#in october (ages ago now right) i had a lot of personal things going on and long story short my mum passed from cancer (it was slightly

[violixs]

hello..

[doublejango]

Invitation to Blitz (Guest of Dishonor)

Hey Blitz, It’s that time of year again! You’re cordially (or should we say “reluctantly”) invited to be the guest of honor at the Annual Anti-Blitz Party on Earth. Yes, you read that right.

The event will be held on 31 October, and it’s going to be an absolute roast fest—literally. Your exes have RSVPed, and they’re ready to, um, "celebrate" all things Blitz. Expect lots of sarcasm, brutal jokes, and a few sharp-tongued jabs.

Body armor is strongly recommended, and maybe even a helmet this year. We don’t want you running away after the first burn!

Time: Whenever you stop avoiding us Location: Earth (The spot where your ego will be publicly fried)

So, bring your thickest skin, your snarky comebacks, and get ready to face the fire. Who knows? You might just survive the night!

Sincerely, Everyone who’s ever been annoyed by you

P.S. There will be cake—but it’s probably poisoned.

And just like that, the entire year of trying to heal since seeing Stolas at Verosika's last party evaporated. The months that had felt like fucking ages, the work he'd been so proud of himself for doing, it all went up in smoke as that same feeling returned--the dark, ugly reminder of what he really was to people, of all he was ever going to be to them.

Blitz was growling by the time he made it to the end of the invitation; anger felt safer than letting this keep on breaking him down. Before he could bite the paper though, a gentle hand touched his. Startled, Blitz blinked and looked up--Demetri had come out of the bedroom. A year ago, he'd been wearing that Better than Blitzo tee, and now here the two of them were, shacked up in a fucking hotel room like it hadn't happened... but only because it had. All of it had. Wordlessly, he handed Demetri the invitation, then went over to get a pot of coffee going.

The incubus wrapped a sheet around himself--loosely, prettily--and settled down onto the couch to read the card. When he tossed it aside and looked at Blitz again, he snuggled down into the corner of the couch, his eyes soft.

"How do you feel about being invited?"

"I don't--fuck, I don't know. Worse?" There were no filters. Of course there weren't any filters. Sulking, really not in the mood to chew his coffee, Blitz went to join him on the couch. He had only planned on sitting next to him, but when Demetri held the sheet open, Blitz sighed and crawled into it with him, letting himself be held. "Guessing you got yours."

"Yeah. There's a whole Fangbook group for it, and it's been a trending tag on HellTok for a few weeks now."

Blitz sighed and closed his eyes. I miss Stolas. Fuck, I miss him so bad. But that ship had sailed, and rightly so. Stolas deserved so much better--and for all Blitz knew, because he sure as fuck hadn't asked, Stolas had had better, probably with this guy right here.

"What the fuck do they want me to do? They're fucking stalkers. Yeah, great, they care, but that's the fucking thing--they think I owe them my caring back. They think I owe them my, what, my whole life? All of my fucking happiness? That they're all entitled to my fucking suffering or some shit, because they want me and I don't want them? Just because you can fucking stalk someone doesn't mean that person owes you shit. And yeah, maybe some of 'em... some of you," he amended, and could feel Demetri wince a bit at the word, but he didn't contradict it, "had a legit fucking grievance. But just wanting someone isn't... it's not reason enough to do all of this. Dennis is one of the bros because he's sulking he didn't get to fuck me when I couldn't have consented even if I wanted to. Half the people there, I never even shared a drink with or flirted with, I just... I'm fucking..." Anger abruptly dissipating, Blitz could hear the tears threatening in his own voice. A year of trying to heal, and what had he accomplished? Closing his eyes, he turned to press his face against Demetri's neck.

"I know, man. I've always known." Demetri sighed and rubbed his chin against Blitz's little head-spines, in between his horns, then closed his eyes and just settled in to hold him. "Can I give you some advice?"

Blitz didn't respond, but the little thwap of his spade splatting against Demetri's leg was answer enough.

Smiling sweetly, since Blitz couldn't see his face right now, he went on. "Don't go. Don't let them break you. They are stalkers. And they are obsessed. It's predatory. People like to feel justified--and there's no cheaper thrill than feeling justified in harassing someone they deem undesirable. It's a human impulse, one that unfortunately is pretty pervasive among our kind. I went... and until Stolas sang, I was hating being there. What you and I shared before--it was worth it," he said softly. "Or at least, I thought it was. I didn't realize how serious the party was going to be, or how many people were buying into the mob-mentality and the hate, or refusing to work on their own healing 'cause they thought, whatever, it's all his fault, and there's nothing I can do. And that's bullshit.

"I like Verosika. She's a lot of fun. But she's also an alcoholic. She's not over you and she never will be at this rate. She hasn't hit her rock bottom yet, and doesn't want to change. She stalks you. She whips this furor up every year... and yeah, some of her points? Are legit. You did fuck you. You've fucked up with a lot of people. But that doesn't mean you need to turn yourself over to them. if you go, these people aren't going to use that as healing. It's not going to help them. Even if you go and laugh and dance on the tables and it feels like everyone is having a good time--babe, I really don't think it's going to help anyone. And I know it's not going to help you, exposing yourself to all of that imagery and violence. If they wanted to heal, they'd be trying by now. They'll just get worked up all over again, and someone's going to get hurt. Physically hurt. Probably not you," he admitted, smiling fondly again, although a little sadly. "But you'll have every right to defend yourself.

"Don't go, Blitz. And don't talk to anyone who does--not unless they come to you, wanting to work on healing whatever rift is between you." Which was something he'd seen Blitz doing with people over recent months, and what had ultimately convinced Demetri that Blitz was safe to be with again. This idiotic imp was trying, he was hearing people, and being genuine with them, and Demetri felt good waking up next to him now, on the rare occasion he got to. "Yeah, it sucks. But you're allowed to live your life. Like you said. You don't owe them your suffering or entitlement. If people want to talk to you, they can reach out, right? I mean--I did," he added, laughing softly, but with a trace of pain in the sound. The last few months had been rocky for them--a lot of conversations that ached, not even because of their history, but just because of who they both were, where they were in their lives... Demetri sighed and nuzzled one of Blitz's horns, silently asking permission. When he felt a little nudge from it, he knew that was a yes, so he raised a hand and wrapped it around one of the horns, stroking in slow, soothing motions.

"Besides. If you go to that party, how are you going to go to the BDSM Club Crawl?"

That made Blitz laugh and sigh, his breath warm against Demetri's chest. After a moment, Blitz came out from the cuddle, moving both of them so he could sit on Demetri's lap and straddle him.

"You really don't think I should go? Let them get their fucking hits in? Cause, listen, just because they're assholes for the stalking and shit, doesn't mean they deserve to be like, completely written off."

"No. But the party is not the right way to engage with them, baby. I think that some people are... a little too impulsive these days," Demetri said, trying to soften his tone, feeling a little guilty for speaking badly of people, but believing it all the same. "Anger feels good. Being part of a club feels good, even if they have to hold on to their anger to stay in it. They like to believe that anyone imperfect is inherently evil and deserves to be harassed and shamed. It's their issue, man. It's not yours. You've been trying to do better with people, I know that. Just because someone decided to stalk you? Doesn't mean any of these people own you. Stalking does not magically give someone the right to own you."

Blitz cupped Demetri's face in both hands, studying his eyes. "You still in love with Stolas?"

Demetri laughed. "Yeah. A little. Or a lot. He's... pretty great. You?"

"Completely."

"You gonna tell him?" Demetri slid a hand up one of Blitz's thighs. It hurt a little whenever the two of them talked about Stolas, but it hurt in a good way, a way that felt right. Demetri considered Stolas his friend, he had ever since meeting him, and he wanted so badly for the idiots to get back together once they were both ready. His own love for Stolas was genuine, but it was something Demetri didn't necessarily need to follow through on--no matter what his heart claimed to want--because he knew he himself wasn't ready for anything serious yet. Besides, seeing two people who were maybe meant to be together? It felt kind of beautiful, kind of precious. He shipped the idiots.

"Yeah," Blitz promised. "Whenever he's ready to talk." Words that had felt easier to say last year--but a year of silence, a year of nothing? Holding onto hope was starting to fucking ache. And deep down, Blitz wasn't sure Stolas would ever... no. Fuck that. Those were thoughts for later. Right now, he had a beautiful guy in his arms, and Demetri needed love just as much as anyone else did.

He took Demetri's hand and looked at it, looked at his wrist. "You guys really never scar, do you?"

"Not on the outside," Demetri whispered, sudden anxiety making his stomach drop. "Blitz, that wasn't your--" but his words went quiet as the imp pressed a tender kiss to the place he'd used to need to keep bandaged. Sudden tears blurred his vision. "I know I can't keep you," he whispered, "but I'm happy to have you right now, Blitz... I'm..."

Blitz hugged him tightly, and when Demetri abruptly clung to him and burst into very quiet tears--quiet because the incubus had learned it was better never to sob aloud, because that was one of his traumas, something he hadn't yet overcome--he just held him, stroked his back, and let him cry it out.

"Come to the club crawl with me," Blitz suggested, when the crying ended.

"You sure? I don't--I'm not trying to get in the middle of--"

Blitz kissed him on the forehead, soft as could be, then kissed his lips, even if they tasted like tears. "I'm sure," he promised. "And you're not. Come with me... and I can show you pictures from my cult."

"Your what?"

"Yeah! I didn't tell you? Some sweet goat started a cult because I put the Mark of the Beast on him and chose him as my companion. I'm actually gonna stop by and check in on them all later today, if you want to--"

This time, it was Blitz who couldn't finish his statement. The incubus was laughing in delight as he practically flung Blitz down, kissing and kissing and kissing him, saying yes in between those kisses, laughing so freely that it left Blitz aching with delight.

Stolas might always be there with the two of them, in different ways and for different reasons, but it felt good, it felt so good, to have rebuilt their friendship, to have this.

Fuck Verosika indeed, and fuck her party. Blitz didn't want to live in their past. He wanted to live in his life--and right now, that life had wonderful company in it, wonderful friends, and family he adored more than anything.

It was a life worth living.

[searchingwardrobes]

The morning a comment made me cry . . .

I have been wrestling with posting this for ages. On the one hand, I want to let people who follow my fanfic to know that I haven’t left. On the other, I am an INFJ, an introvert, and a highly sensitive person who never wants to feel like I’m bothering people or whining about my life. Everyone has problems, everyone is busy, am I right? But then last week, I woke up to a comment on Ao3 for a fic that I wrote years ago, and I ended up sitting at my kitchen table and crying.

It wasn’t just the comment. It was that I had just spent the last night in the house we have lived in for the last 17 years. The house each of my children came home from the hospital to. A house I honestly didn’t want to sell or leave. And it wasn’t like we were moving because we found our dream house or because a new job opportunity came up or anything like that. We sold our house because the church my husband just took a new job at has a parsonage, and that means we can live there rent free. You can’t pass that up from a financial standpoint. 

Even if the parsonage is way smaller. And darker. And filthy. And smells bad. And looks like the Byers house in Stranger Things AFTER monsters started coming out of the walls. (ie 80s but gross)

And what makes it harder is that people berate me every time I try to share how hard this is. “You can’t beat free.” I know, I know, but can’t anyone try to imagine how I’m feeling? If you were in my shoes, would it be easy? 

Anyways, so back to the comment. I’ve been doing this fanfic thing long enough that in some ways, the comment just made me roll my eyes. But it was kind of like the proverbial straw, you know? I had been trying to hold it together for days, and this mean comment pushed me over the edge. So there I was, crying at my kitchen table surrounded by moving boxes. 

To compound it all, I haven’t written much at all since November. Scratch that, more like October. This is frustrating because it’s something I love, and it also causes guilt over all my WIPs. But we decided to put the house on the market in early November, and our realtor said we needed to get it listed before Thanksgiving, so there was the frantic race of “decluttering” ie half-packing the house and a million and one little home repair projects and deep cleaning. Then the house was shown only four times, and we got an offer. Great, right? Only they wanted to move in TWO DAYS before Christmas. That was a hard no for me. So they comprised and said two days AFTER Christmas. Their offer was over the asking price, so we had to take it. 

But did I mention the parsonage isn’t livable yet? So yep, we have no home right now. (I won’t say homeless because that word means something very different and much more serious than what we’re going through.) I’ve slept in so many different places over the last week, that this morning I woke up and couldn’t remember where I was. 

Did I mention I also have three kids? 

If you’ve stuck with me so far, don’t worry, I won’t go into all the details. Just understand that our family of five (plus a dog) will soon be living in my aunt and uncle’s basement for possibly two months. While I homeschool. 

And now I feel like I’m whining again. I’m really not a whiner, I promise. I’m just trying to a) explain why I have disappeared for so long and b) why that negative Ao3 comment came at the absolute worst possible time. 

That comment was the least of my worries on that particular day, and a week later, I just don’t think it’s worth discussing. Maybe, though, this tale will help people remember to pause before they type something on the internet. Because the person you are addressing has a real life, and there is no way for you to know what they might be going through. I was actually a little happy when I saw the email because a nice comment would have been a bright spot in an otherwise tough day. Instead, it was a kick while I was already down. Comments have a lot of power for a creator. I wish they didn’t. I wish we all “just wrote for ourselves” or could brush it off easily. But writers are sensitive creatures as a rule, especially fanfic writers who are only doing it as a hobby, not for a career. So, you know, just stop and think for a sec. That’s all. And this comment served no purpose whatsoever. I wrote the fic so long ago, there’s no way I’m revising it. Ironically, the person ended the comment by saying, “Enjoying it so far, though.” Which rang totally false after their long list of what was wrong with the story. 

Side note: the comment has made me contemplate a post on writer’s tips for writing children well. I’m not just a homeschooling mom, I’m also a former teacher. People seem to seriously not realize this, but teachers have to take college courses on child and adolescent development. We are around children a lot, too, so (shock!) we actually are experts in the field. I don’t know - is that something anyone would be interested in as writers? Because you don’t have to be a parent to write kids well - @whimsicallyenchantedrose and @distant-rose are awesome at it, and they don’t have kids. So if you want tips on that, I’d love to share. It’s something I can kind of get on a soapbox about, lol. 

And as for my readers, I’ll tag you all so you know where the hell I’ve been. So here comes the tag list, and I’ll now shut up: 

@snowbellewells @teamhook @kmomof4 @jrob64 @xhookswenchx @thisonesatellite @welllpthisishappening @spartanguard @ohmakemeahercules @tiganasummertree @sparlecorn93 @sals86 @pirateprincessofpizza @xarandomdreamx @zaharadessert @huntressandlioness1 @jamif @undercaffinatednightmare @onceratheart18 @sparlecorn93 @sals86 @pirateprincessofpizza @xarandomdreamx @zaharadessert @huntressandlioness1  @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @svenjaliv

[mortallyfuriousbluebird]

Ok, I'm actually really proud of myself and I want to share it with the faceless void (the internet).

In March of this year, after an absolutely devastating breakup in October 2022 (my relationship of ten years ended, for a variety of reasons), I weighed 249lbs/113kg.

I was depressed, had no energy, and felt like shit all the time. The second lowest point of my life (first was when my mom died).

I told myself if I hit 250lbs I was either going to die or diet. I watched my mom struggle with weight related illnesses and disordered eating my whole life. It eventually killed her (I don't want to get into specifics, but her obesity directly caused her death, she was 62 years old).

I chose to diet and exercise.

Now, I'm 42lbs/19kg lighter. I eat healthier, I exercise, I feel better. I currently weigh 207lbs/94kg and I am 13lbs/6kg lighter than when I met my ex 11 years ago. I've put on a bit of muscle, my body fat is much lower. My stamina is so much better, I can go on hikes now that I wouldn't or couldn't before. I'm stronger than I've ever been, I can lift 50lb objects with ease. I moved a whole ass clothes dresser into a truck by myself with no issues.

My goal weight is 175lbs/79kg. I'll get there with time. That's what I weighed when I graduated high school in 2005 and I'd be excited to look, and more importantly feel, like I did then.

Being healthy isn't necessarily weighing less, but for me personally, it helped, especially with my mental health. If you are happy with your body and you're in good health it doesn't matter how much you weigh. But for me, I needed a change and this is what helped me feel better. You know yourself and your body better than anyone, so do what feels good and right for you.

If you do want to lose weight, for whatever reason, and to do it healthily, watch your calories and simple carbs/sugar, up your protein, eat a lot of veggies and don't stress if you eat fattier foods or have a big meal. It's ok, begin again tomorrow.

Stress and guilt are killer, and honestly, they don't help, only hurt and make you feel bad. Celebrate your victories but don't punish yourself for enjoying food. There are no bad foods, just moderation in all things. One day of eating more won't set you back like you think, I promise.

The biggest tip is figuring out your calorie expenditure and eating less than that. It really is as simple as calories in vs calories out. Get a calorie tracker app, there are several free and premium ones for both android and iOS and be honest with what you eat.

Under the cut is the formula for Basal Metabolic Rate (the base calories you expend just being alive) and the formula for your calorie expenditure.

I love you all and wish you good health and happiness.

Basal metabolic rate formula:

Men:

BMR = 88.362 + (13.397 x weight in kg) + (4.799 x height in cm) – (5.677 x age in years)

OR

BMR=66.47 + (6.24 × weight in pounds) + (12.7 × height in inches) − (6.75 × age in years)

Women:

BMR = 447.593 + (9.247 x weight in kg) + (3.098 x height in cm) – (4.330 x age in years)

OR

BMR=65.51 + (4.35 × weight in pounds) + (4.7 × height in inches) - (4.7 × age in years)

To find your Total Calorie Expenditure:

Sedentary: If you get minimal or no exercise, multiply your BMR by 1.2.

Lightly active: If you exercise lightly one to three days a week, multiply your BMR by 1.375.

Moderately active: If you exercise moderately three to five days a week, multiply your BMR by 1.55.

Very active: If you engage in hard exercise six to seven days a week, multiply your BMR by 1.725.

Extra active: If you engage in very hard exercise six to seven days a week or have a physical job, multiply your BMR by 1.9.

Source: https://www.healthline.com/health/what-is-basal-metabolic-rate#How-many-calories-do-you-need-every-day?-

[darkmaga-returns]

Saturday October 12, 2024 Truth Bomb

Karen Bracken

The Politics of Disobedience: Just Say NO to REAL ID Before October 15, 2024 - PLEASE enter your comment TODAY. It takes but a few minutes to do. REAL ID has nothing to do with what they tell us. It is all about monitoring, control and collecting data. It is the first step to a global digital ID folks. They were not successful in doing this globally many years ago so they forced it down to the states. The REAL ID agenda has gotten a lot of push back and has taken many years to actually get kicked off but of course now with the push for digital IDs, social credit scores, the future mandated jabs and CBDC the time is right for them to enforce it. I believe every state has already set up REAL ID and is ready to go. If they move forward I think all of the drivers in the US need to just stop getting a drivers license. They are unconstitutional to begin with like most things we are forced to do. ARTICLE/VIDEOS (there are several videos embedded in this article)

THIS IS BAD! Kamala Harris STARTS CRYING & LOST BLACK VOTERS After Candace Owens SHOWED THIS VIDEO..Candace did 2 back to back videos 2 weeks ago with all of the research she did and she has all of the receipts - this is apparently another show she did - I highly recommend going to her site and watching the first 2 shows with all the details but this short version is enough to ask the same question we had about Obama…..Who IS Kamala Harris?? Is she yet another Manchurian Candidate like Obama?? We also know that she is not a natural born citizen and therefore not eligible to be VP or President - Does ANYONE today truly care about the Constitution? 25 min. VIDEO

Martin Armstrong: Is FEMA a Slush Fund? yes it is and it needs to be shut down and all the funding returned to the states. People and states working together do a much better job, a lot faster and for a lot less money. ARTICLE

Peterson Academy Poised to Take on Overpriced, Woke Universities - personally I am not a fan of Peterson (at all) but I leave him and this information up to my subscribers to research and decide for themselves. ARTICLE

Migration, Assimilation, and the Limits of Compassion - immigration without assimilation DOES NOT WORK and at one time assimilation was mandated. That was a time when everything was written in English only and students were not admitted to school if they did not speak English. When you do not demand assimilation those that migrate here try to turn America into the country they came from and we see that everyday. I know a few folks that have spent most of their life in the US and still speak only their native tongue. The husband of my best friend came to America from Italy when he was 12 years old and had to sit out of school for a year while he learned to speak, read and write in English. Of course that was 60 years ago. He graduated from an American high school only a year later than his age group. He became a very successful business man as did his siblings. We do not do these people any favors by not demanding assimilation. I believe we no longer demand assimilation for political reasons. These people who do not assimilate end up on the welfare rolls and traditionally will vote Democrat to protect their free handouts. If we are to truly MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN we have to get back to what made a America great in the first place. ARTICLE

[intergalactic-chameleon]

gender stuff once again

SOOO ive finally come full circle and am now considering hypothetically one day getting top surgery (if not just breast reduction) and maybe also going on T at some point.

literally about a year ago when i was discussing gender with my roommate at the time, she asked me if i would consider getting top surgery after i told her that i was going to get a binder just to “try it out” and see “how it feels.”

i thought abt it, but told her “no, not really” because my boobs had never rly bothered me before and they made me feel “more like an adult” (im really short and tiny and would occasionally get mistaken for being a teenager rather than someone in their twenties, so my boobs were often the one age indicator for people). besides, they also made me feel attractive - i had long, wavy hair and taking topless photos of myself was a hobby of mine because i just looked fucking good. ultimately, my tits, which have always been somewhat disproportionally big (i think im a 34D), helped feel me more feminine and sensual as i grew up. though i definitely had a hard time trying to find cute tops that fit me and give me enough support sans bra, i still built a good wardrobe of interesting feminine clothing that i really enjoyed.

but despite all of this, i still wanted to try out something different. at the time last year, i had only just begun to think about being more transgressive with my gender presentation. i had realized that i wanted a shorter, boyish haircut (specifically to look like steve harrington) and kind of started to wear less feminine clothing overall. i also was discovering how attracted i was to men in an undeniably queer (ie. faggy) way, which further propelled me to explore masculine identity even more.

anyway, i was prolonging ‘the big chop’ until after my sister’s october wedding, so i began to grow my facial hair out in order to grow more comfortable with gender non conformity. and to my surprise, my mustache became very noticeable and at some point i realized that i could genuinely grow a little baby chin beard. ofc, by the time of the wedding, i shaved all that off, but went right back to growing it out.

then, the big day: i got my first ever short cut in january. it was shorter than i was expecting, but i immediately felt something shift. i started to feel a lot more confident and got tons of affirming compliments from loved ones about how well it fit me. i also finally felt comfortable enough to dress more “masculinely” and my facial hair didnt make me feel ratty and unkempt anymore; it just fit.

in the coming months i continued to feel more confident and expressed myself more openly around my peers. additionally, a lot of my trans peers started identifying me as trans (which was honestly very validating because i kinda felt like i couldnt loudly identify as trans unless other ppl saw me that way). thus, ever since i’ve been thinking about myself as a trans person and continuing to develop my identity around that.

however, now that ive been actively presenting more masculine/andro for about 6 months now, ive now run into several things about my appearance that i kinda struggle with, such as my height, my shoulder width, my small little arms, fussing with my hair, and of course, my chest. and so i now have this conundrum where im not necessarily experiencing intense gender dysphoria that leaves me feeling depressed, but i have this voice in my head that’s just like “hm, yknow, it’d be nice to maybe not have my tits” bc i’d really like to show off my chest / torso but my tits are so big that it’s distracting !!! and if im binding then i cant rly show off anyway…

so tl;dr: my tits dont make me hate myself but they’re getting on my nerves bc i feel like i’d be hotter without them but that doesnt feel like a good enough reason to gather all the resources needed to obtain a reduction/removal !!!! i also get sad thinking abt how pretty n feminine i used to look and how getting my tits altered (and/or if i went on a low dose of T) would make it hard for me to “return” to how i used to look … idk. how do i find out what i truly want for myself….

[mishafletcher]

Are you a Gold Star lesbian? (Just in case you don't know what it means, a Gold Star lesbian is a lesbian that has never had the sex with a guy and would never have any intentions of ever doing so)

So I got this ask a while ago, and I've been lowkey thinking about it ever since.

First: No. I am a queer, cranky dyke who is too old for this sort of bullshit gatekeeping. 

Second: What an unbelievable question to ask someone you don't even know! What an incomprehensibly rude thing to ask, as if you're somehow owed information about my sexual history. You're not! No one—and I can't reiterate this enough, but no one—owes you the details of their sex lives, of their trauma, or of anything about themselves that they don't feel like sharing with you.

The clickbait mills of the internet and the purity police of social media would like nothing more than to convince everyone that you owe these things to everyone. They would like you to believe that you have to prove that you're traumatized enough to identify with this character, that you can't sell this article about campus rape without relating it to your own sexual assault, that you can't talk about queer issues without offering up a comprehensive history of your own experiences, and none of those things are true. You owe people, and especially random strangers on the internet, nothing, least of all citations to somehow prove to them that you have the right to talk about your own life.

This makes some people uncomfortable, and to be clear, I think that that's good: people who feel entitled to demand this information should be uncomfortable. Refusing to justify yourself takes power away from people who would very much like to have it, people who would like to gatekeep and dictate who is permitted to speak about what topics or like what things. You don't have to justify yourself. You don't have to explain that you like this ship because this one character reminds you a bit of yourself because you were traumatized in a vaguely similar way and now— You don't have to justify your queerness by telling people about the best friend you had when you were twelve, and how you kissed, and she laughed and said it was good practice for when she would kiss boys and your stomach twisted and your mouth tasted like bile and she was the first and last girl you kissed, but— 

You don't owe anyone these pieces of yourself. They're yours, and you can share them or not, but if someone demands that you share, they're probably not someone you should trust.

Third: The idea of gold star lesbians is a profoundly bi- and trans- phobic idea, often reducing gender to genitals and the long, shared history of queer women of all identities to a stark, artificial divide where some identities are seen as purer or more valuable than others. This is bullshit on all counts.

There's a weird and largely artificial division between bisexuals and lesbians that seems to be intensifying on tumblr, and I have to say: I hate it. Bisexual women aren't failed lesbians. They're not somehow less good or less valid because they're attracted to [checks notes] people. Do you think that having sex with a man somehow changes them? What are you so worried about it for? I've checked, and having sex with a man does not, in fact, make your vagina grow teeth or tentacles. Does that make you feel better? Why is what other people are doing so threatening to you?

Discussions of gold star lesbians are often filled with tittering about hehe penises, which is unfortunate, since I know a fair few lesbians who have penises, and even more lesbians who've had sex with people, men and women alike, who have penises. I'm sorry to report that "I'm disgusted by a standard-issue human body part" is neither a personality nor anything to be proud of. I'm a dyke and I don't especially like men, but dicks are just dicks. You don't have to be interested in them, but a lot of people have them, and it doesn't make you less of a lesbian to have sex with someone who has a dick.

There's so much garbage happening in the world—maybe you haven't noticed, but things are kind of Not Great in a lot of places, and there's a whole pandemic thing that's been sort of a major buzzkill? How is this something that you're worried about? Make a tea, remind yourself that other people's genitalia and sexual history are none of your business, maybe go watch a video about a cute animal or something. 

Fourth: The idea of gold star lesbians is a shitty premise that argues that sexuality is better if it's always been clear-cut and straightforward—but it rarely is. We live in a very, very heterosexist culture. I didn’t have a word for lesbian until many years after I knew that I was one. How can you say that you are something when your mouth can’t even make the shape of it? The person you are at 24 is different to the person you are at 14, and 34, and 74. You change. You get braver. The world gets wider. You learn to see possibilities in the shadows you used to overlook. Of course people learn more about themselves as they age.

Also, many of us, especially those of us who grew up in smaller towns, or who are over the age of, say, 25, grew up in times and places where our sexuality was literally criminal.

Shortly after I graduated high school, a gay man in my state was sentenced to six months in jail. Why? Well, he’d hit on someone, and it was a misdemeanor to "solicit homosexual or lesbian activity", which included expressing romantic or sexual interest in someone who didn’t reciprocate. You might think, then, that I am in fact quite old, but you would be mistaken. The conviction was in 1999; it was overturned in 2002.

I grew up knowing this: the wrong thing said to the wrong person would be sufficient reason to charge me with a crime.

In the United States, the Defense of Marriage Act was passed in 1996, clarifying that according to the federal government, marriage could only ever be between one man and one woman. It also promised that even if a state were to legalize same-sex unions, other states wouldn't have to recognize them if they didn't want to. And wow, they super did not want to, because between 1998 and 2012, a whopping thirty states had approved some sort of amendment banning same-sex marriage.

Every queer person who's older than about 25 watched this, knowing that this was aimed at people like them. Knowing that these votes were cast by their friends and their families and their teachers and their employers. 

Some states were worse than others. Ohio passed their bill in 2004 with 62% approval. Mississippi passed theirs the same year with 86% approval. Imagine sitting in a classroom, or at work, or in a church, or at a family dinner, and knowing that statistically, at least two out of every three people in that room felt you shouldn't be allowed to marry someone you loved.

Matthew Shepard was tortured to death in October of 1998. For being gay, for (maybe) hitting on one of the men who had planned to merely rob him. Instead, he was tortured and left to die, tied to a barbed wire fence. His murderers were both sentenced to two consecutive life terms in prison. This was controversial, because a nonzero number of people felt that Shepard had brought it upon himself.

Many of us sat at dinner tables and listened to this discussion, one that told us, over and over, that we were fundamentally wrong, fundamentally undeserving of love or sympathy or of life itself.

This is a tiny, tiny sliver of history—a staggeringly incomplete overview of what happened in the US over about ten years. Even if this tiny sliver is all that there were, looking at this, how could you blame someone for wanting to try being not Like This? How can you fault someone who had sex, maybe even had a bunch of sex, hoping desperately that maybe they could be normal enough to be loved if they just tried harder? How can you say that someone who found themself an uninteresting but inoffensive boyfriend and went on dates and had sex and said that it was fine is somehow less valuable or less queer or less of a lesbian for doing so? For many people, even now, passing as straight, as problematic as that term is, is a survival skill. How dare you imply that the things that someone did to protect themself make them worth less? They survived, and that's worth literally everything.

Fifth, finally: What is a gold star, anyhow? You've capitalized it, like it's Weighty and Important, but it's not. Gold stars were what your most generous grade school teacher put on spelling tests that you did really well on. But ultimately, gold stars are just shiny scraps of paper. They don't have any inherent value: I can buy a thousand of them for five bucks and have them at my door tomorrow. They have only the meaning that we give them, only the importance that we give them. We’re not children desperately scrabbling for a teacher’s approval anymore, though. We understand that good and bad are more of a spectrum than a binary, and that a gold star is a simplification. We understand that no number of gold stars will make us feel like we’re special enough or good enough or important enough, or fix the broken places we can still feel inside ourselves. Only we can do that.

The stars are only shiny scraps of paper. They offer us nothing; we don’t need them. I hope that someday, you see that, too. 

[olderthannetfic]

I've been following the various conversations about fandom friendship for a while now and it's made me want to get up and actually put myself out there to make it happen for me. Do you have any tips for finding smaller local fan events? I mostly only know of the big nationally-known conventions like ComiCon and the PAX conventions.

--

Fanlore often lists the dinky slash con type ones. You may have to do some research to see what's still running and what's dead.

Escapade Con is one I attend, for example. (Los Angeles, partly online this year, end of April 2022, but usually around February.)

We're voting on panels right now. The proposed ones are things like:

Age Gap: The Ultimate Taboo

"With fandom reaching more mainstream audiences, a new Worst Trope has arisen: any pairing where one character is more than three years older than the other. (I can hear you laughing. Stop that.) Let's talk about how this came to be "the worst" of fanfic tropes, exchange horror stories about the attacks on people who write or read it, and brainstorm ways to deal with this kind of schism between "old" and "new" fandom communities."

Scales Are Sexy

First vampires, then werewolves, now... tentacled fish-men? What's appealing about the monstrously different, and what does this say about how the socially acceptable expression of sexual desire changes over time?

(Personally, I think last time's "Fantastic Bits and Where to Find Them" monsterfucking panel was a better title than this one, but hey.)

Old con panels can give you a sense of the con's vibe. Are they salty and funny? Are they a bit more gentle for the sensitive?

--

The very best success rate is a kind of con experience I haven't had in years. This is when the con is a small, fan-run one, the con is new (in its first 5 years, say), and you yourself are around college age with lots of other people that age also looking for new friends at the con.

The minute you go to a much older event or you're in a different phase of life, things feel harder. I know that feeling of being out of step with other people your age. Oh look, everyone got married 5 years ago, and now our lives have diverged. What do? etc.

This is not an insurmountable barrier, just an emotional pitfall to be aware of. You do have to put yourself out there a little more if it's a con of people who've known each other for 30 years.

--

The LJ era produced a bunch of cons, lots of them now gone. The Tumblr era also produced cons, but I'm not as familiar with them. No, I don't mean the hot mess that was Dashcon. I mean the little fan-run Sherlock cons and such. If you're in a big fandom, there might be a little con for your specific thing.

There's a very old Kirk/Spock con that's still running and an old Starsky/Hutch one. There are more recent Sherlock-focused ones. Looks like 221B Con is actually coming up on April 8th in Atlanta.

On the online end of things, there are cons like Fujocon that not only bring people together during the con but tend to funnel them to various discords after. If you like discord communities, attending events can be a way to find some.

--

For truly local and not $$$, I'd see what kind of geek meetups happen in the nearest big city. Some things, like the SCA, are more organized and easier to find. Fanfic-related meetups exist in some places, but not as consistently. Some people meet up to write their Yuletide fics together (in October/November). Sometimes, you can find meetups like that through some online fandom thing. Lolitas (people who wear that Japanese fashion) have meetups some places. So do anime nerds. If you don't find something fanfic-specific, you might find something for some flavor of geekdom you're into and/or that would have a good chance of members who also like fic.

Some of the oldschool geek subcultures and venues can be pretty white. (And that goes for the ones that make big protestations about social justice as much as for the ones that say nothing.) They're not necessarily bad, but it's just something to keep in mind if you haven't gone to geeky events in person before. Local anime meetups tend to be a little more ethnically diverse than the SCA in my experience.

One can always start some kind of meetup oneself. Meetup.com and Facebook seem to be the two big places people do it. It could be something like fanfic writers' club where you meet at a cafe to work on your stuff. (So if people don't show up much, you can at least work on your own stuff at said cafe.) Pick a place super convenient to you or a place that has some kind of geeky theme if there is one around.

--

Of course, all of this is my perspective based on the US. It's going to be different if you're somewhere else (but I'm presuming not given what you mentioned).

[shealwaysreads]

Revelation

drarry | E | 1.4k | kinktober, uniform kink, strip tease, leather gloves, lots of buttons, a whisper of boot worship, auror!Harry, unspeakable!Draco

Summary: Harry gets caught watching.

Read on Ao3

“What are you looking at?” Malfoy asked, cut-glass accent perfectly disdainful.

“Nothing.”

Malfoy’s lip twitched, almost a sneer, almost. “You’re watching me, Potter.”

“I’m not.”

He was. Harry had been watching him since they were both eleven, but that wasn’t what Malfoy meant. No. Harry was watching him now and he wasn’t even being subtle about it.

It was only the two of them in the changing room that the trainee Aurors and Unspeakables all shared, everyone else had left the building ages ago. It was late. Later than either of them should be here; later than they would be if they weren’t both working more than they should, if they weren’t both trying to prove themselves.

Harry had been in the duelling room, sparring with the automatons. Malfoy had been doing who-knew-what in who-knew-where. But they had both ended up here—in the sweat-scented changing rooms lined with lockers on both sides of the room. Harry was sitting on the uncomfortable wooden bench in the middle and Malfoy stood—defensive and as likely to admit it as a snake—against his locker.

Harry hadn’t meant to look, at first. It’s just that he was tired, bone-tired, and Malfoy was a curiosity now. Proven not-dangerous and maybe-decent by his wartime spying on behalf of the Order, but still sharp and unknown. Not-dangerous was an overstatement, perhaps. Malfoy had shown himself to be just as lethal as Voldemort had hoped for, only it was by hamstringing Fenrir in the middle of the battle rather than by felling Dumbledore during their sixth year.

The Unspeakables only took on talented witches and wizards with rare minds and a proclivity for deep thought and ambitious magic. But Harry wasn’t thinking about Malfoy’s mind. He was thinking about the fact that he had never seen Malfoy in less than perfectly neat clothes. Even in the midst of Fiendfyre and battle, Malfoy’s shirt had been buttoned up to the top, long sleeves covering his arms.

Unspeakable uniforms were even worse. They didn’t wear loose robes—like the Aurors, their uniforms had been streamlined after ‘incidents’ involving overly long sleeves and too much fabric—but tightly tailored black with so many buttons Harry couldn’t count them. Malfoy was covered from his neck to his toes; he even wore gloves, leather gloves.

Harry had started looking because Draco took his gloves off like it was some kind of personal ritual. He used the thumb and forefinger of his right hand to pinch the tip of each finger on the glove covering his left hand, until it was loose enough for him to slide off. The revelation of his hand—pale skin, slender fingers, perfectly manicured nails—had caught Harry’s attention. Then Malfoy did the same thing to his other hand.

It was like a present being unwrapped. Only the present was Malfoy.

That’s when Malfoy had opened his mouth and Harry thought that would be the end of it. Malfoy obviously knew Harry had been watching, and Harry’s denial had been more about keeping to form than any real protestation. Malfoy would pick up his gloves, snort derisively in Harry’s direction, and then bugger off home—wherever that was, these days.

Only Malfoy didn’t do any of that. He threw his gloves down on the bench next to Harry and with that quirk of his lip that said you are so far beneath me he brought his hands—his uncovered, unclothed hands—to the button glinting just under his chin. It slipped out of its hole. His fingers moved down to the next. Nimble and quick. The buttons were smaller than a knut, black and shiny, and Malfoy had only undone two of about a hundred but Harry’s chest felt like he’d just run up three flights of stairs.

Malfoy showed no signs of stopping.

The hollow of Malfoy’s throat, framed by the black collar of his uniform, was as startlingly pale as his hands. But more than that. This was the first time Harry had so much as seen this part of Malfoy.

Harry’s pulse thudded in his ears. He was just sitting, watching, but it felt like he’d just discovered something.

By the time Malfoy’s nipples—light pink, like the bit of the inside of his lip that Harry could see when he spoke—were revealed, Harry was hard. He didn’t bother trying to hide it. Malfoy had slowed down, made a show of each button sliding from it’s fastening, each inch of skin revealed.

Harry thought it might be the stark contrast of Malfoy’s black uniform against his fair skin that made Harry’s brain slow and slide like molasses. Or maybe it was the unexpected trail of dark blond hair that started on his sternum and trailed down, and down. Or maybe it was the silvery trace of scars on his skin. Or maybe it was Malfoy’s grey eyes, watching Harry as he watched Malfoy. A twin observation.

“Do you like to watch, Potter? Like to see, but not touch?”

“I—” Harry swallowed. He didn’t know the answer. He’d never done anything like this before. Never tangled himself, even accidentally, with someone as complicated as Malfoy. Malfoy who could make getting changed after work into something like a dance, something like a minefield.

“Of course.” Malfoy’s voice had dropped into something lower, softer. “You want to touch yourself. Go on then, do it.”

Harry stared. Malfoy unbuttoned the cuffs of his sleeves, and then there were pale wrists on show. Harry could see the tracery of blue veins there, and wondered if Malfoy’s pulse was racing as fast as his own.

“Come on, Potter, I’m showing you mine.”

Harry moved almost without thinking—he certainly didn’t pause to wonder what would happen if someone walked in—he undid his jeans and pulled himself out. But Malfoy interrupted him before he could do anything more than that.

“Wait a minute, I need your help.” Malfoy stepped forward, the top of his uniform unbuttoned all the way—the shirt hanging open and his navel level with Harry’s eyes—and placed the tip of his foot on the bench between Harry’s spread thighs. “Undo my boot for me, Potter.”

He was serious. Malfoy watched, waiting as though he had reserves of patience where Harry was concerned (contrary to all prior evidence). Harry looked down at where the shiny black leather of Draco’s boot sat, right in front of his own cock, still hard and standing proud of his open jeans.

Malfoy’s boots were laced halfway up his calf, and the knot was tight, but the leather was warm under Harry’s fingers and Malfoy’s skin was responsible for the warmth. Harry undid the laces quickly, and held onto the heel of the boot as Malfoy pulled his foot out, then set it on the bench beside him and pulled Malfoy’s sock off too. Malfoy’s bare foot was as pale and elegant as his hands, Harry wondered if he liked having his feet rubbed, and what it would feel like if Malfoy pressed the ball of his foot against Harry’s erection. Malfoy brought him back to reality—even better than his imagination, for once—by placing his other boot in the same position, and patiently waited once again for Harry to do his bit.

“Only seems right for you to help me, before you help yourself,” Malfoy murmured, his eyes on Harry’s cock.

Harry didn’t know what to say, so he stayed quiet—it had worked for him so far, and it worked again. Malfoy almost smiled, and his hands went to the waist of his trousers; there were buttons there, too. Swiftly undone, they revealed more of that dark blond hair—curling and neat—and then Malfoy’s cock. He was hard. Maybe he liked being watched as much as Harry liked watching.

Malfoy nudged Harry’s thigh with the toe of his boot, dangerously close to his balls. “Come on, take it off.”

Once again, Harry pulled off Malfoy’s boot, and then his sock. Malfoy put his foot back on the ground, widened his stance, and then stepped forward even closer—till his open trousers were almost close enough to touch Harry’s face.

“Actually, I think you should properly help me. Seeing as I’ve so kindly let you watch the show.”

Harry looked up, and Malfoy’s eyes were dark, his lips slightly parted. He was serious.

“Are you sure?” Harry asked.

“Do it, Potter.”

Read on Ao3

October 2nd & 3rd from this prompt list 🖤

Read the series here on Tumblr or here on Ao3

[tippedbykreider]

your love is my turning page | c. kreider

Word count: 17,700 Warnings: Mentions of death, grief, sex, mention of breakdown of previous relationship, mentions of infidelity. Author’s note: This was the first long-fic I ever wrote and to say that I was proud of it is an understatement. I’ve made some minor additions to this and hope you all enjoy it second time around as much as you did the first time. Fic title is from ‘Turning Page’ by Sleeping at Last Summary: Chris Kreider doesn’t believe in fate but a chance meeting in a Manhattan bookstore opens his mind, and his heart, to things he has only ever read about in the books he loves so much.

*

‘We are asleep until we fall in love’ – Leo Tolstoy, War and Peace.

Sometimes in life there are moments where everything changes, suddenly and unexpectedly and in ways that make it impossible to be the same person that you were before. It’s a bit like a storm, sweeping in and rearranging your life completely to a point beyond recognition, where everything changes and you’re left with a choice: mourn what was lost or use it as an opportunity to rebuild and come back stronger than before.

That was the dilemma Roseanna Williams faced after the man she thought she’d grow old with turned out to be nothing more than a huge disappointment. She should have seen it coming if she was to be completely honest with herself, years of waiting for him to outgrow what she presumed to be a teenage phase yielded nothing but frustration and a growing sense of impatience. If you asked any of her close friends and family they would tell you that she should have done it years ago but it never was as easy as just walking away, not when it came to the man whom she had been with since the tender age of fifteen. After she’d graduated university and completed her teaching degree, she was itching and ready for them both to take the next step in their relationship, to make more of a commitment, hell, even get married, but every attempt at an adult discussion about their future was met with resistance and a string of excuses.  The realisation suddenly began to dawn on her that maybe he was a lost cause and that she was wasting the best years of her life by waiting on him to get his shit together. The final straw came when she’d come home early from a teaching conference and found him in bed with someone she had considered to be a friend. That was when the flood defences failed and all the water she’d been ignoring for so long came rushing in, destroying everything she thought she knew and leaving her shaken to the core and gasping for breath. 

It started as a spark of an idea, moving away and getting a fresh start, London perhaps, or maybe somewhere further North. Exeter held too many memories now, the hurt and betrayal burying all of the wonderful times she’d had in the city that had always been her home. She’d discussed it at length with her parents who, while saddened at the prospect of their youngest daughter moving away, encouraged her to pursue whatever would make her the happiest. The spark caught, much like it always did whenever Rosie set her mind to something and before she knew it she was applying for a United States work visa and looking for places to live in New York City. All that was left to do was to pack up her life and trust in the magic of new beginnings.

That was how she ended up in Brooklyn, New York, teaching English Literature at a local high school. It was a different kind of life, one that took her a couple of years to get used to and while Rosie wasn’t quite confident enough yet to call herself a New Yorker, she definitely felt like she had found somewhere that she could call home. That feeling started as a seed, growing roots and leaves every time she would get off the subway at the right stop or find a new coffee shop to try until eventually she could rattle off her favourite places to get an Americano or the best places to get pizza. Her family and friends loved it, naturally, having the perfect reason to come and visit the Big Apple and Rosie loving nothing more than having the opportunity to show off the city she’d grown to adore.

Of course, there were parts of her old life that she missed. How could she not? She missed her family and her university friends. She missed afternoon teas with Devonshire clotted cream and summer days spent at the beach in Torquay. ‘You can always come home, love,’ her mother would say and that was completely true and while a part of her would always yearn for the smell of the sea or the cry of a gull on a soft summer breeze and while her roots were very much planted in Devonshire soil, her heart belonged to New York City.

She’d developed somewhat of a routine during the first couple of years that she’d lived in Brooklyn and it was one that hadn’t changed much, loving nothing more than taking the subway to Manhattan on weekends to spend the day checking out all the small independently run bookstores (when she wasn’t drowning in unmarked papers, of course). This particular late-October Saturday had started much like the others; she allowed herself a well-deserved lie-in after a hectic week of teaching and a bottle of Sangiovese the previous night, savouring her first cup of coffee like it was the first she’d had in months while she set about watering her house plants. A shower that lasted entirely too long, which doubled as a Fleetwood Mac tribute concert that she was sure her neighbours appreciated, was next on the agenda before she finally bundled herself up to face a chilly Autumn day in the city. 

She’d stopped off at her favourite coffee shop on the way to the station and chatted with the young barista, Laura, behind the counter, whom she’d grown to know over the months since Laura had started working there. She’d learned that Laura was planning a trip to Europe next Summer and offered some suggestions of places in England to visit, making sure to get her to promise to not just visit London. With her take-out coffee cradled in her hands, the cup serving her well as a much needed hand-warmer, the late-morning had Rosie heading towards Westsider Books, a favourite haunt of hers that she couldn’t help but keep coming back to. She had no reason at all to think that going to that store was going to prove to be another one of those moments that she could look back on as being a defining moment in her story, but with a push of the door, every star and planet aligned that set her on a course that would change her life forever.

*

Christopher James Kreider was a self-confessed simple man, despite his career choice and the lifestyle that came with it seeming to be anything but. He was incredibly thankful for the certain level of anonymity that came with living in a place like New York; certainly, there were times where he would be recognised and would be stopped for a picture or autograph, but in the sea of a-list celebrities that called the city home, he was just a small fish and was happiest when he was flying under the radar. The kind of life afforded by being a professional athlete playing in the National Hockey League was one that he wasn’t sure he would ever get used to. Sure, he had a sweeping Tribeca apartment that he called home, he had a nice car, he went to work wearing expensive suits and could afford to eat out in the city anywhere he wanted, but the reality of it all was that he was most at ease sprawled out on his couch with a good book and a bottle of wine.

His teammates affectionately called him the hockey Renaissance man, a nod to his impressive pursuits off the ice, but it was never a name that sat comfortably with him. As far as he was concerned, he was just Chris, there was nothing special about him and his ability to deflect praise or compliments was nothing short of reflexive. His days off during the season were few and far between and he was always keen to make the most of the time afforded to him. An early start and cup of coffee usually preceded a quick workout, followed by a shower, a second coffee and a crossword puzzle while he decided how he was going to spend his day. Sometimes he wanted nothing more than to stay within the sanctuary of his apartment and read Hemingway until the sun began to dip below the skyline, other times he would venture out into the city and check out the new exhibit down at the art gallery in Soho before finding somewhere quiet to enjoy a good cup of coffee.

The season had gotten off to a decent enough start, the chemistry between the team seeming to grow with each game and Chris hitting his stride early on. He’d just returned from a three game trip in Canada and despite the slight fatigue he was feeling, he was eager to get out into the city. He wasn’t in the market for anything in particular but there was a lot of joy to be found in rummaging through old record shops or second hand book stores, at least in Chris’s opinion anyway. There was something so special about a pre-loved record or book, he thought, each had their own tale to tell and each held a special place in someone’s heart at one point or another. There were barely any new editions of books on his bookshelves, some so tatty and worn that their bindings were stringy and the pages threatened to abscond if held the wrong way.

Chris was a creature of habit and it was something that he would freely admit. He often visited the stores closest to home, not often venturing further than Midtown, but with nothing but time he found himself on the 1 train and headed towards Upper West Side, Westsider Books his destination of choice. The first thing he noticed upon entering wasn’t the towering shelves that stacked books upon books but the unmistakable scent of vellichor, that grassy, almost vanilla aroma that felt a lot like coming home. The owner offered a friendly smile before nodding towards the vast collection of books.

“There’s fiction all down here, poetry’s at the back and non-fiction’s upstairs. Let me know if there’s something in particular you’re lookin’ for, I know there’s a lotta books in here.”

“Thank you,” Chris replied. “Do you have any Russian literature in at all?”

“We sure do, whatever we’ve got is on the third shelf from the back there, on your left.”

“Perfect, thanks a lot for your help.”

Chris offered the man behind the counter a smile and headed deeper into the shop, stopping in front of an impressive looking collection of Russian classics. It was easy to get lost in the volumes on the shelves, flicking through pages of different editions, some of them older than he’d ever seen before. There was one book in particular though that caught his eye, unassuming and inconspicuous enough, nestled between War and Peace and the Death of Ivan Ilyich. He reached out to touch the navy blue leather but was suddenly caught off-guard by the sensation of cold fingers knocking against his own.

“God, I’m so sorry, I was completely in my own world there.”

His eyes flicked to his right towards the source of the voice, soft and feminine with an accent that he knew not to be local. Rosie hadn’t even noticed him, which now that she was taking in his appearance properly didn’t exactly understand how she’d missed him standing beside her. He was well over six foot, she noted, and impossibly broad, but the thing that stood out to her the most about him was the unmistakable kindness in his hazel eyes, a tranquil grove of moss covered trees with their different shades of bark.

“No, no, you’re good. It’s me, big clumsy oaf over here,” he trailed off with a soft laugh, a slight heat rising in his cheeks now that he was really seeing her, with her eyes that were as blue as a summer sky and hair that reflected the colour of the autumn leaves outside.

“Did you want Anna Karenina?” Rosie asked, nodding towards the shelves.

“Oh, um, it’s okay, you go for it,” he smiled at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a way that gave him a kind of softness, a familiarity almost.

“Please, I insist,” Rosie reached for the book and took it from its resting place amongst the other Tolstoy works, handing it to Chris. “I already have three different editions of this, if I took home a fourth I think an intervention would need to be staged.”

Rosie grinned as Chris laughed, the sound full and rich to her ears, while he took the book from her hands and tucked it under his arm.

“Well, we wouldn’t want that now, would we?” He started, his eyes flitting across her features before they settled to meet her gaze. Her grin had faded into a warm smile that reached all the way up to her eyes and she was surveying him with an almost curiosity, one that he found himself matching. “I’m sorry, I know you probably get asked this all the time,” he continued, with an endearing kind of sheepishness that kept the corners of Rosie’s mouth lifted upwards, “but I gotta ask about the accent. I wanna say British but I don’t want to come across like a stereotypically ignorant American if I’m wrong.”

“Oh it’s okay,” Rosie chuckled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, “you’re only the third person to ask me today.”

Chris could tell from the sparkle in her eye and the smirk on her lips that she meant no malice in her reply and made an exaggerated cringing grimace in return.

“God, I know. I’m sorry. You must get sick of it.”

“I mean, if I had a dollar for every time someone asked I’d be a very rich lady, but yeah, your ears don’t deceive you, I’m British. Actually from Exeter in Devon specifically, which is like South West England and now I realise that that probably means nothing to you,” she laughed as she caught the slightly vacant expression that had graced his features while she had been explaining her place of birth.

“I know, I’m sorry. I guess I really am a stereotypical ignorant American.”

Rosie responded with a gentle shake of her head as she spoke, “Nah, I wouldn’t say so. I couldn’t tell you the first thing about the rest of the States, it took me longer than I care to admit to just not get lost going two or three blocks down.”

Chris smiled, both at her kindness and the gentle lilt of her accent. “So are you here visiting, or?”

Rosie shook her head again, the auburn waves shaking and falling about her face in a way that had Chris’s smile doubling.

“Well, I’m visiting Manhattan, but I live in the city, been here coming up five years now.”

“Yeah? And you like it?”

Rosie’s smile sparked at the corner of her mouth until it spread like wildfire and lit up the whole of her face. Chris couldn’t help but notice how beautiful it made her look, that kind of smile that was so undeniably authentic and genuine and yet so incredibly rare in a city as big as New York; but there it was, right in front of him and warm like sunshine.

“I love it here,” the affection in her voice clear as day. “It’s so different from anything back home and in the best possible way.”

Chris got the impression from her seemingly deliberate choice of words that there was a story there, but the classic literature aisle didn’t really seem like the time and place to get into it with someone he’d just met, nor did he want to assume that she would even offer that tale to him freely. Instead, he took the book out from under his arm and held it out to her.

“Are you sure you don’t want to take this home with you?”

“I’m positive. ‘Live in the needs of the day’ as Tolstoy would say and I don’t really need that book. I’m sure you’ll give it a wonderful home.”

She met his eyes briefly, her stomach flip-flopping at the softness she found there, and gave him a warm smile that matched the one he was wearing. Chris wasn’t sure what had made him feel so bold. Perhaps it was the feeling of being so completely at ease with her, despite not even knowing her name and despite having known her for a mere five minutes, or perhaps it was the gentleness in her eyes. He didn’t spend too much of his time thinking about it as the words were out of his mouth before he could second guess them.

“At least let me buy you a coffee as a thank you.”

“Do you buy all the women you meet in bookshops coffee?” Rosie quipped without missing a beat.

“Damn, you caught me.”

Rosie laughed, easy and free with her head tipped back and Chris knew in that moment that he needed this woman in his life in some way, the sound bright and rich like the first sip of coffee in the morning or the first rays of summer sunshine filtering through curtains. He was still surveying her with an easy grin as she shuffled on her feet slightly, deciding whether she was going to let her head or her heart reign supreme today.

“I don’t usually make a habit of getting coffee with strangers,” the small smile still playing on her lips despite the tentative nature of her words.

Chris instinctively offered his hand out for her to shake.

“Well, I’m Christopher and you are?”

Rosie placed her hand in his, the smile on her face doubling in size at his kindness as she shook his hand, and tried to ignore the way her heart started to race at how warm and easy his touch felt.

“Rosie, or Roseanna if we’re using our Sunday names.”

“Nice to meet you, Rosie,” Chris said, his tone gentler than was probably necessary in the moment but it had Rosie feeling more relaxed in his presence by the second. “See, we’re not strangers anymore.”

“No, I don’t suppose we are. Alright then, Christopher, I accept your proposal of coffee and if you turn out to be an axe murderer then I hope you enjoy the book.”

It wasn’t very often that Rosie let curiosity get the better of her but there was something telling her to surrender to this moment in front of her, to let her heart win for once and throw caution to the wind. There was something about Chris and his aura that made it incredibly easy to ignore that prudent and wary voice in the back of her head that would usually call for rational and cautious thinking in situations such as this one, the voice that is often nurtured during childhood by parents and adults alike to help keep you safe from harm, the voice that would warn you about the dangers of strangers. Chris was a stranger, this was, of course, an undisputed fact, but Rosie didn’t feel like she was in any danger with this man. She guessed that it had an awful lot to do with the genuine warmth that seemed to radiate from him that made her feel less like she was with a someone she’d just met in a book shop and more like she was catching up with an old friend. It was incredibly rare that she felt so at ease with someone, let alone a man she knew nothing about except for his name, but she’d grow to learn that that was just the magic of Chris, his sincerity and kindness always radiating from him like the glow of an open fire on a cold winter’s night.

“I can say with absolute certainty that I’m not an axe murderer,” he grinned. “But if it would make you feel better I was planning on taking you to Irving Farm, y’know, so you can check in with someone if you wanted.”

That simple gesture alone told Rosie all she needed to know about Chris, the fact he was so cognizant of how a woman might be feeling going to get coffee with a man she’d just met. It was that thoughtfulness and that tingle of curiosity and wonder that had her following him to the counter and waiting as he paid for his book before they both ventured back out into the chilly air and towards the café. Making small talk on the short walk there was incredibly easy, the effortless nature of their conversation not lost on either of them and as they sat down opposite each other in a quiet corner of the shop, shedding their coats and scarves, Chris took the opportunity to really appreciate the beauty of the woman in front of him.

She was classically pretty, he thought, with her auburn locks freed from the confines of the scarf she had been wearing and the slight ruddiness to her cheeks from the way the cold air had kissed them during their short walk. But more than that, it was the way her presence seemed to uplift him in a way he hadn’t ever experienced before. Chris was an incredibly practical and logical man and the idea of kindred spirits wasn’t something that he subscribed to, but there was just something about Rosie. It was a sense of familiarity and a feeling often only felt between two people who had known each other for years. It was a feeling that, unbeknownst to him, Rosie shared too, not quite being able to remember a time where she was able to enthusiastically discuss literature at such great lengths with someone.

“So come on,” Chris said over his cup of coffee after they’d settled at a table in a quiet corner of the café. “You were able to quote Anna Karenina from memory, is there a particular reason for that or have I managed to find an even bigger book nerd than I am?”

Rosie smirked as she took a sip from her cup, eyes sparkling as she surveyed Chris. “I am a pretty big book nerd, but no, I actually teach literature.”

Chris’s eyebrows raised as an impressed little smirk pulled the corner of his lips upwards. He set his cup down and clasped his hands in front of him on the table.

“Forgive me for being bold here and by all means tell me to mind my own damn business, but what exactly makes a British literature teacher cross an ocean and put roots down in New York City?”

Rosie paused for a moment, chewing over her words in her mind.

“A vague sense of wanderlust, I guess,” she began carefully. “I don’t know, there was just… a lot of stuff that happened in my life and it felt like a good time for a fresh start while I was still young enough and brave enough to do it.”

“I’m sorry if that was too personal,” Chris looked at her apologetically, the slight flicker of sadness that had appeared in her eyes too prominent to ignore. “I didn’t mean to bring any painful memories back for you by prying.”

“It’s absolutely fine. All the diversity, all the charm and all the beauty of life are made up of light and shade, right?”

“You really love that book, don’t you?” Chris asked her softly, recognising the quote from the book currently sitting in the brown paper bag by his feet immediately, and with a gleam in his eye.

“It’s one of my favourites,” Rosie replied. “It’s probably up there with Captain Corelli’s Mandolin, Pride and Prejudice and For Whom the Bell Tolls.”

“You like Hemingway?” Chris’s eyes crinkled with his grin and shone with excitement as she nodded in agreement. “I love Hemingway,” he added. “He’s easily my favourite author.”

Rosie leaned forward in her seat and rested her arms on the table with her cup still cradled in her hands, Chris mirroring her action, like two school children about to share a secret.

“I love the beautiful simplicity of his writing. It’s direct but without losing any of the emotion or feeling. Like, don’t get me wrong, Russian literature and authors like Tolkien are wonderful and they certainly have their part to play, but sometimes there’s just no need for pages and pages just to get a point across. That’s the beauty of Hemingway, the straightforwardness of it.”

“Yes!” Chris exclaimed, his face lighting up. “That’s exactly it. Take The Old Man and the Sea as an example, that book is what? Twenty-seven thousand words? But the feeling and the message that he’s able to get across, it’s amazing. God, I’ve lost count of the amount of times I’ve read that book.”

“A favourite of yours, then?”

Chris nodded as he picked up his mug. “Without a doubt, followed closely by For Whom the Bell Tolls and An Immovable Feast.”

He punctuated his statement with a wink and a smile, savouring the way Rosie’s face would ignite with pure joy as she laughed.

“Perhaps we should compare notes,” she mused behind her coffee.

“Is that you saying you wanna meet up again?” Chris asked, a cocky grin on his face.

“What if it is?” She countered quickly, a twinkle in her eye that had Chris’s heart thundering in his chest.

“Then I think you’d better take my number.”

 *

The weeks passed and autumn collapsed into winter, the first frosts clinging to everything and covering the city in opaline glitter. Rosie’s schedule had begun to slow following the initial insanity of the beginning of the academic year as things started to wind down for the holidays. She’d spent a lot of her free time preparing for her annual trip home to England to spend Christmas with her family, something that she looked forward to all year. Whatever time was left was spent reading or catching up with Chris, who had been equally busy with his work as a professional hockey player. He’d mentioned this to her briefly and in passing during their phone calls, which certainly explained why his schedule was often so all over the place, but the concept was so alien to Rosie that she didn’t feel the need to pry further. Growing up in Devon meant that her exposure to a sport like ice hockey was next to nothing, her knowledge extending as far as movies such as The Mighty Ducks would afford. In fact, when she thought about it, she didn’t know anybody who played sports professionally in any capacity and so while she was intrigued by Chris and the story behind how he came to be in such a career in a city like New York (knowing him to be from Massachusetts originally), she also knew that he was so much more than all of the stereotypes she’d heard associated with professional athletes.

He wasn’t a big, dumb jock, far from it actually. Chris was incredibly intelligent, philosophical in ways she admired so much but with an endearing and quick sense of humour. His thirst for knowledge and appreciation for the world around him was unlike any she’d ever seen and it somehow made him more handsome than any of his classically good-looking physical features. There was an intrigue, of course, surrounding him and his job, but Rosie also knew that he would offer that part of himself to her in time and when he felt most comfortable doing so. She imagined that he didn’t always get to have the luxury of authentic meetings with people who didn’t already know about him and his job, and for all the lovely moments he’d already given her in their growing friendship, she wanted to pay him back in kind by not forcing anything on him that he wasn’t yet ready to talk about.

It was incredible really, how easy it was for her to fall into friendship with Chris, made only easier with each discovery of a new shared interest. Their texts would often consist of them sending things the other might find interesting such as a new book or a new song to listen to. Hearing from him was something that she found herself looking forward to, especially appreciating when he would take time out of his day while he was away from home to check in with her and catch up.

As the end of the semester creeped closer, Rosie found herself surrounded by gifts she had already wrapped ahead of her trip home and a small pile of clothes, the open suitcase on the bed still empty despite her best intentions. She always found packing incredibly dull (although admittedly not as bad as unpacking once she returned to New York) and would often preoccupy herself with anything and everything to avoid doing it, which always resulted in a stressful last-minute packing situation that she was keen to avoid this year. She stood with her hands on her hips as she surveyed the situation in front of her, deciding the best way in which to go about organising her suitcase, when her phone vibrated against her dressing table. Unable to contain the flicker of a smile that tugged at her mouth as she saw the Caller ID flash with Chris’s name, she answered.

“Hey, you.”

She could hear what sounded like a group of very rowdy men in the background in what she could only assume was a bar.

“I need you to help settle a debate.”

Rosie smiled as she cradled her phone between her cheek and her shoulder, using her free hands to pick up a pair of jeans and place them into the suitcase.

“Sounds serious.”

“Oh it is and we’re at a deadlock over here so your opinion decides it, I hope you can handle that kind of pressure,” Chris teased.

“Oh, Christopher, I was born ready.”

“Alright, but this is like legit serious stuff.”

“Out with it, Chris,” Rosie laughed.

“Crunchy or smooth?”

“Excuse me?” Rosie asked with an incredulous look on her face that she knew Chris would’ve laughed at had he been able to see her.

“Peanut butter,” he clarified. “Crunchy or smooth?”

“Wow,” Rosie deadpanned. “And here I was thinking you were about to ask me something incredibly philosophical.”

“Oh come on, Ro, don’t leave me hanging here.”

“I suppose if I had to choose, I’d probably go with smooth.”

“Ha!” Chris exclaimed, causing Rosie to jump. “She said smooth, looks like you’re the one with the weird peanut butter preferences, Foxy.”

Rosie furrowed her brow at the incoherent shouting and cheering in the background as she put more clothes into her suitcase.

“I’m so confused right now.”

She listened as the sound of raucous chatter faded into a faint buzz and Chris’s voice came back through the speaker clearer yet softer than it had been before.

“Sorry about that, the guys can get a little excitable sometimes.”

“Rookies had too many beers?”

“Yeah,” Chris breathed. “Something like that. How’re you doin’ anyway? Things settled for you at work?”

“Yeah,” she replied softly, perching herself on the edge of her bed, careful not to knock any of the small wrapped packages onto the floor. “I got all of those papers turned round and the results were actually kind of encouraging, which was nice.”

“That’s probably because they’ve got a good teacher.”

“Oh my god, stop,” Rosie blushed, thankful that he couldn’t see the interesting shade of pink her face had turned.

Chris’s reply was unexpected, somehow managing to knock her back a bit with the sincerity and softness in his tone that seemed more intimate than perhaps their current level of friendship afforded.

“I mean it, Ro. I know you know your stuff. They’re lucky to have someone like you teaching them.”

His words hung in the air around Rosie for a few seconds while she processed them, or rather, while she started to analyse the tenderness in his tone that she was sure she hadn’t imagined. He didn’t give her too long to get lost in it though as he was speaking again before she had a chance to truly unpack her thoughts.

“So things have settled down for you, yeah?”

“Um, yeah.. Yeah. I’ve just been packing for my trip back home,” Rosie replied, picking up one of the small gift-wrapped boxes and examining it for no particular reason.

“Right, of course. When is it you fly?”

“December twenty-first, fly back into JFK on the fourth of January.”

“I’ll be in California when you get back,” he said, a hint of disappointment in his voice. “But it’d be great to see you before you go to England. Maybe dinner or coffee?”

“That would be really nice, Chris,” the smile evident in her voice to Chris even through the phone.

“Great, we’ll arrange something once I’m back in the city at the end of the week.”

“Sounds perfect.”

Chris hesitated, not quite ready to say goodbye but knowing that he should probably get back to the others and leave Rosie to the rest of her evening. He knew he had to though, even if it did make his chest ache for reasons he didn’t quite understand.

“I’ll let you get on with your packing,” he half-sighed.

“Please don’t feel like you need to,” Rosie replied with the faintest hint of a plea.

“I do because if I don’t you’ll never finish packing your suitcase.”

There it was, that easy teasing that had become a defining feature of their friendship in just the few weeks they’d known each other and had managed to shift the atmosphere between them from something that neither could quite put their finger on to one that was much more playful and familiar.

Rosie groaned exaggeratedly, earning her a hearty chuckle from Chris.

“But I hate packing,” she whined.

“Welcome to being an adult, suck it up, Buttercup.”

“You’re mean.”

Despite her words, Chris knew that there was no truth in them and he also knew that she herself didn’t believe them, which made the playful back-and-forth banter between the two of them come easily.

“No, I’m Chris.”

“Oh my god!” Rosie laughed, exasperated. “I’m hanging up now, goodbye!”

Chris’s rich chuckle was the last thing she heard before she ended the call and tossed her phone onto her pillows, shaking her head at the ridiculousness of his humour before turning her attention back to the pile of clothes by her suitcase.

 *

Christmas went as quickly as it came, passing in such a blur that it had Rosie questioning if she’d had any time off at all. It didn’t take her long to settle back into the groove of things though, it never did, and by the time the frosts of winter began to thaw, the warm glow of the festive season was nothing more than a cheerful memory. Much like the first beautiful petals of spring, Chris and Rosie’s friendship continued to blossom.

Rosie would have been lying if she said that she didn’t wish their schedules would match up more. A particularly busy January for Chris meant that they hadn’t had chance to meet since just before Christmas and it had Rosie wondering just what exactly Chris’s job entailed. It wasn’t really something that had come up during their phone calls and it was something that she felt deserved to be done face-to-face rather than over a text message, because truth be told, she didn’t have the first idea when it came to ice hockey. Keen to know more about the man that was fast becoming somebody she considered to be a close friend, she resolved to ask him the next time they met for coffee.

“So are you ever going to tell me about this big, shiny career of yours or am I supposed to just keep thinking you’re some James Bond of professional hockey,” she mused as she broke off a piece of blueberry muffin and popped it into her mouth.

Chris blushed slightly as he took a drawn out sip of coffee.

“I mean, yeah, sure. What do you wanna know?”

He set his cup down and clasped his hands on the table in front of him, the flicker of nervousness extinguished quickly by the kindness that rested within her eyes.

“Well,” she started. “I believe I’ve mentioned before that the only hockey I knew of before meeting you was the field hockey they made us play at secondary school. So, everything I guess? Oh, and I’m going to need you to explain like I’m five.”

Chris couldn’t help but chuckle at the good-natured smirk on her face and ran a hand along the stubble at his jaw.

“Alright, well. I guess it wouldn’t hurt to start from the top. I played hockey in high school, then went to Boston College, they have a really good collegiate hockey programme there and it’s a good school to boot. I got drafted in 2009 by the New York Rangers then I signed my first contract with them in 2012, been here ever since.”

“So you must be bloody good at hockey then,” Rosie said after swallowing her coffee which made the pink tinge to Chris’s cheeks even more prominent.

“I mean, I’m not terrible.”

Rosie grinned at him and at his humility which she had come to know as being one of Chris’s prominent traits. “And your schedule? I know it’s a bit mental but what does an average day look like for you?”

“That depends,” Chris replied. “Are we talking an off-day? Game day? Away trip?”

“All of the above?” Rosie laughed.

“My days off I still like to get a work-out in, even if it’s just a small one. But other than that? I don’t know, maybe meet incredible women from Devon in bookshops?”

It was Rosie’s turn to have her cheeks flush, especially with the way Chris was looking at her with an unreadable look in his eyes. Chris continued though, despite the thundering in his chest at how beautiful she looked in that moment.

“Game days I’ll usually get up, go to practice. I try and take a nap in the afternoon before I have to go down to the Garden to get ready for the game and it’s much the same if I’m away on the road. We usually practice before we travel to wherever it is we’re headed.”

“That sounds incredibly full-on.”

“It is,” Chris agreed. “But it really makes you appreciate the time at home and the moments of stillness. Why’d you think I love getting lost in a good book so much?”

“Because, in the words of Dr Seuss, ‘the more you read, the more things you’ll know. The more you learn, the more places you’ll go.’”

Chris looked at her softly, a warm smile on his face. “Spoken like a true teacher.”

“So come on then,” she blushed, steering the conversation away from herself and back to him. “You went to Boston College, right? What did you end up studying?”

“Communications,” Chris said as he finished taking a sip of coffee. “I uh, it was really important to my mom for me to finish my degree so I kept plugging away at it even after I went pro.”

“Wow,” Rosie looked at him, clearly impressed. “That’s incredible, Chris. I mean, getting a degree is a hard enough slog when you’re doing it full time, but to do it while you’re travelling here there and everywhere? That’s no easy feat.”

It was Chris’s turn to blush now, too humble and too modest to be able to accept the praise Rosie was giving him.

“I knew how much it meant to my mom and I just wanted to make her happy, that and I was too stubborn to not finish something I’d started.”

“Your birthday is the end of April, right?” She said rather suddenly but as if something had clicked in the back of her mind.

“Yeah, April 30th. Why? You been googling me?”

“Oh it’s nothing really,” she said quickly, face flushing and suddenly aware of how stupid it would sound to him if she actually said it out loud. “And for the record, I haven’t googled you, I just remembered you mentioning your birthday last time we met up.”

“Nah, you can’t just do that,” he chuckled softly. “Come on, what were you gonna say?”

“Well,” she started, her fingers and eyes finding the coffee cup in front of her, anything to avoid the part where he looked at her like she was mad. “I was just gonna say that you really are a typical Taurus.”

Chris leaned forward in his seat, hands settling just shy of hers but the almost contact enough to make her skin spark.

“That so?” he mused. “You big into your astrology?”

“No, well yes, sort of,” she rushed and Chris could tell that she was almost ashamed of the admission. “I don’t read magazine horoscopes or anything like that because they really are a load of bollocks. But natal charts and stuff like that? I find them totally fascinating. I um, I’m kind of into crystal healing, I sage my apartment, I know it’s nuts.”

“No it’s not,” Chris took her hand then, the need to reassure her and ground her in a moment where she felt vulnerable and exposed. “Is it something that I believe in personally? No, not really. But truthfully I don’t know anything about it either. If it makes you happy then it really doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks. Maybe you could tell me more about it over dinner or something?”

Rosie looked at him thoughtfully, so appreciative of him in that moment and that ineffable gift of his to make her feel valued and listened to. It was that and all the other wonderful little facets of himself that he was showing her that had her agreeing to his proposal of dinner. She thought about the level of bravery that it must have taken for him to talk about that other side of his life, the side that she knew nothing about, no matter how small or trifling it might have seemed to anyone else. While she might not have had the first clue when it came to the sport or could even truly comprehend what Chris’s life was like, she understood that it must be incredibly difficult for somebody in his situation to forge true and meaningful relationships with people, friendly or otherwise, because when it feels like someone you have just met thinks they already know everything about you, it’s incredibly hard to let the guard come down and let people get close. That is what Chris appreciated the most about Rosie, though, the fact that she hadn’t the faintest idea who number 20 of the New York Rangers was. Every conversation they’d ever shared and every question she’d ever asked came from a genuine and altruistic desire to get to know him better. Even now, as she encouraged him to share that other part of him, that so many others defined him by, it came only from a place of pure and innocent curiosity. She asked about his job much in the same way she would ask an accountant or doctor about theirs.

Being able to have that conversation with her about his life and his job only served to strengthen the bond that they shared and he was incredibly thankful for Rosie’s understanding and willingness to fit her schedule and life around his. As the months passed and summer fast approached, Chris found himself for the first time reluctant to escape the stifling heat of the city after the season had ended. He was enjoying being able to spend more time with Rosie now that the school year had come to a close and he was shocked to learn that even after living in the city for close to six years at that point, she still hadn’t explored all of Manhattan. Their days were filled with walks around the West Village, Midtown or Tribeca and having lunches at tiny hole-in-the wall cafés where they would show each other the books they had picked up in whatever shop they’d found themselves in that morning.

It was that time shared together that made it incredibly easy for Rosie to become a stable fixture in Chris’s life with evenings spent at each other’s apartments having dinner and sharing wine. Rosie had learned quickly that Chris was a capable cook and Chris loved nothing more than when Rosie would cook pasta for him, even if it wasn’t exactly his nutritionist’s dream. It was easy to relax in that kind of way around her, forgetting the strict food regime every once in a while to really savour the beef ragu she made that he loved so much, always washed down with a couple of bottles of Sangiovese shared between them and finished with a homemade tiramisu. It was wholesome, much like she was with the softness of her curves and her insouciant attitude when it came to her looks. That was not to say that she didn’t make an effort, that wasn’t the case at all, for she would always look so put together and incredibly beautiful whenever Chris would see her, but she was the kind of woman who wouldn’t think twice about letting herself indulge in a slice of cake with her coffee or get too hung up on the calorie content of a pasta carbonara, which was a quality that Chris found to be both incredibly refreshing and endearing.

The natural quality of their relationship should have made it incredibly easy for Rosie to give in to those feelings she found beginning to settle in her chest. Chris was a wonderful man, that much was undeniably true and it should have been simple to confront the ache she felt whenever he went away. But if there was one thing Rosie had learned in her life, it was that if you expect too much, if you put people on pedestals that were too high, you would find yourself being disappointed. That was a simple fact of life. People were just that, people, capable of making mistakes. They were not divine beings, no matter how much we saw them as such through our own eyes. It was that idea alone that startled her; that a man such as Chris could be capable of disappointing her by the pure reasoning of the human condition and that was a thought that she couldn’t bear. So she pushed it down, down and down until it was quieter than a whisper. But even whispers can’t be ignored forever, and so with each comment from Chris’s friends about how happy he was since meeting her or each time her skin would spark at the feeling of his hand on the small of her back, the whisper grew, growing and growing with every team event she attended on his arm or every party he asked her along to, until it was a shout.

Relationships had never been something to come easy to Chris, he was too careful and too private; the gnawing feeling in his stomach that told him there was always some ulterior motive was often too arresting to ignore. It should have frightened him, the way Rosie came into his life and smashed through every wall he’d ever built without even doing much at all, but it didn’t. Rather than look at all the bricks and the rubble and be unnerved by the ease in which she was able to coax his vulnerability out of him, he found himself inspired, determined even, to build something truly beautiful with her. Chris knew that he would have to find a way to navigate these feelings with her, cognizant of the need to not throw her into the deep end and shock her system. Rosie deserved better than that because this wasn’t just about him and his feelings, it was about them and their relationship, what it was now and what it could be.

She was brilliant, in every way a person could be, beautiful and with a passion that glowed like the fiery tresses of her hair under a New York sunset. She was bold and sharp as a tack, keeping him on his toes in a way that no one else had ever been able to and he was sure that no one else would ever again. It was late night conversations where they were three bottles of wine deep talking about philosophy and ethics or her reading silently while he played guitar, it was listening to Pearl Jam with her whenever she cooked or Billy Joel when they were curled up together on the sofa, debating whether Radiohead or Nirvana was more influential in the grunge music scene. Hell, it was even looking up his birth chart, even though he didn’t believe in astrology, because there was just something about the way she said ‘You’re such a typical Sagittarius moon.’ Her warmth and her kindness always managed to ground him in moments where he would feel himself slipping, as sure as the moon rises and sets each night, especially once the season had restarted and those niggling insecurities would rear up and settle heavily in his chest, and yet he could tell that she never really knew the exact power that she held. She had his heart completely, whether she was aware of it or not and that was something that Chris hoped would never change. She’d slotted into his life like she had always belonged there, like she had always been there and that feeling only seemed to grow inside of Chris with every dinner they shared with his friends and every time he would see her face in the stands of MSG.

*

The week before Christmas brought an uncharacteristically early winter storm to New York unlike any Chris had ever seen throughout his whole time living there, forcing the city to a standstill and grounding flights, which meant that for the first time since moving to the States, Rosie wasn’t going to be home for Christmas. The idea of her spending the holiday alone in her apartment made Chris’s heart ache and so that was how Rosie ended up in his Tribeca apartment on Christmas Eve, bundled up with him on the sofa under a blanket, each with a mug of homemade mulled wine. The Muppet’s A Christmas Carol played quietly through the tv, one of Rosie’s Christmas Eve traditions that he would never dream of denying her, although, no matter what he would later admit to, he spent more time observing the gentle expression on her face as she got lost in the nostalgia of it all than he did actually paying attention to the screen. She felt him though, not even needing to take her eyes off the movie to know that he was watching her.

“You’re missing all the good bits,” she smirked.

“It’s okay, I’ve read the book. I know what happens.”

There was a slight grit to his tone that Rosie couldn’t quite place but crawled under her skin and kindled a small flame in her stomach all the same.

“But there were no Muppets in the book.” She turned to face him then and took in the expression within his eyes, darker than she’d ever seen them before. “Kermit really brings Dickens’ story to life.”

“I mean, Beaker steals it for me but we’ll agree to disagree.”

The air thickened around them and Rosie took a long sip of her wine, longer than perhaps she should have, but she needed to swallow away the tightness in her throat from the way Chris was looking at her. Like planets to a sun, Rosie found herself drawn to him, suddenly feeling him everywhere despite the fact they were at opposite ends of his couch. It was that gravity that had her shuffling towards him, crawling into his space in the same way she had crawled into his heart. He was warm, she thought, comfortingly so and the worn hoody on his body felt soft and had the familiar, soothing scent that was so uniquely Chris. Perhaps that is what had her curling into his side and resting her head on his shoulder and perhaps that new-found closeness was what had him pressing his lips into her hair.

There was no way either of them could deny what this was between them, the spark too bright to ignore. Rosie knew that they weren’t just friends, she knew that and she knew that Chris felt it too, that was why his face was turned towards hers, his lips impossibly close so that all she needed to do was tilt her head and give in to what her heart was crying out for. But her head was a cruel mistress indeed and it was that irrational but crippling fear of eventual disappointment that made her clear her throat and scoot back a shade, giving herself some much needed breathing room.

Chris exhaled quietly, the deflation leaving him on the breath. It was almost frustrating how close they were, the finish line within touching distance and yet they always seemed to stop short of it. Chris was there, he was there waiting and willing her to take those last few steps and cross it with him but he knew that he couldn’t force this, nor did he want to either. She had to want it for herself and Chris knew, as he looked at her sitting there chewing on her bottom lip with her brows knitted together in pensive thought, that she was worth the wait, even if it took a lifetime.

The post-holiday back to work rush was one that was felt universally. Those first few weeks always seemed to feel as though there was never enough hours in the day to get everything done and it was no different for Chris and Rosie, both caught up in their jobs to really sit and digest the moment between them at Christmas. Christmas Day had been incredibly busy with Chris hosting a couple of the younger players for dinner and no sooner had the festivities ended he was packing a bag ready to depart for Washington the following morning. They both knew that they had a lot of things to discuss, because that’s what adults did, they talked about their feelings in a healthy and open way, but as the busy-ness of their schedules ramped up, the hours slipped away and turned into days. Days spanned into weeks and weeks turned into months and before either of them knew it, the moment seemed so distant in the rear-view mirror, that it almost felt weird to bring it back up.

 *

The hockey season ended for Chris some time during May, the Rangers making it as far as the second round of the playoffs but unable to close it out after seven hard fought games. The disappointment sat heavy in his chest, much like it always did after losses like these, but he would have been a fool not to notice the way that it didn’t hang all about him in the way it had previous years. Of course, the wound still cut deep but without the festering ache of poison and he knew the antidote was the woman who had swept into his life nearly two years prior. 

It was remarkable really, how she came into his world like that. It was an event that Chris had always described as being purely serendipitous but the longer he spent with Rosie, the more he began to wonder if there was something else at play, hell, even fate perhaps. He had prided himself on being a shrewd man, his practicality something that had always defined him and guided his thoughts and actions, but whenever he thought about them and their relationship, he had to believe that it was more than just some happy accident. Rosie was pure magic, in every sense of the word, always having an uncanny ability to know what he needed before he even did and making him relax in ways he had never previously allowed himself to. It was cliché to say, but Chris genuinely believed that he had never lived until he met her and slowly, over the course of the last year, maybe even longer, the love songs on the radio made a little bit more sense and every love story he’d ever read sat a little bit differently in his heart. He knew that he was going to have to find a way to truly make her his, because despite all of the times where he felt like he could’ve just grabbed her face and kissed her, despite all of the unspoken feelings that had surfaced at Christmas, and despite the fact that they hadn’t yet managed to talk about them, the dynamic between them both after their almost kiss hadn’t changed at all except in the small way that he found himself having to stop himself from holding her in the way that he wanted to more often than not.

He thought about the one night she’d almost burst with excitement over their dinner at her apartment when he told her he had finally sat down and read Captain Corelli’s Mandolin, remembering the wind-scattered waves in her eyes and so sure that if anyone was brave enough to enter their depths, all else would blur and they would fall so deeply in love that they’d choose to stay there, no matter what, because he knew for certain that he had befallen that very fate. He recalled thinking that if that was the last thing he was to ever see, he would surely die a happy man. She had recited her favourite quote to him that he thought to be beautiful at the time but now hitting him like a freight train and knocking all of the wind out of his sails. It crawled through his skin and into his veins until he felt it coursing through his body until it had made a home within his very soul:

‘Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not lying awake at night imagining that he is kissing every part of your body… for that is just being in love, which any of us can convince ourselves that we are. Love itself is what is left over, when being in love has burned away.’

It was those words that had his feet carrying him to his car and those words that had him driving from his apartment to her home in Brooklyn and it was those words that had him standing outside of her front door ready to offer his heart to her. He knocked, more out of habit than anything, the key she had given him a few months ago being turned over between his fingers as he waited and the anxiety beginning to rise with each second that passed without her appearing at the door. He exhaled before finally putting the key into the lock, certain that she was home despite the fact that his visit was unplanned and unannounced.

“Rosie?” he called out into the hallway. “Are you there?”

The silence was unsettling and completely uncharacteristic, made worse by the fact that her car was parked outside in its usual spot and the fact that he could’ve sworn she’d mentioned during their phone call the night before that she was planning on having a day at home to do laundry and catch up on all of those less-important chores she didn’t have the time to do during the school year. 

‘Maybe she’s not home after all’, he thought after a couple of minutes without a reply, more to soothe his own anxiety more than anything else. ‘She’s obviously decided to go out for a walk somewhere. That must be it.’ He was just about to turn away and leave, suddenly aware of how intrusive his presence in her home was when she clearly wasn’t there, when he was certain he heard her voice call his name.

“Rosie?”

A sob drifted down the hallway, muted but no less full of raw pain and anguish that had his legs carrying him towards the sound in big, long strides until it brought him to her bedroom where the door stood slightly ajar. He slowly pushed it open with an exhale of a breath he hadn’t felt being held within his lungs and his heart lurched at the sight of her curled up on her bed sobbing into her pillow. To go to her was instinctive, his soul called out to hers in a desperate attempt to soothe whatever pain she was in and he found himself kneeling at the side of her bed with his long fingers smoothing back the titian strands that had fallen into her face and clung to her tears.

“Ro, what happened?”

She didn’t answer him, couldn’t answer him, in fact, and so he moved onto the bed, gathering her up into his arms and held her close to his chest while he rubbed circles on her back, murmuring softly into her hair to try and still her sobs. He felt the way she clung on to him like she was drowning and he was the life-preserver and pressed gentle kisses against her forehead until her crying was no more than quiet sniffles.

“Rosie, sweetheart, talk to me. What happened? Are you okay?”

“My grandma,” she choked out against the fabric of his t-shirt. “My grandma died.”

Chris closed his eyes and exhaled as the second wave of tears took her, holding her steadfast against him and saying nothing other than reassuring her that he was there for her. He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that for, with her still impossibly close to him long after she’d finished crying herself hollow, until after the tears had dried and all that was left was the crippling deadweight of grief. It was Chris that spoke out into the new but deafening silence, his voice barely audible and a little rough from his own emotion that sat threateningly high in his throat.

“I’m so sorry, Rosie…”

The tiny exhale that passed Rosie’s lips had Chris’s heart breaking in two for her. Her reply small and full of defeat. “She’d had dementia for a while… Didn’t really know who any of us were,” she sniffled, dangerously close to losing it again. “Every time I went back home it was like she had to learn who I was all over again. I know that this was the kindest thing to happen but-”

Chris kissed her forehead as she choked back a sob, a wordless assurance that she didn’t need to say another word and a quiet understanding of the pain and emptiness that she was drowning in. 

“When are you flying home?” He murmured softly.

“I’m going to try and get a flight home for tomorrow, Thursday at the latest.”

“It’s gonna be expensive to try and get something that short notice, Ro.”

“That’s why I have savings,” Rosie gave a small, almost robotic shrug as she wiped her face, the emotion quickly being forced back down into her stomach as she turned her focus towards the things that she could control to keep herself from spiralling into hysterics again. “In case of an emergency.”

“Let me pay for your flight home,” Chris offered. “Please, it’s the least I can do.”

“You know I can’t accept that, honey.”

Chris had been friends with Rosie long enough to be familiar with the fact she often used terms of endearment whenever she was talking to him, but even now, especially now, with all those feelings of complete clarity about her and about them and their relationship that sat in his chest, it still managed to knock him back a bit and make his heart swell even in a moment as awful as this one. 

“Why not?”

He knew that this was a situation where he shouldn’t push too hard, that she would either pull away from him or direct all of that grief and emotion his way, like a cornered animal seconds away from deciding whether to fight or bolt. He knew he shouldn’t push this but he needed to do something, the overwhelming demand coming from his heart to make this right and fix this for her too much to ignore.

“Because I’m not your problem, Chris,” Rosie said, completely deflated. “Because this doesn’t need to be your problem.”

“I want to help, Ro, please. Please let me help. Please let me help fix this.” He was pleading with her and while a part of Rosie understood his desire to make this better for her, the swirling hurricane of emotions inside of her was reaching a fever pitch and, unable to make sense of it all, she found herself directing her howling gales towards the one thing she should have been holding on to.

“This isn’t something you can fix, Chris! You can’t fix this, you can’t make this right and you can’t bring her back!”

She stood with her fists balled tightly, the pain on her face as she sobbed and the realisation that she was right cutting through Chris like a knife. He had never been one to lose his nerve in a crisis, always the dependable one, always the stoic one. He was the guy people could rely on when things were shitty and it was something he prided himself on, but seeing her in front of him, shattered and in agony, knowing that he would have to sit this one out until she’d had a chance to process everything, left him feeling weak and powerless.

He watched her in stunned silence, unable to articulate feelings that he couldn’t make sense of. She was standing no more than three meters away from him but the distance between them felt like it stretched light-years. He couldn’t let her go to England with that hanging between the two of them, that ocean that would separate them felt like she would slip into another universe entirely and leave him with too much uncertainty about how things would be once she got back to New York. She didn’t give him a choice, though, her voice sounding abstract and unlike her own as she spoke into the void between them.

“I’m sorry, I just… I think I need to be alone right now. I need to wrap my head around this and it,” she paused for a moment, a shaky sigh filling the space. “It’s not fair on you for me to throw my emotions at you like this.”

“Rosie,” he spoke her name like a prayer, an oblique supplication that she heard but couldn’t accept.

“Please, Christopher. I know that you just want to help and, Christ, I appreciate you so much but I can’t accept your money, that’s just not my way, and I need to process this in my own way. I promise you though, I’ll let you know when I’m leaving for the UK and I swear that I’ll keep in touch.”

He hated it, all of it, but he loved her and he knew that she needed this, no matter how much it killed him to have to let her do things her own way. So that’s how he found himself nodding and respecting her request before folding her into his arms and pressing a kiss to her temple that he hoped would convey all of the affection and love that he held for her. For the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to cry as he drove back to his apartment and prayed to whoever was listening that she would be okay and that they would be okay, because if he lost that magic, if he lost her, he would have nothing.

It was two days later when Rosie reached out to say that she was at the airport waiting for her flight back to England, those forty-eight hours without talking to her the longest he’d ever endured. She assured him that while she was still not in a great place herself, that they were okay and that she appreciated everything he had offered to do for her. The messages were shorter than Chris was used to but it did help to make that feeling of distance between them feel a little less insurmountable than before.

*

June would usually have him heading to his coastal home in Connecticut or making the trip back to Massachusetts to be with his family, but he instead found himself lingering in New York, although with Rosie in England indefinitely he wasn’t entirely sure why he hadn’t committed to definite summer plans. If he really thought about it, though, really gave it more than a second’s thought and was completely honest with himself, he knew that he was waiting for her. He didn’t want to go home to Boxford and for her to come back to a city without him there. He wanted to be the one to welcome her back, pick her up from the airport and wrap her up in a hug that would have her never doubting how he truly felt about her. But really, when he spent time dissecting that desire to be there for her when she got back to New York, it actually stemmed from a desire to be with her, period. That was what had him picking up the phone and scrolling through his contacts, not even giving it a second thought when he hit that ‘call’ button but the guilt instantaneous when a sleepy voice answered.

“Hello?”

“Shit, I’m sorry. I completely forgot about the time difference,” Chris exhaled and rubbed the back of his neck.

“You never call without texting first. What’s on your mind?”

Chris sighed into the receiver, using the pause to gather his thoughts into some kind of semblance of coherence rather than dumping them all out in one go.

“I don’t even fucking know anymore, Mika.”

Mika’s tone shifted as the last remnants of sleep fell away, taking on the familiar quality that seemed to be reserved only for Chris. “Did something happen between you and Rosie?”

“Not really?” Chris offered, unsure of the answer to Mika’s question himself. “It’s just… It feels wrong, all of this.”

“Whoa, whoa, slow down. What feels wrong? I thought you loved her.”

“That’s just it, Mika,” Chris exhaled. “I do, fuck, I love her so much and the fact that she’s there and I’m here-”

Chris’s deep sigh through the receiver had Mika sitting up in bed, his next words spoken with such a surety as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“So go to her.”

“What?”

Mika laughed so softly that it was barely audible, shaking his head despite Chris not being able to see him.

“Y’know, for someone so smart you really are dumb sometimes.”

“Okay, first of all, ouch,” Chris grumbled. “Second of all, rude. Thirdly, what’re you getting at exactly?”

“What I’m getting at,” groused Mika, too tired from being woken up in the wee hours of the morning to have any great level of patience. “Is that you should book a flight and get your ass to the UK.”

“Just like that? Just go?”

“Yes, Jesus, Chris. I don’t know what else you want me to say, man, it’s three in the morning here and Irma will kick my ass if I wake her up.”

“Right, yeah,” Chris mumbled, the guilt at waking up his friend rearing its head again. “Sorry, I know I shoulda thought about the time difference.”

“The only reason you have to be sorry is if you don’t pack a bag as soon as we’re done talking and go get on the next fucking plane to England.”

Chris paused, long enough to gather his thoughts but not long enough for Mika to be concerned.

“I guess I’ll let you know when I land then.”

“Give her a hug from me, Chris,” Mika said with complete sincerity.

“‘Course I will, and Mika?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks, man.”

Mika smiled into the darkness of his bedroom before answering softly, “anytime.”

 *

Chris had never been to England before and he wasn’t afraid to admit that his geography knowledge of the country was somewhat lacking, so to say that this trip was going to be a baptism of fire would have been entirely accurate. He was a confident enough driver, if he were to say so himself, but he’d have been a big fat liar (to put it in Rosie’s words) if he didn’t admit that the prospect of driving the 160 miles from London Heathrow to Exeter, on the wrong side of the road he might add, filled him with a little bit of dread. But if there was a woman worth braving the complete absurdity of a roundabout for, it was Rosie.

He couldn’t help but feel like he was going behind her back a little bit, using the excuse of wanting to send flowers to her as a means to get her parents’ address when he’d spoken to her on the phone the previous morning. He hoped that she would be able to forgive his little deception and see the purity of his intentions behind it, although he did pick up some flowers on the way to her parents’ house from the small hotel he was staying at, wanting to fulfil that part of the bargain at least. His heart thundered in his chest as he turned into a quiet residential street that the GPS was signalling as being his destination. He pulled up outside the house, checking, double checking and triple checking that he had the right address before he shut off the car engine and got out, grabbing the large bouquet of flowers off the back seat. He can’t ever remember a time that his palms were this clammy or where his legs felt like they were about to give way from under him quite like they did at that moment as he walked up the short driveway to the front door.

He rubbed his free hand on the front of his jeans, taking a settling breath before he knocked on the door, unsure of what to expect when it opened. His eyebrows raised in surprise when an older looking gentleman answered, who looked equally surprised to see a slightly dishevelled looking, six foot three stranger on his doorstep.

“Good afternoon, sir,” Chris spoke, thankful that he was at least able to find his strong voice despite the distraction of his heart hammering in his chest.

“Alright there, mate?” the man greeted, with an accent that Chris noted to be far stronger than Rosie’s. “You lost or summat?”

“I hope not,” Chris laughed more out of nerves than anything else. “I’m actually here to see Roseanna.”

He hadn’t meant to sound so unsure of himself, his statement coming out as more of a question and nothing at all like his normal confident self. The older man didn’t seem to pay too much notice to it though, instead breaking into a smile that Chris recognised as being near enough identical to Rosie’s and gestured for him to come inside the house. 

“She’s just got back from walkin’ the dog, I’ll get ‘er for you.”

Chris watched as the man disappeared the short way down the hallway and called Rosie’s name into the kitchen, unable to stop the grin from forming on his face as he heard her voice reply to the man he had assumed to be her father.

“Someone’s ‘ere to see you, love, what? No, I don’t know who he is… maybe one of your university mates,” he turned back to give Chris a friendly nod before adding, “she’ll be right with you.”

Sure enough, no sooner were the words out of his mouth did Rosie appear in the doorway at the end of the hall, all red cheeks and light freckles from the sunshine. She stopped dead in her tracks, her face switching from total surprise at the sight in front of her to overwhelming joy before finally settling on complete disbelief at the realisation that Chris was standing right in front of her in the home she grew up in. Her legs instinctively carried her into his waiting arms, tears starting to fall before she could even register what was happening. Chris was certain that he would never forget the way she held onto him in that moment, with her face buried into his chest and her arms tight around his back.

“What are you doing here?” She finally managed, bringing her teary eyes up to meet Chris’s. “How? When?”

His only response was to kiss her forehead sweetly, holding her against his body like she was about to float away.

“I wanted to be here for you. I know you have your family but, God, it just didn’t feel right to be back in New York.” He stepped back from her a fraction so that he could offer the blooms he was still holding to her. “And I believe I promised you some flowers.”

“I thought you were sorting them with a local florist not travelling across the Atlantic to hand deliver them,” she laughed through her tears, a hand coming up to whack his chest lightly. “You are completely ridiculous, Christopher James Kreider.”

“Anything to see you smile, Ro.”

He kissed her hair before taking her outstretched hand and followed her as she led him into the kitchen to meet her family for the first time.

 *

The next few days had Chris feeling a little bit like a spare part. Rosie and her family were busy with the last minute preparations for the funeral and Chris wished that he could do more to help out but, just like always, Rosie managed to allay his worries and settle his heart by assuring him that his presence alone was enough. They’d spent their free time taking in the sights of South Devon, Rosie relishing the opportunity to show him around the place she grew up and all of her favourite spots. He particularly enjoyed the day they spent down in a place called Torquay, the beauty of the ocean and the way the sun kissed her hair had him feeling bold enough to reach for her hand as they walked along the sea-front while enjoying an ice cream each.

On the day of the funeral, Chris made himself completely indispensable to Rosie and her family, nothing being too much trouble. He held Rosie tightly throughout the ceremony, never once letting her go and whispered words of comfort to her as she said her final goodbyes to the grandmother she loved so much before they exited the church. He stayed by her side throughout the wake at her request. The emotional rawness of the day had her feeling more vulnerable than she would have liked but there was something about the way Chris’s hand rested above her knee as they sat around the table that had her feeling more grounded and centred than she knew she would’ve been had he not been there. It was easy for her to go back to Chris’s hotel with him, the emotions of the day still weighed heavy on her and she couldn’t bear the thought of sleeping alone.

The gravity of those feelings wasn’t lost on Rosie and she knew that sooner or later she’d have to really take a step back and take a good look at her relationship with Chris and what it all meant. It was easier to be dishonest with herself and keep up the pretence that they were just friends because if she let herself think about them being anything else for too long she would feel her chest tighten and hear her heart start to whoosh in her ears. Was it childish? Absolutely, but she’d be damned if she let herself get hurt by a man again. Her self-preservation mechanism had been working like a charm so far and if it wasn’t broken then why fix it? It wasn’t completely infallible though and after two bottles of Chianti and the way the lamplight accentuated the softness in his eyes, Rosie found herself slipping. 

“What’s on your mind?” He whispered, fingers finding her chin to bring her thousand yard stare away from the wall and back to his searching gaze.

“Everything,” she sighed softly. “It’s loud in my head tonight.”

“Is there one thing in particular that you can pick out?”

He took the wine glass that she was cradling and set it down on the table, taking her hands in his and rubbing his thumbs gently across her knuckles.

“Not really, today has just been a lot.”

Chris nodded in understanding, not wanting to pry further and cognizant of the emotional strenuity of the day. Instead he pulled her closer, nestling her into his side and pressing a gentle kiss to her hair.

“I still can’t believe you came all this way for me,” she murmured.

“Why darling,” Chris started, Rosie immediately recognising the quote as being Hemingway. “I don’t live at all when I’m not with you.”

She tilted her head up towards him, her lips impossibly close to his as her fingers danced along the stubble at his jaw and swallowed down the nerves that had lodged in her throat. She closed her eyes, so close to giving in to her heart and letting it win, for better or worse. Chris had been dreaming of this moment though, longing for it with every close call and missed opportunity. This is how it should’ve been at Christmas and all of the team events he’d the delight of having her on his arm, but instead he let himself chicken out, the fear of spooking her and losing her too much to allow himself to take the risk. But now, he had Rosie right there. She was impossibly close and all around him and he knew that if he didn’t take that leap and place his lips on hers, he might never get that chance again and that is what had him brushing his lips lightly across hers, his fingers finding a home amongst the loose copper curls that were glowing like hot coals in the low light of the room.

Instinct took over and had Rosie arching her body into him, her hands reaching up into his hair to muss the short curls. Even with her body pressed against his, Chris needed her closer, his big arms looping around her and pulling her into his lap. He kissed her desperately, a kiss to make up for all the kisses they should have already shared and all the words that should have been spoken. It should have terrified him, how easy it was to be with her like this and how easy the push and pull of it was, neither taking more than they were giving in the moment. This was what Boris Pasternak meant when he said ‘you and I, it’s as though we have been taught to kiss in heaven and sent to Earth together to see if we know what we were taught., Chris was sure of it because nothing could compare to how Rosie’s lips felt against his and the feeling of her hands on his skin. Her kiss was heaven and her eyes felt like home and Chris knew in that moment that he needed all of her.

As he carried her to bed, Rosie thought about how right being in his arms felt. It was a strong sense of belonging that she couldn’t ever remember having with anyone else - ‘whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same’, she thought. He spoke her name against her ear like a prayer, all the love and want for her conveyed in one simple word while he removed her dress with tender hands. Her body was laid on display for him like a canvas, his mouth was the paintbrush and Chris knew that he wanted to spend the rest of his life painting a masterpiece onto her skin with his lips.

They moved together between the sheets as sure as the gentle waves that lap against the shore, her hands never feeling more at home than they did running up his back and over his shoulders before settling against the broad plains of his chest. Her every breath and every moan sounded like an aria to his ears and his name tumbling from her lips with every thrust of his hips was met with a moan of hers. He thought she could never look as good as she did underneath him, blooming like a rose, until he found himself on his back with her above him, her hair falling around them both like a curtain and her mouth panting against his as she rolled her hips. His hands made a home at the dip of her waist, guiding her in her movements but never taking the reins from her, giving her the control they both knew she needed in the moment.

It was intuitive, really, the way she was rocking her hips into his and the steady build of pressure in her stomach had her chanting Chris’s name like an incantation. He saw on her face the exact moment that the coil snapped, moaning as she fluttered and tightened around him and brought his hips up to meet hers as she rode the wave of her orgasm.

“I’m with you,” he murmured against her neck.

“Please, Chris. I need you.”

“I’ve got you, Ro. I’ve got you.”

She turned her face to meet his lips in a deep kiss, Chris moaning into her mouth as he spilled inside of her with stuttering hips. Rosie let out a contented sigh as she kissed him through his release, her chest pressed against his and her fingers playing with whatever ends of his hair she could reach. They stayed that way long after he’d gone soft inside of her, content to just bask in the afterglow of the moment as Chris’s fingers traced up and down her back. Rosie knew that she needed to have a frank discussion with Chris about her feelings but now didn’t seem like the right time for that. The sudden realisation that things would never be the same and that there was no going back to the way things were after this embedded itself like a seed, but Rosie let herself surrender to the feeling of safety and security Chris’s arms offered her before it could take root. She nestled herself against his side, her head resting on his chest with her eyes closed, and let his heartbeat be the gentle lullaby to lead her into the beautiful twilight.

 *

Chris awoke to the feeling of Rosie snug and secure within his arms, a peaceful look resting on her features that gave her an angelic quality. He let his mind wander to the night before and allowed the love he felt for her run wild through his veins and fill every corner of his mind, body and soul. For so long it had just been him and hockey, never subscribing to the idea that a person needed a relationship to be complete. But as he looked down and saw his entire world resting within his arms, he realised that he had been right all along. It wasn’t a relationship that made a person complete. It was love. That all-consuming wildfire that burns everything else away until there is nothing left but a new-beginning. He remembered the quote from Corelli that Rosie loved so much and felt everything fall into place. He felt like he’d waited a million years for this feeling and now that he felt it consume him like wildfire, he knew that he would have waited a million more, just as long as he had the privilege of being hers. It was surrendering all that he had ever been for everything that she was, for every kiss and every touch. Her love was his turning page and loving her was the greatest and best thing that he would ever do in his life, he was sure of it.

He pressed a tender kiss to her forehead, eyes crinkling with his smile as she stirred.

“Mornin’, sweetheart,” he whispered against her hair. “You sleep okay?”

“Yeah,” she croaked, voice still thick with sleep. “What time is it?”

Chris looked over her shoulder at the clock on the nightstand. “Just gone eight-thirty.”

“Oh, okay.”

She furrowed her brows again, suddenly feeling Chris everywhere as pieces of the night before flooded her consciousness as she fully emerged from sleep and into the waking world. She was naked, she registered, and so was he and she was blindsided by an abrupt awareness that a definite line had been crossed that they could never go back from. It was that recognition of their friendship never being the same again that had her rolling away from Chris without warning. She was out of bed before he could even register what was happening, gathering up her clothes and dressing quickly without as much as a word.

“Rosie?” Chris was sitting up now, a slight waver to his voice as he spoke her name. “What are you doing?”

“I have to go,” she mumbled, an almost robotic edge to her tone that had Chris jumping out of bed and throwing on a pair of sweatpants, already catching up to her racing thoughts without her needing to say another word. He rushed to the door that she was making a beeline for, stepping in front of it and reaching desperately for her hands.

“Don’t do this, Ro… Please, don’t run from this.”

“Chris,” she warned, the emotion sitting dangerously high in her throat and her eyes glossing over with tears.

“What’re you so afraid of? I know you feel it too, Rosie. I know you do.”

“Chris, please,” she tried to brush past him but Chris wouldn’t let this moment slip through his fingers, not this time.

“No, we’re not doin’ this anymore. We’re not gonna spend the rest of our lives pretending that we’re just friends because we’re not, Rosie. I don’t think we have been for a long time- look at me, Ro, please.”

Chris saw the flicker of hesitation cross her face but the desperation in his voice was too much for her to ignore. She brought her eyes up to meet his and saw a fire burning within them that she had never seen before.

“I love you, Rosie. You have to know that by now.”

She shook her head vehemently, the tears she had managed so far to keep at bay finally slipping out and onto her cheeks.

“Don’t,” she whimpered. “Don’t say shit you don’t mean.”

“Who says I don’t mean it?” He brought his hands to cup her face to keep her eyes on him. “You? Do you think I’d travel across an ocean to be here with you now if I didn’t love you?”

Rosie answered only with a sniffle, the feeling of his touch along her skin anchoring her in a moment where she felt like she was drowning in a sea of every repressed emotion and feeling from the last eighteen months.

“But what if this doesn’t work? What if we’re better as friends?”

“I know you don’t believe that,” he wiped away the tears on her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. “I know that you’ve been hurt before and I know that you’re scared. But you can’t keep holding on to the past, Ro, because if you do you’ll miss out on what’s right in front of you.”

“It’s not the loving you part that’s hard Chris,” she whispered. “It’s admitting to myself that it happened at all that is. I’ve had all these defences that have worked to keep me from getting hurt for so long but it was like you didn’t even see them at all, like they were meant for others while you had your very own door. I’ve spent so long asking myself why that is and come up with nothing. Do you know how terrifying that is?”

He kissed her forehead softly in response before pulling back to look into her eyes, making sure that she saw him, felt him, heard him. “In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”

The corners of Rosie’s mouth quirked up into a smile despite her tears and her doubts, her favourite passage from Pride and Prejudice never sounding as good as it did coming from Chris’s mouth and extinguishing every fear she was holding within her heart. She closed her eyes and nodded, her lips connecting with his in a kiss that could’ve stopped the world from turning. She gave herself to him completely and surrendered to the overwhelming love that burned within her for him. There were no words that could convey to Chris just how much he meant to her but she hoped that ones from Rupi Kaur would do it justice:

“You might not have been my first love, but you were the love that made all the other loves irrelevant.”

Chris smiled against her mouth and kissed away every fear and worry until there was nothing left but him and her and the love they had for each other.

 *

Life continued much as it had before, a testament really to the relationship that Chris and Rosie already shared and the official label did nothing more than earn them a chorus of “it’s about time” from their friends and had Mika looking incredibly smug for the next few months. The passage of time only served to make their relationship stronger, both able to give themselves completely without the uncertainty of their feelings looming over them or holding them back. Rosie often found herself being struck by the easiness of their relationship and she never once found herself questioning Chris’s commitment to her and what they had. When he asked her how she would feel about ending the lease on her Brooklyn apartment and moving into his place in Manhattan she didn’t have to give it a second thought. Everything about it felt natural and they were both ready to take that next defining step in their relationship. Once Rosie’s belongings and houseplants were moved in, Chris couldn’t help but feel as if they had always been there, like his apartment was finally complete and that it was the home he had always imagined it would eventually be.

Of course, there were bumps in the road, both of them had been on their own for so long that they were set in their ways at first, but their disagreements never lasted long, their shared knack for communication often diffusing the situation before it had chance to grow arms and legs. The adjustment was harder for Chris in some ways, especially when things on the ice weren’t going so well and he would retreat into himself or misdirect his frustrations towards Rosie with a sharper tone than was necessary, but she stood firm, never one to suffer fools and for that Chris was eternally grateful. They complimented each other in ways they couldn’t even have imagined, Chris able to pull Rosie out of her own head when the world weighed heavy on her shoulders and Rosie never afraid to put Chris in his place when he needed it. As the months rolled into years and their love went from strength to strength, Chris knew for certain that she was it for him and there was nothing he wanted more than to start and end the day with Rosie for all of the days to come.

 *

Rosie looked at Chris with confusion as their Uber pulled up outside Westsider Books one early September evening. There was a faint glow of lights inside but it didn’t look as if the shop was open and Rosie couldn’t understand why Chris had brought her here when she was sure they closed at five.

“I didn’t realise this place opened late,” she said as Chris opened her car door and offered his hand to help her out of the car.

“I think it’s just a one-time thing,” he replied as he thanked the driver and closed the door. He placed a hand on the small of Rosie’s back and guided her towards the shop entrance, pushing the door open and gesturing for Rosie to go in ahead of him. Rosie wasn’t exactly sure what she was expecting to find inside, but hundreds of glittering fairy lights, candles and more flowers than she could count wasn’t even on the list.

“Chris?” she breathed, turning to look at him.

“If you were to list your top three favourite books of all time off the top of your head,” he started, wrapping his arms around her waist. “What would they be?”

“Christopher…”

“Come on, Ro,” he grinned, the corners of his eyes crinkling in the way she loved so much. “Just... play along… Please, for me?”

“Alright, well…” she conceded with a gentle sigh. “Off the top of my head I would probably say Captain Corelli’s Mandolin, For Whom the Bell Tolls and Pride and Prejudice.”

Chris’s smile somehow managed to double in size, the soft glow of the string lights and candles had his eyes sparkling like smoky quartz, the lush green flecks that usually lived among the dark bark of his irises hidden by the low light. He knew she would say that, of course, knowing her with an intimacy that even after all their years of friendship and the years of loving her still managed to knock him back a bit. He took her hand then, leading her along the aisle before stopping in front of a shelf with a dozen hand-tied sunflowers. He reached out and took a book from the shelf.

“Captain Corelli’s Mandolin by Louis de Bernières,” he murmured, passing the book to Rosie with an easy grin. “Go on, open it.”

He watched as she opened the cover of the book, her face softening at the sight of a delicate pendant necklace nestled between the pages. A small silver fern leaf hung at the end of the thin chain, a nod to the many houseplants she had brought into his home when she moved in that he had playfully grumbled about but in all actuality loved.

“Chris, it’s beautiful.”

He gently took the necklace from her hands and spun Rosie around, draping the chain across her chest and fastening it behind her neck with sure fingers before turning her back to face him, his eyes falling to the pendant that glimmered in the low light of the room.

“It looks gorgeous on you,” he smiled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Right, what was the next book? For Whom the Bell Tolls, right?”

“Chris, what is all this?” Rosie asked softly, taking Chris’s outstretched hand and following him down the next aisle to another shelf. He ignored her question, simply picking up the book and handing it to her.

“I love that you love Hemingway almost as much as I do,” he whispered softly. “Almost. You have no idea how much it means to me that I get to share that enjoyment with you and I want us to keep making memories together and sharing enjoyment of the things we love.” He watched her expectantly, waiting for her to open the book to reveal the piece of paper he’d folded in there. He took the book from her hands so that she could open it.

Rosie’s eyes widened as she read what she realised to be an itinerary for a trip to Europe next summer.

“I’ve only been to a couple of places in Europe,” Chris started. “And I figured who better to show me around than the girl who’s visited near enough every country on that continent?”

Rosie was unable to contain her sniffles by this point, overwhelmed at the thought and preparation that Chris had put in, not only in the trip to Europe, but this whole evening as well. She shook her head gently as she wrapped her arms around him and buried her face into his chest.

“This is too much, Chris, you shouldn’t have.”

He pulled back from her just far enough to get her eyes on his, his face set with an expression that held all the love in the world.

“Ah, ah, there’s still one more book, which if I’m not mistaken is your all-time favourite and you, Roseanna Williams, are worth all the good things in this world.”

Her slung his arm over her shoulders and pulled her into his side as they walked back towards the front of the shop, Rosie gently wiping the tears away from her eyes. Pride and Prejudice sat pride of place in the middle of a small table, the book surrounded by petals. Chris gave her an encouraging look and stepped back as she picked it up, taking a small envelope from out of the book before setting it back down again. Her eyes found her name on the front of the envelope in Chris’s unmistakable handwriting before turning it over in her hands and opening it, pulling out what appeared to be a letter. She took a steadying breath as she began to read.

My dearest Rosie,

There will never be the words to adequately express just how much you mean to me or how grateful I am to have found you. You are everything that I didn’t even know I was searching for, that I didn’t even know I needed.

I never believed in fate, every happy accident is just that. A happy accident. Coincidence. Right place, right time. But you, you have opened my eyes to the idea of pure magic because how can a love like ours be founded on pure coincidence alone? How can a soul yearn for someone they had never met? I know now that the reason I found myself in this very book store on that day you came into my life was because your soul was calling me here.

In you I have everything I’ll ever need. No matter where my career takes me, no matter what lies ahead, as long as I have you I have everything. I love you more than anything else in this world, you have given me a higher purpose and I will spend the rest of my life making you happy if you’ll let me.

All my love, Always

Chris

We would be together and have our books and at night be warm in bed together with the windows open and the stars bright - E. Hemingway.

Rosie closed her eyes and let her tears fall onto her cheeks as she clutched the letter to her chest.

“Chris…”

“I’m gonna need you to open your eyes, babe,” Chris chuckled softly.

Rosie smiled as she allowed her eyes to drift open, her hand immediately coming up to her mouth as she stifled an unexpected sob at the sight of Chris down on one knee in front of her, a ring box open in his hand that looked as if it contained an entire galaxy of glittering stars.

“Ro, I can’t even remember what my life was like without you in it, I didn’t even know that I was in the dark. Until I saw your smile. It was only then that I realised and now I never want to live a single day without the warmth and light of your love. It’s us, babe. It’s always been us and it’s always been you, since the day we met. I didn’t even realise I was waiting for you and now that I have you, everything is as it should be. I love you, Rosie. I’ve always loved you and I would be the happiest and luckiest man on Earth with you as my wife. Marry me, babe?”

Rosie sank slowly to her knees in front of Chris, her hands reaching up and cupping his face as her tears fell. In front of her was a man who had given her everything, who had helped her to let go of the past and right now, he was offering her a future brighter and more wonderful than anything she could’ve ever imagined and never dared to dream she would have.

“Oh god, please tell me those are happy tears.”

She cut him off with a kiss, a kiss that gave Chris his answer without her even needing to say it. She kissed him with everything she had, kissed him with all of the love that coursed through her veins, kissed him until her lungs were gasping for air and she finally had to pull away, resting her forehead against his with her hands stroking along his jaw.

“Yes,” Rosie whispered. “A million times, yes.”

As Chris slid the ring onto Rosie’s finger, he took the opportunity to look into those eyes of hers that he’d grown to love so much. It was there that he saw their future, all of their hopes and dreams and the promise of all the joy in their lives that was to come and as her arms wrapped tightly around him, Chris felt their souls sigh as they folded into one another. Chris couldn’t tell what the future had in store for them both, but no matter where their path together would lead them, it was in her embrace that he found solace and it was in her heart that he found a home.

[fiveisnumber1]

A Villain In The Making - A Timeless Side Piece

For most people today was just a normal Saturday afternoon. They walked about the city, they ran their errands, they just existed. You on the other hand, you sat around in your room anxiously waiting for your friends to return. The academy kids had left a few days ago to go fight some crazy scientist in France named Gustave Eiffel and Sir Reginald even took Vanya with them this time leaving you to yourself. You could recall the day they had left since it was only a few days ago. You were peacefully playing a game of chess with Five when the sound of an alarm started to blare.

“Ugh, another mission?” Five questioned annoyed

This would be the third one in a row that he and his siblings had in the last week. He was getting tired of having to up and leave all the time especially since he only got to see you once you were finished with school during the week. And even then he now had to split his time with you with his six other siblings. This was awful. You saw the disappointed and annoyed look on Five’s face and knew that he didn’t want to go.

“I'm sorry this keeps happening.” 

“This is the third time our chess game has been interrupted by some mission.” Five complained

“Maybe we should try playing checkers next time?” You jokingly suggested

You could see as a smirk start to form upon Five’s face as he replied,

“I don’t think chess is the cause for all these missions.”

“You never know!” You remarked

“There is a chance, however slim, that it might be the cause. That does not change the fact that I don’t want to go.” Five retorted

You opened your mouth about to try and comfort your friend but from down the hall you heard the loud shouts of Sir Reginald demanding his children’s presence. Both you and Five looked in the direction of his voice as he shouted,

“Do you not hear the alarm? Our mission is in Paris children, we must leave at once!”

You and Five looked back at each other, both with wide eyes as you processed what he had just said.

“You’re going all the way to Paris?” You stated aloud “I guess you’re going to be gone for a bit then, huh?”

Five felt his stomach drop. You were right, he was going to be gone for a bit. He didn’t want to leave you here though. He didn’t want to leave you at all. Without really thinking Five took your hands in his and suggested,

“You should come with me- with us.”

“Five as much as I would love to take a trip to Paris in the middle of the school year I cannot.” You explain

“Why not?” He asked

“I hate to be the person to remind you of this but my parents care for me and would think I’m kidnapped, Five.” You explain

“Shit, you’re right.” Five said as he pull his hands from you and began to pace back and forth

“Hey, if it will make you feel better maybe you can do something touristy for me while you’re there.”

“Like what?” he inquires, stopping his pacing

“I don’t know, look for people who you think are like us and then do whatever it looks like those other people are doing.” You elaborate 

“Children your lack of urgency is putting the world in danger!” Reginald shouts once more

You and Five look at each other once more realizing that he needed to go. It wasn’t fun but it was just something the both of you had to deal with given the differences in your upbringing. He was raised to be a “hero” and would have to leave to fight on behalf of the world and you were just some kid who lived across the street and still needed to finished her advanced algebra homework. Letting out sigh you quickly wrapped your friend in a tight hug which he reciprocated. As you held each other you could hear the sounds of his siblings starting to run downstairs and knew it was time for him to go. Parting ways you looked at your friend one more time and encouraged,

“Go kick some ass with your siblings. I’ll be waiting here for you when you get back.”

“I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Five replies, giving you a smile

And with that you watched as he flashed away. You turned back towards the chessboard that you had been playing at with Five only moments ago and sat down in your chair. As you were about to start putting the pieces back in their original spots a voice called out from behind you and asked,

“May I finish this game with you?”

Turning to look at the voice you smiled and said,

“Sure Pogo.”

As Pogo took a seat across from you, he mentioned,

“Just because the children aren’t around does not mean you’re not welcome here Miss (Y/N). This might not be your home but I hope it’s a place where you feel like you can belong.”

“Thank you.”

As you came back into focus you heard the sounds of many people chattering. Looking outside your bedroom window you could see as a crowd started to gather behind barricades across the street at the academy with signs in hand. Dozens of fans of the Umbrella Academy were stood outside the manor to wait and watch for the arrival of their favorite super powered kids. You however were just waiting for you friends to get back so you all could hang out again. Wanting to get out of your room and curious as to what all the fuss looked like in person you decided on heading over to the academy as well.  Walking downstairs you called out to your parents,

“I’m going to go meet up with some friends!”

“Alright, sweetie but be back by 8:30 for dinner and remember the third rule!” Your mom called back

“Uh yeah...I will!” You replied as you quickly hurried out the door rushing over to the academy before you could get caught

Carefully you made your way through the crowd and towards the front of the barricade closest to the house. You looked around at all the people who knew nothing of the reality that your friends were going through. It was crazy what a different world they lived in. As you stood behind the barricade waiting like everyone else for the umbrella academy to show up you felt someone push around you. Looking to the right you saw a kid about your age placing a suitcase down on the ground. He looked around frantically as if trying to find something and you could see that he was dressed up in an academy uniform. Not a good one though. It looked like all the materials were constructed out of tape and paper. You attempted to look away from the weird kid before he noticed but it was too late, you had caught his gaze. Trying to not be weird you quickly commented,

“Uh...hi.”

“Hi! I’m Harold.” He says extending his hand

There was something off about this kid but you couldn’t place it.

“...(Y/N),” You replied slowly shaking it “Nice costume.”

“Oh thanks! I made it myself.” He exclaims

“I can see that.” You comment unimpressed

He must’ve noticed your tone because he followed up with,

“I’ll get a better one soon though!”

You were actually a bit impressed by that. The Umbrella Academy uniforms were custom made so to have an accurate replica created would cost a lot of money.

“Your parents must really love you to pay for a custom made uniform.” You say surprised

The kid looked off to the side for a bit after you had mentioned his parents but when he looked back he explained.

“Oh no, I’m going to get one when I join the academy!”

You blinked a few times in confusion. What did he mean when he joins the academy? It’s not like an after school program you could sign up for free to be a part of. For better or for worse the Umbrella Academy was hand picked. Sir Reginald specifically chose kids who fell under the very rare and odd circumstances such as your friends and yourself. Giving the kid an odd look you questioned,

“Join? Not to be rude kid, but what makes you think you can join?”

“Well I was born on October 1st.” He states

“Yeah so was I, but you don’t see me standing in one of those uniforms.” You retorted

“But you can be! We both probably have powers, Sir Hargreeves just needs to help us find them out!” Harold replied excitedly

God these people really had no clue what life was like behind those walls. They knew nothing of how dull and damaging academy life could be. Centering yourself you placed a hand on the kid next to you’s shoulder as you stated,

“Listen, Gerald right?”

“Harold.” He correct

“Whatever. Having powers has downsides, it is not all sunshine and rainbows. Sometimes it can be painful or frustrating or caused unintended harm to yourself or others when they get out of control.” You continued

Instead of a look of contemplation you watched as his eyes lit up.

“So you do have powers?!” He exclaimed

“I never said that.” You replied trying to get him off that topic “I’m just saying this academy isn’t the gift you think it is. You shouldn’t delude yourself because you’re only going to end up hurt.”

“Well, if you don’t want to be in the Umbrella Academy and hang with the coolest people around then suit yourself but I’m going to be living it up with my to be discovered powers and new siblings.” Harold stated

“Uh huh. Sure you are.” You remarked

“Just wait and you’ll see.” He replied

The two of you then went silent as you stood and waited for the academy to appear at their house. The thing was the Umbrella Academy had just arrived. The car had pulled into the back of the house where I could not been seen by the public. Turning from the front seat to look back at the academy, Reginald narrowed his eyes on Vanya and Five.

“Number Seven go in the house and wait in the parlor. Number Five I want you to spatial jump to the front of the house while your siblings and I drive around the block to the front in the car.” Reginald stated

“Why?” Five questioned

It didn’t make sense for him to be here while everyone else arrived later.

“Panem et circenses. Bread and circuses. The more the people are entertained the less questions they ask. Now go.” Reginald commanded

“Fine.” Five replied

Annoyed, Five spatial jumped out of the car and to the front of the house like he was told to do. With a flash he appeared in the middle of the two barricades filled with people. The crowd looked on with awe and excitement as they saw him there. Forcing a smile for the public Five gave a small wave as he looked around. And then, he saw you and a genuine smile came to his face. Pulling something from his pocket he flashed over to you. You didn’t say anything, unsure of how to interact given in this context you looked like another fan in the crowd. Granted, you were a fan of him and the rest of the academy just not in the same way as everyone else. Making the move to speak first Five asked,

“Can I sign your comic?”

“Oh wow! Yeah!” Harold said as pushed you away

Frantically, he tried to pull a comic from his pocket and hand it to Five. This was one of the things he hated most about having fans, they only cared about what they wanted and would put anyone else in harms way to get that. It was disgusting behavior to begin with but even worse that this kid had pushed you. Unhappy with the fact that he had pushed you out of the way Five looked at the boy upset and curtly replied,

“Not you. I was talking to her.”

You knew he wanted to talk to you but the question he had asked didn’t make sense. You didn’t have a comic on you. Curious as to what he meant you asked,

“What comic?”

“The one in your jacket pocket. Right there.” Five points out

Looking down your saw a rolled up comic in your pocket. Pulling the comic out you unrolled it and noticed that it was completely in french. He had gotten this comic and placed it in your pocket just so he could talk to you. Clever.

“Now how did that get there?” You questioned, a playful smirk on your face

“No clue. So can I sign it?” Five replied

“Sure, you can sign my comic.” You remarked sarcastically

You handed the comic back to Five and watched as he made no attempts to find a pen or marker to actually sign the comic. Instead, he stood there on the other side of the barricade, ignoring the rest of the crowd, and just focusing on you.

“So what have you been up to while we’ve been gone?” Five asked

“School mostly.” You replied

“Anything new happen?” He followed

“The new guy who sits behind me keeps picking on me and pulling at my hair.” You stated

Five could feel an anger start to rise in him. He was only gone a few days and someone had the audacity to pick on his best friend. No. Absolutely not, not on his watch. 

“I can do something about it for you.” He firmly states

“Absolutely not.” You retorted

It was annoying that this kid shows up and thinks he can just bother you but it’s not something you couldn’t handle. You were in the process of going through the proper channels at school but if nothing got resolved you had no qualms about handling it yourself. You did not need Five handing it because you knew his handling was the equivalent of a death sentence even if he didn’t cause serious physical harm. The psychological damage from someone with super powers threatening them would be enough to make that kid regret his own birth. 

Harold looked at the conversation between you and Five, and although he felt there was something different about it, that’s not what mattered to him. You had just told a member of the umbrella academy you DIDN’T want their help.

“What he’s a hero, he can totally help with your bully.” Harold interjected

Five looked towards the kid who had pushed you earlier and who was now trying to tell you what he thought was best. Taking a step closer to the barricade he stared Harold down. Lowering his voice in a steady tone he questioned,

“Why are you talking to her?”

Harold couldn’t see Five’s eyes from behind his mask but he could feel his piercing gaze and the tone in which he spoke felt less like a question and more like a threat.

Seeing what was starting to build you tried to redirect Five’s attention back to you by saying,

“Number Five, he’s another fan just like me, remember?”

Five turned to look back at you, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“Number Five?” He asked, his voice slightly saddened “What did I do?”

“That’s. your. name.” You tried to remind without openly saying anything

It took a moment but Five was able to pick up on the message you were trying to get across and says,

“Oh-uh yeah...Number Five. Thats’s me.”

 “Anyway...” You continued “Did you do anything touristy in Paris?”

“Actually I did.” Five replies cheerfully “I saw a whole bunch of tourists placing these locks on bridges.”

“Interesting. Why?” You asked

“I don’t know but people kept writing them and their friends names on them so I did it too and wrote me and my best friend’s names.” Five explains “Alli- I mean Number Three kept giggling as I did so though which is odd since she did the same thing with Number One.”

“Weird. I’ll-” You catch yourself before finishing “I mean you’ll have to ask her about it then.” 

As Harold watched the two of you talk he felt a little frustrated. He knew that Number Five didn’t really want to talk to him but he needed to find his way into the academy. Trying to interject her said,

“Excuse me Number Five but I really need to talk to you-”

His words were ignored though as someone loudly shouted,

“They're coming! I think I see their car!”

You and Five look towards the street before you looked back to him. You knew that his father didn’t send him out here to talk to you and you worried how he would react if this is what he saw when he showed up. Taking on a more urgent tone you told Five,

“You need to move along, your father will be here any second.”

“I see them! I see the car!” Another person shouted from the crowd

Five stood frozen in place. He knew he needed to move but he also wanted you to come with him. But he couldn’t just drag you with him that would get both of you in trouble but he felt less anxious when you were actually by his side. You knew your best friend and sensing his internal conflict you said,

“Je te verrai à l'intérieur”

Finally looking back from the street, Five can feel his brain and body starting to catch up with each other and really process the situation. Looking at you he quickly replies,

“Á très bientôt”

You give him a small nod acknowledging his statement and Five takes that as his cue to walk away. He’s stopped though when Harold grabs at the sleeve of his jacket exclaiming,

“Wait no!”

With the crowd focused on the arrival of his siblings, Five didn’t want to make a scene. He could flash away but he was concerned the kid would hold on and come through the spatial jump with him. Attempting to just pull his arm away Five stated,

“Get off me kid,”

“No I just need to talk to you!” Harold replied

You were already tired of this kid to begin with but seeing him grab and pull on your friend when he should be keeping his hands to himself was the last straw for you. Placing your hand on top of his you firmly demanded,

“Let go of him. Now.”

Harold refused to let go though and so you were left with no choice. Rapidly, you heated up the molecules of your hand and burned the hand that held onto Five’s sleeve. The kid quickly let go as he saw the dark red burn now on the top of his hand. Looking towards Five you commanded,

“Go.”

And with that Five made his way closer to the entrance of his house. Staring out you with wide eyes, Harold looked between you and the mark on his hand.

“How did you do that?” He questioned shocked

“Do what?” You responded blankly

You had to have had powers. You were born on October 1st and you had just hurt him so he would let go of Five. Maybe you didn’t realize you had them but if you had powers that means he probably did too. Trying to get you to understand he explained

“You burned my hand.”

“No clue what you’re talking about.” You replied

This kid was not going to find out what you could do. Continuing to look at him blankly he saw as the rest of the academy member started to walk towards the house.

“Nevermind. Here come the rest of them, academy life here I come.” He said to himself as he jumped the barricade

You let out a sigh as you realized this wouldn’t end well, and yet you kept watching. He let Ben and Klaus pass him by before grabbing on to Allison’s arm the same way he did for Five.

“Excuse me. I'm your biggest fan.” He said

From behind him you could see Luther approach. And if his body language was any indicator you could tell how pissed he was that this kid was grabbing Allison. Grabbing Harold’s arm firmly, Luther pulls him of Allison and he angrily reprimands, “Hey, hey. You're not supposed to be in here.” “Get back behind the barricade!” Sir Reginald yells at him

You watch as Luther wraps an arm around Allison and walks her towards the house while the crowd’s focus shifts to the incident going on before them. With the crowd distracted, as Diego passes you he gestures for you to follow him. You take a cautionary glance at the crowd and with what seems like the confirmation of no one paying attention you phase through the barricade and quickly follow him towards the academy entrance. Although you thought no one noticed though, Harold did.

“What are you doing?” Reginald demanded

Harold look back from what he had just witnessed and up at Sir Reginald. “It's just...I was born on the same day as the Academy kids. I think I'm like them. I must be. I haven't quite figured out what my power is yet. But maybe with your help, we can find out.” He stuttered “You have no power. You never will have power. Now, go home.” Reginald stated “No, please. Just... I...You have to let me stay. I came all this way. Please don't make me go back.” Harold begged “A little word of advice, my boy. Not everyone in this world can be powerful. Chasing something unattainable is a recipe for a lifetime of disappointment and resentment.” Reginald stated

“No, no! I have to have powers because that girl, she has powers! I just saw it!” Harold exclaimed pointing in your direction

Hearing his words you quickly made yourself invisible before anyone could see you standing with the group. Reginald looked towards the house before looking back at Harold asking,

“What girl?”

The crowd started to laugh hysterically at the antics of the kid before them. He was ridiculous thinking he could join the umbrella academy. Trying to defend himself Harold exclaimed,

“She was just here! She-she disappeared!”

“People don’t just disappear, boy.” Reginald remarked “Now get off my property.”

Tears formed in Harold’s eyes. His heroes were now his worst enemies. They ruined his dreams and they ruined his life. From the stairs of the manor you and the rest of the academy kids watched as Harold grabbed his bag and started to run away. You felt bad for the kid but you also hoped you would never see him again.

[headoverhiddles]

The Romance Of A Yellow Rose - Dr. King Schultz x Reader [Smut]

Words: 5.6k

Synopsis: You and King get married, and celebrate your first night together by consummating the marriage. 

Commissioned by a friend! Enjoy.

Your eyes open on the rugged planes of the Southern state the three of you had found yourselves in. As you roll over to stretch the sleep out of your body, you find a single yellow rose, native to this area. A smile grows on your face. It’s King’s way of saying good morning to you, as it had been for many months.

For years now, you had been tagging along with Schultz and Django. Having attached yourself to their travels three hot summers ago, the two men had become quite fond of your travelling company; King in particular. Over time, your relationship had evolved from a companionship, through friendship, to having romantic feelings for one another. You were the first to admit to them; King hadn’t wanted to say anything, as he still held a fruitless hope that one day he could return you to the pleasantries of the normal life you once knew, before it had been uprooted. But as the months passed, you getting more and more comfortable and (dare he say) suited to the lifestyle of a bounty hunter, it was becoming apparent that you were going nowhere. Not without him, anyway.

Hildy had decided to stay with some friends in the North while the three of you travelled the country on business. Texas Jack, Turkey Creek and Jack’s wife Camarilla were more than happy to keep her with them. It had put Django at ease at least, knowing they had one less person they had to worry about with them catching a bullet. Hildy was even teaching Camarilla different things she had learned over the years at their home, and the four were getting on fine from what Django took from her letters to him. King wished you had enough sense to stay with them, but where the older bounty hunter went, you went. You had made that quite clear.

Today, a warm day in mid October, you, King and Django were headed to visit a plantation in Conroe, Texas. There an outlaw by the name of Amos “Sly Eye” Little had been posing as an overseer for 3 months, flying under the radar on the small eastern Texan plantation. He wasn’t a particularly dangerous outlaw, only wanted for his habit of skipping out on poker games before paying up. Three months ago, he ended up double crossing the wrong man which led to legal involvement, and now to deter trouble in peaceful towns he was wanted dead or alive by the state. King and Django had discovered upon visiting this plantation that the family who owned it had been dodging the law for a while as well.

After the slaves had been freed by King and Django, this outlaw family just so happened to get in the way of a few bullets. The last man left alive on the property is now Amos.

“Back here!” you call. King dashes toward you, swiping you out of the way as a bullet whizzes by your ear. You sit in shock for a moment, King’s arm still around you. For a man who isn’t very dangerous, this Amos sure is trigger happy.

“Django!” King shouts, but his partner is already far ahead in pursuit. “Never listens,” the doctor mutters, loading his shotgun and aiming. You watch as Django dodges a couple more of the outlaw’s bullets before grabbing Amos by his collar, lifting him up a few feet. The man tries to scramble for his gun, but Django of course is faster. Just as he’s about to fire at close range, King clucks his tongue, looking through his target. “Bullseye.” Your eyes shut briefly as the snap of the bullet leaving the gun jolts you closer to the older man. He pulls you out of sight once more as the bullet hits Amos through the side of his head, out the other side in a bloody deluge. Django jerks his head up your direction, dropping the corpse into the carnage at his feet.

“I was handling it!” he mutters.

King comes out from behind the tree, helping you up with one hand. You brush off your pants as you both approach the other man. “You were being hasty again,” King says.

“I was handling it,” Django insists with a look. You two nudge arms amiably, and King gives you a disapproving look.

“You are encouraging him.” He turns to Django. “And you’re encouraging her.”

“What’s wrong with a little congratulations?” you giggle. “You got your dead cowboy.”

“I would trade a thousand dead cowboys to keep both of you alive. You’re the best things that have ever happened to me, do you know that?” King gives you a meaningful look, before brushing off Django’s jacket and squeezing your hand. “Forget this place. We’d better get the horses and get out of here.”

Taking the initiative, you go off in search of Tony, Fritz and Ida, your mare. Django approaches King, taking off his bloodstained gloves. “You talked to her yet?”

“She doesn’t know, no.” King looks down, nervously stroking one side of his moustache. “I was waiting for the right time.”

“You wait any longer, she’s gonna be burying her husband to be.” King doesn’t bother taking offense—he knows Django is right. He’s much older than you—not one foot in the grave as Django likes to tease, but older. That had been another source of insecurity for him during the burgeoning relationship, but you had made it clear that you didn’t mind; in fact, you liked the difference in age. King’s fellow bounty hunter interrupts his thoughts. “Y’all should get married here. Nice place, no one left in it now.” Schultz looks around the grounds. It is pretty, and it would be nice to marry you in such agreeable weather... but King shakes his head.

“No Django. This place was built on treachery and suffering. It would be not only tasteless, but bad luck to get married here.”

When you three make it to the next town in the state over of Arkansas, something is waiting for King at the inn.

“You Doctor Schultz?” the innkeeper asks, spitting tobacco into a spittoon. King nods, taking out his billfold. The innkeeper sizes him up. “Yep, man who sent this said fella looking like you’d be coming through here. This’s for you.” He takes a letter out from behind the desk in one of the cubbies, and slides it across. King expects it would be from Texas Jack, but it instead it’s from a different friend in the North; a sheriff acquaintance he had written to before about his situation with you. Thanking the man, you all head upstairs, and when King gets to a desk, he slips on his reading glasses.  

 Thought you’d make your way through this here town, Schultz-

Sounds like a hell of a woman, the one you’ve told me about. You softie. Knew you wanted to settle down, and it’s about damn time, too. What the hell are you doing with her down in the South then? She oughtta be up here. Maybe I’m biased, but there’s a lot more law n order up here. Better people too. I am biased, spose.

You asked me what I thought about asking for her hand. Why wait to marry her? Hell, bring her up, we’ll have a ceremony here! I’m not only a sheriff, but an ordained minister too. Bet you didn’t know that. Wouldn’t kill you to ask. Anyway, no reason why I can’t make things look good, clean up the place nice and host your happy union. Got some more birthday cake here too, for someone to eat. Pretty good.

Come on up when you finally convince yourself she won’t say no.

- G. A.

“You got a letter back from Sheriff Snowy Snow?” Django smirks. King stares at the letter in his hands for a long while, before looking up at him with a smile.

He could do it. He could finally ask for your hand.

“Django, my boy. We’re going to Nebraska.” You overhear, and turn back with the bags.

“Up North? What for?”

“To see an old friend of mine, fraulein,” King says, taking the bags from you to carry inside. “Sheriff Gus Arnett.” You smile. It’ll be nice to get out of all this heat and around some likeminded people—people who King can relax and be himself around.

You had all stopped off to pick up Hildy in Boston after travelling by train through the Southern states and switching back to horsepower as you made your way up through the wintery landscape of barren northern land. It was worth it, of course; King and Django had insisted Hildy come too, and you had been happy for female company.

“Has my troublemaker been behaving himself?” is the first thing Hildy asks you, kissing your cheek in greeting.

“About as much as mine has,” you laugh.

“Coming from the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met. It is you who has been the naughty one,” King chastises you right back.

“Maybe one day, you can teach me a lesson for it.” King blushes as Hildy lets out a loud laugh at the connotations of such a taunt. He knows you’re still virginal, waiting for marriage as you’ve told him before. Once united by matrimony, that’s another wall that could be knocked down between you, if you decided you still wished to give yourself to him.

It was no secret you wanted King, and he had made it plain he would wait for you—he’s a gentleman in every sense of the word. Still, men have needs, and some late nights it had been hard. Many evenings by the fire had ended with you in his lap, grinding down as you kissed him with feverish intensity. It had always ended the same way however, with you heading off to sleep alone and leaving him with nothing but his mind to picture what the next hour may have felt like. This time, King feared he wouldn’t last once he finally got to feel you as he’d wanted to for so long. Either way, he had a silver tongue, and experience in the art of pleasuring a woman. He wouldn’t leave you wanting; whatever you needed he would give you.

 Arriving at the snowy lodge some days later, Sheriff Gus Arnett comes out the front door. A couple of minks and rabbits are hanging from the roof over the porch, and two pairs of boots caked with snow are drying outside by a wooden rocking chair that had been collecting frost no doubt since September.  

“King Schultz and Django Freeman, in the flesh! Come on in with your little ladies!” he says, opening his arms. You approach first, and he shakes your hand with the assurance of a man who’s not used to gentle handshakes. “I don’t believe we’ve met, ma’am,” he says softly, “But any friend of King’s is a friend of mine. Especially a friend like you.” He winks at you and smirks over at King, who ushers you in out of the cold quickly. Gus tips his hat at Django and Hildy, closing the door after they come in.

“Like I said,” he sighs, “We got some cake. Y’all want some?”

“Perhaps we wait until after dinner?” Schultz proposes.

“I wouldn’t mind some,” Django speaks up, giving King a look. King just chuckles.

“Go ahead, my boy. I was a dentist, remember. Old habits remain, I suppose. Would you like some, (y/n)?”

“I’ll have the piece you didn’t want,” you tease. You lean closer to him to brush your lips against his ear. “When it comes to you, I want everything.” The former dentist swallows. This proposal couldn’t come at a better time, as things between you two are heating up.

That night after dinner of rabbit stew and some leftover cake for dessert for everyone but your beloved, everyone had retired to bed a few hours after the sun had gone down. In your own room, you set your satchel on the bed of clothing you had been travelling with in the South, and just as you’re about to unpack, a knock at the door distracts you from your task. King slowly pushes the door open—he’s dressed in his white shirt and grey vest, his hair freshly combed back. It seems counterproductive to groom that well before bed, but to be fair, you had never personally witnessed King’s nocturnal habits in a place that allows such a luxury. He offers his arm, and when you take it in curiosity, he leads you out the back porch of the lodge home. The wind isn’t too cold tonight, but he still wraps his arm around you. The mountains are beautiful out here, and the snow has stopped for the night to allow for a crystal clear view of the surrounding landscape, snow white on the bottom and starry black on top.  

“It’s been a while since we’ve been able to sit together like this,” King says. “Just sit and enjoy one another’s company alone. It’s very rare we get time just the two of us without our faithful hero.” You lean into him, resting your head on his shoulder.

“Mm. We’re usually around a campfire, with Django snoring behind us.”

“At least we don’t have any of that to score our evening. I think Django’s gone to bed with Hildy in there.”

“You should be in bed too,” you fret. “I’ve noticed you haven’t been sleeping well.”

“I never have been very good at that. I’m a light sleeper, fraulein. Especially when I have lots on the mind.”

“You know what helps me when I can’t sleep?” You smile. “Something I learned from you.” King turns to look at you, a soft chilly breeze blowing the silver blonde hair from his eyes.

“What’s that?”

“A story.”

King ducks his head, and pulls you closer to him. “I think that would do the trick. Go on then, my love. Will you regale me?”

“I know a story of a deep running love, where a woman slowly developed feelings for one who she learned to depend on.”

“A common story, no?” King teases.

“Shhh. She loved very freely, but this was different. She not only loved this man, but worried about him when he wasn’t around, yearned for him, desired him in ways that drove her crazy sometimes.” King’s breath audibly quickens.

“And what did our heroine do about this tumultuous situation?”

“Oh, she took care of things. But not like she knew he could.” His breath hitches. You bite your lip as you go on. “The two had been together so long... learning one another’s quirks, laughing at little things and sharing moments others wouldn’t understand. They knew what scared them, what made them smile. At the end of the day, she told the man a million times how she adored him. But she was afraid he still didn’t know how much.”

King rubs down your finger, eyes trained on it before looking up at you. “I think I do.” You forget whatever you were going to say next as King rubs his rough fingers over your knuckles, bringing them up to his lips to kiss them. His beard grazes your skin pleasantly as he opens his mouth. “Will you be my wife?” Your heart skips a beat.

“Truly?”

“True as my love for you.”  

“Tomorrow?”

“If you wish.” You lean in to kiss him.

The door bangs open, Gus tosses a pail of water out all over you two. He realizes where you two were sitting, and his eyes widen.

"Gott verdammt."

“Oh, hell. I’m— what are the two of you doing out—?” He can’t even finish his sentence—you’re laughing too hard. King tries to keep up a grumpy facade at the fact that you had both just been drenched in ice water in this weather, but he can’t help it. Your laughter is infectious.

“Please tell me there is enough boiled water for a bath,” he sighs, and you shiver. “For the fraulein, at least.”

Django and Hildy had been up to witness the commotion from the noise of it all, no doubt committing the sight to memory for future teasing. They returned comfortably to bed with one another, which was a comfort you and King couldn’t currently afford in your state.  

You get to work drawing the bath as Gus passes you each pails of hot water. King comes in, shedding his dripping fur coat and tugging at his tie. Your eyes drift down to his chest, then back up to his face. King subsequently tries to distract himself so as not to focus too hard on you. You had stripped down to your slip, which was stuck to every curve of your body from the water. The temperature hadn’t done much to help any other evidence of the cold, around your breasts. He tries not to look too long.

“Would you take me out of this?” you ask. It’s a harmless question, but King’s thoughts run wild. He could simply refuse you, but what reason would he give then? That he couldn’t control himself around you, so close to your wedding night?

“Of course,” he sighs softly, and approaches. He takes the back of the slip and undoes the buttons, helping you pull it over your head. He inches it up, the wet material dragging along your skin. He turns to go as you’re revealed, and to his dismay, you don’t stop him. Only one more night, and he could have all of you.

As you step out of the lodge, it’s as if you’ve stepped out into a painting. A light dusting of snow is falling over you, snowflakes catching in your eyelashes and melting tracks down your cheeks like tears of happiness. King is standing there at the end of the pathway shovelled out, just by the small lake. It’s frozen over, reflecting the light of the moon through every little icicle hanging from the branches of trees hanging over top of it. Mountains soar around the group of you, boasting the most beautiful landscape you’d ever seen.

King takes your hand as you approach. Beside him, you see Django dressed in a handsome green winter’s jacket, black leather gloves pristine. On your side, Broomhilda is wearing a beautiful green dress under layers of a form fitting brown jacket. You’re in a beautiful snow white dress with furs covering your shoulders and a fur hat. King is also wearing his grey fur coat. The two of you join hands, and recite vows.

“I know I’m a considerable number of years older than you,” King tells you softly, “But I promise to make up for this. I promise to protect you with my life, cherish you, and support you in every endeavor you wish to pursue.”

“I will stay by your side no matter what,” you tell him, “I’ll be brave when you can’t be. I’ll be strong when you need me to be. I’ll love you as long as my heart beats, and oppose anyone who tries to take you away.” Kindness in his eyes, King smiles down at you, crow’s feet crinkling. He lifts your hand up to kiss.

“Do you take this man?” the sheriff asks.

“I do.”

“Do you take this little lady?” King sighs out through his nose, thumbs rubbing over your knuckles.

“I certainly do,” he breathes.

“Well hell, you may kiss the bride then!”

When King leans forward, you surprise him by taking a step forward and wrapping your arms around him, deepening the kiss. It lasts for an eternity between you, and when you part, King brushes the snow off your rosy cheeks and presses his lips to your forehead.  

“Ich liebe dich,” he whispers into your hair, and you slide your arms around his middle in embrace.

Inside the bedroom upstairs, a fire crackles in the hearth. The curtains are open to the snowy view outside, and the frost on the glass only makes you savour the warmth inside. King pours you some bourbon, and comes to sit down beside you in front of the fire. As you cuddle into him, he puts a hand on your back and draws you in for a kiss, his beard pleasantly tickling your face. Bourbon forgotten, the kiss deepens, and you feel his tongue slip into your mouth as you part your lips for more. You pull away, smiling.

“Can I ask you something?”

He looks at you. “Of course. What are you thinking about?”

“How does it feel?”

King looks at you. “You will have to be a little more specific.”

“How does it feel to finally consummate a marriage?”

 He stares into the flickering fire. “We don’t have to do it if you’re nervous.”

“I didn’t say that,” you say, crawling over to straddle him. King welcomes you into his lap. “I just wanted to know. You’ll show me?”

“I would love to.”

“You know I’m inexperienced.”

“I do,” King nods.

“Isn’t that undesirable?” King seems offended that you would even suggest such a thing, at the very least ruffled by the idea of it.

“My dear, of course not. Being inexperienced merely means I can show you how to do things.” He hums against your neck, grazing his lips down.

“I’m not completely clueless,” you breathe as you tilt your head back to give him better access. You stand in one smooth movement in front of the fire, leaving King sitting and gazing up at you. “I know what fucking is.” You hear his exhaled breath.

“Yes. I would assume you wouldn’t be entirely in the dark about that.”

“But I’ve never felt it,” you whisper. “I wanna feel it, King.” He doesn’t get a chance to respond. You undo your dress, lace by lace, letting your fingers twine slowly between the hooks. You sigh his name as the corset comes free, recalling how you’d longed for him to do this last night, and you hook the straps of your dress under your thumbs, sliding it down to reveal the slip beneath. You hear his breath hitch, but he doesn’t make a move.

You run your hands down over your ass, letting out a soft noise. You hear him readjust where he’s sitting, and you work now on the cream coloured pants beneath the white gown, sliding them down ever so carefully.

“(y/n),” King whispers.

You let out a moan. “I’ve been wanting to get out of this the entire ceremony just to see how you would look at me, seeing me like this for the first time.” You swing your hips a little, arching your back, and finally wiggle some more as you drop your pants to the floor. King’s breathing is heavier now, and you stretch your arms above your head, sighing again as you let your hair free. “Like I said. I may not have done this before, but I know a lot more than you think I do.”

“I’m not certain I believe that, my feisty little one,” King huffs, averting eye contact. Oh, no. Not tonight he doesn’t. You’re only in your chemise now, and you turn to reveal smooth skin he’s never seen before, bunching the fabric up just enough to give him a peek of the v of your hips.

You can see the visible outline of his hardened cock in his pants, straining against the tight confines and desperate for some kind of relief. You put one leg over his lap to straddle him.

“Touch me?” you whisper, and reach down. He doesn’t stop you, just watches closely as you bring your hands to his pants, untie them, and reach in to take his cock in your hand. He does as you say, returning the touch with his hands up your back, taking the straps of your chemise down. He takes a shallow breath as your fingers come in contact with his warm cock. You grin wickedly, swiping your thumb up to spread his precum around a little. He meets your eyes as you pull him fully out of his pants.

“Oh,” he huffs gently, head falling back a little as you stroke him once.

“Is that good?” you ask softly, pressing a kiss to his ear. “Am I doing it right?” King stutters a little, gasping for air when you swipe over his swollen cockhead again.

“You are doing just fine,” King whispers, lips parting.

“Mmm,” you mumble, pressing a trail of wet kisses down his face and lazily taking his lips between your teeth, leading into a dizzying kiss full of tongue and one another’s slow breath.

“Stop. Wait my love,” King mumbles, stalling your wrist with his hand. You pout.

“What’s wrong?”

He opens his eyes to look at you, pupils blown with lust.  “After a show like that, I am at your complete and ready service, not the other way around. Tell me exactly what you want me to do,” he whispers gently, and you get off of him, lying back on the floor like a princess awaiting a treat.

“Could you pleasure me with your mouth?”

Your cheeks heat, but King nods with a smile, dispelling any nerves you might have for such an intimate display of sensuality. He lays you on the floor, pressing kisses down your neck, over your collarbone and across the top of the soft skin of your breasts. His hands come up to gently hold your hips down as they circle upward—he moves your legs so he can brace himself between them, pressing more kisses down over your stomach to the impressions on your hips he’s left with his fingers.

“I want you to have me,” you whisper. King strokes one hand along your thigh.

“It takes time to discover each and every spot that will make you weak for me, lieb,” he mumbles, mouthing at your panties with a practiced finesse. “Be a good girl now for me. Be patient. There is more to come.” The bounty hunter takes the panties down with deft fingers, sliding the fabric down your legs until you’re bare to him. Your cheeks heat, but he reassures you with a starstruck gaze, looking over your body like a lovesick man. He dips his head back down with a soft kiss to your thigh, reaching up to hold your hips as if he’s predicted your body’s reaction already. He presses a reverent kiss to your clit, and his tongue takes a sweep of your folds, making you quiver as his beard scratches the soft skin of your thighs. His prediction proves correct when your hips jerk up as he gives his first lick between your lips. You reach back to grab the carpet, before deciding instead to grip onto his blonde and silver locks where his mouth works between your legs. It’s a surreal pleasure—unlike anything you’ve felt before, and you want more.

 “Does that feel good?” King asks. All you can do is nod, but he encourages you to tell him exactly how you feel. “Use your words, fraulein.”

“Yes. Don’t stop,” you sigh.

“My good girl.” King dips back down, swirling his tongue around your bud until you’re shaking. Taking care to hold you close to him, he moves himself up until he’s grinding himself against you. “I want nothing more than to be inside of you,” he whispers.

“Take me as you wish then,” you groan.

“Tonight is about you,” he murmurs against your skin.

“I want it.”

Unbuckling himself, he takes his time slowly working a finger inside of you. He adds another and gently curves them up, before gauging your reaction. Going by the desperation in your face, he slowly replaces his fingers with his cock, pausing every inch to check and see if you’re still alright. You can tell how he’s exercising his restraint—you’re so tight, and all he wants to do is take you until both of you are sweaty and screaming, but he must make this last. You can feel him sliding into you, and his hand comes up to hold yours. Your eyes screw shut as he finally bottoms out, and he presses a kiss to your chest. “Tell me when it is okay to move.” You nod.

“Please.” He starts up a slow pace, covering your body with his as he takes his time with you. Too desperate to take the time King might have in mind to teach you patience, you push your lips harder against him, and roll over on top of him. You kiss the bounty hunter, again and again until your lips are swollen and King is painfully hard inside of you.

“Lift up your shirt for me,” he whispers, his voice gentle. “That’s it.”

“Have me,” you mumble.

“What was that?” King asks, “You must use your words if you would like something, hm?”

You blink up at your older lover. “Please take me King,” you raise your voice, and he smiles.

“Hm.” He gives you an affectionate smile. “I have no choice but to oblige my lady love when she asks as nicely as that. Very well. As you wish.”

He pumps in harder, ripping a groan from you. You’d dreamed of what this would feel like, and it turned out better than you had imagined, King’s soft sighs and the rocking of his body against yours heightening every touch he grazes your sensitive skin with.

A moment later, he pulls out and flips you over gently. He then positions himself between your legs and brings his mouth back down between your legs, suckling around your clit again. “King,” you whisper, breath hitching.

“Louder,” he encourages, and goes back to masterfully taking you apart with his tongue. He soon encourages you to sit on his face, and you do, feeling him lick you perfectly as the pleasant feeling of his beard returns to tantalize your skin. He circles your clit with the tip of his tongue as you reach down to touch his cock. It’s a foreign feeling in your hand, but you soon get the hang of the motions, twisting your fist and using his precum to slick your strokes.

“King... don’t stop,” you groan, his tongue delving just barely inside of you. He moves off of your pussy as you moan, and licks his lips.

 “I must admit, I wanted nothing more than to do this all day,” he groans as he moves back up your body, “But I am a gentleman.”

“Too much of one sometimes.”

As if in challenge, he picks up his pace and starts to grunt your name, leaning down every now and then between thrusts to press a kiss to your breastbone as his face scrunches up. You love how uncharacteristically possessive King is getting– it turns you on beyond belief. Your moans grow loud as the bounty hunter’s cock fills you over and over again, satisfying your need for him as your noises blend together into the creak, groan, gasp of making love for the first time.

“K… King…” you groan, breasts bouncing with every thrust. His breath is hot on your neck, and he presses an open mouthed kiss there.

“You are astonishing,” he whispers, “You’re perfect… oh, bitte, bitte Fraulein, you feel so nice… you are my everything.”

“King, just like that, oh god–” you groan, and he makes a noise at your slutty display, reaching up to massage your breasts. You feel your orgasm approach as he continues to touch you, and his hand quickly comes down to rub your clit.

“Ah,” you moan, and clutch his shoulders. King sighs, feeling your pussy squeeze him, and with a stuttered thrust he cums as well, spilling inside you. Soon, you’re crying out his name, and he squeezes your hand tighter as you both finish at the same time, the love you share burning at the height of its passion as your bodies become one. You both rock together to ride out your orgasms until you’re satisfied. Panting breaths mingle as you snuggle close to him.

 “Is that what all the fuss was about?” you tease. King frowns at you, and you laugh into his chest.

“Into bed before I take full offense to your jokes, beloved,” he murmurs. You nod, smiling as he helps you up with one hand and carries you bridal style over to the bed covered in furs for a warm night’s sleep together—finally together. 

"I am lucky I have such a pretty creature warming my bed tonight," he jokes, "A plucked chicken like me should be very grateful." You huff another laugh, rolling over beside him to finally tuck in with your love. 

"I've only ever wanted you. That'll never change, no matter what." You grin. "Tonight only helped solidify that fact." 

"So you are with me for my talents in the bedroom, ah!"

"NO--"

"I understand it now." 

"King!" 

"Shh. Let's sleep now. We will argue like an old married couple in the morning." 

The next day, Hildy and Django are already in the living room of the lodge. Gus is in the kitchen making up some breakfast.

“You look radiant this morning,” Broomhilda says, smile wide.

“Yeah. You do look pretty good. Different,” Django nods, narrowing his eyes as if to try and decipher what could have changed about you. Hildy just rolls her eyes, turning back to you from her own husband.

“So. Where’s your significant other?” You grab yourself a cup for the coffee that’s brewing, settling in across from them at the table.   

“He’s still sleeping. He worked hard last night.” Tucked in the pocket of your nightgown is a single perfect, yellow rose he had saved you from the South, one King had left his new wife to find upon waking.

[alyjojo]

Advice to Work on Yourself 🍎 in September 2022: Taurus

Wheel of Fortune - The Moon - Ace of Cups

Regarding: 4 Swords

In the preshuffle, I saw the part of Peter Pan where the kids were all standing on the clock hand of Big Ben, and saying “second star to the right and straight on till morning”. I haven’t watched that movie in…I can’t even remember how long. The first card out to flip was 6 Cups, normally I don’t pay attention to that either, but it fits the theme. Mercury is retrograde through October 1st, which tends to bring up situations & sometimes people from the past, any area of the past. In your case, I’m getting more of young childhood. For most of you I’m not so much getting a person coming back, as a karmic situation coming up that brings significant understanding to something that once had you in the dark or affected you in some way. The biggest message in your artist card is to take a look in someone else’s mirror. So whatever this situation is, it’s karmic in nature, and you’ll definitely know it when you come across it, because you’ve seen it all play out before somehow, and you’re getting closure.

What this is about will differ. Some of you could be dealing with health related issues, some of you may have lost a job recently. Some of you are putting an end to a cycle of following spontaneous impulses when it comes to relationships vs long term compatibility or stability, it doesn’t have to be romantic in nature. Some of you may be giving up on a business venture based on someone else’s negative experiences & advice (which is a good thing, like a heads up). Whatever situation you’re involved in, or whatever you’re ending and redirecting, it’s because you don’t want a repeat of the same story, someone else’s story. Maybe even your own, from a long time ago. Wheel of Fortune here shows time progression, karma, destiny, and success in starting down a new path. You’re realizing a lot about where you want to go, by realizing where you don’t want to go, and it’s going to turn out well for you no matter what.

The advice is to consider, understand, heal, closure, and release. Not to repeat any cycles, those are over with and you’re on to better things.

Animal Oracle: Pueo (Hawaiian Owl) 🦉

“Your ancestral spirit guides are offering you guidance now, so pay close attention to signs and omens from them.”

You can receive guidance from your ancestors in the spirit world, no matter what their age, when they passed, or how many generations it’s been since they walked the Earth. They’re offering you help in many ways right now, so pay close attention to the signs they’re giving you. These can come from many things, things you see, like animals, hear, feelings, or thoughts. Sometimes they appear in vivid dreams. If something you see or hear triggers a thought of an ancestor, trust that they know that and are there with you. Repetition is key, in whatever ways they’re trying to contact you, it will happen over and over again. Regardless of who they are, always give thanks to them, and always reach out to ask them for help. If they can, they will, or they’ll show you how to.

Artist Oracle: CINDY SHERMAN

- Don’t be yourself. Be yourselves.

- Tell the truth in every fiction.

- Take a good long look in someone else’s mirror.

Advice:

- Learn About Emotional Intelligence

- Help a Worthy Cause

- Move More

Charms:

Key 🔑 on Cindy, especially “take a good look in someone else’s mirror” shows either a personal relationship, story, or experience coming up in your mind for a reason. Whether to warn you of repeated mistakes, providing a sense of understanding, acceptance, and closure, or simply closing a chapter for good and feeling good about doing so. It’s best to look at an experience as an extension of yourself, because you seem to understand where another person is/was coming from.

Four Leaf Clover 🍀 on Wheel of Fortune shows nothing but luck and good fortune coming towards you, and The Moon & 4 Swords show this is all an inner healing process, not necessarily involving another person at all, more of something you know being validated. Spirit sends you messages, memories, even experiences for a reason and that’s the mindset you seem to be in this month. For some of you it’s because of your good fortune that this is even taking place, and there’s an air of humbling yourself to another’s experience. It feels good.

[bandhyukoh]

[Secret Magazine] Yaeji and Oh Hyuk Embrace the Passage of Time

Disclaimer: This interview belongs to Secret Magazine. Find the original source (part 1) here. Part 2 posted by hyukoh updates. Interview by Jeff Ihaza, Fall 2021.

After a meteoric rise within indie and dance music circles, the musician Yaeji found herself within a whirlwind of success. Just before the pandemic hit, she released her debut mixtape What We Drew on XL records. It was poised to send the singer, DJ, and producer on a world tour, soidifying her as one of the biggest new acts around. Then, of course, everything came to a screeching halt. For Yaeji, born Kathy Lee in Queens, New York, it might have been a blessing in disguise. “I needed to pause. I think if I did go on a tour that year, it might’ve depleted my energy and my soul,” she tells me over Zoom. “I came out of this, understanding myself so much better. Which can only help with my music because it is about what I understand. So in a way, I am just grateful.”

Now, after what by today’s standards might seem like a long hiatus, she’s ready to emerge with a distinctly new sound. She recently connected with friend and fellow musician Oh Hyuk for a pair of tracks that feel as liberated as the musician describes herself as these days. “29” and “Year to Year” confront the passage of time with delicate care and confidence. In conversation, the two artists describe making music with intention, and rejecting society’s obsession with youth.

So, talk a little about how you both met and how the collaboration started.

Yaeji: We have a bunch of mutual friends in Korea and, I think for me it was mainly through Dawn and Dasom, who I’ve known for a bit. When Dasom introduced us, I was already familiar with Hyuk’s music. We got to hang out a few times throughout a couple of years before we got into music.

Hyuk: Yeah, that’s how we met.

Were you always thinking about making music together, or did that happen separately from you guys being friends?

Hyuk: It was more out of coincidence. We weren’t planning anything, but after we met a couple of times, it just came out naturally.

What made you feel like it was a good creative match?

Yaeji: I think for me because I’ve always been super particular about who I collaborate with. Honestly, this is the first time I’ve ever collaborated with someone in this way, where it’s from start to finish and the boundaries are blurred of who’s producing, who’s writing, and all of that. I think trust and faith came first for me, just from speaking with Hyuk and getting to know him and knowing that we have all these mutual friends that I love and trust. For me, I felt like we had a lot of similarities as people, and in the way,, we grew up, and things like that. So then the music came more naturally after that.

What was the songwriting process for the two songs?

Yaeji: For “Year To Year,” which came first, I had initially written the demo two years ago, and I played it for Hyuk when I first went over to his place with Dasom. He was like, “It’s cool.” Then I think it was a year or so later that we started writing stuff together. When we got together in person we were like, “should we revisit this?”

For “29,” I specifically wanted to sing about the push and pull of time, and the different ways time feels depending on whether I’m in Korea or America. Then when we were finishing it together, Hyuk wrote the other half of the lyrics, which then became the intro to the track.

Hyuk: For the intro, it was also about time. The importance of age 29 is very prevalent in Korea. So, I thought it would be interesting to focus on that. 29 marks the end of your 20s, it’s like an end of a decade, but it’s also the start of another decade. So that’s what the lyrics also talk about.

Both of you are younger than 29, right?

Yaeji: We’re both 28. Actually, Hyuk turns 28 on his birthday in October. But in Korea, the age system is different. Everyone turns a year older on January 1st and you’re already one when you’re born. So I was always older in Korea by a year or two. I think there are overlapping things between different cultures, like the significance of your 20s, and what it means to enter your 30s, and all these milestones the world tells you to meet before you enter your 30s. So I think it’s just about sitting between all of these thoughts.

Especially since you travel between Korea and the U.S., can you talk about navigating that different sense of time? Do you feel like you have to act more mature in one place over the other?

Yaeji: Not only that, I feel like my family is there, which means I have to click into a slightly different mode. I become a slightly different person when I travel back to Korea. I end up having different dreams. When I talk about these thoughts that I have in the States to my friends in Korea, that’s actually when I feel most liberated and it gives me a new perspective. That’s a big part of why I feel so good right now, and why I’ve been feeling positive about all my shows, and everything going for us. I think it comes from this really special perspective I got from being in Korea more often.

When you guys were writing these songs, were you thinking about coming to peace with aging, coming to peace with leaving your 20s?

Yaeji: Yeah. I think something Hyuk mentioned earlier is that this song is also about diving into our 30s, and with open arms. Receiving our 30s, and looking forward to what’s to come. For me, I wanted it to be a way I can redefine it and own it, and feel comfortable in it. This is a way we’re documenting that uneasy tension of that exact transition that happens. I feel like you hear it in “Year To Year.” Even if you don’t know the lyrics, sonically, I think it feels emotional, but in a happy tears way. With “29,” there’s a back and forth tension happening where it’s really hard and dark, but then it opens up and it’s super joyful. So that’s how it feels.

“29″ is interesting too, because the refrain of, “I got to go, I got to go” is pretty big there. Where did that come from?

Yaeji: Yeah, the lyrics to that came together in 10 minutes. I don’t know. Hyuk made that demo first on his iPad and then we were bumping it, and I immediately was like, “Oh, I know what I want to say.” I don’t know, that’s how it happened, but I guess personally it’s been something I’ve wanted to express because when I wrote those lyrics, I didn’t hold back. I think usually both he and I tend to write more abstract lyrics, more metaphors. But with this one, when I heard the demo, it was mostly percussive. I just felt like there should be no filter on this. I wanted to speak about all the bullshit we had to experience and how I deal with the bullshit, how I’ve learned to move on from it as I grew older. I think as I repeat, “I got to go,” the meaning changes because the first time it’s like, “I got to get the hell out of here.” But then the second half it feels like we’re all going somewhere together, and it’s not as much like running away.

So, you wrote the lyrics, Hyuk?

Hyuk: Yeah. The lyrics for “29” came from childhood. What’s funny is I have a slightly different perception of the meaning of, “I got to go.” For the first half, it’s like, “I got to get the hell out of here,” but for the second half I thought of it as more sarcastic. So all of the melodies and the beats were focused on the sarcastic meaning.

Yaeji: Which I love, I didn’t know this until now. Because there were no guitars or anything when we did the vocals. Then there was another session, and I was showing Hyuk music I was listening to, and there’s this YouTube algorithm hole of Samba drum and bass, Bossanova drum and bass and he was into it, he was like this is what I was thinking of with the demo and then laid down all the guitars. So I didn’t know it was him thinking, “Oh, this is sarcastic.”

Hyuk: It was like a tease.

This is sonically a pretty big departure from the clubby sounds you're known for.

Yaeji: Right before the pandemic hit, I bought my first guitar and it was just an impulse thing. I was thinking about how my dad was in cover bands, playing guitar. So I was just like, I never learned it, but I was just playing with it. Then, serendipitously, the year after, Hyuk and I started making music together. The way he plays the guitar is really different from how I feel like people normally play. There were sounds he was making that made the guitar feel like a totally different instrument, it's more plucky at times and he has crazy pedals. So when we run them through, it just when sounds completely different. Then for me, since I had never mixed guitar before, and I do a lot of mixing in my music, that was really fun. Because it's a completely different palette, completely different frequencies. That got me super excited about it. But obviously, in the subconscious, there is a lot of rock and indie rock music I did listen to growing up. So maybe there's a bit of that as well that I'm reaching back into. But that wasn't as conscious for me.

Hyuk, talk about your approach to playing the guitar.

Hyuk: I first started the guitar because, of all the instruments that I had my hands on, the guitar was the one that I could play the best. That was my first approach to the guitar. For this project, I was familiar with Yaeji's music, even before we started this project, so I tried to match my guitar sounds with Yaeji's music as much as possible. Because normally my guitar sounds would be more on the analog side, and a little bit warm. But for this project, I tried to change the guitar to a more digital style so that it would be a match for Yaeji's music overall.

What drew you to one another's sound?

Yaeji: I think I first discovered, or not first, but definitely, it played a lot because my dad is a huge fan of Hyuk. So either I listened to it in the car or at home, and then I started listening to it separately. I wasn't listening to anything like it because mostly I'm digging for dance music or listening to electronic music. But there's something, I don't know, Hyuk's music changed a lot. So the music that I first heard back then were the biggest hits, it goes straight to your heart, and his voice is unique. I thought the songwriting was beautiful. I had the feeling that he's probably listening to all kinds of stuff, not just band music or rock music, and then it turned out to be true.

Hyuk: When I first heard Yaeji's music, it was very minimal and dynamic. I don't know how to express this, but in Korea, we say that the music has a headline, that's an attention grabber, something that grabs your attention, and pinpoints right into your ear. Yaeji's music has that.

Yaeji: Also, something interesting I've realized with our voices is that when I'm mixing it, I usually have to trim certain frequencies in my voice because of just my mouth shape and how I sing. With Hyuk's vocals, I do the same treatment, I just copy-paste my EQ on there. So I thought that was special and interesting, and possibly why our voices worked well together.

It's so interesting that your dad was a fan. When you guys were recording together, did he come?

Yaeji: He didn't know if that would be weird for Hyuk, right? I think he's a shy guy. But he did come, I didn't tell you this, Hyuk, but he came when you were in the studio. 

Hyuk: Oh really?

Yaeji: You left your pedals and stuff there, and he was like, "Is this Hyuk's?" And he's like, "You think I can touch it?" and I'm like "I mean, I'm sure that's fine." But yeah, he was geeked out about it but he didn't share that with any of us, he held it in.

Is it hard to navigate the creative process when there's the element of fame in the air?

Hyuk: Before I started working with Yaeji, I did most of my work in a studio. But for this project, it was a time to visit the home-recording style that I worked in before I was in a studio. So that was pretty fun because working DIY matches the sound that I usually want. 

Yaeji: When you started, you were just working on your laptop in a dorm room.

Hyuk: Yeah.

Yaeji: So you're familiar with this, but you're revisiting it for the first time in a while, right?

Hyuk: Yeah.

Yaeji: I think both of us were saying that we were finding this process of writing not as inspiring or enjoyable right before we working together. Then through the process, for me, it brought a lot of joy and excitement back. 

Did you learn anything working with Hyuk and seeing someone else navigate a large following?

Yaeji: I guess, when I'm with Hyuk, it just feels like I'm with a homie and I truly forget how famous he is. It's only when we're walking around and then I'm like, "Oh yeah, we should be low key right now." Because people might take pictures, then I'm like, “Oh yeah, I forget.' So yeah. But in our music careers, when I'm thinking about that, I feel like actually when he's touring Europe or the States, we've played at a lot of the same places. So we're received in a similar way out in the West. This was the first time I became friends with a musician that I truly feel like a peer, like an eye-to-eye level. So that was a big part of why this collaboration and friendship was important for me.

Your debut mixtape came out right as the pandemic kicked off. What was it like? What was that transition like for you?

Yaeji: Rough. But we were talking with the label the whole time, because this was my first release on XL. They were like, "Should we just release it?" Because we had set the date. I said, "Lets just release it because this is music I wrote in solitude in my room or at the studio alone. This was me recording my everyday. Right now we're about to be in our rooms alone, spending every day, so I just want to be honest with it." Then there was this long pause, right? Not much happened, and we had a tour for this mixtape that got canceled. So I think the tricky part was that I didn’t know what everyone was thinking about it. I didn't get any reactions, I wasn't able to sing with everyone. But at the same time on a personal level, I needed to pause. I think if I did go on a tour that year, that might've depleted my energy and my soul. A lot of interpersonal things happened that year, but I needed that. I came out of this, understanding myself so much better. Which can only help with my music because it is about what I understand. So in a way, I am just grateful too.

Obviously in the US, K-pop is very much the main conversation. What do you feel like the expectations are from you guys when you tour the West or share music with the West?

Yaeji: Hyuk, do you want to go?

Hyuk: First of all, it's a fact now that K-pop is popular around the world. But in Korea, there are also a lot of other types of music, and genres, but due to the market size, the volume of the market is relatively small. So there aren't many chances for those other genres of music to go outside into the world. It's like the example in Japan, people call Japanese music and genres J-pop as a whole. So that's how the Korean music scene is referred to, just K-pop as a whole. But there are also a lot of genres and good music that would work in the global market, but there are limited chances. So those types of music don't have a chance to meet the global audience yet.

Yaeji on your end, it's almost like you get to occupy both and show something different.

Yaeji: Yeah. It's interesting also who decides to categorize me as K-pop and then who doesn't. It's interesting also looking at my related artists on Spotify, for example, how there are mostly Korean fans. But to the West, it's West-centric, so when they hear music from the East, like say Korea, then it's just easy to be like, "Okay, this is all one thing.' I think, yeah, there's a bit of frustration that comes with it and I mean, Hyuk and I have a lot of thoughts on K-pop. Something that he was talking about was new knowledge for me, how K-pop's precursor was J-pop and how a similar thing had happened to that genre years before. 

In a lot of the earlier press you got, there was a big push to put you in that box of Korean musicians. How do you see that now with some distance? 

Yaeji: Yeah. Well, I guess I have my fair share of frustrations with how ... I mean it's tricky because as musicians we put music out and we have our whole experience with it. But then the people that translate it to listeners are writers and writers often have to categorize music so that listeners can understand it easily or are spoonfed it. I think in the beginning I had to be categorized to go through that whole process. I mean, being called a Korean musician was one thing. But then also being limited to house music producer or at times rapper for some reason was confusing to me. I think it was a learning process for me to understand that this is how it is and that this is how the system is, so let me try to figure out ways around it. I think it's still a thought in progress, but it's interesting because it's like we made this, so ideally we tell our whole story about it. But attention spans are getting shorter, and algorithms are happening, and it's so hard to make my life experience succinct for somebody, but I know it has to happen too.

What are you guys looking forward to in terms of people receiving this music?

Yaeji: Well, we're interested in what the reaction will be here versus in Korea. We were talking about how "Year To Year" has more like Korean lyrics, that's the most obvious difference.

There was a lot of conversation about the fact that you sing in Korean and English. Is that something you still think about?

Yaeji: I think the reason why I switch back and forth is completely different now because in my early interviews, I say how in college I made music in Korean because most of my friends couldn't understand it. So that was a way for me to just sing about what I wanted to, and it's because I was shy about what I wanted to think about. Now, I think I switch between them freely. I'm not more self-conscious, it's just that some things I can say through the Korean language, and there's no other way to say it and vice versa... Hyuk, you sing in English a lot as well, no? I was always curious why.

Hyuk: I didn't write English lyrics to make a global debut or anything. But when making music, some lyrics just come to my mouth that just feel right. This also goes for tracks as well, for certain tracks, the diction and the accent in the Chinese language would feel right, and in other tracks, the smooth flow of the English language would feel right. So there's not a specific reason, but when making music and making tracks, there are some certain language lyrics that feel right for the track and music. Sometimes when I write lyrics in Korean, I feel somewhat bare and a little bit more pressure when I write in I Korean. Sometimes English is also more comfortable when writing lyrics.

What's something both of you learned from the other person while recording together?

Yaeji: Something I've been processing since I came back here is how my outlook on everything has changed. But mainly for my work in music and specifically right now for touring and I realized this because when I was there and not even when we were just making music, like when we were doing the photoshoot or the music video shoot, I saw Hyuk. I looked around and I saw all friends, and it made me realize for the first time that all of these people have come together and are losing sleep and giving their all because they believe in us, and they want us to be able to put our music out in the world with the exact intention that we wanted. It served as a mirror to me and what I have here. Then in the most simple sense, I just became grounded and grateful. So yeah. I don't know how else to put it, honestly. My outlook on everything is so much more optimistic and I'm just so down now, like yeah. It's for playing these festivals, normally I'd be so sad and stressed out and anxious, and I felt so happy and excited. Some things like that to me, I just, every decision I make with Yaeji now, I think Hyuk was able to give me a new perspective on it.

What about you, Hyuk?

Hyuk: Well, first of all, the way Yaeji was very calm and relaxed, that's something I learned from her. Music-wise, the detailed bar-to-bar production approach that Yaeji had was very refreshing and new to me. So I'm really into that production approach these days. Also I became more interested in dance music. So these days I'm trying to work on new dance tracks. So that's also an interesting thing that I learned too.

Kathy, are you going to take him to a rave?

Yaeji: Oh, yeah, for sure. When he comes to Brooklyn, we'll go to a warehouse, 24-hour rave, no sleep.

Hyuk: Sure.

Yaeji: This was like confessions. Because we never tell this to each other, Jeff. You're mediating us, just being honest with each other.

[annabethy]

under the mistletoe, watching the fire glow day 20: childhood

Character A and Character B are estranged childhood best friends,, percabeth,, this is definitely my favorite day

Percy Jackson is seven years old when he falls in love.

He doesn’t know it at the time, or for a long time after that.

When he first meets her on the swings, when she’s sitting by herself, he thinks she looks like a princess. Her curls are pretty and blonde, not a hair out of place. The first thing he really notices, though, is that she looks sad.

Looking back on it, he thinks that maybe that’s why he approached her. Percy was never the kid to step out and make friends first. But she looked like she could use it.

So as he sits next to her on the swings, he asks her, “What’s your name?”

She looks up from where her feet were kicking at the dirt, covering her pretty princess shoes in specks of black and brown. Her eyes are a striking grey – the kind that he could not possibly forget, even at the ripe age of seven. She tells him, “Annabeth,” and doesn’t say another word.

He responds with, “I’m Percy,” and follows her lead, silence settling all around them. He tries again the next day when he finds her sitting by herself on the same swings during recess. Today, she’s in a blue dress, and he tells her that it’s her favorite color.

“Really?” she asks, kicking the dirt again. “My daddy wanted me to wear the pink one.”

“I think the blue one looks better than pink,” he says.

At twelve years old, he thinks that’s when she became his best friend. That wonderfully dull day when the grey clouds rolled overhead on a chilly October day. It was the day the clouds matched her eyes too, he remembers.

It was the day he fell in love.

Percy Jackson is twelve years old when his heart first breaks.

He’s sitting in the grass outside her house, watching her cry. The tears roll down her face, and matching tears roll down his. It’s funny because they do everything together. They experience love and heartbreak and friendship and tears at once, and always together.

Percy and Annabeth, together forever and always.

Or so he thought.

But it’s only a week later that she moves out officially, and he never sees her again. They’d promised to keep in touch, but like all friendships, it always fades. She’s in California, and he’s in New York, and they’re both twelve. So young and wrongfully full of hope. But that was them too. Hopeful and bright, wishing of a future together.

At eighteen years old, he remembers their promise to find each other again. It had been an offhand comment, one that they’d seen in TV shows and movies. If they both turned twenty and weren’t married, then they’d marry each other. Percy can look back on it with a smile, because twenty was so young. So much life yet to come. But they had been ready to marry each other.

Maybe it was them being naïve, or maybe it was them being in love and looking for an excuse to stay by each other’s side.

Percy Jackson is eighteen years old when he gets his first girlfriend. Her name is Rachel, and he thinks that she’s really pretty.

(Not as pretty as Annabeth was, but he doesn’t tell her that.)

(He doesn’t need to. She already knows.)

At twenty-two years old, he now understands that he was always in love with Annabeth. It was rooted so deep inside of him that it made him who he was. There was never any getting over her because she’s what made him him. He was so young when he met her that he was still creating himself and his personality, and when she became a part of his life, she became a part of him.

There’s no one to blame for his failed relationship except himself. Somehow, Percy isn’t too upset anyways because he loved Rachel, but he never loved her the way he loved Annabeth, and he never would.

Percy Jackson is twenty-two years old when his heart aches for her.

There is a girl that looks just like him standing across the street. Or at least he thinks so. He hasn’t actually seen what she looks like because she hadn’t had a phone when she moved, and any forms of social media he’s sure she has now, she didn’t then. He’d lost contact with her entire family too.

But there’s something about her calling to him. She has those beautiful blonde ringlets down her back, not a hair out of place, and she is wearing a blue felt coat that falls to below her knees. Her shoes are white, with specks of black and brown as though she’s been kicking at the dirt, and it brings a smile to his face. Annabeth never did grow out of that habit for as long as he knew her.

Percy crosses the street, but he has no intentions of actually speaking to the stranger. He just needs to get back to his apartment, and she happens to be standing in the way of that. She turns just as he passes by, so he doesn’t get a glimpse of her face, but that’s okay. Millions of people live in New York City, and it is not possible that the one standing before him is her.

But then he is unsure if it’s his imagination when there is a faint, “Annabeth!” called from somewhere along the sidewalk, and she turns to the voice, and he turns to her.

His heart stops. She’s looking at someone else, but he can see the striking grey eyes that match the clouds overhead on this wintery December day, two days before Christmas. It has to be his imagination because she doesn’t move, but then she starts towards the voice, and he hears her name again, and it’s her.

Percy chases after her, weaving through the crowds along the street, and she is so close –

So close –

Percy’s fingers curl around her shoulder without thinking, and she jumps, whirling around, and he catches fear in her eyes that causes him to shrink back.

His voice is stuck in his throat because he is face to face with the girl he fell in love with fifteen years ago, and there is recognition in her eyes.

“Percy?”

“Yeah,” he chokes out.

Then she smiles and laughs, pulling him in for an immediate hug. “Oh my god, Percy.”

His arms wrap snugly around her, and she smells so good, and is as perfect as he remembers. He’s afraid if he opens his eyes, she’s going to disappear. “Open your eyes, silly,” she says.

He tells her truthfully, “I’m scared you’ll disappear if I do.”

She laughs again, a beautiful sound to his ears. Her hand slides into his, thumb rubbing soothingly. “I’m right here.”

So he opens his eyes, and she’s looking earnestly at him. He’s towering over her now, different from when she was taller than him at twelve years old.

“You’re somehow even prettier than I remembered,” he says before he can stop himself. His face blushes suddenly as he realizes what he just said, and he’s about to apologize before she stops him.

“I’d hope so,” she teases. “I was twelve! Braces were not a good look.” “You made them work,” he says, stepping to the side when someone tries to slide by. Everything is suddenly overwhelming, the sounds of cars rushing by and chatter all around, the honking of horns. He spots someone standing over Annabeth’s shoulder patiently. “I’m sorry, am I interrupting something?”

Annabeth shakes her head and motions the girl closer. She’s pretty too, but she doesn’t even begin to hold a flame to Annabeth. “This is my friend Piper. We were just walking around the city for a bit before heading home. Piper, this is my best friend from when I was younger. I told you about Percy?”

Piper makes a sly face at Annabeth, to which Annabeth pointedly ignores. Piper reaches a hand forwards to shake his hand. “How could I not have heard of the famous Percy? She talks about you all the time.”

“I talk about you a healthy amount,” Annabeth corrects. “He was my best friend.”

“The way you speak of him, I would’ve thought you still were.”

Annabeth and Percy lock eyes. “Yeah, well, I guess we just fell out of touch.”

“It’s a shame,” Piper says. “You two would have been cute as husband and wife.”

The statement makes Percy’s heart flutter. “Husband and wife?”

Annabeth rolls her eyes playfully. “I told Piper about our agreement to get married at twenty. I think we may have missed the deadline, though.”

Percy laughs. “I guess we did.”

They fall into a silence, and then Piper says, “I should get going. I’ll leave the two of you to get reacquainted, maybe even married.”

“Yes, thank you, Piper,” Annabeth says.

“I’ll see you at home, love,” she says. “Be safe.”

“I will,” Annabeth answers. They both watch as Piper leaves, and then Percy’s addressing her.

“Home?” he asks. “Where exactly is that now?”

“New York, actually. I moved here for university. I wasn’t sure if you still lived here though.”

“I couldn’t move away from here,” he jokes. “I had to stay put in case you ever decided to come back so you’d know where to find me.”

“I’m not going to lie, Percy. You’re a part of the reason I decided to come back,” she says. She shifts her feet like she wants to say something but doesn’t know if she should. “There’s so much to say I don’t even know where to start.”

And Percy knows exactly what she means. “Why don’t we go back to my place? I can make us some hot chocolate and we can catch up.”

“I’d like that.”

It’s a quick five minutes spent walking before they’re back to his apartment. He opens the door and is immediately overcome with warmth, a drastic change from outside. Annabeth steps inside, kicking off her shoes slowly as she looks around.

“This is a nice place,” she says. “You live alone?”

“Yeah. I tried the roommate thing, but it just didn’t work out. My job pays well enough for it, though.”

“And what is your job?”

“Oh, uh – I work at an aquarium. Nothing too fancy yet, but I do get to play with animals a lot. I’m a marine biologist.”

“I always knew you’d be,” she teases.

“And I always knew you’d be an architect,” he says. “Did that come true?”

“It did, actually. I’ve made it pretty far pretty fast too, and whenever people ask how I did it, I tell them you. You were always the person to cheer me on when we were younger. It helped a lot more than I think you realized.”

“I’m glad.”

They both sit on the couch, close but still far enough to keep a couple of inches between them. He faces her, one leg up on the couch, and she leans into him. It feels comforting, like they’d never been split apart.

Percy suddenly remembers when they were twelve and agreed to marry each other when they reached twenty. It causes him to start laughing, and he’s sure he looks insane.

“You okay?” she asks, amused.

“I’m just remembering – we could be married by now. I mean, obviously we wouldn’t be, but we really said we’d be twenty and marry each other.”

“We really did that,” she agrees.

“I don’t know why we chose twenty,” he admits. “Why not thirty?” He snickers. “We were so young we didn’t even understand that most people aren’t married by twenty, or even done with school.”

She smiles softly. “I knew, Percy.”

“What?”

“I knew twenty was too young to be married.”

“Then why did you agree to it?”

“Because I loved you,” she says. “I thought it was obvious.”

“I loved you too.”

She gives him a look. “It was more than just loving you. I was in love with you, and I wanted a reason to marry you. Even if I was twelve.”

“I’m hurt,” he says, a hand over his heart. But his heart is beating so fast he wouldn’t be surprised if it plops right out of her chest. “You were in love with me?”

“Would you be alright if I said I still was?”

“I’d be more than alright with that,” he says, “considering I’m quite certain I’m still in love with you too.”

She smirks but doesn’t move. “Something’s changed, Percy.”

“What?”

“I can’t read you anymore. I used to be able to tell what you were feeling, but now… I can’t tell if you’re joking.”

“I’m really not,” he assures her. “It’s insane, and probably way too soon to say this after seeing you again, but I would actually drop everything and marry you if you just said yes.”

“I’m tempted to,” she says.

“My mom would be over the moon.”

Annabeth coos. “How is your mom?” “She’s doing well. She had another baby, actually. I have a little sister, Estelle. She’s four now.”

“I’m happy for her.”

“Me too.”

And they’re silent again, but her face is right in front of his, and she may not be able to read him anymore, but he can surely read her.

He wants to kiss her badly because even after ten years, his love has never disappeared. He could live another lifetime and still be head over heels for her. So he whispers, “Can I kiss you?”

And she answers, “Yes.”

It’s everything he could’ve imagined. His breath is taken away, and her lips fit his perfectly. She’s soft and warm, and she’s beautiful and perfect, and now she’s here in his arms.

He pulls away, and when he looks her in the eyes, he sees a burning passion. And he feels it in his stomach too. Because a simple kiss will not make up for lost time. And it’s been ten years, but when a love is as strong as theirs, there is no point in waiting.

It happens fast. Percy’s shirt is pulled over his head, and hers follows soon after. They quickly make their way to his bedroom, and everything happens so fast after that that he is unable to keep up. His heart pounds, brain goes numb, lips swollen with every agonizing kiss she places on him.

It’s heaven and hell, fire and rain, and Percy and Annabeth.

Percy Jackson fell in love at seven years old.

He is twenty-two years old, and that love is finally his.

[passable-talent]

i see z nation in your fandoms... 👁 could i possibly request a 10k x reader in which the reader and 10k have a heart to heart about something or in general have a soft moment? thank you... 💕

thank you @dreepiez, the best ever, for the lovely ask 💕, and for being my best friend and knowing exactly what i felt like writing today. I’m so soft for this boy its not even FUNNY.

Eight months since the world had ended, roughly. All things considered, you’re in a pretty good place- definitely a better one than you’d been in on Day One. 

On Day One, you were absolutely alone in the middle of a national park near your home. You hadn’t known that the god damn zombie apocalypse was about to happen, so you were taking a walk- which wasn’t so unusual for little fifteen year old you. 

You’d been ambushed and chased by Z’s, and managed not to die, but walked away with an extremely broken ankle. 

And, that day, you’d met 10k. 

He was leaving the area late at night when he happened across you, in the truck he couldn’t quite drive. Well, an ally with a broken ankle is better than none at all when facing the zombie apocalypse. 

In the months following, you’d stuck together, becoming strong allies and close friends. You’d trust him with your life, and he you. You were the only person, in fact, who knew his real name. In the eight months since his father died, he hadn’t told a single other soul. 

You weren’t like anyone else. You were there since Day One, you’d never left his side. Even when the two of you were found by a survival group, you stuck together. It was the two of you against the world- no matter how many others offered help, neither of you would ever let your guard down far enough to be without the other. Or, rather, neither of you would ever let your guard down far enough to leave the other alone. 

You hated to admit it, but 10k was the only person that mattered to you. In the darkest of nights, when you laid in a bed that wasn’t yours and stared up at a ceiling so far from the home you’d grown up in, when you wondered if survival was worth it, thoughts of 10k would pull you through. No matter what you had to live through, you could never imagine leaving him alone. You’d stay alive, for him, for as long as you needed to. 

Maybe it was a little sad. You’d only known him for eight months, you really had nothing keeping you friends other than necessity; it’s not exactly like the two of you went to movies together. Still, he was the most important person in your life- the only important person. 

Your parents were gone, you didn’t know where. Your friends, from school, you didn’t even think about checking up on them before skipping town with 10k. There was no one left for you, other than him.

Still, you knew that no matter who you met, you’d always come back to him. It wasn’t like you didn’t get along- he was funny, and kind, and loyal, and, uh..

Well. You’re a teenager. And he looks like that. 

You’d never act on it, even though you know he feels the same. Every time he looked at you, chose to eat sitting next to you, wished you goodnight before passing out on a couch, you knew he felt the same. After all, he was a teenager too. He was easy to read.

It was unspoken, really, how much you cared for each other. Neither of you would never dare to bring it up, no matter how much you felt it. Instead, you just showed it, checking up on each other, keeping each other safe. You rarely even talked- with each other, that is. It was a silent companionship, affection obvious through the way you always sat beside each other, even when there was no reason to. 

It confused a lot of people at this safe camp, especially when you first arrived. Why are they always together, people would say amongst themselves, when they don’t even seem to like each other? 

Little did they know that all of your time alone together was worth far more than the time you spent together in the presence of others. 

Camp New World, as it was called among its survivors, was as safe a place as one could ask for. It was situated on the top of a mountain, right at its peak. In the time before day one, it had been owned by a single family, who built three homes on its peak as the generations passed. There was only one road up to the top, which made security from humans quite simple, and there were straight drop cliffs on all sides except for the road, which made security from Z’s easy enough. It was safe, and had been since the day it was made into a safe haven. 

Thanks to its position on the mountaintop, Camp New World had some spectacular views. And thanks to your age, you and 10k were very rarely sent on missions outside of camp, such things being given to adults rather than the two of you. 

And you did love going on adventures, you always had. The word had been well-soured by this eight month long, horrifying adventure, but sometimes you felt just a bit of that love when you sat back from the edge of the cliff and looked out across the valley. You could see to long-away mountains, turning blue with the horizon, and you could see roads crossing the fields that were once bustling highways. Looking out across a world that didn’t seem so much different than how it had been when you were fifteen, you always had just a little bit more to talk about. And with 10k sitting next to you, you always had someone to talk to. 

You glanced over your shoulder, making sure no one else was nearby the two of you. 

“It almost looks the way it used to,” you said, fixing your eyes on the silhouette of a town that must be miles away. 

“What do you mean?” 10k asked, turning his head slightly toward you, but not looking right at you. 

“All of it, out there,” you said, leaning back just a bit onto your hands. “If I didn’t know better, I wouldn’t know anything was different. The homes are in ruins and the towns deserted and the people scared, but from up here...” you trailed off, giving a light shrug. “You can’t tell.” 

“But you do know better,” 10k said, and this made you look at him. He looked the way he often did- pulled away, reserved. But you knew him better than anyone wandering the earth, dead or otherwise. 

He was comfortable. He was at least happy to be sitting with you instead of splitting wood, as they often asked him to do. He was interested in what you were saying, even if what he brought to the conversation was a little bit of cynicism. 

You looked back across the world, lifting your chin.

“Yeah,” you said, “I do.” Another few minutes passed in silence between the two of you, being serenaded by the October air rattling through the trees that had begun to lose their leaves, and the sound of the raging river far below that was responsible for the steep-cliffed mountain. 

“Still,” you said, “It’s peaceful. I’d be much more scared if I stood down there than I am sitting here.” 

“I’d rather you be here than down there,” he said, choking on his words just after they’d left his mouth. You came to his rescue as best as you could. 

“Well, last time I was down there, I had a broken ankle. I don’t want to be doing that again, either.” 

All too used to it you were, reeling him back from the conversation that neither of you wanted to have. You had to assume that if the situation was different, he’d be a romantic- the way he gave you an extra blanket or let you borrow his jacket made you sure of it. So sometimes, when you were alone, little things would slip out from between his lips, little things that told you just how much he cared for you. 

But caring for someone in this world was dangerous. You both knew it- he, who had had to mercy his own father, and you, who hadn’t seen your parents since the day it began. It was a lesson that held onto the two of you like burrs, hooking and holding deeper every time you tried to pull it away. 

Even though the two of you cared for each other, would die for each other, that little stinging burr kept the two of you from saying it out loud. If it was said out loud, it was real, and that reality would be much more dangerous. 

So you always deflected the attention away from his little confessions. Not maliciously, not to push him away, but to protect you both. It was the least you could do. After all- he’d saved your life, all those months ago. 

You’d returned the favor, of course, a few times. The first being when he drove you back to your home to find your parents, and instead found a Z with its arm stuck to the front door. 

The door was still locked, there was no forced entry, other than this Z on the outside of the front door. But your parents were just... gone. And there was nothing to suggest where they went. 

You scooted a little closer to Tommy, trying to get refuge from the wind. 

“Hey, Tommy,” you began, eyes cast over the edge of the cliff and to the riverbanks far below. “Do you ever think about what would’ve happened if we’d found my parents?” 

He knew how much it stung that you didn’t know what had happened to them. He knew how much it had hurt you to leave your home town and travel to Camp New World, leaving behind the one place you might find them. But you’d been injured, and young, and vulnerable, and you’d had no choice. He knew that it was a particular crack in your heart that was still raw, and likely would be for a long time. 

So he put his arm around you, letting you rest your head on his shoulder.

He still smelled like the cigarette he’d swiped from one of the men around the camp earlier in the day. At one time, you hated the smell of tobacco. Now, it just reminded you of him.

“No,” he said, “I don’t think about things like that.” His first finger drew little shapes on your furthest shoulder, and you let out a breath. “But I guess I would be a little happier if you didn’t have their loss on your shoulders.” 

That one, you’d let him get away with. 

The sun was near setting, the first brushstrokes of orange and yellow beginning to touch the western horizon. The sunsets from Camp New World were almost always spectacular, thanks to the wide expanse of horizon that one could view.

But you turned your head, laying your cheek on his shoulder, closing your eyes. This was the most you ever let your guard down; when you were alone with him, and the world was safe enough, for the moment. 

“I hope they’re dead,” you breathed out, and you felt his arm tighten around you. “So they don’t worry about me the way I worry about them. Is that bad?” 

Slowly, carefully, you felt Tommy lower his head down, resting his temple onto you. 

“No, I don’t think so,” he said, and you pulled one knee closer to you. “And even if it is, I still can’t blame you.” You let out a heavy breath, leaning further into him. 

If it hadn’t been for the zombie apocalypse, you never would have met him. And maybe you wouldn’t choose him over putting the world back to the way it was, but you’d definitely think hard about the decision. He was a bright side to the blackness that the world had become, the only person who kept you alive, who gave you a reason to stay alive. 

In moments like this, in which you sat with him, felt his fingertips run over your arm; in moments like this, all of the pain, the death, the mercy, all of it- it almost felt worth it.

-🦌 Roe