely lost track of time.

“I should get going. Thanks for the coffee.”

“Thanks for the loan.”

Lilah got up too and walked him to the front door of the store. When he turned to look at her, he noticed she was holding the book cradled against her chest.

“Sonnet XI is my favorite.”  

Keanu wasn’t sure why he said it, but it earned him a small, shy smile as she nodded and held the door for him.

“It was really nice to meet you, Keanu.”

“You too, Lilah.”

tbc

Go to part 3

Taglist (give me a shout if you want to added.)

@poisonedjoinery @ringa-starr @curly-minnie @i-cant-remember-my-old-login

@caryled @beyond-antares @kathorax @krazycags01 @meetmeinthematinee

@red-pill-blue-pill

@baphometwolf666

@soarocks

@imagine-the-fanfics

@moonlit-raven-haven

@cumberbatchbaps

@coolbreezeinkeanureeves

[tmorriscode]

Yours, Charlie

(Charlie Weasley, Hufflepuff!MC, pre-relationship)

I base all these imagines on my own MC, an actual human disaster/apprentice curse breaker who will eventually leave curse breaking to become an adventure archaeologist. Yay, continuity!  You can read the other imagines here. 

—

People graduate with good intentions to stay in touch. They go their separate ways. They change. Life happens. They grow apart.

Then one day, they meet up and discover that these friends who were once as comfortable to be with as your favorite pair of old boots, are simply different people.

This is not what happens to you.

—

“Dear (Y/N),

Thanks for inviting me to see Greece with you, but I’m not going to be able to visit.

Getting kitted out for the job has taken more of my first paychecks than I anticipated. (I know I complained about needing a new wand in my last letter, but I also needed fire-proof clothing, and a better broom. My old Cleansweep just wouldn’t cut it. I’m thinking of getting their newer model. )

I’m going to try pulling in extra shifts on my off days for a while so I can afford everything.

The Weird Sisters at the Acropolis sounds like it would have been brilliant. Maybe think of me when you stand under the stars listening to Do the Hippogriff.

If you ever find yourself in Romania, look me up.

Yours,

Charlie

You put the letter aside and stare out the window of the flat you share with nine other apprentice curse breakers. (It’s not so bad. Most of you sleep in magically-expanded luggage. It feels rather more like a dormitory than a flat).

You can certainly understand having to squeeze every galleon until it shouts for mercy.

But you really wanted to see Charlie.

You’re making loads of friends, and there is talk that you might get to head up your own exploration of a cursed tomb.

But outside of sporadic letters, you’ve barely heard anything of your old Hogwarts crew.

Of course Bill, your honorary big brother, had been in the habit of writing you letters already. Mostly filled with curse-breaking advice he learned in Egypt.

Rowan tells you that Barnaby is happy in his new job with the Ministry’s Beasts division. (Barnaby never was much for writing. Or even literacy). They partnered him and Lizard up. So at best, they confuse the illegal beast smugglers into giving up.

As for Rowan, your first and best friend, she’s working on rare and unusual wood acquisition for Ollivander. (And enjoying the obscure minutiae). It’s not teaching at Hogwarts, but Dumbledore had been kind when he suggested that she get some life experience and perhaps specialize in a field of study before applying for a teaching position.

Speaking of the ministry, Tonks made it into the aurors and Tulip is doing something she can’t talk about in the unspeakables department.

Ben is an apprentice healer with St. Mungos, and Penny is working with the hospital’s potions department.

No one has heard from Talbot since the leaving ceremony. You wouldn’t be surprised if he decided to live as a bird somewhere. Despite your best efforts to friend that boy, he always did fly solo.

Andre has been the most successful of your lot. He is on the reserve team for Pride of Portree. They’ve a rather deep bench, so he may not get to play this year. But he’s drawn some notice in the fashion world by wearing his own designs to various Quiddich functions. He writes that Madame Malkin even discussed the possibility of carrying his designs in her shop.

Jacob is home, letting Mum drive him mental while he studies to take his NEWTS.

It feels like you’re all drifting apart.

Charlie has been the most faithful to answer your letters. Out of all your friends, his letters are the ones you find yourself rereading. He’s the one you find yourself thinking of most.

On one hand, you could invite your new curse breaker friends along to the concert. They’d probably all end up going. You’d stay out too late, drink too much. In the morning someone would do an embarrassed sneak from a magical trunk that was not theirs, hoping the others didn’t notice, while the rest of you pretended not to see.

Get up, break some curses, bring back ancient treasure, take siesta, get up, party half the night and fall in bed exhausted. Then repeat.

It sounds glamorous when you write to Tonks about it. But it’s actually become extremely monotonous. And there’s an edge of loneliness about the whole thing. For all that your roommates talk big about being out on their own for the first time, a lot of the boasting sounds like it’s covering up for homesickness.

Picking apart the tangle of your emotions, you realize that was the real reason you wanted to see Charlie so bad. You miss his quiet, stable presence. You’d never realized until he lived an entire country away, exactly how much you needed that grounding force in your life.

Right. You decide that the mountain would just have to go to Muhammad.

So you pick up your biro and write.

—

Dear Charlie,

Don’t worry about the concert. In all honesty, I probably shouldn’t spend my paycheck on tickets, anyway.

I’m not really bringing in much treasure yet. I volunteered to go through a cache in an old monastery up in Thessaloniki. There are some interesting books there, but not much else. I think the goblins were hoping for gold votive items.

They let me keep the books. I’m meeting with the Library of Alexandria’s acquisitions wizard, who may buy the ones I don’t want.

I do have a three-day weekend coming up, and I don’t really want my co-workers to drag me out to another taverna “to toast Dyonisis” one more time. We’re supposed to stay sharp to avoid curses, but most of them are doing this job while hung over. I’m a little afraid that one of them might not come back one day.

If your offer stands, and I wouldn’t be in the way, I’d like to visit. I think I could make the apparition in three jumps. So I wouldn’t need to spend anything on portkey or flue (and you know I’ve never had a broom).

I don’t expect you to entertain me. I’d probably just spend the whole time reading.

Yours,

(Y/N)

Charlie puts the letter down, and rests his chin in his hand. Your letter leaves him with a warm feeling inside.

He looks around the tent he’s been assigned with a sigh. It’s not much.

You’ve written that you’re sharing a flat with a number of apprentice curse breakers. That you’ve set up a bedroom/study inside a haversack with an extension on it. So you’re no stranger to Spartan living.

He grins to himself. Given your posting, you probably know more about the Spartans and the way they lived than he does.

He knows that he can’t set aside time to spend with you, even if he’d like to. (And he would like to. Just— there’s a new clutch of hatchlings. And they’re brilliant!)

Now you, here, would be a distraction from the work he needs (wants) to do.

But he offered. And deep down, he knows he’d feel lighter just knowing you were in the same space, even if you were ships that pass in the night.

Even for stolen moments as he rushes to work earlier than he has to. (“Weasley!” Godwin, His supervisor shouted at him this morning, “If you fall off your broom because you didn’t get enough sleep, I’m going to personally hex you!”) or comes back and collapses face-first into his bed.

With a sigh, he grabs a fresh parchment and composes his letter.

—

Dear (Y/N)

If you want a place to retreat to, I have an open tent.

I won’t be around much, sorry to say. We just hatched our first successful clutch of Romanian Longhorns In nearly three years. I’ve been put in charge of the dawn to 3 P.M. shift in the nursery.

Also, I smell like regurgitated chicken guts and brandy most days. I’m mostly used to it, but I’m told the smell lingers.

Just warning you.

Yours,

Charlie

—

When you appear at the apparition point, no one is there to greet you. You look about for a moment with a heavy heart, wondering if maybe Charlie forgot. Then you shrug the hurt and disappointment away. He did say he was consumed with the dragons. Getting upset at him for being dragon-obsessed after all this time would be pointless. You may as well ask water not to be wet.

You’ll just have to find your own way.

You’ve taken three steps when an Olive-skinned woman with black eyes bustles up to you. She exudes confidence and competence in a way that reminds you of McGonagall.

“Are you here for the reserve?” She asks. Her accent sounds like she might be from around Bristol.

“Um. . . Yes?” You wonder why Charlie never mentioned that he was sending someone.

“Good! Follow me.”

You hitch up your haversack and fall in line behind her.

“I’m Godwin. You can call me Ma’am for now. If you’re still here next week, you can call me by my name. We’ll have a tent for you by the end of the day, but we’re short-handed for now. Everyone wants to play with the new hatchies and no one wants to shovel the dung.” She sounds exasperated.

With a start, you realize that Godwin thinks that you’re a hopeful dragonologist. You consider correcting her - but then again, she did say they needed help.

Lending a helping hand has always been your weakness. Anything from the hospital wing to the Three Broomsticks. If you were asked, you’d roll up your sleeves.

If Charlie was unable to even meet you, then perhaps the least you could do is lighten his and his co-workers load.

—

Charlie looks at the position of the sun, then swears. You were supposed to apparate in about an hour ago. He takes off for the apparition point at a run. When he gets there, an annoyed wizard sits, surrounded by bags.

“Have you seen a witch?” Charlie holds his hand up to indicate your height. “She’d have been carrying a haversack, and possibly wearing a sweater with an initial on it?”

“Are you having me on?” The wizard snaps. “I’m supposed to start work today. But no one met me.” He has a nasally whine that sets Charlie’s teeth on edge.

Charlie scratches his neck. He has a sinking feeling that he knows where you went.

—

You’ve scooped most of the composted dung pile into fertilizer bags when Charlie turns up with Godwin. He seems unsurprised to see you in your Wellies and dungarees. Godwin frowns at you like you’ve personally offended her.

“Hi Charlie!” You wave cheerfully at him. “It doesn't matter if you smell like chicken guts now. I think I might smell worse.”

Charlie rolls his eyes. “It figures I’d find you here.”

“Why did you let me think you were a new hire?” Godwin berates you.

You lean on your shovel. “You seem like you needed the help. And I don’t mind the work.”

She throws her hands in the air. “You must have been a Hufflepuff.”

Charlie laughs at that. A deep, hearty sound that you’ve sorely missed. “Come on, (Y/N), let’s get you cleaned up, and you can come meet the hatchlings.”

—

Dear Charlie,

Thanks for inviting me up for a visit. I enjoyed getting to meet your co-workers and seeing the reserve.

Guess who got to explore the ruins on Mount Parnassus? That’s right! Yours truly. We located a chest of coins paid to the Oracle of Delphi in exchange for her prophecy.

Did you know that to make a prophecy, the oracle first sat on a tripod over a chasm, breathing in fumes until she was high as a kite? And that those fumes were said to come from the decomposing remains of an ancient dragon that Apollo slew? (So much about divination class makes sense now.)

I’m sending you a scroll that has Homer’s account of the battle between Apollo and the dragon. It was part of my share of the treasure. (I seem to have trouble choosing sensible treasure like gold, when there are books that no one but me wants).

Of course, it’s written in Greek, so you probably can’t read it. But maybe your dragon reserve would like it for their library.

At any rate, I’m due for another long weekend next month. If you’d like some company, I’d love to visit again.

Yours,

(Y/N)

[fashiontrendin-blog]

Inside the Apartment of Refinery29’s Creative Director

http://fashion-trendin.com/inside-the-apartment-of-refinery29s-creative-director/

Inside the Apartment of Refinery29’s Creative Director

As with clothes, the way you decorate a room expresses your personality. In its most ideal form, it signals to guests how you interpret yourself. In this round of Real Cool People, Real Cool Apartments, we check out the London home of Piera Gelardi, the Executive Creative Director and co-founder of Refinery29 . Our intentions behind the creeping: to learn what she’s all about.

Name:

Piera Gelardi

Neighborhood, # of rooms:

Williamsburg-Greenpoint, 3 rooms, 2 bathrooms

What do you do?

If you mean for work, I started Refinery29 (with three other co-founders), and I now act as the Executive Creative Director. That means overseeing the creative vision, leading big brand initiatives, working to shape our company culture, being a spokesperson and mentoring all the super talented creative people who do the real heavy lifting. In my personal time, I love living a big, expressive life full of friends and family, collage nights, dancing in subway cars, adventuring, and appreciating art in all its many forms.

How long have you lived here?

On earth? 37 glorious rotations. In NYC? 20 years. In my current apartment? Five years.

Who do you live with, animals included?

I live with one human man and 15 odd ceramic figurines.

What do you like about the neighborhood?

My favorite thing about the neighborhood is that there are so many entrepreneurial spirits and emerging businesses popping up and a cornucopia of cultural happenings going on at all times — from new restaurants and music venues, to parking lot radio stations, galleries, eat-in movie theaters, and boutiques. Just generally lots going on, lots to discover. The best thing is wandering around on a summer weekend, weaving into different scenes and people-watching. I always come across something new.

What’s the best thing about your home?

I love looking out at McCarren Park. There’s always something going on there… breakdancing, soccer games, toddler birthday parties, drum circles, snowball fights. There’s a magic to watching the leaves change, and the snow come and go, and people’s lives passing by at the park. Sometimes I feel like I’m watching a Pixar movie, especially when an old Italian lady passes by with her little dog and makes all the pigeons fly away.

Do you ever work from home and if so, what’s that like?  

When we started Refinery29, we often worked out of my former apartment (which I shared with my “roommate” Philippe. who is also my husband and co-founder). I found it hugely distracting to work from home. I never want to fold laundry but when I worked from home, I found myself constantly procrastinating by doing otherwise-dreaded household chores. I remember doing all sorts of random things when I should have been working, like making arancini out of leftover risotto for lunch with my co-founder Justin. Getting our first real office was a huge blessing for my focus and productivity.

Now, I usually work at home for an hour or two in the morning over coffee and some fried eggs — it’s my most peaceful time of day when I can really concentrate. But eventually I have to get the fuck out of the house or else I’ll find myself organizing a sock drawer.

What did you think about when decorating? What was the process like?

Growing up, I was fascinated by my Nonna’s house where I spent a lot of time. She lived all over the world and had so many objects in her house that had a back story and memory attached to them. I similarly like to surround myself with art, tchotchkes and furniture that reminds me of people, places and experiences.

I guess I decorate like a collector, adding as I go. A lot of things in my house have come from family and friends, like my dad’s tool cart, my Nonna’s camel stool, a poster from my childhood bathroom, artwork from my college roommates. Most of my other art and objects are from my travels or from creative projects I’ve worked on. I’m a maximalist at heart and being surrounded by things makes me happy and reminds me of all the life I have lived.

Did you have an overall vision in mind when you started decorating? What was it and where’d you get it from?

There is a shoot from World Of Interiors magazine that I’ve always loved that inspired me a lot. It’s from an art collector’s house in Venice, a house that feels at once modern and eclectic, chock-a-block with art, intrigue and painted with beautiful colors. It also had a giant red canoe suspended from the ceiling which looked surprisingly great.

My ceiling isn’t high enough for a hanging boat and we only have three rooms, not a whole house — also, our place isn’t directly on a canal — but otherwise, I feel like I’ve created a similar vibe to that Venice house in my Brooklyn apartment. A storied space.

What are your favorite home “scores” and where are they from?

My favorite objects in my home have a soul that perhaps only I can see. They’re objects that haunt me in the best way, that have drawn me in from dusty corners of thrift stores, or lurking behind the counter at a market, or as the sole object of interest in an otherwise cheesy tourist shop. Some of my besties: a mask from Mexico depicting the most benevolent being on earth, a $1 pencil drawing of a woman with beautifully sad eyes, and a wild, cross-eyed ceramic deer with golden hoofs and a tulle tutu that I swear I could put on a shelf at MoMA and no one would be the wiser. I like to think about the artists who made these objects and hope they can sense that their creations are being doted on.

For someone young and trying to nest, what are your top three tips when it comes to finding /buying items for the home?

Put all your favorite things all over your walls! You can find old frames for cheap and put art or magazine pictures you like in them. I once found a gold, baroque frame on the street and put a picture of Björk and her son in it. We had it on our mantel as though they were part of our family. If you don’t have frames, you can use T-pins — they look chic, like an architect’s office. If you’re a maximalist and visual person like me, having lots of images up is a great way to be surrounded by the abundance of life.

Paint your walls a color. It makes a huge difference and can completely change the mood of your space. If you don’t have any art, you can paint shapes onto your wall. In my old apartment, I used tape to paint stripes on a wall and it looked rad and everyone thought it was so super fancy.

Mix old and new together. Old things have the most character but sometimes IKEA is the most convenient to meet your needs. Having pieces that look brand spanking new next to patinated vintage things can look very intentional and keep your IKEA stuff from looking generic.

Get creative. A coat of paint or a switch-a-roo of drawer handles can totally transform the furniture that you have access to. I’m all about the hack.

What are your favorite household goods/home decor stores?

I love thrift and vintage stores most of all. There are so many treasures — I have fun imagining their backstories. Also, I find that the things I buy that are vintage stay with me a lot longer than any of the generic new things I’ve purchased. The vintage stuff has so much more mojo. Housing Works and RePop are some good brick-and-mortar spots in NYC (also Brooklyn Flea). For vintage finds online, my go-tos are eBay and Craigslist. On the pricey side, 1stDibs has super exquisite things worthy of a museum.

My favorite contemporary home store is my friends’ store Coming Soon on the Lower East Side. I just like to go hang out in there because it smells really good, they’re friendly and funny and have the coolest taste. The store is full of gems on gems on gems. Another beautiful home store is Mociun in Williamsburg. The store is so beautifully designed, I want to move in. Both places work with a lot of super-talented emerging designers too. Oh, now that I’m rambling on about under-the-radar designers, I also want to add Tictail Market into the mix! It’s great for affordable art. They all have online stores, too.

I’ve also found things from all the usual places: Muji, Urban Outfitters, CB2, West Elm, Anthropologie, Target, Etsy. It’s all in the mix.

Most unexpected place to find great things for the home?

The street! People throw all kinds of awesome things away… Craigslist Curb Alerts are a good place to preview what’s being tossed but you often find the best things when you least expect them, wandering around the night before trash pick-up. Now everyone is so paranoid about bed bugs, though, that they’ll probably hate this idea (or worse, sue me).

What’s the one thing every home should have?

Art!

Anything else you want to add?

Like you, your apartment is a work in progress and will change over time.

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Photos by Heidi’s Bridge;@heidisbridge

[male-emporium]

The Sunday Series Vol. 6

The weeks seem to come and go so quickly, especially around the holidays, but we’re all about savoring our Sundays. This week we have a wide variety of topics- from jewelry brands to a new favorite menswear line, a great soup recipe and tips on how to make a big move easier. We hope you enjoy today’s post and feel free to let us know about something you discovered/found interesting/learned this week in the comments below!

  Julia– I’ve been under the weather (with sinus/ear infections and bronchitis) over the past week and I know I’m not alone in the misery of being sick. I got so many messages from readers saying they were in the same sad boat and we all sort of commiserated together. It’s not a fun time to get sick and there are definitely a mix of things going around knocking a lot of people down. Aside from the help of some prescription meds (which have made me feel 100x better), the one thing that has got me through the week is soup! It’s really the only thing that felt good on my throat/I had an appetite for. And Thomas just so happens to have the best tomato soup recipe (not his own though)…it’s really, really, really good! We’ve been making it for years and it’s still the first thing I ask for when I’m not feeling well. He made a big bowl this week that I kept re-heating and I thought it would be the perfect thing to share since so many others seem to being getting sick, too. Thomas’s favorite cookbook of all time is America’s Test Kitchen and that’s where the recipe for the Creamless Creamy Tomato Soup is from. I love it because like its name states, it’s sans cream, but still tastes like it has cream in it! The secret? You cook bread into it! It helps give that slightly thicker texture rather than a watery canned tomato soup. It’s finally starting to get really cold, so cooking up a fresh pot of homemade soup on a Sunday afternoon sounds like the best plan!

  Thomas– Without a doubt, Julia’s love for fashion has rubbed off on me. Though I don’t have nearly the wardrobe she has, I’ve steadily built out my closet over time. Adding higher quality staples that I can keep for years instead of buying budget-friendly styles that I’d most likely dispose of at the end of the season. Though you still have to pull my ear to get me to spend money on myself, I find that I am increasingly spending more money per item on fashion. That has little to do with changes in circumstance but simply because I can get more quality for my buck, even on things that are over $500. This transition has accelerated because unfortunately, some of the brands I used to wear no longer work for me, most notably J. Crew, which made up about 50% of my closet. Sadly their quality (and other brands caught in between fast fashion and contemporary) has receded significantly year over year, to a point where I won’t even try on things anymore.

  Mr. Porter has become by far my favorite place to shop for clothing. Ignoring price for a moment, their product mix of an optimal blend of closet staples and statement pieces, outfit styling, supporting content and imagery can’t be beaten for men’s fashion in my opinion. But since price is a factor in every buying decision, Mr. Porter’s luxury price point has always given me this feeling that any purchase I made there was a special treat that I could afford only a couple times per year. I’d still browse expensive items, but then I’d change to Sort By – Price Low, finally ending up buying none other than, you guessed it, a J. Crew Shirt. My guess is I wasn’t the only shopper that did this. Mr. Porter’s luxury selection and impeccable curation on higher priced items create a halo effect on lower-priced items, generating a perception that the lower priced items are of higher quality. Luxury Brands use this strategy all of the time to mess with our value perception calculations, which always take place in our head when shopping. Their big money makers aren’t their apparel but their higher usage items like Shoes, Bags, Accessories, Makeup, and Fragrances.

  So when I saw that Mr. Porter launched their own collection called, Mr. P, I was excited to check it out. My excitement continued to build when I saw the price and the mix of product I could see myself wearing day in and day out. I ordered a button down shirt to see if it lived up to the picture, and when I received my shirt in the mail I was ecstatic. It seems they took all of their learnings from selling the best men’s clothing, the customer data and shopping behavior on their site and combined that to create a fantastic collection of closet staples. All while doing it at an unmatched value level. The shirt I got, a white oxford button down, is a shirt I’d live in, fantastic fabric, perfectly cut, I’ve actually slept in it twice, and it’s $160. Comparable shirts would very easily be over $250 (or $450 if you’re Thom Browne) on Mr. Porter. With that, I can’t wait to see what else they roll out with coming seasons of Mr. P. Below are the top items on my wish list, hint Julia, in case there’s a man in your life that might appreciate something from my new favorite clothing brand.

Laura– December 7th marked five months since I packed up my tiny bedroom in my 4-person apartment in Boston and headed South to Charleston! Since I moved here I’ve been asked a lot by new faces or friends from home “How are you liking Charleston? Do you feel settled? How did you make the leap by yourself? I admire your courage!” I’ve loved meeting new people in this charming city and it isn’t until I’m asked these questions that I stop to reflect on this life change. It was just go, go, go from the second I said yes to this unique opportunity and when I have my mind set on something I don’t let anything get in my way. However, in the following months after the move it slowly sunk in that I’m living far from the familiar and I started to feel homesick. This is also my first time living alone (it feels glorious though) so I don’t have a roommate to hang out with and distract me from my homesickness. This feeling would come and go, but then one day I grew tired of it and needed to conquer it. Why am I sharing this? Because I know there may be some people out there who hesitate to make a big life change exactly like this. One thing I dislike is fear being the only reason someone is missing out on an amazing opportunity that will ultimately fulfill him/her. So I want to share three beginner tips that make taking leaps like this completely doable:

Learn to love being alone: Do as many activities/exploring/dining/sightseeing alone. Don’t get me wrong, I’m actually an extrovert, but there is honestly nothing better than having a slow morning/day to yourself. Last weekend I grabbed a latte and scone from my favorite coffee shop and savored every bite while seated on an outdoor bench. I can’t tell you the last time I ever did that. And over the last few months when the weather was beautiful I frequented my nearby beach for solo strolls up and down the shoreline. It’s so serene and my favorite spot to relax and just be.

Decorate your space for you: There were a lot of home decor pieces I brought from Boston with me, but not enough to complete my apartment. I kept thinking “Oh, I’ll just wait to buy something for that corner/wall/area when I actually own a home”, but then everytime I walked into those aforementioned areas it would bug me that it was incomplete. So last month I finally pulled the trigger and bought an accent chair, framed large photos for my walls, added hints of greenery, and even bought my very first Christmas tree. Now I love walking into my home everyday.

Find local tastemakers through Instagram: Take what you like and find local creators who showcase/share that passion. Instagram is all about community and chances are that once you find the one person you admire you’ll be able to find others who share similarities too! Look through the comments section on their posts or the person’s “Following” list to then see who’s in their network that you can also follow. It sounds creepy but it’s not because this platform is about discovery and these other artists want to be discovered, so follow along. Bottom line is, once you find this local group chances are they will advertise events or pop-up shops in their feed/Instastory that you can attend to meet other like minded people! And it’s always nice to support small businesses too. :)

Those are just a few of my tips for settling in. I hope you find them helpful! I’d love to know, have you found yourself hesitant to take the leap because of these things? Or if you have taken the leap, what are some tips you did to settle into your new home?

  Margaret– I’ve attended a couple of holiday pop up shops recently, and I find I’m always the most drawn to jewelry lines at these shows. I’m not one to wear a ton of jewelry, but I usually pair a ring and set of earrings with my outfits daily. When it comes to dressing up for events, I love to wear either a creative statement necklace or earrings. I thought I would share my favorite lines, ranging from local Charleston artists to those based elsewhere, to help you find the perfect jewelry gift. Delicate, gold rings one can layer are beautiful, but hard to find. Both Jane Pope Jewelry and Christina Jervey Jewelry have wonderful collections of thin-band jewels. Jane Pope’s recent collaboration with Sally King Benedict boasts unique pieces through a collaboration of fine art and metal work. For vintage pieces, I turn to Croghan’s Jewel Box. This is also one of my favorite shops to bring friends and family to when they visit during the holidays. For creative/ statement pieces, a few of my favorites are Theodosia Jewelry, Lizzie Fortunato , Abby Kent Flythe Fine Art, and Lika Behar. Lizzie Fortunato earrings are on my wish list this year. I love her creative designs that surpass trends. Abby Kent Flythe is my aunt, and she has one of the most incredible collections of vintage and contemporary turquoise jewelry in the country. I wear one of her turquoise rings daily, and each one of her pieces has a unique personality.

The post The Sunday Series Vol. 6 appeared first on Gal Meets Glam.

First found here: The Sunday Series Vol. 6

[tortuga-aak]

New York Mayor Bill de Blasio is very annoying, but he's going to win easily because he's doing a good job

AP

I'm voting for Bill de Blasio's reelection as mayor of New York City on Tuesday.

De Blasio will cruise to reelection for a simple reason: He's doing a very good job, sometimes in spite of what he projects about himself.

Like a lot of New Yorkers, I can't believe I'm going to vote for Bill de Blasio on Tuesday. But I'm going to, and so will most of you, whether you like him or not.

Our widely grumbled-about mayor is cruising to reelection for a simple reason: He seems to be doing a very good job.

Police-community relations are improved. Crime continues to fall. Universal prekindergarten has been implemented. Quality of life in New York City seems to be improving a little, or at least not getting worse. Rents are even falling a little bit, in real terms.

Your stereotypical politician talks a good game and fails to deliver. De Blasio does the opposite: He spouts a bunch of annoying nonsense while surreptitiously doing his job well.

So we're going to reelect him and put up with four more years of his crap.

Bill de Blasio is annoying. So what?

John Moore/Getty ImagesInstead of joining a gym near his home or office like a normal person, he often starts his day by taking a city SUV all the way from Gracie Mansion on the Upper East Side of Manhattan to a local gym in Park Slope, Brooklyn, where he sometimes works out into the late morning. On weekdays.

He's late for things, but he's gotten a little better since he missed the moment of silence at the Flight 587 memorial service in Rockaway, Queens, blaming his late arrival on a "rough night."

He often seems excessively focused on building a national political profile, rather than focusing his time and energy on us, his constituents, here in New York City. (The national left is not necessarily that interested in him — nobody seemed to care when he went to Iowa in 2016.)

He gets in petty, distracting fights with Gov. Andrew Cuomo and the press.

He takes on stupid hobby-horse issues — like trying to ban horse-drawn carriages from Central Park. He tried to do a favor for taxi medallion owners a favor at consumers' expense by capping the number of Uber vehicles that could operate in the city. (The city council rejected both of these ideas.)

He sometimes says alarmingly communist-sounding things about real estate, which are not borne out in the reasonable policies promulgated by his actually existing administration.

All of this annoys me. But when I step back and take a deep breath, I realize it's not very important.

Try not to listen to de Blasio when he talks. Imagine him like one of the adults from Charlie Brown, making unintelligible WONK WONK WONK noises. Just look at what his administration is doing and the results it has produced.

His record is good. Sigh.

Bill de Blasio is a successful mayor who has kept his promises

Getty/Theo WargoShane Goldmacher's feature for The New York Times this weekend provides a good overview of how the mayor's substantive successes have overcome his political missteps.

When de Blasio ran in 2013, he made three main promises. He would drastically reduce the NYPD's stop-and-frisk practice. He would implement universal prekindergarten. And he would create or preserve a large quantity of affordable housing.

He's delivered on the first two promises and is making decent headway on the third. 

Defenders of stop-and-frisk warned that ending the practice would cause crime to go up. But unlike in some other major American cities, violent crime in New York has continued to fall in recent years. We are on pace to have fewer than 300 murders in 2017, the lowest level in decades.

The mayor has had fraught personal relations with police unions, but New York has not seen the breakdown in police-community relations that has been seen, for example, in Chicago. Arguably, the mayor has served a useful role as a punching bag for the police, who can take out their frustration on him while continuing to work effectively with the police commissioner and the public.

It doesn't hurt that the NYPD has very high staffing ratios — New York has about twice as many police per thousand residents as a typical large American city — that give the agency more flexibility in its operations.

De Blasio's appointees to the city's Rent Guidelines Board delivered a two-year freeze in rents on rent-regulated apartments, which make up about half of all rental apartment stock in the city. But contrary to the usual warnings about rent control, this does not seem to have depressed the housing supply. De Blasio has worked effectively with developers to continue construction at a robust pace while adding affordable housing units.

Like most large US cities, New York should be allowing even more and even denser development than it is. But de Blasio's performance on development has been as good as Mike Bloomberg's — and about as good as one can expect in the face of neighborhood opposition to virtually anything big and new.

And universal pre-K has been a positive change for lots of families with children in the city. De Blasio hasn't won all his fights with Cuomo, but he did get the governor to find $340 million in the state budget to help fund his signature initiative, which sounded like a pipe dream to a lot of people when he proposed it in 2013.

The most common gripe about government you'll hear from New Yorkers lately is about our troubled subways. But as De Blasio tries really hard to remind everyone, those are run by a state agency, not the city. You'll have to take your commuting problems up with Cuomo.

REUTERS/Justin Lane

Policy success matters

Federal politics has gotten so stupid that it's tempting to say "lol nothing matters" about any election. If people vote for president based on a feeling that people don't say "Merry Christmas" enough, why not vote out a mayor because he won't stop taking a damn SUV to the Park Slope Y?

The answer is that, unlike the federal government, people have a clear idea about what state and local governments are supposed to do for them. And New York City under Bill de Blasio has been doing the things it's supposed to do pretty well.

Bill de Blasio wanted to be a cultural leader for America's left. He's failed at that. But he's succeeding, sometimes in spite of himself, at managing a large and complicated city. We should let him do so for four more years.

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