#run the million stairs every weekend in the winter

[anothertimdrakestan]

Damijon Christmas Present!

FOR THE DAMIJON SECRET SANTA I HAD... @nymph-patt

dear nymph:

hi love! i haven’t written in a fat minute and i’m a little rusty so bear with me hehehe. i hope you have a wonderful holiday season! all my love -elle!

I’ve got a fluff christmas fic and a lil headcanon for ya! 

Merry Stress-mas

“You can’t plan Christmas like a battle strategy Dami,” Jon groaned as Damian wheeled a whiteboard into their living room. “Actually, I’ve found it to be quite similar. Pay attention Kent, I know sticking to the plan has never been your strong suit.” Damian’s foot was tapping like crazy, Jon noted his clear anxiousness- needless to say Damian wasn’t the holiday type. Makes it a million times harder when it’s your first Christmas together as a couple. 

*super-couple. 

Jon gasped as Damian flipped the whiteboard like a school teacher, revealing meticulously drawn out plans mapped in expo-marker. “We start with my family, we stay until Jason is ten shots in, after that Christmas always becomes a nightmare so we head out. With your super speed it’ll be only an 14 minutes 37 second trip to your family where we stay for the majority of the night. At the end you rush us back to Gotham to console Dick after Bat-Christmas fails as always. Our emergency word is tyrannosaurus should anything go wrong at the drop we flee. Any questions?” Damian was flying through the plans, pointing at bulleted lists and analyzing possible flaws. 

Jon took a deep breath, a smile creeping over his face. “I didn’t think you’d care so much about our first Christmas together with our families, it’s kind of sweet.” Lazily he reached for Damian, clinging to his back while Dami shook his head, mumbling as he edited the board. “Not really our first Christmas Kent and I definitely do not care about family tt,” Jon didn’t reply, he just smiled into the crook of Damian’s neck.

“Our suits bring down our aerodynamic potential so I’ve taken the liberty of adjusting our arrival time to 15 minutes 43 seconds. Does that sound accurate?” Jon hummed in response as he straightened Damian’s tie, it was already perfect but he’d take any excuse to get closer to Dami. “Ready my love?” Jon glanced at Damian who was checking his watch. “Yes.” Damian responded, absent mindedly clasping Jon’s hand as they made their way to the mansion. 

“DAMI’S HERE!” Steph’s screech announced. She was hanging off the banister as she stole popcorn pieces from the massive tree. “Wonderful- Miss Brown I must ask you don’t eat the decorations tonight, have some festivity,” Alfred shook his head as he made his way to Jon. “Magnificent of you to join us Master Kent, I assume you will also be heading to your family’s festivities as well?” Jon opened his mouth but Damian answered first. “Yes Pennyworth, we plan on just saying for hors devours,” his curt reply brought a knowing smile to Alfred’s lips. “Always planned with you Master Damian,” his accent was playful making Jon chuckle. 

Dick descended the stairs, Damian groaned at his bright green and red striped suit, Jon couldn’t help but laugh either. “Hellllooo super boyfriends! Are-You-Readyyyy-For-Tonight!” Dick practically skipped towards the two, pulling them into a tight hug before Damian could slip away. “We won’t be long Grayson we must attend the Kent family Christmas too,” Damian nodded curtly, shifting closer to Jon who got the message and moved forward into the living room. 

“Actually, where are all the bat-siblings? And where did Steph run off to?” Jon noticed no one was around but Alfred who was preparing something delicious in the kitchen. Dick began chuckling, a devilish smile spreading across his face. “Oh, everyone is down in the batcave. C’mon.” Damian looked taken-aback but Jon was never to shocked by batfamily-antics. 

The two followed Dick to the secret door. “Now, we heard from a little super birdy [Dick winked at Jon who was now openly grinning] that you were a little nervous about having to deal with two Christmas’ this year, so we felt it’d be easier for everyone if we just-” Dick popped open the door to a winter wonderland of a batcave. A large table was put out, filled with their family members. “Merry Christmas!” A chorus of laughter broke out as Damian’s jaw dropped. 

At the table were the batfam, Kents, and even a couple speedsters littered around. All were laughing and smiling at one another. It was the biggest family gathering Jon has seen ever. “No need for crazy plans my love, just enjoy tonight with everyone,” Jon whispered to Damian as he scanned the room. “I- How did you- Thank you,” Damian settled on the last words of praise for the wonderful man who made every single day better. “No need for thanks, I’d get you the world if you wanted it, but for now let’s have a very Merry Christmas!” Jon took off towards his family and Damian would help but feel the corners of his lips betray him with a smile. Heart full he made his way down to his family.

“JASON DO NOT FLIRT WITH KARA SHE’S OFF LIMITS!”

“WALLY DID YOU EAT ALL THE COOKIES ALREADY?”

“BRUCE, CLARK, STOP FIGHTING OVER WHO GOT THE OTHER THE BETTER GIFT. YOU’RE BOTH RICH!”

very merry indeed. 

~

Okay so I haven’t absorbed much batfam content at all for weeks so hopefully my spin on the HC is still cute : )

I don’t think Jon gets enough credit for how observant he is. 

Too often Jon is forgotten, the second super boy, the sidekick, the boyfriend, the man who left everyone for space. 

It’s true, technically. But Jon is so keen at reading those around him, especially the un-readable Damian Wayne that I would argue it’s a super skill in of itself.

He gets it from his mother you know, Superman was always a little dense, but, though no one believes it, he always had Lois to help him out. Too often the quieter, smarter, more analytical side gets forgotten and that’s no different with Jon. His friends don’t see the way he checks up on them, taking in their facial expressions and reading them to know the right thing to say at the right time to help them out. They don’t realize he spent whole days memorizing their heart beats and their breaths to know if they’re ever in peril. And they don’t see the way he looks at them so fondly, beyond grateful they’re in his life.

Lois sees it.

She saw it when Jon met Damian. 

A young boy mesmerized by the wittiness and strength in the human boy. The greatest irony, the Superboy more human than the murder weapon now called “Robin”. But the two hit it off almost instantly- though Damian may not agree to that last bit. 

Lois knew Jon adored Damian, every deep red was “Robin Red” every Wayne Ent. building they walked past brought up stories of his adventures with the youngest Wayne, every Justice League trip meant begging for his dad to send him to Gotham for the weekend while he was out. He was young, but Lois knew a pair of soulmates when she saw them. 

There were these nights when they were teens. Jon would burst out of bed and rush to his mother. He never needed to say anything. There was this look in his eyes, Damian needs me. “Go” she’d always whisper, pressing a quick kiss to his forehead thinking back to when Clark would do the same for her. 

She remembers the frantic December weeks Jon spent toiling on Damian’s Christmas gift. “What do I give a trillionaire who has the world?” Jon would whine and mope around the house for any semblance of inspiration. 

Your heart Jon, all he wants is your love. Lois always thought to herself, she was quite aware of the two boy’s growing infatuation with each other, her husband was always slower in the “feelings” department and if he was slow she imagined Bruce was a damn sloth. So, she let the boys feel safe in her presence. Damian slowly spent more time at her home when Clark was out, she grew to have a sort of friendship with Damian. He’d comment on whatever news article she recently wrote, endure a three second reply and be on his way. She was always astounded at how up to date he was on all her pieces. 

Lois was always proud of the love Jon showed Damian. She’d be the first to tell Bruce he needed to hug his damn kids, but there was a special kind of caring Jon held only for Damian. A love woven only for the two of them. Like an invisible string linking them no matter where in the universe the other was at, there was a friendship, a kindness, a passion, a love.

Overtime, Jon’s analysis of Damian led him to his own feelings. And over an even longer period of time Damian discovered his own. Jon never stopped caring, he never stopped worrying, and he never stopped loving. 

Those, are the parts of Superman that Damian, and the world, need most. 

~

Merry Christmas! <3

[seblos]

there's not a star in heaven that we can't reach - ch 8/10

chapter title: this is the tech rehearsal, and i'm your choreographer

word count: 5,035

[one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine (coming soon)]

read on ao3

“Carlos? Are you awake, mijo?”

Carlos very much wasn’t awake. What high school student genuinely is fully awake on a Monday morning, especially the day after break. If his mom is calling for him though, that could only mean one thing.

He’s late.

“Yes, mamá, I’m up!” he calls back, frantically rolling out of bed. Thankfully, he chooses his outfit the night before so he knows exactly what he’s grabbing in the morning. He zips his backpack, grabs his phone, and does a quick brush through of his hair without looking in the mirror. He probably doesn’t look the best, but half the school most likely won’t even show up, and it’s tech rehearsal today which means no matter how hard he tries he’s gonna be a mess anyway.

“Someone is waiting for you downstairs,” his mom calls up to him again, and he stops in his path. That’s unusual…he usually takes the bus alone in the morning. Who could possibly be waiting for him?

For the first time all morning, Carlos glances at his phone. It’s only 7:00 am; his alarm hasn’t even gone off yet. Which, he imagines, can only mean one person is at the door.

Memories of the weekend flood through his mind as he walks down the stairs, suddenly a lot more awake than he was a moment ago despite being woken up before his alarm. Just as he expected, Seb- his boyfriend, is standing in their living room in front of the door, wearing a knit rainbow winter hat with tassels and a fluffy suede jacket on top of red flannel. It’s the most Seb he’s ever looked, and Carlos practically melts.

“Hi,” Seb breathes, smiling. He goes to hug Carlos before glancing at his mom in the other room. “Does she know?” he asks, voice dropping so she won’t hear.

Carlos shakes his head but squeezes his boyfriend’s hand quickly before his mom can see. “Why are you here?” he asks, though, obviously, he’s not complaining.

“Georgie had to go in early for some club meeting. Usually, I just go with her and stay in the library until school starts, but then I thought I might as well come here and, uh, surprise you,” he says, still smiling at Carlos. “If, uh, that’s okay.”

Carlos squeezes his hand again. “Please. As long as you’re okay with taking the bus.”

He calls goodbye to his mom, reminding her that he’ll be home late because of tech rehearsal before they’re out the door.

The moment the two are out of sight from his house, Carlos takes Seb’s hand before he can second guess himself. His boyfriend (!!! he is never going to get used to that) just smiles again. One of these days, Carlos will tell his mom and then he can do whatever with Seb in the comfort of his own home, but for now, he’ll take their not-so-secret hand-holding.

“This is kind of exciting for me,” Seb admits, laughing softly as they approach his deserted bus stop. “I’ve never taken the bus before!”

“Well, it loses its shine after about the second ride, but I’m excited that you're excited,” Carlos smiles back at him.

A few more people arrive before the bus pulls up. His stop is the last one before the school, so by the time they enter, most of the seats have already been filled. Luckily, there's an empty seat right in the front behind the driver, which Carlos gratefully takes, Seb in tow. Nobody takes a second glance at their conjoined hands.

“So,” Carlos says as the bus begins to trundle down the road towards the school. “How was the rest of your break?” He basically already knows, considering they text just about every day, but it’s still nice to hear Seb talk.

“It was alright, catching up on homework for Mazzara’s class,” (they both rolled their eyes) “and just hanging out with my family. Josie and Cohyn are home from college, which made the house extra chaotic, but it was worth it.”

Carlos smiles at the mention of the older Matthew-Smith siblings. He still has yet to meet any of them besides Georgie and the occasional glance of one of the younger siblings the few times he’s been to Seb’s house. He’s sure it’s only a matter of time before he gets introduced to the rest of them.

The mention of his older siblings reminds Carlos of the night on Ashlyn’s porch, and how Seb has said that Georgie called their relationship months back.

“Did you, um,” he laughs. “Did you talk to Georgie?”

Seb’s eyes light up. “Oh, yeah! She freaked, of course, but, like, in the best way.”

Carlos laughs again. “Should I be afraid?”

“No, I’m pretty sure you’re her favorite, actually,” he laughs as well, and part of Carlos is soaring knowing that.

“Gotcha, so you should be the one who’s afraid.”

Seb shrugs. “I mean, can’t blame her. You’re pretty incredible.”

Carlos can feel his face flushing. He’s hoping he can just blame it on the cold weather before realizing that Seb is blushing as well like he’s looking for the okay that he just said that. So, Carlos gives it to him.

“I don’t know. I think you’re the incredible one.”

Seb ducks his head, not knowing what to say next, but his face still bright red. He opts to just squeeze Carlos’s hand.

Most of the ride passes in silence, Carlos still half waking up and Seb just looking out the window, occasionally glancing over at him or their hands like he’s getting to remind himself that he’s dating Carlos.

It doesn’t feel any different being in a relationship. They’re still them, still the choreographer and the rehearsal pianist, the two boys who danced at Homecoming together. Seb is still one of his closest friends; he supposes dating him doesn’t change any of that except now he gets to brag that his best friend is also his boyfriend. He supposes that’s why they are dating.

Seb is one of the only people to break down the walls Carlos has built up, and while his heart is racing at the thought of it all, for once in his life he isn’t scared.

They have to let go of each other’s hands by the time they get to the school, gathering their backpacks and filing out the cramped space of the bus alley, but as soon as they’re walking into the school, Seb grabs his hand again.

“This okay?” he asks quietly, and Carlos doesn’t know how he’s supposed to make it through the day without holding Seb’s hand.

“You don’t have to ask.”

They walk down the hall together, which is a little nerve-wracking considering they’ve only ever held hands at school when it was after hours, but nobody gives them a second glance. Anyone who stares for a moment just moves on, either not caring or not surprised.

“Do you need to go to your locker?” Carlos asks him. Theirs are relatively near each other, much thanks to alphabetical last name sorting.

“Uh, yeah, I wanted to put my Chemistry textbook before-” he’s cut off as Lou and Addie rush past them, headed towards the auditorium with Ashlyn hot on their heels.

Carlos reaches out and grabs her arm before she can get too far. “Hey, Ash, where are you guys headed?”

Her face drops. “You haven’t heard yet?”

“No…?” he says slowly, glancing at Seb who just shrugs.

“You guys are gonna wanna come see this.”

He and Seb glance at each other again, before following Ashlyn down the hallway.

A million scenarios are running through Carlos’s head as he approaches the auditorium, none of which are positive after hearing Ash’s tone. Was someone hurt? Was the stage okay? The set? The lights? The costumes? Will they still be able to do the show?

What he saw when they reached the back doors so much worse than he could have ever expected.

Water is dripping from the ceiling, falling on burned and crumbled set pieces and costumes. Anything that survived was covered in plastic and almost definitely waterlogged, including the stage. Carlos feels his heart sink the moment he realized even if they cleared the damaged set pieces, the stage was too far gone to perform on.

His fear is confirmed as one of the firefighters informs Miss Jenn that the show, in fact, cannot go on with the stage in this condition.

“The fire ripped through half your costumes and the sprinklers ruined a bunch of your sets,” she tells Miss Jenn. “I’m going to have to red tag the entire backstage area for a month at least.”

There are gasps and sad shuffles behind Carlos as everyone groups up, seeking comfort within the tragedy. Next to him, Seb presses into Carlos, immediately lacing their hands as he blinks back tears.

Behind them, Kourtney lets out a choked “Did she say costumes?” and god, Carlos’s heart hurts.

“Okay, listen up,” Miss Jenn turns to them, and even though Carlos can’t imagine what she possibly can say during this moment, every head turns to listen. “Hug your neighbor, take a moment, and let’s all reconvene in the cafeteria after school to talk about our options. Ricky and Nini, spread the word.”

Nini nods. “Got it.”

“Ricky?”

“Sorry. After school in the cafeteria, got it,” he nods as well.

It’s sort of a concluding moment as everyone realizes they unfortunately still do have to go to class in a few minutes, and the cast and crew slowly begin to trickle out of the theater. Carlos lets go of Seb for a moment to murmur goodbye to Ashlyn, promising to talk to her in History. When he turns back around, Seb is lingering, staring at the stage but his mind is obviously elsewhere.

“Is it dumb,” he says sadly when Carlos approaches again, “that I’m glad the ladder survived?”

His head drops down to Carlos’s shoulder, and Carlos’s body just rakes with despair. His biggest project in shreds, the person he cared about most close to tears… he wonders if, with all the good leading up to this moment, this kind of disaster was bound to happen.

Life never wants to be easy.

—

Carlos doesn’t see Seb again until lunch with him during their fifth period. By that point, the two of them lightened up a bit after getting lost in the waves of Sophomore year schoolwork still circling around them, unrelenting despite theatrical tragedy. Still, the knowledge of their burned theater sat heavily on everyone’s shoulders, and their lunch table was quieter than normal.

“This school seriously needs to work on their vegetarian options,” Seb murmurs, stirring his soup. “I can die happy the day society realizes that not all of us are in love with tofu.”

Carlos lets out a breathy laugh and Natalie leans over to pat him on the shoulder sympathetically. Their cafeteria’s interesting taste in alternate food choices is a conversation they have at least twice a week ever since Carlos joined the table.

He could tell Seb was doing his best to hide it and instead try and cheer everyone else up. He had noticed, at some point, that the other boy always put others in front of his own emotions, making sure they were okay before he was. It was endearing to see how badly he cared, but Carlos knew what hurt looked like on the other boy, knew that he had to be there for him even if he didn’t have the words to make everything okay.

“There’s more to vegetarianism than soup and salads,” Seo thoughtfully reminds them. It’s something Carlos has heard many times before but can never get tired of his boyfriend’s voice.

He results in simply leaning into Seb’s side, ignoring Natalie’s eye-roll towards the two of them, and savors the moment in his day when everything isn’t totally terrible.

—

Carlos does a lot of hugging today. He thinks the entire cast does, to be honest. There isn’t a moment where they see each other and don’t seek comfort, mourning all of the hard work and the potential loss of their show. It’s probably overdramatic to all of the non-theatre kids, but Carlos is too tired to care at this point.

He finds himself hugging Nini and Seb in a sort of prayer-style formation in the cafeteria after school as they wait for Miss Jenn. Even while he and Nini never were quite the best of friends (especially after the “forest of boys” incident) it was nice that they were still able to find some sort of solace in each other.

They break apart from each other, Nini squeezing his shoulder, just as Miss Jenn walks in.

“Okay, guys,” she claps, then pauses. “Wait, where’s Gina?”

Hesitant glances are spared at each other around the room as everyone settles on top and around the cafeteria tables, recalling the phone call they overheard at Ashlyn’s Thanksgiving party.

Ashlyn herself was the one to speak up after a moment. “I think she’s going through a family thing right now.”

Luckily, Miss Jenn brushes it off. “Ok, prayers to our Gina. I’m... really not sure what to say. You've all worked so hard. I’ve seen all of you grow so much,” she pauses, and Carlos feels himself holding his breath as if she’s about to spout a miracle.

Unfortunately, it’s never that easy. “But if we don’t have a theater, we don’t have a show.”

Immediately, a chorus of “what?” and disgruntled murmurs pass around the room as everyone contemplates what that means for the fate of the show. Carlos feels himself turn, letting his hand drop onto Seb’s thigh reassuringly as he looks between EJ and his boyfriend’s concerned expressions.

Carlos turns again, this time to face the drama teacher. “Miss Jenn, we’ve gotta do something,” he pleads.

“I think we… I don’t know. I guess we could consider other venues?” Concerned chatter turns curious as everyone begins to try and brainstorm ideas for where they could possibly move their show on such short timing and essentially no budget.

“Oh, what about the old Kingston downtown?” Ashlyn offers.

Miss Jenn winces. “It’s condemned.”

“The Lucky Ducky Puppet Pavillion?”

“It’s a massive Starbucks now.”

Inspiration hits Carlos like one last glowing star. “How about the El Rey?”

Pride swells in his chest as people point at him excitedly, quickly agreeing to the one possible theater they could actually pull off moving their show to. (Granted, nothing has been performed there in years, but a theater is a theater, right? )

Unfortunately, Miss Jenn is not as thrilled. “Any other ideas?” Carlos pauses from where he’s looking over Seb’s arm at his Google search of the theater, brow furrowing at her tone. “Miss Jenn, I feel like you just had a really weird reaction to what I just said.”

Typically, being blunt with their director is the only way he can get any comprehensible feedback from her.

“Sorry, what did you say?” she replies, eyes wide and uncharacteristically emotionless.

“Carlos was asking if we could try and use the El Rey theater,” Nini supplies for her.

“My Uncle Reuben is the listing agent, and the last thing they had there was a fashion show like, four years ago,” Carlos continues, before walking behind Miss Jenn as he excitedly dials a familiar number.

“Woah, this place has 500 seats!” He hears Seb exclaim, followed by Miss Jenn talking. Carlos isn’t able to concentrate on what she’s saying before the other line picks up, and his uncle greets him.

“Tío Rubén, ¿podemos usar el teatro para nuestro espectáculo?” Carlos asks, mustering up the best Spanish he can.

The response thankfully is a very excited “¡si, si, si!”

“Sounded like a ‘yes’ to me!” Ashlyn raises excitedly, mirroring Carlos’s arms out wide. Everyone around them cheers, and even Miss Jenn seems to brush aside whatever her deal is, accepting defeat.

“The El Rey theater it is!” she announces.

Carlos grins. “Miss Jenn, aren’t you excited?”

“Yes… I am that feeling,” she says quickly, then spins back around to face the rest of the cast and crew. “Wildcats, let's grab all the props and costumes that didn’t get damaged, and let’s loadout!”

It’s obvious she isn’t as excited as everyone else, but Carlos brushes it off in favor of celebrating their not-cancelled show. They’ll deal with Miss Jenn’s problem with the El Rey when they inevitably come to it.

Nini and Kourtney gather all the other juniors and seniors who have their driver's license, making plans with Carlos for transport straight to the other theater. They come up with a plan, car arrangements and all, and head into action.

Before Carlos can get too caught up with the crowd, he finds himself quickly pulled into yet another hug from Seb.

“My boyfriend is a genius,” he says once they pull apart, quiet enough that only the two of them hear. (Not that they’re specifically trying to hide it from anyone at this point, but it’s nice to have moments just shared between the two of them.)

Carlos immediately blushes at the words, not at all used to Seb referring to him as his boyfriend. He ducks his head, biting back the flushed grin threatening to cross his face. “I’m not really. There are only so many theaters in Salt Lake City. It’s just kind of luck, honestly, that my uncle is the listing agent.”

“Still, you scored us an actual theater with, like, lights and sound and an actual stage and audience chairs,” Seb reminds him. “I was fully prepared to suggest my barn, but I was really hoping we wouldn’t get that far.”

Carlos laughs. “The cows could have been part of the audience.”

“Yeah, of course. I’m sure they would totally no t be disruptive or anything,” Seb rolls his eyes, sarcasm heavy in his voice even with the smile adorned on his lips. His eyes drop again, though, as he steps a little closer to Carlos.

“Seriously, though. This has been the best three months of my life, so… Thank you for bringing back the show. I honestly don’t know what I would have done without it, besides lose all my confidence.”

Carlos smiles gently, heart just filled with so much happiness and love compared to before.

“The show won’t end no matter what, I swear. We could probably do it in the gym, everything considered,” he laughs lightly, trying to reassure the other boy. “Besides. The show doesn’t give you confidence. That’s all you, honey.”

(The pet name kind of slips out just like it did at the Thanksgiving party, and Carlos panics for a moment before remembering he’s allowed to do that now. Not to mention Seb’s reaction is just as cute.)

“Yeah,” he nods, then pulls Carlos into one more quick hug before tugging him towards the bomb shelter. “Come on, we have a tech rehearsal to attend.”

—

The transition from East High to the El Rey was surprisingly seamless. In fact, everything about their tech rehearsal was smooth sailing for the most part, minus the absent stage manager and the old tech. It was still a theater, though, and everything leading up so far after the news of the fire, leaving Carlos at least a little bit hopeful for the fate of the show even with the change in location.

Which is why he should have expected it when things got weird.

Carlos was not unfamiliar with subbing in for roles. Typically, if Ricky or Nini was absent for a rehearsal, Gina and EJ would step in like the dutiful understudies they were, leaving an ensemble member or himself to read for their missing roles depending on who was there. More than a few times Carlos ended up reading Ryan’s line outside of private rehearsals with Seb, same with some of the other background boys, even Chad once or twice.

Needless to say, although he wasn’t necessarily the most specialized in acting or singing like some of the members of the cast were, it didn’t mean he couldn’t. It just so happened that out of the three things that make someone a triple threat, he preferred dancing the most out of them.

So when Miss Jenn calls him up to read for Gabriella, he’s unbothered. It wasn’t like he was afraid to act in front of the cast and crew. It wasn’t even acting, anyway. It was just a staged reading for blocking lighting.

At least, that’s what he had assumed.

Carlos knows, realistically, after the incident with EJ in the hallway and Miss Jenn’s director's file that the older boy would have been curious about its contents. Part of him was just hoping that EJ had enough dignity and confidence left to not actually look through the box.

Once EJ started talking, Carlos knew that wasn’t the case.

“Look… I never thought about singing, that’s for sure. Until you,” EJ responds to the cue he gives, more emotional than any high school performance ever needed to be. He never had a problem with overreacting; Carlos immediately knows what EJ had done.

“And now, I don’t want to stop. Ever.”

The more he continued, the lower Carlos’s eyebrows went down his forehead, until he’s tilting his head towards Miss Jenn inquisitively just to make sure he’s not the only one noticing something off.

Miss Jenn mirrors his expression. “That’s excellent… and a little weird,” she tells them, before giving Big Red lighting directions as Carlos turns back towards EJ.

“What is happening right now?” he gestures vaguely into the space between them.

“I’m just emoting, Carlos. Feel free to join me.”

Okay, yeah. He definitely read the file.

“This is the tech rehearsal, and I’m your choreographer,” Carlos reminds him, hoping to give EJ a reality check. Unfortunately, he seems unaffected as Miss Jenn asks them to run the scene again.

Apparently, EJ takes Miss Jenn’s reaction to “emote” even more, to the point where he thinks EJ might actually be crying.

“I never thought about singing, that’s for sure. Until you,” he leans closer, and Carlos leans farther. “And now, I don’t want to stop. Ever.”

The moment EJ reaches out to him, cupping Carlos’s cheek, his fight or flight kicks in. It feels like he’s staring into Carlos’s soul, fake tears rimming in his eyes. (If he wasn’t so incredibly confused, he would have maybe joked about it feeling like a hate crime.) Even as leans back so far it feels like his neck has disappeared into his collar, EJ doesn’t let up. When Miss Jenn finally calls EJ’s name, it feels like he’s going to be the one to cry now.

Their director gestures for him to come over.

“Are you sick?”

The pieces finally fully click in Carlos’s head. “Wait, I know what’s going on here-”

Before he can finish his sentence, a ladder falls over scarily close to him, and everyone flinches as they did earlier with the sandbag at the beginning of rehearsal, and Carlos realizes that maybe everything isn’t going as well as he originally hoped.

—

Carlos doesn’t talk to EJ later, not until Miss Jenn has a full breakdown after the mic check with Kourtney. Ashlyn is sent to talk to her while the rest of them chill out in the hallway.

He finds EJ on the floor with a box of popcorn in his hand that has to be incredibly stale and decides he may as well confront him.

“You looked in the audition files, didn’t you?” he approaches EJ, not even giving the bo a chance to finish the handful of popcorn.

All he gets in response is a muttered “Oh boy.”

Carlos sighs at his confirmed suspicion. “I tried to warn you, those were for Miss Jenn’s eyes only.”

“Not a problem,” EJ stands up. “Because apparently, I don’t have emotions.”

“Sometimes you do have a way of performing that doesn’t exactly feel authentic,” Carlos says as gently as possible the moment he hears EJ’s voice break a little bit. Feeling like you have too many emotions is one thing he’s dealt with more than a couple times; he can’t imagine what it must feel like to be that way and have everyone assume you don’t care at all because you don’t express them the way others do.

EJ wasn’t having it though. “Then what was I just doing on stage?”

“That felt more like an allergic reaction.”

“And what’s authentic to you, Carlos? A forest full of human beings?”

The words cut like ice, worming their way under his skin and confirming his biggest fear that y es, his castmates still think about that and they all think he’s stupid, that his ideas are stupid, even this whole El Rey idea was probably stupid too.

Carlos chooses to ignore the voices in his head. “That concept may need a little bit of time.”

“And so do I.”

The popcorn box is being pushed into his chest as EJ walks off, leaving Carlos wondering how everything could have possibly gone so wrong.

He debates looking for Seb, but he was caught up in conversation with Kourtney. Ashlyn was MIA, and Big Red had come around once to ask for his pizza preference but promptly left as soon as he got it, leaving Carlos on his own with the definitely stale popcorn that he was shoveling into his mouth just to do something with his hands.

Which is why it surprises him when EJ comes back a little bit later.

“Hey, um, it’s been a long time, should we go ask what’s going on?” EJ says slowly, like Carlos is the last person he wants to ask but the first person with all the answers about Miss Jenn.

Unfortunately, it seems more and more these days Carlos never has answers about Miss Jenn.

“She’s having a moment,” he says, unwilling to leave his spot from the floor. “Maybe you can go and ask her.”

“I don’t want to freak her out more with my lifeless eyes.”

Carlos snorts but doesn’t speak.

EJ takes it as his cue to leave. “Anyway, it’s…” he trails off, shaking his head as he goes to walk off, but Carlos jumps up quickly.

“You were right, by the way,” the words tumble out faster than he can stop them, letting out all the frustration and guilt he had been contemplating over the last half hour. “Forest of boys was a mess and coming here was a huge mistake. I have no business taking charge of anything.”

To his surprise, EJ steps closer. “No, you stepped up, dude. You always do. If I’m being honest, it’s…”

“Stupid?” Carlos supplies.

“Admirable.”

It’s not what Carlos is expecting to come from him, and the shock from it makes him stutter for a moment, tilting his back like he’s waiting for EJ to take it back.

“EJ, was… that a compliment?”

“Don’t make me start emoting,” he shakes his head, wincing like he can’t believe himself, but the words stay put.

Carlos just laughs. “Okay. Well, the words were a four but the sentiment was a solid ten.”

EJ laughs, followed by an awkward pause. “I’m gonna walk away now.”

He does, and Carlos stands there for a second trying to process what the heck just happened. His chest is just as tight as it was before, but the tension has left his shoulders a bit and everything feels a little bit less painful.

Just as he sits down once more, another person comes bounding over and drops right next to him. Carlos almost wishes they didn’t, until he realizes who it was

“Tough day?”

“The toughest,” Carlos sighs, and it makes Seb smile a bit as he drops his head down onto Carlos’s shoulder.

“What was EJ talking to you about?”

“Show stuff,” Carlos nearly shrugs, before remembering the weight of the other boy’s head on his shoulder. He gestures vaguely with his opposite hand instead. “Found some stuff out about his audition from Miss Jenn’s show file-”

“-Which is why he was acting weird, gotcha,” Seb finishes for him.

Carlos laughs quietly. “You jealous?”

Seb doesn't answer at first, instead picking up Carlos’s hand where it’s left at his side and traces patterns along his fingertips. Carlos takes it as a cue to keep teasing him.

“I mean, you have to admit, he is attractive,” he nudges. It gets Seb’s attention enough to lift his head off of Carlos’s shoulder, glaring at him with daggers made of cotton candy.

Carlos holds his hands up in defense. “Joking, joking!” he promises, laughing again. “I’m interested in someone else right now.”

Seb hums, laying back down on Carlos’s shoulder. “Who’s that?”

He doesn’t answer, just lacing their fingers together again. “What were you talking to Kourtney about before?”

“Show stuff,” Seb echoes from before, and Carlos rolls his eyes. “I just asked her if she was planning to quit makeup crew and join the show.”

“What’d she say.”

“That she’s not planning on quitting costumes and makeup anytime soon, but she’d be interested in branching out, essentially.”

Carlos hesitates. “Are you jealous of her?”

“Who, Kourtney?”

Carlos nods.

Seb sighs, unlacing their fingers so he can trace Carlos’s hand again. (He’s found it to be calming for Seb, either when he’s tired or nervous. Or both.)

“I’m not jealous. Maybe a little scared, just because I’m sure we have similar dream roles, but it just means competition I wouldn’t mind losing to. I would love to see her perform, you know?” he squeezes Carlos’s hand gently. “Same with you.”

“What about me?” he asks.

“Doing the show. You’re obviously a good dancer, and a good singer, and a good actor. You could easily play a lead,” Seb informs him.

Carlos chews on his lip. “Dunno. I’ve thought about it, but I’m not sure being on stage is my thing.”

“Don’t knock it ‘till you try it,” Seb grins, leaning his head up so he can see Carlos. “I could be your Gabriella.”

“Oh, baby,” Carlos laughs, letting their conjoined hands fall onto his thigh. “I think you already are.”

—

[ptergwen]

starting at the end

warnings: nope

summary: peter takes you to a new year’s eve party

a/n: hey hi i hope everyone’s christmas was lovely if you celebrated! this is gonna be my last post of the year which is so ??? i just want to say thank you for reading my work and in general being so sweet to me always. i really do appreciate all of you and i’ll talk to you next decade! and as always enjoy <3

—

peter is nervous. not that that’s anything he isn’t used to; being nervous is one of his personality traits. but this kind of nervous? it’s different. it’s the kind of nervous he gets only because of you. the amount of butterflies he has right now makes him feel like he’ll burst into millions of tiny pieces the second he sees you. he just really wants tonight to be perfect.

flash is throwing a new year’s eve party, and peter asked you to be his date. he’d been working up the courage for months now to ask you out. what convinced him to finally do it is that it’s the last day of the entire decade. he doesn’t want it to end without you knowing how he feels. now or never situations always give him the push he needs.

peter’s day is spent getting ready. he has may teach him new dance moves, calls ned for last minute tips on flirting, and does his hair the way you like it. you told him once before that his curls are “too pretty to drown them in so much gel,” then used your fingers to fix them. ever since, peter decided that would be his new hair style.

never having been to a new year’s eve party before, he texts you at some point to ask what he should wear. you’re pretty much his personal sylist. he brings you shopping basically every time he goes. it makes him all blushy when you watch him try on clothes, getting him to do a spin in them. peter always thinks the smile on your face is worth it.

you text peter back saying to dress how he usually does and rememeber to be at your apartment at seven, with a smiley face. his heart practically pounds out of his chest when he looks at the time and sees it’s a little past six thirty. your first date is happening so soon.

wanting to wear something you’ll like, peter ends up choosing a blue and white flannel you picked out for him. he throws on the rest of his clothes and shoes, then checks his hair one last time. may hugs peter and asks him tell you hi for her before he leaves to pick you up.

the walk to your apartment doesn’t take too long, which peter loves, except for tonight because he’s freaking out and has to keep wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans. he goes over all ned’s advice while taking the stairs. when he makes it to the front door he’s been through so many times he can’t count, he just stands there. he uses the time to give himself a mental pep talk.

you got this, peter. it’s just y/n.

taking a breath, he knocks on the door. your dad opens it shortly after.

“hi, mr. y/l/n. how are you?” peter shakes the hand your dad extends. they’ve met a few times before. from what peter can tell, he likes him, or at least doesn’t mind him. “i’m good, thanks. how are you?” “i’m good, too. is y/n ready?” your dad glances back into your apartment. “i’ll check. do you want to wait inside?” he gestures for peter to come in. peter nods.

“sure. thank you, sir.” he follows with a small smile. peter hears you listening to a playlist he made you from your room. his smile gets even bigger at that. “y/n? peter is here,” your dad calls from in front of your door. “i’m coming!” the music shuts off, followed by fast footsteps. you spot peter right as you open the door. all of his nerves melt away when you make your way over to him.

you’re one of his best friends, what was there to ever worry about?

“hey!” you open your arms with a grin. peter dips down to give you a hug. “were you just listening to back in black?” “yep.” you tug at the bottom of peter’s flannel. “is this the one we bought you last weekend?” “mhm,” he hums proudly. the exchange makes your dad crack a smile from where he’s watching.

“you look... really good, peter. did you do your hair, too?” you bite your lip. the fact that you noticed makes him happier than probably ever.

“i thought you’d like it.” he offers you his (mostly dry) hand. taking it, you lace your fingers together. it’s not your first time holding hands, but there’s something new about this. a good new. “and you look beautiful, y/n.” “thank you,” you giggle. “we should probably go. wouldn’t wanna keep dj flash waiting.” peter laughs and nods. you turn to face your dad.

“bye! i’ll try not to be back too late.” “have fun, and stay safe! you too, peter. i’ll see you next year.” he waves goodbye. you wave back with your free hand, peter doing the same. the two of you leave your apartment, erupting into another short fit of laughter.

“dad jokes,” you sigh. you’re leading the way down the stairs. “that was nothing compared to the ones may makes. she says hi, by the way.” may is the sweetest. she’s always checking up on you. “aw, tell her i say hi back.” “yeah, of course.” peter gets more comfortable holding hands with you like this, running his thumb along the back of yours. it just feels right.

walking outside and into the windy night, you pull your phone out of your pocket. “flash texted me his address. i can navigate.” you wave your phone around to show peter the screen. “go for it. i have no idea where he even lives,” peter chuckles. you click your tongue at him jokingly. “oh, peter.”

there isn’t much to talk about on the way to flash’s apartment, since you and peter have hung out or facetimed every day of your winter break. the two of you communicate mostly by making weird faces at each other and pointing out random things that you see. as navigator, you also have to stop peter from walking in the wrong direction a couple of times. he doesn’t know where he’d be without you. literally.

it’s obvious which apartment is flash’s without even going inside the building. there’s blasting music and colorful lights showing from where you are. “i don’t know how we’ll ever be able to find flash’s place,” you say sarcastically, peter opening the door. “it’s almost like he doesn’t want us to,” he jokes.

you hold peter’s hand tighter as you two skip up the few flights of stairs it takes to get there. giving each other knowing looks, you both step inside.

“y/n and parker! you’re here!” flash leaves his dj table to greet you. he looks down at your intertwined hands. “guess i won’t be getting a new year’s kiss from you, huh?” your mouth drops open, you pushing flash’s shoulder. “get out of here, flash.” “i would, but i actually live here. gotta go queue up requests. you two lovebirds have fun!” he winks and points at peter before walking away.

“we will,” peter says just to you, laughing at your moment with flash. “he’s so...” “out there?” he finishes your sentence. “that’s one way to describe him.”

taking your other hand, peter tilts his head towards the crowd of people. “dance with me?” “god, yes.” a smile lights up your face as you pull peter further into the room until you two disappear into the crowd. peter twirls himself around you with your hand, wiggling his eyebrows at you. “not bad, peter.”

“thanks. may actually taught me how to dance a little bit.” he’s too pure. you put your arms around peter’s neck and move in closer to him. peter’s arms hug your waist. “really? what other moves did she teach you?”

peter dips you suddenly. you let out a small gasp, your breathing getting heavier as he holds you in place. he looks from your parted lips to your eyes before bringing you back up. “damn. can may give me a lesson sometime?” the two of you laugh breathlessly. peter moves his hands to your hips and sways you both. “if you’re serious, she definitely would.” “i’m so serious.”

you and peter spend so much time jumping around while flash plays the hits of the decade through his speakers. the only time you take a break is for snacks and soda, then it’s right back to dancing and singing along. you never want to leave peter’s arms. he never wants to stop holding you.

as it gets closer to midnight, flash puts on more chill songs. your head is resting on peter’s chest with your arms around his torso. he’s looking down at you, pulling you closer by your waist and moving you side to side slowly. “i’m really happy you asked me to come with you.” “me too.” peter gives you a tired smile.

“i was gonna ask you out myself if you didn’t ask me first.” “you were waiting for me to do it?” “yeah, peter. i like you a lot.” you close your eyes, sighing in content. “i like you even more,” he murmurs and closes his own eyes.

“one minute to midnight!” flash announces before either of you know it. people start scrambling to find who they want to be with when the year ends. you and peter stay right where you are. all you need is each other.

the one thing peter forgot to do was plan if and how he would kiss you. he doesn’t want to freak out and ruin the moment, so he tries to think of what may would tell him. something about not thinking at all. everybody is counting down from ten now, you included. peter just watches you.

“three, two, one, happy new year!” he hears. you’re about to say something, but peter’s lips on yours stop you. you kiss him back instantly, him leaning into it. you both pull back after with huge smiles. even though it didn’t last long, it was everything you’d ever hoped for. “what’s your new year’s resolution?” you yell over the noisemakers and cheers of people around you.

“to ask you to be my girlfriend,” peter surprises himself and you by saying. you take a step back to see him better. “that’s a dumb one.” peter’s nerves come back just like that. did he say the wrong thing? is he moving too fast? like you can read his mind, you peck his lips and hold his hands on your waist.

“resolutions are supposed to be goals you haven’t accomplished already.” he’s pretty much in shock at this point. “are you... are you saying you wanna be my girlfriend?” “i’m saying i really wanna be your girlfriend.” peter kisses you again without a second thought.

who would’ve guessed that the year ending would be the beginning of everything else?

[tirednotflirting]

hold on to the memories, they will hold on to you (and i will hold on to you)

part two to but we were something, don’t you think so?

because I actually cannot stand leaving something too open ended. enjoy.

and if you want it, check it out on ao3 here

It’s a freezing cold, early Tuesday morning when Luke sees Ashton for the first time since the almost (but not quite) meeting at the stoplight at the edge of campus.

(This time it’s been 5 months and 4 days since he last saw Ashton. Back then his hair was longer and his attire was hardly weather appropriate. Luke had been paralyzed by memories and a thousand different what if possibilities, none of which had come true.)

It had been quite a hectic morning up to that point. Luke’s alarm had failed to go off (again) and it's the last day he’ll be meeting for his Advanced Linear Algebra course and it’s pretty vital that he make it to that lecture so he knows what to focus on for the final they’re having the next week. He rushes around the apartment, cursing Calum silently for not waking him. He knows it isn’t his roommate’s responsibility to keep track of Luke’s oversleeping habit but they’ve been living together for two years now and Luke has definitely had to wake Calum up to get to exams on time before. 

He rushes through an augmented version of his morning routine, quickly brushing his teeth and shoving a beanie over his bedhead curls, momentarily thankful for the cold that required something to cover his ears. He trips over himself as he pulls on a pair of jeans while shoving his textbooks and journals into his backpack. On his way out the door, Luke hastily locks it since he isn’t sure if Calum ended up back in his bedroom the night before or if he stayed with Michael again. He skips waiting for the elevator to race down the stairs and out the front door of his complex.

He’s finished running the first block when he feels his phone buzz and he’s already winded so he figures stopping for a quick second to check the message (likely one from Calum if he is home to ask why Luke slammed the front door) wouldn’t hurt. Only the notification wasn’t a text, it was an email from Luke’s professor.

My wife and I caught some bug over the weekend so class today will be canceled. I am sad to miss our last meeting but please feel free to come with any questions to my extended office hours later this week. Attached is the concept guide for the final I planned to go over today. Happy studying.

Luke takes a deep breath in through the nose and imagines the air he can see from the cold after exhaling to be all of the anger he feels at having to rush through the apartment for nothing. He considers for a moment just turning around and getting in some more rest since his next class isn’t until 3. But he’s got the study guide now and he is (unfortunately) awake, so he starts toward the university still but figures he can reward himself for not going back home with a coffee from the shop just off campus. 

Though tired still, Luke walks briskly to the shop since he had only grabbed his cardigan that he leaves hanging by the door since he couldn’t be bothered to hunt around for his coat. Especially so because he’s pretty sure it may still be in the back of Michael’s car anyway. He doesn’t live too far from campus though so soon enough, he’s pushing against the door to enter the warm shop. 

He’s always loved this place. The exposed brick and odd collection of thrift store comfy chairs and tables make the shop look like a scene out of a TV show about college or something and Luke lives for any cheesy college experience he can get. He especially loves it there in the winter, when he knows he can step inside with a bright red nose and immediately be enveloped with a cinnamon scented warmth that the chain places could only ever dream of achieving. 

He steps to the counter and orders one of the seasonal lattes to have in a mug rather than a to go cup and after providing his name and paying the kind, blushing girl at the register, he turns to find a spot to cozy up in for the next few hours.

And that’s when he locks eyes with Ashton.

His hair is shorter and red now, like the color on a candy cane but deeper and it matches the blush currently spread across his cheeks. He’s at one of the bigger tables, surrounded by several textbooks and journals. His glasses sit on the edge of his nose, threatening to fall onto the pages in front of him. The dark sweater he has on is the kind that makes his hazel eyes appear a bit darker around the edges. 

Luke’s attention is briefly drawn away from him when he hears his name called from the counter and he jumps just slightly and before quickly turning to go get the mug, he swears he sees a smirk play at the edges of Ashton’s lips. 

He reaches the counter and thanks the barista and when he turns back, Ashton is standing right in front of him and it takes everything in Luke to not drop the mug of sugary coffee. His momentary observation about Ashton’s eyes is emphasized further now that they stand only a couple feet away from one another, the closest they’ve been physically in nearly 18 months.

“Would you like to join me at my table?” Ashton asks, the words coming out quick but with a tone of hesitation, as though his brain was fighting against his lips on whether or not to ask. 

Luke had imagined a moment almost exactly like this a million different ways. Only recently had he given up on the idea of ever running into him again, of being asked to join him for a meeting that would become another big, Hollywood produced moment in Luke’s memory. However, in every one of those fantasies that Luke had allowed to play out in his mind, he had failed to factor in what it would feel like to hear the forgotten voice of a lost love. He felt like he had been betrayed by his own memories because the voice he had been hearing as he tried to sleep wasn’t the exact tone or depth of what he had just heard again. 

After a moment, Luke releases the breath he hadn’t even realized he had been holding in as he speaks just one word. “Yes.”

He follows Ashton back to the table, letting his bag fall off his shoulder to gently land at the floor and sets his mug down a safe distance from the big, scary law textbooks Ashton has opened up on the table. He takes a seat but keeps his feet tucked below his chair, worried that any direct physical contact might cause a forest fire or something. “Are you already studying for the bar then?”

Ashton’s brows shoot up as he takes his place on the opposite side of the table. “Oh, um yes,” he nods quickly, a faint blush still painted on his cheeks. “I’m taking the exam at the beginning of June but I haven’t taken a look at some of this stuff in ages, you know?”

Luke nods slowly, remembering the times they would lie in bed together after Ashton had been accepted to their university’s law program and Luke would run his fingers up and down his back while listening to Ashton speak excitedly about far off exams and internships. He had told him all about it because Luke was supposed to be there, cheering him on while he read and interpreted case files. A lot had changed. 

He’s pulling his textbook out of his bag and setting it on the table while trying to think of more to say when Ashton speaks first. “Linear Algebra? Were you able to get into Henderson’s course? I know you always talked about him like he was a rock star during registration week.”

Luke’s throat feels dry and he’s wondering if this is all maybe actually a dream. Like maybe he’ll wake up in a few minutes to the alarm he thought he missed this morning and this is all just his subconscious playing a really cruel joke on him. “Yeah, our last lecture was meant to be this morning but he’s sick and,” Luke pauses for a moment and takes another deep breath and sip of his drink and realizes he cannot make small talk with someone who used to be his entire world. “Ashton, what’s going on?”

Ashton licks his lips before opening his mouth as though to respond but Luke cuts him off. “You dumped me with no warning at all because you were worried about making his law thing work and now you’re inviting me to sit with you while you study for the bar and my head is spinning.”

“I miss you.”

“Wha-”

“And I know that’s bullshit and I know it's been like a year and a half and I know that I saw you in the summer and I didn’t say anything and that was probably the worst thing I’ve ever done,” he speaks quickly, something like panic at the edge of his words. “I let my insecurity get the best of me. I convinced myself I wasn’t going to be good enough at this and that I would have to spend all my time working on all of this and that I wouldn’t have enough time left to treat you the way you deserve to be treated. I was so scared of us turning into an afterthought in my mind.”

“So rather than talking to me you just ended it so we wouldn’t have to be a thought at all?” Luke scoffs. 

“I wanted to give you the world. I wanted you to be my world. Nothing less than that seemed worthy. And if I wasn’t going to be able to give that to you, I didn’t want to keep you from the possibility of finding someone who could.”

“Damn it, Ashton,” Luke shakes his head and checks around for people looking to make sure his volume is controlled. “All I wanted was you. Fuck, all I want is you.”

“Even now?” the red headed boy whispers, his eyes just a touch glossy. “Even after July?”

Luke feels a burning at his eyes and immediately blames the cold wind, despite being inside for nearly 15 minutes now. “July ripped my heart apart in a way that I had never felt before. And in a way, I think it was what I needed. Like, it had a sense of finality to it. And I’ve been doing better. But that doesn’t change the fact that I would turn the entire world upside down for you. For us.”

They’re both quiet for a few minutes after that. Luke takes a few more sips of his drink and watches the steam rise from the mug in between each one. Eventually he looks past the steam to where Ashton sits as he takes Luke in. Like he’s trying to see into his thoughts. Eventually he clears his throat and runs a hand through the red tousled curls.

“When I saw you in July, I didn’t say anything because I felt like nothing I could say to you would fix anything. That my trying to fix anything would be like trying to get the toothpaste back in the tube, ya know? But when I got home, I called my therapist and I just told her everything. I had never talked to her about us before because I was too scared of being judged. And when I told her that she told me it was pretty possible that the way I ended things was for the same reason. And so all semester I was trying to find a way to run into you again. And I guess the universe picked for that to happen today.”

“I just wanted to support you. Just wanted to love you,” Luke shakes his head, a sad smile pulling delicately at his cheeks.

“And I was so scared to let you.”

“Would you let me now?” Luke asks and hopes there’s less desperation in his voice than what he senses there to be. “Would you let me take care of you a bit? In the way you always did for me?”

Hesitantly, Ashton lifts his arm from where it’s been resting at this side and reaches a hand out over the papers taking up his half of the tablespace. “I’d love nothing more.”

Luke reaches a hand up and intertwines their fingers while his gaze stays locked with Ashton’s. He lets out a breathy giggle when Ashton moves to rub his thumb in small patterns on Luke’s palm, the blonde’s eyes dropping to where they rest. The hazel eyed boy smiles. “I know this conversation isn’t over and we really do have a lot of ground to cover. But I don’t ever want to go another day without making you laugh.”

Luke’s eyes widen, wondering if Ashton felt the weight of his words in the same way Luke did. But then he looks up from their hands to Ashton’s face again, only to find him nodding with understanding. Slowly, he lets his feet drop from where they’ve pulled below his chair and he feels his boots knock against Ashton’s. Neither make a move to change the position though. Luke bites his lip briefly in thought before replying. “I feel exactly the same.”

The rest of the morning and early afternoon are spent catching up in a way that should have felt strange, given that they were describing their day to day life to someone who they used to start and end every single one with. But it felt easy and it felt right and Ashton had been correct that they needed to sit down and talk through the hard stuff but there was always tomorrow (and every day after that). When it finally got to the time Luke needed to make his way over to the math department for his next class, Ashton offers to walk with him. As they continue conversation on their walk across the campus, Luke can’t help but notice how the whole scene feels like watching an old, beloved movie after not seeing it for a few years. Everything feels so familiar but there’s a new meaning to it, one that couldn’t be seen the first time around. 

When they reach the doors to the building, they stop just before the steps, their hands still tangled together between them. “Would you let me make you dinner tonight? I’ve got the stuff for that pasta thing you always liked and a bottle of red?” 

Luke smirks and lifts a brow, teasingly. “You drink red wine? Proper law student now, huh?” Ashton rolls his eyes but squeezes his palm against Luke’s. “But yes, that sounds nice. What’s the gate code?”

“Still the same.”

Luke lets out a laugh. “I’m sorry, you kept your gate code as your ex’s birthday?”

Ashton shrugs, a grin spreading across his own cheeks. “Listen, I knew I would never forget the code that way.”

Luke blushes, the whole day finally feeling real with that response because it was such an Ashton thing to do. Maybe they did still know each other. “I’ll see you later, Ash.”

“See you soon, Luke.”

They part ways then and Luke makes his way up the steps. He’s just about to reach for the door when something buried deep his mind tells him to turn around. And when he does, their eyes lock again and small matching smiles pull at their lips. And now Luke knows, he never has to worry about Ashton not looking back again.

*

[yatorihell]

In The Darkness Chapter 63 - Potions and Snitches

Noragami x Harry Potter AU

Words: 1,528

Summary: Yato begins to seek answers, and the first Quidditch match of the year begins.

Also available on Yatorihell AO3

Yato opened his mind as wide as he dared before he fell asleep, and though it took what felt like hours, he was asleep within minutes.

Yato found himself in Grimmauld Place. It looked just the way he remembered when he first came to visit; threadbare carpets, dark oaken banisters, and wallpaper that was torn and rough under his fingertips.

He walked down the hallway, listening for any signs of life, but none came. The living room was deserted with a cold fireplace that looked like it hadn’t been touched in years, the dining room equally as dishevelled by books and spiderwebs that heaped up over the years. It seemed like no one was home.

Yato turned into the small library at the back of the house after peering down the kitchen stairs. He scanned the shelves once again and familiar books stared back at him. Faded photographs in silver frames showed obscure faces and several ornate boxes of tarnished silver etched with a foreign language dotted between them.

His gaze lifted to the three silver goblets on the upper shelves. His hand picked them up one by one. The gold signet ring tumbled into his hand from one, and from another, he plucked out the glossy black pendant.

Yato wrapped its chain around his fingers and let it dangle, feeling a tingle of déjà vu run down his spine as he did so. A similar throbbing returned to his head as he held the ring in his closed fist, the pendant hanging from his fingers. He fumbled for the similar groove, bidding it to open this time through the building pressure in his head.

As the locket clicked open, Yato startled awake.

~

Yukine was furious.

He was the one who could brew death in a bottle. He was the one who could follow instructions to the letter. And now, Yato, of all people, was making potions like an apothecary.

Yukine felt his chest fill with frustration. His hair, normally kept neat, had plastered itself to his forehead with sweat and been pushed back a million times since the beginning of class. For whatever reason, Yato had suddenly improved his potions within the last month, and Yukine was losing his mind.

Even more so today, as Madame Kofuku had announced a light-hearted competition. The task: brew a perfect draught of living death, a notoriously difficult potion. The prize: a vial of Felix Felicis, otherwise known as liquid luck.

“What are you doing?” Yukine eyed Yato’s hands as he deftly crushed the squill bulb against his cutting board, the flat of the knife twinkling at him mockingly.

Yato shot Yukine a smirk. “Crush it instead.”

“No, you cut it,” Yukine’s words cut the air as thinly as his own plant, yet Yato grinned and swept his ingredients into his cauldron.

Hiyori, equally as annoyed but still level-headed, gently turned the page of her potions book. “Let's just try to get through this without killing him. Yato needs the practice for his N.E.W.T.s.”

Yato pouted and continued teasing Yukine, unafraid of tickling the metaphorical sleeping dragon. “You sure you don’t want that Potions for Dummies book back?”

Yukine swore under his breath and looked away. Yato took the chance to slide his own book away slightly, revealing Madame’s Kofuku’s annotated copy that had hundreds of amendments to brewing perfect potions.

The discoveries that she had made over her years in Hogwarts had helped him greatly, along with knowledge of new spells jotted in the margins that Yato had never heard of, lest seen in another book. Sectumsempra – a lacerating spell – seemed like a particularly vicious curse that they wouldn’t teach students anyway.

Hiyori smiled as Yukine threw desperate looks to see what Yato was doing, quickly trying to match his potion as Madame Kofuku called an end to the class. They stepped back as Madame Kofuku walked around the room, small tweezers and flower petals in hand, dropping them into each student’s potion and giving condolences that they hadn’t quite got it right.

Madame Kofuku reached their table and dropped a petal in each of their potions. Hiyori’s wilted slightly at the edges, confirming that her potion was not perfect. Yukine’s wilted even more but an air bubble rose and popped with a foul odour that made him cough and look utterly defeated. Yukine and Hiyori watched as the final petal fluttered into Yato’s potion – which was molten gold in colour with droplets splashing like goldfish above its surface – and shrivelled entirely like a flower in the snow.

“We have a winner!” Madame Kofuku announced, though Yato knew that she was trying to look as fair and innocently surprised by Yato’s success despite giving him the answers herself.

Yukine glared daggers at Yato as he was presented the coveted prize of liquid luck, followed by a smattering of applause from jipped sixth-year students who lost to a seventh-year who shouldn’t have been in their class.

The bell rang out right on time as Yato stared into the crystalline vial, inspecting the honey-coloured liquid and already coming up with ways to use it. The upcoming Quidditch match? He was rusty, but Hiyori would kill him for cheating. His N.E.W.T.s? That sounded like a good idea; he wanted to at least pass, and this could be the key.

Yato approached Yukine and Hiyori with a lazy smile, which wasn’t returned by Yukine as he huffed and threw his cauldron into the sink along with Hiyori’s. He glanced at his own cauldron, decided that Madame Kofuku may want to keep the extra potion, and left it on the table.

“You need to tell us how you got so good,” Yukine whined. His tie, hanging around his neck like a stripy snake, swung as he scooped up his bag.

“Like I said, the book has all the answers.” It was true, although Yato didn’t specify which book he was talking about as he dropped the vial into his robe pocket and shouldered his bag.

Yukine grumbled as he too shouldered his bag. “Hiyori, do me a favour and knock him off his broom.”

Hiyori laughed but had no doubt that he meant it. The game was on Saturday; Gryffindor vs Slytherin; she could easily hit him with the quaffle.

Hiyori flashed Yato a smile as she turned towards the door and flicked her hair in a way she’d seen Bishamon do a thousand times. “Consider it done.”

~

The first Quidditch match of the season was on a blustery November weekend, laced with the first winter snowfall that hid the lines of the Quidditch pitch.

Yato’s thoughts hummed as he pulled on his gear and grasped his broom. Gryffindor versus Slytherin, Yato thought. He followed his team onto the pitch alongside Gryffindor, spotting the back of Bishamon's and Hiyori’s head as he passed.

Yato versus Bishamon once again.

The roaring crowds that filled the stands faded to a dull thundering in Yato’s ears. The match was set, and the players flew into the air as the bludgers, quaffle, and the snitch were released into the game with a sharp pitched whistle.

Yato soared upwards and hovered above the pitch, staying out of the way. The falling snow caked his cloak and hair in fine white crystals and stung his cheeks as the breeze pushed against him. His eyes sought out the familiar twinkle of gold among silver snowflakes, though his googles fogged with the heat of his body against the cold.

Below, the players zipped through the air, scarlet and emerald robes streaming out behind them as they expertly swerved and dodged bludgers and passed the quaffle between them, only to be blocked by both Keepers when anyone tried to score. Over the roar of the crowd, Yato felt his heart thunder against his ribs at the tell-tale glint of gold against the white backdrop.

Yato broke into a hasty chase through the flurry of snow, nose-diving towards the earth in a bid to seal his team’s victory and end the onslaught Gryffindor brought with every score. A flicker of a green cloak, too high up to be anyone else, to his left alerted him that Bishamon had also spotted the snitch and was giving chase.

Rearing his broom, Yato soared upright and dug his heels into the stirrups, nosediving and twisting to every opportunity the snitch presented to no avail. It was a game of cat and mouse – one he knew he could win if he could just… get… closer.

Yato’s outstretched fingers burned with the effort, within inches of the snitches fluttering wings beating against the tips of his gloves…

A gloved fist snatched the snitch from under his nose.

Slack-jawed, Yato caught the sweet smile Bishamon flashed him as she twisted down beside him. She turned to the side and spiralled to the ground in a swirl of gold and scarlet, a victory cry rising from her chest that was immediately drowned out by the crowd.

Yato stared down at Bishamon, unable to scowl as he was too surprised to comprehend what she just did.

She had snatched victory right out of his hand.

[catyo90]

Connected: Part 1

(Geralt x Reader Fic) Friend Request

It had been a very hard day for you. You had first woken up late for college missing your first class while it was pouring rain making your clothes drenched not to mention the work you had finished the day before was now almost unreadable. At the end of the day, you quickly grabbed everything and left the campus. The entire day had been nothing but bad luck as you felt your whole body sore from running place to place trying to get all of your errands done as quick as you could so you could go home and rest. As you started to walk away from the store you stopped short seeing a poster of the new show The Witcher. You smiled as you remembered the first time you read the books and played the games. You always felt connected with Geralt, not in an “Oh I relate to him as a character” way. You weren’t entirely sure why but you felt something more every time you saw him. As if he was there like he could sense you in some way. 

You sighed as you quickly hurried along eventually reaching your home You felt every muscle in your body ache as you walked up the stairs to the small apartment you owned. As you opened the door you were greeted by the feel of your small kitten rubbing against your leg. The small tabby kitten mewed at you as you closed the door and locked it as you placed your keys down in a small bowl on the shelf nearby as you hung your coat up. As you walked into the kitchen to feed the little one you looked around and sighed with relief as you realized you had managed to finish all the chores the day before and with the little rain incident this morning you were allowed the weekend to redo the work. Basically, for now, it was time to relax.

As you laid down on the couch you noticed your phone buzzing in your pocket. It was an alert from the school reading that due to the high rise in the water there might be no school after the weekend but it wasn’t definite. 

“Well, Copper I think I deserve some rest after the day I had today,” you said as you picked up the small kitten and placed him onto your stomach. The small frail thing meowed as it turned its body to the window. You looked outside the window to see the rain pouring and the thunder and lightning crashing down heavily almost overflowing the small lake near the fenceline.

“Hopefully no one is out there.” You said as you closed your eyes feeling the small kitten walk over your shoes and legs to your chest as it started to nest itself.

-

The rain poured down as the witcher brought out a longsword diving into a large bay of some kind where toward the bottom he could see the bones of the monsters feast. He swam further into the water and finally broke for air seeing near the base of the high cliffs of Velen a siren dining on her most recent kill. Geralt quietly snuck over to the edge hiding below a small ledge away from the sight of the creature. He took a moment and felt the rock above him move as he heard the siren moving to the edge seeing the creature's wings expand. If it got into the air this would be way more difficult.

“Fuck.”

Geralt said very quietly to himself as he noticed the ship he took with Jaskier over in the distance. The sound of the siren shrieking and flapping its wings made Geralt quickly grab onto the tail. It shrieked in surprise as the witcher held on as tight as he could, the siren let out a blood-curdling yell quickly raising itself into the air and quickly diving below the water. Geralt managed to impale his sword through the creature's neck but in pain and as a last attempt to kill him, the siren had flung him off making him diving back into the sea. As Geralt got closer to the water he suddenly felt a twinge in his body as if he had gone through something, something magical. 

-

A sudden loud meow pierced your ears as you looked to see copper mewing at the window. You shot up and quickly looked over to the table seeing it was past midnight. You looked to see copper jump on the couch and then back to the window. You looked outside to see the flashing of lightning and what looked like to be ripples in the lake. You saw someone, it looked like they were injured. 

“Why would anyone be out there at this time?”

Copper jumped down from the window to the ground and scurried to the door.

You sighed as you quickly grabbed a coat and your phone. You opened the door and turned around to look at copper.

“Just stay there, I’ll be right back.”

You quickly closed the door and started to rush down the stairs. The cold chill of the wind made you pull up your hood as you rushed passed the fenced area to a small opening in between the fence and a small stone pillar. You carefully stepped out onto the grass to see a small patch of grass flattened as it was pushed back toward the small lake. You pulled out your phone and immediately turned on the flashlight. You looked over to the lake to see something sticking out of the water and what looked like a man climbing out of the water on the side. You cautiously walked toward the man to bring your light on him. What you saw was something entirely new. This man had black clothes on but they didn’t look like average clothes, his arm and chest had multiple cuts along with them was a bit of blood showing. His most noticeable feature though was his hair, it was a white as the winter snow and as it clung along his face you could see his eyes were gold. 

“Are you...are you alright?”

The man started to breathe heavily as he pulled his hand over the grass to reveal a sword. You stepped back as you saw this. This man was in the dark with a sword, perhaps he was high or maybe drunk. You waited until he responded but the only thing you could hear from him was his breathing. You found your attention brought to the small lake to see what looked like a tail sticking out of the water. You moved the light over it to see it was pure white and it seemed to be injured. The man quickly turned his head behind him and then immediately spoke to you.

“Get rid of the light.”

“What? Why would I do that...”

“Just. Do. It.”

He said with a low growl in his voice as you turned off the light, now only with the very faint light of the lightning every so often you could see the man standing over the lake and holding the sword tight. You could hear the water moving in the lake and then a horrifying and remarkable sight came with it. As the lightning illuminated the area you looked to see a woman with a long tail and wings almost like that of a bat. The man brought out a hand bringing ice out and quickly attacking with his sword. You fell to the ground at the sight as the creature caught in the ice as it traveled up its body freezing it in place as the man brought his sword down on it shattering the creature into millions of pieces. 

The rain and lighting were the only sounds you heard for a while as you sat there realizing this man was not normal. You turned on the light once more to see the man simply overlooking the remains of the creature falling into the lake trying to catch his breath. 

“What in the world was that! That...That was not normal. How...How did you make ice appear?! No this has to be a dream of some kind. There is no way that was real.

You stood up and walked over to him, suddenly you saw him buckle and quickly caught him before he fell to the ground.

“Woah, hey...hey.”

You looked down at the man to see his eyes closed and his whole body cold to the touch and the blood on his chest and arms clearer than before. You brought an arm over your neck and a hand to his belt. In doing so you noticed a necklace along his chest in the shape of a wolf’s head. As you started to walk you heard the man speak.

“I need to return to the shore.”

You could tell he was clearly out of it as he clung onto his sword, probably with all of his remaining strength. After struggling to help him up the stairs to the apartment you quickly opened the door to see Copper welcoming you as he poked his head from around the corner of the kitchen. You kicked the door closed and quickly brought him down onto your bed, you saw his sword fall to the carpet with what looked like blue blood around the blade. You shook your head as you rushed into the kitchen to grab a first aid kit for the wounds.

You grabbed a large bowl and filled it with hot water as you brought over the small kit. As you sat down you finally overlooked him and a wave of realization hit you. 

“White hair, gold eyes, and a wolf pendant... Oh my god. Oh my God!”

You stepped back with your hands over your mouth as you tried to rationalize what was going on. 

“How is this possible. He’s just a character, imaginary. There isn’t any way he could be here.”

She looked back at the couch to see Geralt breathing lowly, the wounds on his arm and chest seemed to stop bleeding but clearly still in pain. You grabbed a chair and sat next to him, still perplexed. As you looked at him you brushed the hair away from his face. He was as handsome as you thought he would be if he were an actual person. You brought your hands to the tore up shirt and overlooked the wounds. Three deep cuts had been made while on his arm only had a singular one. You took the kit and opened it up to bring a bottle of alcohol and a dry rag, you knew this was going to hurt a lot but it would need to be done. 

As you placed the now wet rag on the wound you felt a tight grip on your wrist as you looked up to see Geralt's eyes now open and clearly in pain. He growled lowly and started to look around until he looked down at his hand to see you with the rag and the wound now in pain but no blood. 

“Where am I?”

He said in a low tone as he brought his hand back to his side as he laid back down.

“Um well... you're definitely not in the Northern realms. You're kinda in a different land...well more like a different world.”

As you said this his eyes looked to you in confusion and clearly thinking you were pulling his leg. However, after you said nothing he could tell that you were being quite serious. 

“Fuck.”

You brought a gentle hand to his chest as you wiped away the dried up blood and pulled out a needle and thread. You watched as Copper walked along with the couch and started to purr as he brought his head next to Geralt's trying to rub against the side of his head. Geralt weakly brought his other arm to pet the small thing. As you started to shew up the wound you noticed he didn’t react at all. Either he was being tough or he was hiding it extremely well. As you finished you grabbed some fresh bandages. As you did this you felt Geralt sit up. You were about to speak out until you notice he stayed sitting.

“You will be able to bandage it better like this.”

“Oh...of course.”

You grabbed an end of the bandages and placed on the side of his ribs, you felt his hand over yours as he kept it in place. You smirked as you started to rap the bandage around his chest. Every muscle in his body was so refined and almost like it had been carved from marble as multiple scars were etched into his chest and his even near his neck. He winced a bit at the pain but once you had used as much as was needed he seemed to handle it better. You tied it around to his shoulder and cut off the excess. You then brought your attention to his arm. It wasn’t as deep, luckily he wouldn’t need stitching. Some more bandages were tied around his arm as the small kitten continued to be a pest patting and nibbling on Geralt’s hand to get more pets.

As you finished up his arm you started to pack everything away and spoke.

“Well I know this is a surprise but for now I highly recommend we get some rest and worry about the rest tomorrow.”

You walked over into the kitchen and then quickly rushed into your room and then came out with a few clothes for him. 

“You should change, wouldn’t want you to get sick or anything worse.”

Geralt said nothing as he simply nodded his head as he took the clothes from her, they were clearly meant for a man but from what he could tell she lived alone. He didn’t feel it was appropriate so he stayed silent.

“Oh, I’ll go grab a pillow and blanket while you get changed.”

-

Geralt quickly took off his wet clothes and noticed these clothes were clearly different from what he usually wore. he could tell instantly the black shirt had no sleeves and a very low collar while the pants seemed very comfortable and movable. He sat on the couch, Geralt had a million thoughts enter his mind. Where and when was he, Could he return, Was this all an illusion, Was this woman a witch in disguise, Was he dead, Was this all a dream. He didn’t know. But he was still thankful to be helped. He heard the door to your room open with a thick fur like a blanket and a large fluffy pillow.

You looked up to meet Geralt’s eyes and started to blush slightly as you noticed the tank top you gave him showed off almost every muscle in his body from his arms to his chest and even his hip as it was slightly smaller than him. You felt the warmth in you rise a bit as your eyes caught onto his. The golden hue in them made them more fare than anything you could imagine. His white hair was now cascading around his shoulders and clearly finished the look. You paused for a moment as you manage to shake yourself out of the trance you were in.  You smiled as you watched Copper had nested into Geralt’s lap and curled up into a small ball. 

“Seems you have a buddy to keep you company.”

You placed the pillow at the foot of the bed and then offered him the blanket which he gladly took. You walked over to the door and locked it.

“If you need anything just ask and I’ll help you out.” 

Geralt simply nodded as he watched you stretch your arms and walk into your room turning off the lights.

“Goodnight Geralt.”

“What your name?”

“Oh right...It’s Y/n”

Geralt watched as you closed the door and then laid down bringing the blanket over himself as he placed the small kitten on his stomach. He felt the cold leave his body as the warmth of the room seemed to make him for once, not on edge.

“I guess she’s not too bad.” 

[dontshootmespence]

Far From Over

Summary: After surviving torture at the hands of Tobias Hankle, Spencer calls his best friend and fellow BAU member Olivia Galway for help, leading to secrets, both positive and negative, coming to light.

Words: 1,621

Warnings: Angst, talk about the events of season 2, mentions of drug addiction, smut.

A/N: My next entry for @cmbingo​ 2020! This fulfills my season 2 square and takes place after the events of The Big Game and Revelations. 

A shrill ring sounded through the air – a special ringtone she’d programmed just for Spencer. The silence that followed was that of snow falling on a cold winter’s night. She’d have thought it was a prank if it weren’t for the ringtone and the faintest hint of breath on the other end. “Livie?”

“Spence? What’s-“

“I need you.”

She shot out of her apartment like a bat outta hell. Since the day they’d found him alive, he’d refused to talk with anyone – not even her. Living through something like that was one in a million. Traumatic didn’t even begin to cover it.

Running up the stairs, Olivia knocked frantically on the door. “Spence, it’s me. Open up.” She could tell the apartment was dark save for a small lamp he loved.

When he opened the door, she gasped. He looked like hell, eyes sunken, skin paler than it already was. “What’s happening, Spence? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing in the immediate,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I just…wanted to talk.”

Olivia breathed a small sigh of relief as she stepped foot in the apartment, tossing her bag to one side. “Sit, Spence. I’ll grab us a drink.”

“Just water for me.” He lumbered toward the couch. Though she’d seen him every day since he’d returned, and knew for a fact his foot was healing, he still looked as broken as he did that night when she’d charged through the woods searching for her best friend.

After grabbing herself a soda, she filled up a glass of water and placed it next to him on the side table before sitting at his side. “Talk to me,” Olivia whispered.

“I see him every time I close my eyes,” he breathed. Spencer’s head fell into his hands, a soft sob escaping from between his lips.

Olivia reached over and pulled him into her shoulder. “It’s only been a month. This too shall pass.”

“A Persian adage used to describe the temporary nature of the human condition.”

“Yea,” she whispered, leaning against the back of the couch and pulling him against her chest. “I can’t imagine how hard this for you, but you don’t have to do it alone.”

Spencer didn’t say anything, instead allowing the silence to fill him for a moment. Ever since he left the ambulance, Tobias’ and Charles’ and Raphael’s voices kept fighting for dominance in his head. They were fighting against his, his mother’s, anyone and everyone. For the first time since then, his mind was quiet, but before he knew it, he was sobbing against her shoulder.

“What is it, Spence?”

“I just keep thinking what would’ve happened if you hadn’t understood my message.” He’d lost count of how many times he’d nearly died that weekend. All that he’d felt. First he’d been afraid, then resigned, then determined, knowing he’d rather die than hand Raphael a name of one of his team members. But just before Olivia and the rest of the team had arrived, all he could feel was guilt – guilt that was only compounded when he shot Tobias.

“But I did. And you knew I would because I know you better than anyone. Ask everyone, I was screaming for you to speak to me, to give me a message so that we could find you. God, I was so afraid I was gonna lose you.” Since she’d walked into the apartment, she’d been trying to stay strong for him, but she couldn’t any longer. The entire time Hankle had him her heart had been in her throat. She held him closer and kissed the top of his head. “I promise you’re not alone okay?”

“I keep waiting to gain control of my life again, you know?” He asked as he lifted his head.

A lone tear fell down his cheek and she wiped it away with the pad of her thumb, her free hand grasping his. “You will. Until then, I’m here.”

As their fingers intertwined, he lifted his head and brushed his lips against hers. “I’m sorry,” he said, guilt rushing over him in waves. “I didn’t mean-“

“Spence, it’s okay.” She stopped him in his tracks as he paced the floors, cradling his face and pressing a kiss to his lips. “What do you need?”

Despite was his body and mind were telling him, he knew what this was – a friend trying to comfort a friend in a time of need – and he wouldn’t jeopardize the best friendship he had because of this. That night had already taken too much from him. “I can’t lose you, Olive.”

She smiled sadly at the nickname. One he’d given her after realizing her obsession with black olives. “You won’t. Ever, okay? Nothing that has happened or will happen will change the fact that I love you.”

“Like a friend, and I can’t cross that line knowing I can’t have you every day.” His mind hurt too much to put up pretenses.

Olivia parted his lips with her tongue and tangled her hands in his hair. “Spence, I’ve had a crush on you since I bumped into you in hallway while I was in the Academy.”

“What?”

“Yea,” she breathed. “I read your papers while I was in the Academy and was always fascinated by you. Then I bumped into you like an idiot and you stumbled over your words. You were wearing that red sweater vest you love so much. The one with a whole in the bottom that I said you should get rid of because it might unraveling while you’re wearing it.”

“You remember all that?”

“I do.”

Spencer took a deep breath and pulled her close, his hand gliding up the small of her back and into her crimson locks. “I need you,” he whispered, letting the floodgates of all the words unspoken between them over the past two and a half years.

With all the grace of a baby animal taking its first steps, Spencer and Olivia tumbled into the bedroom, pulling their clothes off, unable to get close enough quickly enough. Then she noticed the track marks on his right arm and grabbed it, fresh tears pooling in her eyes. “Spence! I-“ She knew it. Deep down, she knew that there was something more on his mind than his beating at the hand of Hankle.

Spencer looked away ashamed, lip trembling. “He drugged me that entire weekend. I don’t know why I took it from his pocket, but I can’t stop. I don’t know how…”

Grasping his face in her hands, Olivia pleaded with him. “Yes, you can. Because you don’t have to do it alone. Spence, I’ll come with you to NA meetings, I’ll sleep here every night if I have to but please, please, I can’t watch you die. Don’t make me watch you die.” She sobbed against his chest. She couldn’t even imagine what her life would be if she lost him.

“I’ll get help,” he whispered into the air. “I will. I promise.”

She pressed kisses up his collarbone and neck, hoping it was enough to convey to him what he meant to her.

“What do you need, Spencer?” The depths of her forest green eyes told him she was there in whatever way he needed.

He lifted her onto the bed and kneeled in front of her, palms holding her legs open for his gaze. What he needed was her. As his right hand slipped over her skin and the downy tuft of redden hair above her sex, he kissed her inner thigh, watching for her reactions and proceeding accordingly.

Olivia’s eyes fluttered closed as she surrendered herself to Spencer’s ministrations. He hovered over her sex for a moment before licking a stripe up her slit. She gasped, trying to close her legs, but he wouldn’t allow it, keeping them open with just the slightest bit of pressure. His lips pursed around her clit, making her moan and tangle her hands in his hair. “Spence,” she whimpered. “More, please.” He needed control and she wanted to lose it.

Spencer finally allowed himself to get lost in her, switching between long licks and soft kisses, lips and tongue, anything and everything he could possibly think of to make her shake within his grasp. When he added two fingers inside her and curled them upward, she shook into his mouth and cried out for him.

As he crawled up the length of the bed, he brought her with him, placing her head on the pillow. “I need you…all of you.”

“You have me.”

He lifted her leg up and around his waist as he slipped inside her heat, getting lost in the feeling. Pumping inside her felt as close to heaven as he would be probably ever be. “I love you.”

Wrapping her arms around his neck and shoulders, she painted his skin in the kisses he needed and deserved, mewling as he pounded into her. Every time she contracted around him, he groaned into her neck and sped up his pace, moving ever closer to that delicate balance between control and loss of it that he’d been craving for weeks.

“Fuck me, Spence. That’s it.”

“Come for me, Livie,” he whispered, biting down gently on her earlobe.

As he legs began to shake, she threw her head back and cried out into the air, digging her hands into his ass as he thrusted one final time and spilled inside her. Their heavy breaths filled the room when he fell to her side. “I do love you, Olive.”

She turned to him and kissed his shoulder blade, at least a hint of the hurt he’d felt before having disappeared. But she knew his fight was far from over.

[sope-and-shine]

Christmas Special: Day 24

-> Pairing: Jeongguk x Reader -> Family!AU // Fluff -> Word Count: 2.6k -> Summary: Jeongguk has only ever wanted the perfect job, perfect wife, and the perfect family. This Christmas, you’ve finally been able to give that to him. -> Warning(s): Mild language??? (I forget) // nothing to really be concerned about though

When Jeongguk was younger, he’d always had big dreams of becoming a man just like his Father. He wanted to be a good, strong man, that was kind and cared for others no matter what. He wanted to have a cool job, just like his Dad’s, and be able to take care of his own family. He wanted to have a beautiful wife, someone just as beautiful and as sweet as his Mother to have a family with. He wanted someone who would take care of him and his future children the same way his mother would take care of him.

And he found you.

In college, you both shared your 9 am literature class together for your first semester. You actually didn’t even sit next to or talk to each other for the first few weeks. You didn’t even notice Jeongguk for the first time until that one day in the middle of the class when he ran in late to the lecture, but when he was running down the steps as quickly as possible, he tripped halfway on the lip of a step and tumbled down the remaining stairs until he stopped right next to you, flat on his back. You remember staring at him with wide eyes wondering if he was even conscious until his eyes opened and the first words out of his mouth were, “Well, that definitely could have gone better.” 

Your professor was livid with his outburst, but didn’t nag the boy too hard considering the fall he just had. He only demanded that he take a seat in the next few seconds or he would be removed from the room. That’s how you ended up sitting next to the clumsy boy, sharing your notes out of pity when he realized that he’d missed so much of the class already and quietly asked to borrow yours. He would occasionally make comments on your notes and how easy they were to read - he even drew a few cute little characters that made you laugh when he gave the pages back at the end of class. He then insisted that he buy you a coffee in return for letting him borrow your notes, and after a few minutes of rallying back and forth - with him insisting he definitely should and you trying your best to explain that he shouldn’t trouble himself over a few notes - but in the end you do give in to his wishes.

And that began the wonderful years that you then spent together.

From that first class and that first coffee date, the both of you soon became inseparable. It wasn’t like you treated the coffee shop like a date - but after you did become official in your Sophomore year of college, Jeongguk began to insist that the coffee date after that terrible class definitely counted as your first date together - but at the time you and Jeongguk were just starting out as friends. But as classes continued, and parties came up, and just needing someone to keep you sane in those moments; Jeongguk was the man you were looking for. Study sessions, movie nights, and even the scattered mental health day when one or both of you just needed to step back and breath for a moment. Within weeks the two of you were now the best of friends, and it didn’t take long for something more to blossom in your relationship.

Flash forward three years, and you and Jeongguk have graduated from your perspective majors, you both have amazing jobs that you managed to snag relatively quickly, and you’re now renting an apartment for the both of you. Every morning you get to wake up in the arms of your boyfriend, you get to play with his fluffy hair and leave kisses all over his face until he wakes up, you get to watch his big, doe eyes open and his bunny smile shine bright first thing in the morning. It wasn’t like you were the only one who was winning in this situation, though. Jeongguk was happy to wake up to your smiling face and your small hands carding through his hair, he loved the feeling of your lips touching every inch of his face, he loved the feeling of the warmth of your body next to his, and even when you got out of bed he was blessed with the sight of your bare legs with his shirt covering the rest of you.

Yeah, he loved his mornings with you.

The movie nights that you had back in college were now every night, usually split between Disney, Marvel, anime, or shows the both of you had started to binge on. Take out an instant ramen were constants in your lives, and it was funny just how much the two of you consumed yet continued to not gain anything - Probably due to the both of you being young, but who was really keeping tabs on this? Everyday you spent together, whether they were bad good, whether you wee sick and tired of each other or not, whether you just wanted some damn space or not, you pushed through it all so you could go to bed together in each others arms.

And that’s why Jeongguk loved you so much.

Despite the fights you did have, you would never let him leave the house or fester in anger. Despite your own ill feelings, you would always grab his hand and hold it to make sure he didn’t go anywhere until the two of you talked everything out like adults. Not only that, but when he was sick, you’d always call into his work to inform them he would not be in for the day, then you’d call your boss let her know that you’ll be in just a little later so you could make him homemade soup, you’d get him a waste bin if needed, set up his medicines, and give him a quick kiss goodbye to his temple before leaving for work. 

But you didn’t stop there. 

No.

You’ll come home with more soup from the little shop down the street for him and a silly little card just to make him laugh a little. Sometimes - if you don’t have time to grab or make a card - you’ll take pictures of every dog that you see just so you can gush over them together when you get home. And he loved every minute of it. To see your face light up when you show him every dog that you encountered on your walk to and from work, to hear you talk about your day as if you didn’t tell him everyday, just to hear you talk to him in general! He would never in a million years have imagined that he could admit he was whipped for you.

But it was no surprise that he wanted his ring on your finger.

He told his parents immediately that he was going to propose to you, and he took you on a weekend trip to see your family just so he could ask your father in person to ask you to marry him. Both parties shed tears, and both parties were elated to be joining families. He only had to ask you, and he already had a pretty good idea on how to do so. 

The two of you loved to take walks together in the spring evening, and he figured that was the best opportunity for him to pop the question. All he needed was some help from a few of your friends. So he got the boys together, called your work friends to meet him at the park an hour before you would meet him there - you thought he had to meet with Seokjin and Yoongi - and tell them the plan and send them ahead of him with the flowers and flower petals before you would arrive. 

And boy did you arrive.

He wanted to do you right and make sure you would be happy with your engagement photos, so he asked you to wear something nice so he could take you out for a date night after your walk. You walked into the park looking for him wearing a simple white, a-line, long-sleeve dress with a red scarf wrapped around your neck, and a pair of brown ankle boots. He couldn’t tell if you were wearing makeup or not, but you looked stunning even from afar. He felt his dark jeans with a light blue button down, black shoes, and a dark red suit jacket was nothing compared to how beautiful you looked. He couldn’t even imagine you looking any more beautiful - boy was he in for a surprise - but he still had a mission to do.

“Well, you clean up nice.” You compliment him, taking his hand in yours when you get closer.

He shakes his head with a shy smile, “You look even better. Shall we?”

You nod and follow him down the familiar path, enjoying the scenery around you in the peaceful park. You chat together quietly until familiar face start to appear: Jimin is the first to come up to you, saying a quick hello and handing over a rose before he just walks away without a word. You continue on despite his strange actions, but he’s followed by your work friend Ara with a flower of her own. As you continue down the path, more and more of your friends arrive to hand over flowers - at this point you have a feeling you know what’s going on - but when you reach the gazebo by the lake that’s covered in flower petals, and Jeongguk finally takes a knee and pulls out a little black box, you’re rendered even more speechless than you’ve ever been before. You knew he wanted a future with you, and he’d spoken about marrying you before, but now it was real.

You were going to be Mrs. Jeon (Y/n).

You had your wedding that winter, choosing the most convenient time of the year to get together. It was a little hectic at first with such short notice, but the both of you were able to find a wedding planner to help you arrange everything. You found your venue in a month, chose your decorations by June, you had a dress before August was through, invitations had been sent, and Jeongguk sent the food and music lists to the respective brother he entrusted the biggest day of his life with. And when the day did come, and he saw you in your beautiful dress looking like the most beautiful angel he’d ever seen before being walked by your father, he lost whatever will he had left to not cry in front of everyone he knows. But he still had you, and you wiped his tears despite having tears of your own. You took his hand in yours, and you professed every ounce of love you had for each other.

Together.

But that still wasn’t enough. He needed more to show that you were the love of his life, he needed something bigger to prove all of his devotion to you, and being the beautiful, loving wife you were, gave him that opportunity.

“Gukkie...look at how precious he is…” You cry, looking down at your newborn son resting on your bare chest. You were having your first skin to skin contact with him after 36 grueling hours of labour, and his little body had you convinced it was all worth it. But there was no reason for you to grab your husbands attention; you already had it.

Jeongguk was just doing his best not to cry after having his son come back to your room for the three of you to be alone together. 8 months ago you had told him you were pregnant with his child, 7 months ago you told him he was having a little boy, 6 months ago you first began to show his son was in your tummy, 3 months ago you were helping him unpack boxes in your new apartment, 2 months ago you were having a great time with friends and family at your baby shower, 2 days ago you still had your little boy inside of you, and 6 hours ago you finally gave birth to your first baby. He remembers every step of the way, wrote it all down as it happened so he could remember it when he was old and grey. He wanted to share everything with his son…

And now he was right here in your arms.

“Do you want to hold him, Guk?” You ask, pulling the doe-eyed man out of his deer-in-the-headlights state in the chair next to you. You giggle, “Unbutton your shirt and try skin-to-skin with him.”

He nods, standing up so you wouldn’t have to move too much after all the stress you just put your body through. He unbuttons his shirt just enough for his son to slip through, then he helps you sit up just enough so he can move your son from your arms to his own, pulling the small human close to his chest and resting in the chair next to you again. He stares down at his son, feeling the emotions bubbling in his chest where the little boy rests. Everything about him is tiny, and he’s in so much shock that he was able to create the ultimate form of love with your help.

“He’s so small..” Jeongguk whispers, fighting back the tears so he won’t disturb the baby trying his best to go to sleep. He looks to you, seeing you now resting on your side, facing him with a tired yet content smile. You look radiant even now, tired and worn out from the days activities. He’s so overcome with love just looking at you. “You’re amazing, Jagi.”

“I know.” You tease. You reach your hand out to him and he gladly takes it in his own, squeezing gently. “We did it.”

He nods, “We did it together...”

“It looks like Minjun is all tuckered out.” You comment, adjusting yourself on the bed to be more comfortable as you watch him sleep on your husband’s chest.

Jeongguk rubs the top of you hand with his thumb, “You should join him. You’ve had a long few days, so you should get some sleep while he does.”

“Are you sure?” You ask. Truthfully, you have no doubts Jeongguk can watch your little boy, but you really just never want to stop looking at him. You don’t want to fall asleep and find him all grown up just like that.

“Get some rest, baby. It’s Christmas Eve, so Santa will be coming very soon to deliver presents.” He teases, knowing the boys will be stopping by after seeing their own families and friends to drop off yours and Minjun’s presents.

“Okay.” You reluctantly agree, knowing that you’ll want to be awake at the same time your beautiful baby boy would be as well. Christmas was tomorrow, and you wanted to play with your gift all day and for the rest of your life. You settle yourself in the hospital bed, taking one last look at your son and your husband before letting your eyes close like they’ve wanted to since you gave birth a few hours ago.

Jeongguk watches you settle, warmth in his chest - and not just from his son. After years of wanting and waiting, years of joy, sadness, and high expectations, finally finding the perfect woman to spend the rest of his life with; He now had everything he ever wanted.

Just in time for it to be the best Christmas present ever.

[atc74]

Castiel’s Coats

Square(s) Filled: Fashion Designer!Cas for @spnaubingo, Campfire for @spngenrebingo

Warnings: Rejection, low self-esteem, mentions of struggle, fluff

Summary: Cas gets the summer internship of his dreams, but feels the pressure as he struggles to come up with a winning design. His friends, Sam and Dean, have always been there for him, providing inspiration at the right time. 

Pairing: none, this is a TFW College AU

Word Count: 1448 

Written for: @spngenrebingo @spnaubingo

Beta’d by: @just-another-busyfangirl, thanks and love ya!

A/N: It’s no secret that I struggle writing Cas, but I think this is cute and way longer than I thought it would be. Hope y’all like it!

Like Dean, Sam or Cas’s scent? Buy it here from @scentsfromthebunker!

“Dean! Dean! I got it!” Cas threw open the door to their off-campus apartment. “I got the internship!”

“That’s great buddy. Congratulations!” Dean tossed his roommate and longtime friend a beer. “Let’s celebrate with pizza and beer.”

“That’s every night Dean,” Cas chastised, but shrugged. Being poor college students they didn’t have the funds to go out like some of their friends.

“We’ll get extra cheese!” Dean exclaimed, tapping out their order on his phone.

~*~

“So what do they have you working on?” Sam asked as they sat around the apartment after Cas’s first week.

“I am working on a new line of men’s outerwear with another intern,” Cas informed them as he reached for another beer. “I have to come up with something by Wednesday next week.”

“That soon?” Sam inquired.

“Yeah, it’s only a summer gig so we are moving fast. If they like it and use our designs, we get ten percent plus a bonus.” Cas grinned ear to ear at the thought of earning money that didn’t require manual labor, like his previous summer jobs.

Sam left for more beer than returned a minute later. “Man it got cold out. I wish I had a lighter weight jacket,” he muttered as he rummaged through the closet. “I have winter and summer jackets only!”

“I got it!” Cas ran from the living room.

He spent the next two days sequestered in his bedroom at his drawing table, coming out only to use the bathroom. Dean would slide a sandwich and a bottle of water under his nose a couple times a day just to make sure he ate and was still alive.

~*~

“Castiel Novak?” asked a petite older woman sitting behind a large wooden desk.

“Yes, Ms. Harvelle?” Cas took another step into the spacious office.

“Have a seat, please. I spent the day going through your designs and I have to say, they’re kind of boring,” she stated as she thumbed through the pages before her.

“I realize they might seem boring. But I’m a college student, Ms. Harvelle. I am trying to appeal to a simpler, younger crowd. What are they looking for these days? Functionality. There are multiple pockets for your phone, keys, or wallet. They are sturdy. College students don’t have a lot of money and the clothing needs to last,” Cas explained as she looked them over once more.

“These are all brown.” She looked up at him, her face showing no emotion.

Cas cleared his throat. “There is tan, warm toast, hazelnut, ecru, bay, russet, cinnamon, khaki…”

“Those are all shades of brown. Ten different brown trench coats, Mr. Novak,” Ellen Harvelle interrupted him. “And these other ones. What fabric is this? I have seen this before, I think, but never for clothing.”

“It’s...canvas, ma’am. Before you say anything, think about it. Canvas has a plethora of uses, tarps, canopies, shopping bags. But why not jackets? They are lined with flannel, making them soft to touch but the outer shell will last longer than anything else,” Cas pleaded his case.

“You may be right, but I will have to talk this over with the lead designer. That’s all for now, Mr. Novak,” she dismissed him, quickly turning to other tasks.

Castiel walked home from the bus stop, dejected. He should have put more thought into his designs. He should have used more color. He kicked a rock down the street, following with his head down until he reached their apartment building.

He refused pizza and beer and locked himself away in his room again for the weekend. Dean and Sam were worried about their friend, but they also knew when he needed time to himself. They didn’t see or hear from him until he returned from work Monday evening. It was Sam’s turn to cook and Cas joined him in the kitchen as he sauteed some vegetables and chicken. The peace and quiet was interrupted by the vibration of Cas’s phone.

“Hello?” he answered, not recognizing the number. “Yes, this is Castiel Novak. Oh Miss Harvelle...yes, so nice to talk to you...of course...yes...okay...I understand...yes ma’am. Thank you. Goodbye.”

“Was that your boss?” Sam turned from the stove to look at his roommate.

“Yeah, it was.” Cas put the phone back on the counter.

“I’m sorry, buddy,” Sam empathized and returned to dinner.

“Thanks, Sam.” Cas grabbed a beer from the fridge.

He was quiet through dinner but Dean and Sam didn’t push him to talk about it. It wasn’t until his phone buzzed again that Cas smiled.

“Guys, I’m going to head to bed. Sam, thank you for dinner. See you tomorrow.” Cas left the kitchen, his phone still in hand.

~*~

Castiel didn’t offer information and the Winchesters didn’t push. The summer was coming to a close and school would be starting back up. It was their first week off all summer and they were going fishing. They sat around the campfire the first night, the air chilly. Dean shrugged his flannel on and Sam dug a hoodie out of his bag.

“Here, try these.” Cas handed them each a jacket.

Dean inspected the article Cas had given him. It was navy blue and had pockets for anything he might need, even interior pockets. He slipped off his flannel and slid his long arms through the sleeves of the jacket. It fit well and was comfortable, and warmer than his flannel.

Sam did the same with his. The army green color was nice. He turned it over and over until his eyes landed on the label. He read it out loud. “Castiel…Cas! Are you serious man? You did it!”

It took Dean a moment to catch up, but they celebrated Cas’s success with beers and plenty of relaxation. They returned home, ready for showers and sleep, but their apartment was empty.

“What the hell?” Dean stood in the middle of the living room. His arm chair and television, along with all their belongings, were gone. “What the hell?!”

“Oh yeah. I knew I forgot something else.” Cas smiled and held up three new keys. “Remember that bonus and the ten percent? Well it was a lot more than I expected, so I bought the house across the street and had our stuff moved while we were away.”

“Cas! You bought the house? Why didn’t you pay your tuition?” Sam asked, always the responsible one.

“I did. And both of yours.” Cas whistled as he walked out of the apartment and across the street, Dean and Sam running after him.

Cas gave them the grand tour, saving the best for last. “I always wanted an office. Somewhere I could design that wasn’t my personal space, but still mine, right? So I hired a contractor to convert the attic of the garage. What do you think?”

Sam looked around at Cas’s office, feeling like he was missing something. “This is kinda small for an attic this large, Cas, isn’t it?”

“You are correct, my friend. Which is why next door you will find your very own office and study space.” Cas opened the next door and it was filled with a new desk, couch and all of Sam’s law books.

Dean looked down at his feet, but tried to hide it for the sake of his brother and his friend. “It’s real nice, Cas. Thanks for doing that for Sammy.”

“Oh I almost forgot! Dean, come on!” Cas rushed down the back stairs and into the garage, flipping on all the lights. In the middle sat Dean’s prized 1967 Chevy Impala. One entire side of the garage was a workbench, two tool chests, and all of Dean’s tools.

Dean’s eyes glossed over as he took in everything. He turned back to Castiel. “You did all of this for us?”

“You’re my family and family takes are of each other. I’ve got more money than I need, so it seemed wrong to keep it all to myself.” Cas shrugged, hugging each of the brothers.

“Cas, if you don’t mind me asking…” Sam started.

“In total, over two million so far. But don’t worry. I’ve put the rest in savings,” Cas informed them. “Castiel’s Coats paid our college education, boys.”

“Wait! What about that call you got all those weeks ago? I thought it was a rejection,” Sam recalled.

“You never asked and I never said. I bought this house the following week and have been renovating it since. I wanted it to be a surprise,” Cas replied.

“Well it’s some surprise, buddy!” Dean slapped him on the back. “I’ll never make a crack about your career choice ever again. You gave my baby a home!”

Did you like it? The nicest thing you can do for a writer is reblog their work and tell them, and others, how much you like it!

The Whole Enchilada: @iwantthedean @dolphincliffs @mrswhozeewhatsis @meganwinchester1999 @cherrycokegirls1 @closetspngirl  @roxyspearing @flamencodiva @blacktithe7 @sis-tafics @just-another-busyfangirl @evansrogerskitten @amanda-teaches @hannahindie @wotinspntarnation @winchesterprincessbride @winecatsandpizza @kickingitwithkirk  @wi-deangirl77 @hobby27 @mogaruke @gh0stgurl @paintrider13-blog @hunterscabin @alleiradayne

[some-mad-lunge]

Thank God - Ringo Edition

AU - Easy never stops Ringo from getting on that train. Why? Because my imagination will not stop where Ringsy is concerned. _____________________________

It had been over six weeks since Ringo had left Cologne on a train bound out of Easy’s life.   No one mentioned Ringo in Easy’s company after that day, not even Tobias.  

There was a fragility to Easy now that Tobias had never seen in his friend but he figured with time he’d would be back to normal but so far Tobias had been wrong, very very wrong.  

Easy went to work at the kiosk, he’d go out with his camera for hours, he hadn’t stepped foot in WG and he avoided the apartment like it housed the plague. He didn’t laugh. He didn’t cry. He just sat there. No one even knew if he was listening half the time when they spoke to him. He just had this far away look in his eye. He spent most of his time in his room, the only companion he seemed to enjoy was Stinker, who seemed to know what Easy needed. Tobias would have believed Easy didn’t even know how to use his voice anymore if he hadn’t heard the low rumbles of his conversations with the dog from the other side of Easy’s bedroom door.  

The only person who had heard from Ringo was Paco. He brought him up once when Easy, who had insisted he wasn’t hungry because apparently he survived on oxygen alone now, went and hid in his room from his roommate and declined dinner. Tobias had had enough and went to WG to get some re-enforcements.

“I don’t know what to do anymore, how do I fix him?”

Eli just looked sad and Saskia looked like she wanted to say something but was biting her lip.

“I heard from Ringo yesterday.”

Tobias whirled around and arched an eyebrow at Paco.

“He’s still my friend Tobias, not to mention your brother.”

Tobias huffed at that, like he needed reminding.

“He’s coming back to town this weekend. I convinced him to meet me for a beer. He sounds almost worse than Easy. It’s like neither of them know how to exist anymore.”

“Ringo deserves it, Easy doesn’t.”

“Enough!”

Everyone turned to look at Saskia, who suddenly had wild eyes and a snarl on her face as she glared at Tobias.  

“You Tobias, more than anyone, should know how this feels for both of them”  

“Me, what does it have to do with me?”  

“Ever since Kay-C left to go be Hauke’s fake fiancée you’ve been just as bad, but it’s almost like Easy and Ringo aren’t allowed to be heartbroken but you are. You don’t get a say in that.”  

Tobias didn’t know how to handle Saskia like this, who was this bossy, annoying woman?  

“It’s different.”  

Saskia couldn’t keep her disgust for Tobias from her voice.  

“It’s love Tobias, it’s different and the same for everybody. If you care for Easy like you say you do you would want him to have whatever makes him happy. If Ringo makes him happy you should be helping him get back to him. You changed, is it so hard to believe Ringo could too?”  

Tobias looked around the room, looking for support from Paco and Elli, and found none.  

“She’s right Tobias, they love each other.”  

Ellie looked at Paco with glowing eyes, Paco just smiled back at her and then turned to Tobias.  

“We should help them Tobias. We stick our noses in anyway, why not use it to help?”  

Tobias couldn’t believe what he was hearing, his friends were insane and he told them so.  

“You’re all crazy. They just need time and they’ll see how much better off they are. Trust me.”  

He stormed out and headed back to his apartment. It was just another relationship, Easy would move on, and Paco was no doubt wrong and Ringo probably already had.  

He made his way inside and headed for Easy’s door. He was about to knock when he heard it. Easy, crying. No not just crying but sobbing, deep shuddering sobs that sent shivers down Tobias’s back, and he could hear Stinker whining, no doubt the dog trying to comfort his friend. Tobias leaned his head against the closed door.

Fuck, he thought, fuck, fuck, FUCK.  

He turned around and headed back to WG, stormed in, slammed the door behind him and looked right at Saskia.  

“Okay, this is what we’re going to do.”  

**  

Ringo didn’t know how Paco had been able to convince him to spend his first night back in Cologne at his old apartment. He should have got a hotel, but six weeks of living on his sister’s couch with no income didn’t mean he had money to throw around. He was only back because Kira had kicked him out anyway. She’d had enough of his wallowing.

She’d been supportive at first, listening to him unload his broken heart, listened to his regrets. She’d understood, she’d been compassionate but firm, hell she’d bought him ice cream, stating that it’s what every broken heart needed.  

But as time wore on and Ringo wasn’t getting over it Kira got more and more frustrated with her brother.  

“This isn’t you Ringo. You fight for what you want or you move on, you can’t stay in this limbo forever. Maybe you need to accept that you’ll never be over Easy, not really, but God brother get your ass off my couch.”  

And so Ringo realized this ache, this emptiness wasn’t going to go away, it was a part of him now. But the rest of him needed a job, and a place to live and to get up every morning, even if the day ahead would be void of any real happiness. It’s what people did, or at least he assumed what people did, he’d never been like most people anyway.

And if he had to look at pictures of him and Easy on his phone before he went to sleep every night, before he could even attempt to sleep, then he would live with it.

And if he had to wake every morning reaching for someone who wasn’t there, and fight back the tears that came up, well then so be it.   So when he’d texted Paco he was coming back to town, was going to find another flat share and a new place to work, so that he could avoid his walking heartache at all costs Paco pounced. First he convinced him to meet for a drink. Then a few days later he said Easy was going out of town for a weekend visiting some uncle that Ringo didn’t even know he had. He could stay in his old room, at least for a few nights until he found somewhere else. Before Easy came back.

Clearly a glutton for punishment Ringo agreed, because if he couldn’t have Easy anymore than maybe he could relive the memories where he’d once been allowed to.  

The heaviness multiplied the moment the building came into view. It was worse when he was in the elevator. Even alone his reflex was to reach out to grasp Easy’s hand in the tiny space and he cursed himself when he realized what he’d done.  

He walked into WG and was greeted by hugs from Elli and Saskia and the smile from Paco.  

“We missed you Ringo, nothing has been the same without you.”  

Saskia’s words surprised him, she’d never been overly interested in Ringo before.  

“Go put your stuff in your room man, we’re going to go grab some dinner to bring back. You’re probably tired from the journey, go get settled.”

Paco half smiled at him and they all shuffled out the door.  

Then here he was, standing alone in the apartment like the last six weeks hadn’t happened. Like he had any right to be there. Like he had any right to the memories he’d made with Easy in these walls.   He carried his stuff up to his old room but other than placing the bags down in the doorway he couldn’t bring himself to step inside. There were memories and dreams held in that room too raw to face right now, in the light of day. He needed the cover of darkness before he was in the bed where he last held Easy because he knew it was going to hurt.

But he would do it, he had no other choice and he deserved all the pain it would bring him, every damn bit of it.

God he wanted a beer.   *** Easy was sitting on the couch looking out the window, Stinker curled on his lap. Tobias was watching his phone intently. He wanted to pretend to be stealth but honestly he could run around the apartment naked and Easy wouldn’t notice. In fact he had.

Then Tobias saw his phone light up and a two word text from Saskia, “Go time.”

“Oh my God Easy, we have to get to Elli and Paco’s!”

Tobias jumped out of his chair and grabbed Easy by the arm.

“What the hell, why?”

“Elli said Paco fell in the shower and he can’t get up and he’s too heavy for her.”

Tobias felt a little bad for the lie but as a group they knew Easy would over come anything if meant helping someone he cared about, they knew only an emergency would get him through the door to WG.

And they were right. Easy pushed himself off the couch, causing Stinker to yip and jump to the floor. Easy was out the door and Tobias was right behind him.

He watched Easy barrel into WG and then stop dead in his tracks.

Tobias looked over Easy’s head, made eye contact with his wide eyed brother who stood motionless in the kitchen, nodded his head and shut the door in his own face.

*** They just stared at each other and Easy didn’t dare move a muscle. He looks the same. How can he look the same? Hadn’t it been a million years since he’d seen that face?

“Easy.”

Ringo says his name with such reverence and sincerity that Easy has to close his eyes. He has to savour the moment, it’s the first time he’s felt whole in weeks.

When he opens them again he half expects to wake up or snap out of the hallucination. But Ringo is still there. Flesh and blood and heat and every piece of Easy is alive and warm again. He forgot what that felt like, to be warm.

*** He looked thinner and his eyes looked hollow and Ringo ached to touch him. To soothe and hold him and banish anything in the world that would dare haunt Easy Winter.

But Ringo knew he was the villain in this story and he’d live with that and pay for that for the rest of his life.

“I’m sorry, you weren’t supposed to be here. I never would have come had I known.”

He turned toward the stairs, he had to get away before he was on his knees, begging Easy for just another chance to love him again, to be the hero of Easy’s story. To reclaim the only good and real thing he’d ever held in his hands.

“I’ll grab my stuff and be gone in 5 minutes.”

“You won’t be gone.”

Easy’s voice caused Ringo to turn and he realized Easy was somehow standing right behind him.

Easy took Ringo’s hand and placed it on his chest, pushing his palm over his heart, into his heart, with a firm hand.

“You’ll always be right here, right where you’ve always been. My heart won’t let me let you go.”

Ringo closed his eyes, as the tears started. Because he could feel the skin of Easy’s hand against his and it was too much and not enough. It would never be enough.

“Look at me Ringo, please.”

Blue eyes looked into hazel, and it was like no time or distance had ever come between them. Like the last six weeks didn’t happen. And Ringo felt the facade he was always barely holding together start to crack

“Tell me Ringo. Tell me you’ve been miserable too. Tell me that the you don’t want me to be happy without you. Tell me you don’t know how to be happy without me.”

An almost bitter laugh escaped Ringo’s lips as he pulled his hand away from Easy’s grasp.

“Miserable?! Miserable would be a God send. I have been in hell without you Easy. A hell I built for myself. To not see you or touch you or laugh with you. To not be able to spend every second showing you how much I love you. And to know that you are out in the world but not in MY world. Knowing that nothing I do will ever be enough and to know that you hate me. To think that some other man could…”

His voice cracked as he choked back a sob. He was trying to stop himself from shaking. The pain he felt, the rage he felt at himself, it was all bubbling up and he couldn’t keep it down. He needed to lock it down because if he fell apart he knew he’d never be able to put himself back together.

**** “Say it again.”

Easy was surprised by the conviction in his own voice. But he knew, he finally knew, he just needed to hear it again.

Ringo looked at him confused. Yet what he saw in Easy’s face, the light and the truth and all that was Easy was radiating at him. The rage ceased and a hope that Ringo only allowed himself to feel late at night when he dreamed started to swell in his chest.

One more time. He would try one more time. Hell he’d tried until his dying day. If Easy needed that Ringo would give it to him, even if it tore his heart to shreds every time Easy walked away. He would always give Easy every piece of himself that he could.

He stepped closer, unsure at first but then placed his hands on Easy’s shoulders. To hold him in place, to anchor himself. He gazed into Easy’s wet eyes and the softness that lived in them.

“I love you Easy. I will do anything if you’d let me…”

But his words were cut off when Easy launched himself into Ringo’s arms and claimed his lips in a kiss that caused his knees to buckle. It tasted of salt and forgiveness and love and Ringo wanted to weep with happiness.

Easy kept leading him back, stroking his chest, his tongue sweeping into his mouth and Ringo was thankful when Easy pushed him down on the couch before his knees gave out.

Then Easy was in his lap, straddling his hips, he cradled Ringo’s head in his hands as he pressed kisses all over his face.

“I love you so much.” Easy whispered as his lips moved over Ringo’s face. “Never leave me again, I can’t breath without you.”

“Easy I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness but…”

Easy cut him off with another kiss. He didn’t want to hear it, didn’t need to hear it. He needed to feel it, he needed Ringo to make him whole again.

“Shhh. Just love me. Let me love you. It’s all I need.”

Ringo pulled back, his head was spinning, his heart was bursting, and he needed to see Easy’s face, because he needed to know he meant it. Ringo needed to know he had Easy back, that he could stay here, that he could finally stay in the only place he’d ever felt like he belonged.

He cupped Easy’s face and gazed into his eyes, because every question Ringo ever had was always answered when he looked into his Easy’s eyes.

They just looked at each other, taking in dimples and cheekbones and making sure nothing had changed. That time hadn’t erased anything. That they were still real.

Then Easy covered Ringo’s hands with his own and a smile seemed to light his eyes. Ringo felt blinded by it and then he knew what Easy was trying to tell him, felt it to the marrow of his bones.

“Thank God.” was the last thing Ringo said before he claimed Easy’s lips again and came home.

[palmettoes]

i’m going to make this place your home

this is a gift for @bluetheking as part of the winter @aftgexchange. you mentioned mary coming back and i was all too happy to comply (albeit with a significantly longer and angstier fic than i intended). i hope you enjoy it, and happy holidays!

canon-typical warnings apply, namely violence, abuse (specifically parental), alcohol, and mentions of past torture

read it on ao3!

Neil Josten, starting striker for the Palmetto State Foxes and reluctant protégé of one of the country’s most notorious mob bosses, had given larger men than himself reason to quiver in their boots. (Not that larger men than himself were all that unusual to come by, but Neil wasn’t ashamed to appraise himself for the several six-foot-something would-be-giants who knew from experience not to turn their backs on him.) It wasn’t so much that his history of violence preceded him—probably a good thing too, as Neil rarely came out on top of his spats once they turned to fist and flesh—but it was hardly considered confidential that what he lacked in muscular finesse, he made up for in guts and a somewhat slow brain-to-mouth filter. The point being, Neil had a handful of subjugated bullies (to use a term that wouldn’t leave his grandmother rolling in her grave) under his belt, a team of short-tempered and overprotective ruffians at his back, and almost nothing to worry about. Or so he would have attempted to reassure himself had he known who was eagerly awaiting his return to Fox Tower.

Vacation was difficult to manage when you were a Fox. Especially when your makeshift family consisted of two progenies of a nationwide crime empire, one legally recognised psychopath, a murderer (or two), and their legal guardian. Especially when Kevin Day and Andrew Minyard were involved. Because Kevin Day refused to let an exy court out of his sight for more than twenty-four hours and Andrew Minyard refused to let Kevin out of his sight for more than maybe one hour tops. So they were a little restricted on holiday destinations and the house in Columbia was more of a second home than anything, but none of them were complaining when it meant easy access to Eden’s Twilight at a moment’s notice and radio silence from Coach Wymack who was usually not hesitant to hound them into extra practice over break. (Plus, Neil wasn’t exactly averse to having Andrew, a double bed, and a door with a lock all to himself for a whole weekend.)

But the break came to an end, as it always seems to, and they were several hours overdue their agreed return to campus by the time they managed to drag themselves and their bags—now severely lighter than they had been five days prior, what with the copious consumption of alcohol they had partaken in—out to the Maserati. Erik, having spent most of Thanksgiving holed up in Nicky’s room with a metaphorical sock on the doorknob, had seen them off at the kerb before heading his own direction to the airport, so Nicky’s demeanour was somewhat subdued during their ride back. They spent the journey in formulaic silence, but Neil was still riding a vacation high and had successfully relegated Kevin to the backseat, giving Neil ample opportunity to admire the set of Andrew’s jaw and the clench of his knuckles over the wheel from the corner of his eye. A good end to a weekend of good beginnings, Neil thought. So, naturally, the universe threw a little English on the ball as they pulled into the Fox Tower parking lot.

The first sign of trouble came in the form of Dan Wilds standing outside the entrance; arms crossed, teeth clenched, and foot tapping an unsteady rhythm into the paving stones.

“You’re late,” she said, with unnatural terseness. Nicky shrugged as he scrambled out, bouncing back from his Erik-induced mourning with practised ease.

“It’s Thanksgiving. Forgive us for getting a little carried away,” he offered by way of explanation, but Dan barely spared him a second glance. Her gaze fell instead to Neil, cracking his back as he made his way slowly round the hood of the car.

“Neil. Inside. Now. The rest of you stay.”

In his peripheral, Neil caught Nicky grabbing at Kevin’s wrist before he could move to follow but no one raised a finger to stop Andrew as he shouldered his way through the doors behind them. Neil considered telling him to wait, but dismissed the thought almost immediately. Whatever he was about to walk into (and no doubt it was bad, if it had Dan as tense as she was), he didn’t much fancy going in alone.

“There’s someone here to see you,” Dan said, as the elevator rattled to a halt on the third floor. “And then I want an explanation.”

Neil could have paused to assess the situation, but Dan sidestepped the opening elevator doors in a clear invitation for Neil to lead the way, so he bit the bullet and moved forwards. Matt was leaning stiffly against the wall outside the room he shared with Aaron and Nicky, the same tenseness lacing his frame as Dan’s. Neil thought there was a greeting somewhere on his tongue ready to spill, but it died the second his gaze flitted to the woman standing alongside. Though years had etched wrinkles into her skin and a new stoop to her shoulders, the long, curly hair and dark, weathered skin was unmistakeable. Neil traced the outline of her figure, familiar yet unrecognisable in places where time had broken her back, until his eyes caught hers and Mary Hatford—she of the false identities and paranoid promises, of hotel rooms and guns under unfamiliar pillows, of firm love and firmer bruises—blinked back at him.

Seconds passed. Minutes stole the breath from Neil’s lungs. Days melted their surroundings into shadows until Neil knew nothing, nothing, nothing but the slit-eyed stare cradling him in arms like vices. He was walking, maybe, though he couldn’t see far enough to check his feet were actually stepping one in front of the other. The whole world became a tightrope; his past at one end, his present and future at the other, and him—a weightless body in between, two gusts away from blowing off into the horizon.

Everything tilted back into sharp colour with the slide of a hand into Neil’s hair. Pain jolted through his scalp, familiar and welcoming, with a tug to drag him forwards.

“Abram.”

He hadn’t thought he’d hear that voice again, like knives and blood and running running running, but Mary pressed her cheek to his, her lips a weight at the lobe of his ear, and whispered his name twice more like he might disappear if she didn’t give him solidity enough to stay. He had an inch on her now—the product of sunshine and full meals, while she tucked herself into dampened corners—but he shrank under her fist, shedding years of his life until eight-year-old Abram stared at her wide-eyed, knowing nothing but hurt and losing.

This was coming home after a lifetime of leaving, and Neil felt sick to his stomach.

“Neil,” Andrew said, a million miles away but hurtling towards them at breakneck speed. Neil twisted, searching for a different kind of home, a different kind of family that didn’t leave the taste of bile heavy in his mouth, but Mary held him in place with a sharp tug that sent lightning down his spine. She gave enough leeway for him to pull back just slightly, to watch the way her gaze pierced through Andrew and saw everything Neil didn’t have words for yet.

“Your father is dead. We have a lot to discuss,” she said at length, relinquishing her hold with a jerk and making uniform steps towards the stairs. It took no thought for Neil to follow—his feet knew their place even if his brain didn’t.

“Neil, who—” Dan started, a hand out as if to stop him. He gave her a rueful smile, gaze flitting between her and Matt, and ignoring Andrew with calculated difficulty.

“My mother,” he said honestly, because there was nothing left to lie about. “Team meeting when I get back?”

And he left them, stranded aimlessly on the third floor with their thoughts in utter turmoil.

Mary waited for him in the stairwell and set off again the second he made an appearance, light and quick on her feet as ever despite the age lining deep frown lines on her brow. The rest of Andrew’s lot were leant up against the Maserati, waiting obediently for a signal to enter. Nicky made to call out, but a curt shake of Neil’s head and the unfamiliar presence stepping out into the open seemed to cut him off short.

“Take me somewhere,” Mary said, without sparing a glance at the three blatantly obvious onlookers. “Somewhere we can talk.”

Neil took the lead, trailing Perimeter Road down to the campus green. It was empty enough in the early evening, the frosty edge of winter riding in on the skirts of autumn, that they could talk without fear of eavesdroppers, but open and close to home still so Neil could squash the urge to seek out every possible escape route. It was old habit buried under months of safety and security, but it came rushing back with the furtive twitch of Mary’s eye that brought his past knocking no matter how desperately he tried to bar up the door.

They stared each other down with clenched fists and tight jaws, an insurmountable rift and three feet of grass between them. Time was nothing when Mary held him in her eyes—minutes passed unchallenged and he let them wash over him. How long they stood there, he did not know, but one minute Mary watched him like a dark cloud hovering just out of reach and the next, something cleared in her vision. Thunderclouds still claimed the corners of Neil’s eyes; else, he might have ducked before his cheek began to sting. (It would have been futile. Submit, his body screamed, it’s the only thing you know how to do.) He could feel every inch of Mary’s open palm imprint itself onto mottled skin, leaving bruises further than skin deep on parts of him that he didn’t know how to bandage up. It felt like home and fear, and tasted just bittersweet enough for Neil to know this was where he belonged.

“You idiot,” Mary hissed, grafting a hand to his scalp again and pressing the thumb of her other into the base of his throat, pushing down down down until breathing was nothing but a distant memory. “You never learn, do you?”

Neil closed his eyes, took a shallow breath through his nose, and let himself relax in her grip. This was familiarity, was comfort. Above all else, he knew how to be Mary Hatford’s son.

The pressure at his throat disappeared but the hand remained in his hair, nails digging just deep enough to make him wince if he moved. He could feel his cheek spasm where the phantom weight of her slap still rested and his nerves ran dead ends across scarred flesh. Every movement, every brush of her skin against his, was magnified, electrifying him from head to toe.

“Did you keep any of your promises?” she said, her voice a whisper one hundred decibels too loud for the quiet atmosphere.

“I did.”

The first words Neil had spoken to her since her supposed death three years ago. They tasted like gasoline and sand in his mouth.

“Liar.” Mary’s hand tightened in his hair and Neil could feel the tug of each separate strand like a thousand tiny needles biting into his skin. He gasped softly, just short of a keening whine, and let his eyes roll closed again. The pain had a grasp on his brain but through the fuzziness, he could feel her warmth where she was almost brushing against his chest. She was right here despite everything, despite Neil’s incompetence and his brashness and his breaking, always breaking. She had come back for him. He always knew she would.

“It’s not a lie,” he said, teeth gritted against a plea that he would never let her hear. “You. I never told them about you.”

Her hand disappeared, slipping away so quickly he stumbled under the weight of having to hold himself up. There was a foot of air between them before he managed to catch himself, and it felt like losing all over again, like reaching desperately for something—someone—already gone. Neil watched his mother step away from him as eagerly as she’d moved closer. Little Abram watched a car go up in flames.

“They thought you were dead,” Neil said. There was no squeeze at his throat, no yank in his hair, but the words came out a gasp anyway. He had lost his breath three years ago on a beach in California and had failed to catch it ever since. “I told them you were.”

Mary held her glare a few seconds longer, expression unreadable as it always had been. Neil had long since given up searching for telling in her eyes. She had always been the better liar of the two.

“I wasn’t good enough for this life? You gave them everything, but you left me behind?”

And this—this was familiar. There was no winning against Mary Hatford. Neil could play all his cards right, but it wouldn’t change the fact he’d been dealt a duff hand. Losing was easy; boys like Neil Josten were not built to be winners.

“They let me be a part of their family. I didn’t want to screw it up,” he said anyway, because, despite a year of healing and learning, there was a death wish under his tongue and violence ingrained in his bones. He didn’t know how to survive when he wasn’t putting himself in danger.

Mary’s fist cracking against Neil’s jaw was a new sensation. Her open palm he knew as well as his own—every splay of her fingers, every crease of her skin. There was the weight of a golf club imprinted to his torso, far more permanent than any bruise or scar. The bite of her nails into his flesh until they drew blood was a fresh reminder on every inch of his body. She had been tough love, hurting and healing on repeat until he learnt his place, tearing him apart herself so that no one else got the chance to. But the clench of her fist was unfamiliar—a weight he did not carry in the back of his mind. He felt it now as she collided with his chin, tectonic plates meeting in a rupture of the skies. Neil was mountains, and earthquakes, and crumbling under weights unknown. After all this time, Mary knew best how to pick him undone.

“I am your family.”

Her voice was dangerously quiet and leaking venom from places where her resolve cracked through, but the words were honey to Neil’s tongue and nothing had ever tasted sweeter.

“Abram, we’re all we have. You won’t leave me again, okay?”

Neil could have screamed; could have reminded her it was she who left him stranded on California’s coastline with hands that smelled like burning metal. He could have turned his back and slipped easily into the life he had made in her absence. He could have. He didn’t.

“We’re all we have,” he echoed, and when she reached to cup his face between her rough palms, he tilted into the touch. She was his family. She would not leave again.

“Come home with me. The season is almost over. We’ll do Christmas,” Mary said.

“Home?” he asked. The word sounded like Foxes, like court walls and keyrings and Columbia and Andrew’s thigh pressed to his on the couch. Andrew. The word sounded like Andrew.

“England. Your uncle has given us a place to stay. We’ll be safe at last.”

Safety would always be a novelty to Neil, a luxury he could not afford to indulge. He thought of Wymack picking him up from the airport, of Allison smoothing foundation over his skin, of Andrew holding him together in hotel rooms and bathroom showers and at the end of the world. And he thought of his mother drying his tears and holding his hand, of unfamiliar faces blinking out of cracked mirrors, of bandages and alcohol and smoke. And maybe he already knew what it was to feel safe. Maybe he always had.

“Okay. Let’s go home.”

***

The journey back to Fox Tower passed in relative silence, but Neil’s thoughts were buzzing into overdrive. He didn’t need to imagine the look on his teammates’ faces when he told them what he had agreed to—he had seen it too many times already. But he had only promised to go home, not to stay. He would spend Christmas in England with Mary and Stuart, and would be back before the season started up again. They would hardly notice his absence.

Mary left him in the parking lot, promising her hotel was nearby and she would come back for him soon. Neil’s apprehension heightened as he took the stairs up to their floor, prolonging the inevitable as indefinitely as he could.

He wasn’t remotely surprised when he let himself into his dorm to find more than just Kevin and Andrew awaiting his return. The Foxes (minus the freshmen) were spread across the couches and floor, silence and concern tense in the air. The click of the door shutting behind Neil was enough to rouse them from their vigil, and he paused just inside the doorway as eight heads turned to meet him.

There were several sharp intakes of breath and Renee’s quiet “Oh Neil”, but Neil’s focus was on Andrew, who had risen almost instantly and was pacing steadily towards the door. Neil didn’t miss the way he fingered the edge of his armbands carefully, as if double checking the presence of his knives.

“Andrew,” he said warningly, taking a shuffled step back towards the door in a feeble attempt to block it from Andrew’s sight. It did nothing to deter him.

“I’m going to kill her.”

Andrew sounded about as cheerful as Neil had ever heard him off-medication, but it hardly masked the ferocity behind his words. Neil may not have wanted to admit it, but he knew Andrew meant every syllable. He backed up fully against the door, pressing himself flush against the wooden frame.

“No,” Neil said, loudly enough for someone to flinch across the room, but his eyes stayed fixated on the way Andrew’s arm stilled a hair’s breadth from jostling Neil out of the way. “We don’t have a deal anymore and I’m not in danger anyway. I’m asking you to stay out of it.”

His voice left a heavy silence in the air, tight with levelled stares and held breaths. The room was still clustered with bodies, but they might have melted into nonexistence for all Neil noticed their presence, because Andrew wasn’t retreating, wasn’t blinking, was there but wasn’t there there and Neil needed so desperately to bring him back before things turned nasty.

“Someone needs to tell her what happens when she touches my things.”

The words were careful, like bow to string; dangerous, like match to flame; deadly, like blade to heart. Neil heard the venom laced through them and knew it meant Andrew was only backing down, not off.

“Let me.”

Andrew’s hand dropped like a weight at that, falling heavily to his side. He turned away before Neil caught his expression, but couldn’t mask the way his hand curled a fist into the hem of his shirt. He settled wordlessly back into the couch, the space between him and Kevin an open invitation. Andrew would wait. The other Foxes deserved an explanation first.

Neil took the proffered seat, wincing at the five sets of eyes that tracked his bruised jaw. They had gathered to hear him spill secrets around worse injuries, but he was rough edges and raw interior, and every cut and bruise would always leave them on edge.

Neil cast his eyes to the cornice where the wall met the ceiling and spread his hands open, palm-up in his lap, searching for a place to start. The freshmen were spared this impromptu team gathering, and he was stupidly grateful. They knew of the history that undermined Neil Josten as Nathaniel Wesninski, because they were Foxes and reserved the right to know who they were playing for, but there were parts of him they’d never understand. They hadn’t seen him disappear into the shadows at the edge of his home state; hadn’t seen him spill himself all over the floor in a mad rush to let out everything he should never have kept hidden; hadn’t seen him return time and again a bloodied, broken mess just to let his family patch him back up from loose threads and gentle touches between them. And, for everything they knew and everything they couldn’t understand, this was something they didn’t need to be privy to.

“Mary Hatford didn’t die from internal bleeding on a beach in California. And when I burned the car, she wasn’t inside it.”

Neil could almost hear the sound of eight brains whirring to keep up with this new information. No one prompted him further. He thought it would be easier to speak once he got the first sentence out, but something stuck in the back of his throat, making it difficult to swallow or breathe or find words enough to explain himself.

When he hadn’t heard from her after a year in Millport, he figured that was it. He had never intended to tell the Foxes about her—it was the one promise he couldn’t bring himself to break. But nor had he thought she would come back for him. Hoped, yes, but it seemed nothing more than childish dreams. Suffice to say, he was not prepared for this conversation.

“It was safer if we weren’t together. My father’s people—they were looking for a woman and a boy. They never expected us to separate.”

“She abandoned you?” Allison said furiously, unable to stop herself from breaking the silence of Neil’s audience.

“She waited until I was eighteen,” Neil said before he could bite the words back. It was old habit to jump to her defence. There was no way to make them understand that everything Mary had done had been in his best interest. “I was an adult.”

“Barely,” Matt said, a look in his eye like he was remembering the Neil who had showed up to Palmetto State University with a duffel bag and a bubble of lies.

“She gave me money, and contacts if I ran into trouble. It was only temporary. We were supposed to find each other when it was safe, but…” Neil let his voice trail off but he was sure they knew where his words were headed. But it’s never safe. But Nathan has eyes everywhere. But I am a burden and a threat to her survival.

“When I left Millport to come here, I didn’t think she would ever come looking for me. I never told you because I never thought it would come up.”

It sounded like a cheap excuse. He had promised them he wasn’t going to lie anymore, but it was too easy to fall back on the same old stories. As long as she was dead, Neil didn’t have to think about her. Some days he convinced even himself that she had met a quick death at the barrel of a gun; that she had been on her way back to him when a bullet lodged itself in her brain. It was easier than accepting that she just hadn’t cared enough to find him.

“Les Moriyamas savent-ils qu’elle est encore en vie ?” Kevin said, finally. His knuckles were taut where they clenched over his knee and his gaze a weight on Neil’s profile. Neil flicked a glance up to meet Kevin’s, before refocusing on the entire room.

“I don’t know how much the Moriyamas know,” he said, ignoring Kevin’s disapproving huff at the switch to English, “but if they knew she was alive, I doubt she would be for much longer.”

No one had a response to that. It was nothing but the bitter truth, distasteful and heavy on the tongue as honesty so often is. Mary was as much a loose end as Neil, and she didn’t have the benefit of a deal cut with Ichirou. If her survival was discovered, it would not last. It wasn’t a pleasant thought, sitting uncomfortably in the air between them, but nor was it a sad one. It was just the truth.

“Your face,” Nicky said, gesturing to the corresponding spot on his own jawline that bloomed purple on Neil’s. There was question in there somewhere, though it didn’t quite sound like one. Neil answered anyway.

“My fault. I provoked her.”

Dan stood abruptly, Matt’s hand falling limply from her lap in the process. The tense set of her shoulders was mirrored in each of the Foxes as they pierced glares into the bruise at Neil’s chin. Neil twisted his head to Andrew, expecting to find comfort in casual indifference, but Andrew had stilled beside him. He wasn’t looking at Neil, but there was violence in his eyes—the reflection of blades, and car crashes, and the cold metal of a gun. His fist still creased the fabric of his shirt in a desperate attempt to hide the shake of his fingers, or to deter the anger claiming his muscles, Neil wasn’t sure which. Neil had seen his Foxes through thick and thin; had seen them throw fury between one another like exy balls; had seen them come together as he fell apart. He had seen them in pain and sorrow, and in honey-sweet triumph, but he had not seen them like this. With electricity crackling through the air between them. With clenched fists and grit teeth and anger so palpable Neil could feel it burning his skin.

“You know this isn’t okay, don’t you?” Renee asked softly, uncertainly. Her voice stole the tension from the room, leaching it from tight shoulders and bitten lips. Dan collapsed back onto the couch, as if the anger had been the only thing keeping her together, but she ignored the inviting hand Matt laid in the gap between them. Neil tried not to think too much of it.

“She’s just doing what’s best—”

“Don’t be so obtuse.”

Renee pressed her fingertips to Allison’s knee before she could say more, but Neil knew it did nothing to subside her fury. He couldn’t explain it—not in a way they would understand. They didn’t know how much of a nuisance Neil had been growing up, how often he had complained when they went without meals or when his feet were too blistered to walk further, how distracted he got by the little things like the local sports team or the soaps on hotel TVs. They didn’t know Mary had taught him the only way he would listen: with bruises and burns.

“You don’t understand,” he said, buying himself time as he searched for words to explain himself.

“I do,” Aaron said, before Neil could find what he was looking for. He didn’t offer anything further, but he caught Neil’s eye contact for the briefest of moments. It wasn’t warmth or comfort or even the vaguest essence of friendliness, but nor was it the cold, angry stare he usually reserved for Neil. It was just understanding. Support came in the strangest of forms.

“She won’t see you anymore. She isn’t welcome here,” Dan said, when it became apparent no one was chasing the thread Aaron left dangling in the air. She looked small and scared, anger brittle in the tremor of her fingers, but her voice didn’t shake once. Neil felt at once grateful and saddened, because he knew he had to let her down just once more.

“I’m staying with her for Christmas.”

“You’re what?” Nicky squawked. Several voices clamoured over one another, and Neil only caught fragments of each of them. You’re not— She’ll kill— We won’t let— You can’t be serious. It didn’t matter what they said. He had made up his mind. Because Neil knew what the others didn’t—couldn’t—understand. He knew that Mary and he were a unit, two parts of a whole that would always find their way back to each other. Mary was no worse a person than Neil himself and, against all odds, she had risked everything to find him again. He wouldn’t let that be in vain.

***

(Two silhouettes and an empty rooftop. Forgotten cigarettes burning to the filter. A hand on the back of his neck instead of around his chin. It’s your choice.

Two hearts chasing circles around one another. Air dirty with mislaid secrets. Fingers in his hair to keep him steady, or keep him close, or keep him whole. I’ll come back to you.

Their lips were gentle when they touched, fire and fury as always, but only softness over bruised jaws. It hurt, it hurt—it healed.)

***

Neil left one family frowning after him in Upstate Regional Airport, and boarded a plane to his other. Mary had returned to England without him, but she swore black and blue she wouldn’t hesitate to show up on his doorstep again if Christmas came and went without delivering him to her. Despite his teammates’ concern, Neil wasn’t worried. He had lived with Mary for eighteen years. He had to believe she had already done her worst to him.

“It’s only two weeks,” Neil had said, when Matt squeezed his arm so hard he might have snapped it clean in two. There were worse ways to spend Christmas break. Neil would know—he had experienced them.

Mary was nothing short of sunshine and smiles when she picked Neil up from the airport. The radio played in the car on the drive to Stuart’s house, but she talked over it. She told him about her plans for Christmas—about dinner and movies and her special hot chocolate.

Neil could almost forget the last ten years of his life had happened. When he looked at Mary, he was nine years old and they were planning secret Christmas celebrations behind his father’s back. They could never do anything big with roast turkeys and stockings, but Mary made two mugs of hot chocolate every year and turned a blind eye when Neil snuck extra marshmallows from the bag. Their first year on the run, she had wasted their weekly expenses buying cocoa and marshmallows and made cheap hot chocolate in paper cups on Christmas Day. Neil remembered wrapping his small fingers around the cup long after its contents were gone and it was cold against his palm. Mary had had to pry it from him when they moved on the next morning.

Stuart’s house was a four-bedroomed affair on the outskirts of Brighton with six northward windows and a rooftop fire escape. Neil took all of this in as they stalled in the driveway, his relived memories leaving him raw and vulnerable, falling into abandoned routines. He had brought only his duffel with him, to avoid baggage claim at the airport, so he had no excuse to linger by the car after Mary stepped out. Walking up to the front door felt like a march to the gallows, and stepping over the threshold was putting the noose around his own neck. Neil spared a thought for his Foxes, hoped they would enjoy their respective Christmases, and sealed his fate.

Mary kept the household busy over the week leading up to the big day. They were doing Christmas properly this year, she insisted, since they were finally a family at last. There was only three of them in the house, but the meal they prepared in advance would have fed a professional exy team twice over. Neil found the methodical chopping, boiling, and calling to one another across the messy kitchen became a comfort after the first few days, but he could never quite relax. He locked the door to his room overnight and slept with one of Andrew’s knives under his pillow. It was less reassuring than a gun, but comforting nonetheless.

Whenever he wasn’t needed for preparations, Neil snuck out the fire escape and burned cigarettes on the roof. He had taken to buying Andrew’s brand out of habit, and the smoke smelled less like burning metal and more like the Foxhole Court. He thought more and more every day that he would survive this. Mary was playing at the mother he had always wanted her to be, and Stuart was as distant as Nathan but not nearly as dangerous. And Neil had a ticket to South Carolina tucked in the pocket of his duffel. He would make it home.

Christmas Eve brought the first inkling of the old Mary Hatford blinking back into existence. Neil’s defences were weakened, his thoughts muddled by the easy routine they had fallen into. He was standing in Stuart’s cosy sitting room, watching Mary stoke the fire and waiting for Nicky to text back with an update, when she made her move.

“You’ve grown soft, Abram. Too fond. Too trusting,” she said without looking up. Neil snapped his phone shut abruptly, focusing his attention on the muscles shifting in her shoulders as she jabbed the poker at the coals. He had known it was coming, long before he even arrived, but he’d let himself be lulled into a sense of security. Stupid. Reckless.

“The blond one. You need to let him go,” Mary continued. Neil’s fist tightened around his phone. He wouldn’t fight her here—not in her own home, not on Christmas Eve.

“I can’t,” was all he said. It was the truth, plain and open like Mary had taught him never to tell it. He would not fight her. But he would let her know he wouldn’t break so easily these days.

“He isn’t good for you. He makes you weak.”

“He doesn’t,” Neil said, the defiance like copper on his tongue but still honest in ways he was learning to be. “He is my family.”

Neil Josten was the fastest striker in collegiate exy. He spent half his time dodging stray balls and hefty rackets. But even he wasn’t quick enough to avoid the poker that flew from his mother’s hands at those words. It glanced off his cheek before he could think to duck and, by instinct, he drew his arm up to force it away from his body, sending a searing pain all through his wrist. He crumpled, cradling his face with one hand and curling his body around the other in a measly form of protection. In the blink of an eye, he was tied to the passenger seat of a car, a dashboard lighter licking scars into his cheek. He was handcuffed to Kevin’s Evermore bed, a burning wire slowly peeling the skin from the palm of his hand. He was on the floor in his father’s Baltimore house, a heated iron discarded beside him and the sensation of every nerve in his shoulder being ripped one by one from his body.

“Oh, Abram. Silly Abram. Haven’t I always told you not to play with fire?”

Mary knelt at his side, pushing his hand away to tilt his face into her line of sight. Her cool fingers were a salve to his flaming cheek, and she held him together gently with a palm cupping his chin. Neil would fall apart without her—it was a wonder he hadn’t already. She knew how to treat burns, how to clean wounds, how to stitch him back together piece by careful piece.

“I know what’s best, remember? He is not good for you,” she said, her eyes full of concern as though she couldn’t have predicted the burning poker slipping from her own fingertips. She brushed his hair back with one hand and used the other to draw him close enough to kiss his forehead, all sense of anger stolen from her limbs. She had never been wrong before. Neil needed no further incentive to trust her.

“Okay, Mama,” he said, leaning into her touch like he was chasing the last breath of oxygen left on the planet. “Okay.”

***

Mary Hatford was a mother, not a gaoler. She didn’t lock doors or bar windows, because she didn’t need to. Because she was keeping only those who wished to be kept. This would be her downfall.

In lieu of a goodnight, Neil had received a rolling pin to the stomach for mentioning holiday meals with the Foxes, and a handful of painkillers by way of apology. The rolling pin had been wooden and flimsy, but Mary knew force if nothing else. As the evening wore on, breathing became a chore and movement nigh on impossible. Neil could feel the cracked rib worse than ever as he contorted his body to shimmy out the bathroom window, but he gritted his teeth against the pain and tugged himself out onto the window ledge. He dropped softly to the grassy outcrop framing the side of the house, spared a glance for the dark window of his second-storey bedroom, and was grateful the bathroom had been built a floor below. As soon as he was clear of the garden, Neil picked up speed, his instincts leading him towards the sound of buzzing traffic where he would hopefully be opportune enough to hitch a ride. His chest throbbed dully under the fissure in his ribs and his lungs ached for a break far earlier than he would usually need one, but not once did he glance back at the house he had left behind. There was no family for him there any longer.

Last minute tickets to the States weren’t cheap, but Neil had the luxury of having spent almost three years under one identity and the money saved was a godsend. The flight passed in mild discomfort, and Neil took to reciting exy stats to distract himself from the pain in his lower chest. Somehow, it kept him sane.

By the time he stepped out of Upstate Regional Airport into the chilly air of South Carolina’s winter, it was mid-morning on Christmas Day. Activity was sparse in the airport, but not entirely dead. Neil switched on his phone, his thumb automatically hovering over the speed dial. Andrew’s name was first, Wymack’s blinking just underneath, followed by the other Foxes one by one. He flicked the phone shut before he could tap any of them and moved off to hail a taxi. It was Christmas, after all. They were probably busy.

Fox Tower was empty when Neil let himself into the dorms to drop off his duffel, but he knew the way to Abby’s house by memory. It was a longer trek by foot than he had imagined—he started out at a jog but his ribcage screamed bloody murder until he relaxed into a casual stroll—and his injuries were a little worse for wear by the time he arrived. He paused in the driveway, an attempt to collect his composure from where it dragged at his heels masked under his need to catch a breath. The sitting room curtains were pulled wide and, through the bay windows, Neil could make out Andrew’s lot splayed across the room. He watched them for several precious minutes, a softness growing in his stomach, forcing its way through his chest, and cascading up his throat in a bubbling urge to tear up. They five of them (Neil included) had been planning to spend the holidays in Germany with Erik’s family, but had pulled out last minute to stay in South Carolina with Abby and Wymack. They never spoke about it, but they didn’t have to for Neil to know it was because of him. Because this is where he would come if things fell apart. Because he had returned alone from a broken Christmas once before and they would not let history repeat itself.

It took more effort than it was worth for Neil to force his gaze away from them and make the final few steps to the front door. He rang the doorbell, though he knew it would be unlocked, in a sudden bout of self-consciousness. He would always be welcome, he knew that, but it was too much to expect them to open their arms when he let himself be torn open time and time again. He would not walk in unannounced, and if they wanted him gone he would go.

It was Wymack who answered the door, half turned over his shoulder as the tail end of an insult left his lips. His smile was good-natured, fond even, and Neil felt all the worse for forcing his inconvenience upon it. The expression slipped as Wymack turned his full attention to the doorway, replaced by rigid fury and barely-visible concern concealed under a glare.

“Christ, Neil. Not again.”

Neil knew the others were listening in, because the house went still the second his name was thrown into open air. Wymack dragged Neil inside with a firm grip on his shoulder the same instant as Andrew barged into the hallway, Nicky, Kevin, and Abby hard on his heels with Aaron trailing behind. Wymack was smart enough to drop his hold on Neil when Andrew approached and moved to hang back with the others. Neil barely noticed them out the corner of his vision—he was caught in the webs Andrew was spinning with furious eyes. They stared each other down, neither moving nor speaking. Andrew lifted a hand to hover over the burn on Neil’s cheek, but didn’t touch the tender flesh. His eyes flicked over Neil’s body, searching for further impairments.

“Where else?”

Neil raised his right arm, displaying the matching scar still fresh on his wrist.

“My ribs too. Something might be broken.”

“Shit,” Nicky breathed, somewhere to the right. Nobody else spoke. Andrew’s gaze continued to set itself on fire.

“Abby,” Andrew finally said into the thickened air. Abby squealed at the abrupt mention of her name but disappeared almost instantly in search of a First-Aid kit. Andrew lifted his arm again, brought it this time to hover over the back of Neil’s neck.

“Can I—?” he asked. Neil nodded—a little too quickly, a little too eagerly—and Andrew dropped the weight of it onto the juncture between Neil’s shoulders. For the first time since Mary’s unexpected appearance, Neil discovered that he still remembered how to breathe. All his jagged edges flowed out of him as Andrew steered him into the sitting room, leaving him raw and empty but finally with enough space to fill his lungs.

Andrew climbed onto the back of the couch and forced Neil down in front of him, his knees pressed just beneath Neil’s shoulder blades and his hand a constant presence pressing on Neil’s neck. Abby shooed the crowded Foxes out of her way as she hustled back through with the First-Aid kit in hand. She started with his burns, methodically dressing and wrapping them with gentle fingers. She was too familiar, had patched him up like this too many times. Neil watched the grey clouds passing over her face as she worked, and thought she did not deserve to look so grim. He hated himself all the worse for causing that expression too often to count.

When she moved on to press a gentle hand over his ribcage, the others mysteriously drifted out of the room, murmuring something about checking on the roast. Neil let Andrew tug his shirt up over his head, gasping a little at the pain it took to lift his arms so high, and Abby carefully prodded at the points where it hurt to breathe. Neil didn’t think about his mother’s smile when she saw him in Heathrow Airport, her hips swaying as she chopped potatoes in the kitchen, her eyes darkening as she slammed a rolling pin between his ribs and hissed at his mentions of family other than her. He focused instead on Andrew’s palm, flat and hot against his skin, and on the repetitive nature of his breaths. In. He was here, in this moment, in this house, not there in another. Out. He would not have to see Mary’s twisted scowl ever again. In. He was safe as long as he had this roof over his head, as long as he had this hand on his neck. Out. He was a Fox and he had a family who would always welcome him home.

Once Neil was fully clothed once again, the others crowded the room with platters of food and cheer just a little too buoyant to be believable. Wymack cast a cursory glance over Neil’s bandages, searching out answers in a silence that he knew better than to break.

“We will talk about your necessity to put yourself in unpleasant situations,” he said at length, “but right now, it’s Christmas. Let’s eat.”

They tucked into Abby’s usual spread, chatting around mouthfuls of food and swigs of wine. The elephant in the room that was Neil’s past was left untouched, but Andrew didn’t move from his position at Neil’s back and, bit by bit, Neil found his breath returning to him.

***

Boxing Day saw the two of them bundled in their matching coats, legs dangling off the side of the rooftop and breaths clouded around puffs of smoke. They had spent the morning at Abby’s, lazily cleaning the previous day’s messes and forcing Neil into another check-up, before they were released back to the Tower.

Now, they sat in silence and watched the sun disappear behind the hazy sea of buildings laid out in front of them. There was a question somewhere between them, unvoiced and ignored but it disrupted the air with its awkward presence. Neil watched Andrew smoke his cigarette to a stub, crushed his own into ash, and stared out at the rapidly vanishing horizon.

“I just wanted to go home.”

Andrew gave him a funny look at that, pressing the cherry of his cigarette into the roof beneath them absentmindedly. The whole world felt a million miles away when he shifted to face Neil properly. And Neil would climb through a thousand bathroom windows with a thousand broken ribs from a thousand jealous mothers for this moment. When it was just him, and Andrew, and the ground four storeys below.

“You are home,” Andrew said, then grabbed his chin in both hands and kissed him into the dying sunlight.

[taurusfrog1-blog]

7 Best Things to Do this Winter in New York City - Forbes

Guggenheim Museum at the Holiday Train ShowAdrienne Jordan

If you’re heading to New York this winter, you will find the destination ripe with new hotel openings like Merrion Row Hotel; outstanding dance performances by Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater; and tons of great places to eat, ranging from Israeli to Irish-inspired. The Holiday Train Show at the New York Botanical Gardens is a timeless, kid-friendly destination in the Bronx. Here are 7 best things to do in the city this season:

Fresh Squeezed Orange Juice at EVEN Hotels Times SquareAdrienne Jordan

Stay

If you’re looking for a wellness-oriented hotel in New York City, the EVEN Hotels Times Square gets it right down to the stairs. Instead of taking them, the stairwell door inscribes you to "take the stairs, your heart will thank you". More intimately, workout equipment – like stediballs, foam rollers, yoga blocks, yoga mats, and suspension cables – are waiting for you in your room. Not sure which routine you want to do? There are free workout instructional videos on the screen, as well as a booklet with exercises.

EVEN Hotels Times SquareAdrienne Jordan

The name of the hotel restaurant- “Cork & Kale”-already sounds like a health filled dining venue before you descend the wooden stairs from the check-in lobby area. The restaurant is a great option for breakfast with choices like "Power Yogurt"; "Seasonal Fresh Fruit Bowl" and "Acai Bowl".

Holiday Train Show at NYBGAdrienne Jordan

Explore

The New York Botanical Gardens in the Bronx is famous for their Holiday Train Show that takes place every year. Through January, 21 2019, the train show created by Applied Imagination in Kentucky take natural materials from the forests in that destination like walnuts, pine cones, and bark to create over 175 New York landmarks.

Some of the intricate pieces include Penn Station, Grand Station, and historic Union Station, and other buildings that no longer exist, but stood historically in the city. There are also twinkling Christmas trees throughout the Enid A. Haupt Conservatory for impromptu backdrop for Christmas photos with your family.

The Green FigAdrienne Jordan

Eat

Choose to have dinner at Green Fig located at the YOTEL. Helmed by Executive Chef Yuval Litmanovich, the venue has a moody atmosphere, flanked by glowing green and blue lamps in the adjacent lobby. The interiors are creative: there is even one 7-person round table with a tree in the middle of it. The Israeli-cuisine restaurant has favorites like Chicken Marrakesh; Mezze; and Eggplant Chateau.

The new hotel and restaurant, Merrion Row Hotel + Public House opened on December 1, 2018. The restaurant has plush seatings, including high chairs overlooking the busy bar. Choose the Irish-inspired cuisine like the Pan Seared Salmon or Lamb Chops.

Lunch at the Intersect By Lexus CafeAdrienne Jordan

Have lunch at Intersect by Lexus in the café, which opened November 2018. The multi-million dollar, avant-garde venue had a mission to create a space where people could experience the lifestyle of the people that own the Lexus cars. The space includes a local artisan boutique; artwork depicting parts from the 1983 prototype Lexus to present. If you are eating in the café, choose the chicken Caesar sandwich; tomato soup; and for a treat: the chocolate chip cookie that has a slightly salty side.

Alvin Ailey American Dance TheaterAndrew Eccles

Watch

In its 60th year, the Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater has a series of special programs for the dance-loving traveler. December 22-29th, the matinee shows on Saturday afternoons allows you to stay afterwards for a free Q&A with the acclaimed Ailey dancers in the theater. Check out some of the fluid and graceful movements of the dancers during celebrated works like Ella, No Longer Silent, In/Side, and Mass up until the end of the company’s tour in New York on December 30th.

Pamper

At the Paul Labrecque Salon and Spa, book the Lemongrass Deep Hair Conditioner (45 minutes with heat). The treatment rejuvenates your hair and scalp with a deep conditioning warm lemongrass oil pre-shampoo treatment. The treatment finishes with the Paul Labrecque signature Indian Head 5 step scalp massage.

Pack

Topo Designs Global Sweater keeps you warm with its soft, wool design. Add a collared shirt for a polished look.

If you’re going to take a city run before a day of adventure, Lululemon’s Tight Stuff Tight has supportive Luxtreme fabric that keeps you warm and flexible.

Stylish and warm go hand-in-hand when you’re walking the NYC streets with Timberland’s brown, Sutherlin Bay Tall Slouch Boots

To keep your hair and body moisturized against the aggressive winter air, Shea Moisture’s 100% Extra Virgin coconut Oil Head to Toe Nourishing Hydration does the job

If you gotta throw your gear in your weekender but have the outside look stylish and organized, take the LeDaveed Travel Duffle in chestnut

Source: https://www.forbes.com/sites/adriennejordan/2018/12/18/7-best-things-to-do-this-winter-in-new-york-city/

[sicklylittlesnowflake]

Could u do a riverdale fix where jellybean comes back to visit but jughead gets really sick and try's to hide it from her but she finds out anyway and takes care of him?

(Omfg let me tell u how much I loved this prompt. This was some good shit!! One of my fav tropes is older brother who loves his lil sibling and hates showing his weaker side!!! Also, this took a while, and I’m sorry, because I lost track and this ended up longer than expected! So sorry for the delay!)

There were three and a half things that made Jughead happy, the stars in his dark night sky of a life. Archie Andrews, Burgers, his dad half of the time, and of course, his beautiful sister, Jellybean.

Jughead was no stranger to misfortunes and heartache. His life was just a series of unfortunate events and emotional turmoil. With his father in jail, and undeservedly so,  at least not for that much time, in his opinion, and him feeling unwanted in the Andrews house, his mother basically telling him to fuck off, and his increasingly worsening depression and anxiety.

Jughead could barely get out of bed (or rather the garage couch) these days, and only really left when Archie came over worried out of his mind.  He just felt so empty and lonely, despite Archie being there. He appreciated Archie, he really did, and was so grateful for this ray of sunshine but his heart was yearning for family.

When his phone rang at a strange hour, he expected some wrong number of some sort. However, when he heard the sound of a sweet, little girl’s voice Jughead felt this surge of happiness that he hadn’t felt in so long, and in that second he felt whole.

“Juggie?! This better be you because I stole this number off mom–”

“Yes, yes, JB, it’s me, it’s me!”

They spent the night talking and catching up–Jughead just cherishing the sound of her voice, like it could all just disappear from him again. He listened to her stories about random things, new shows she liked, whatever. He had missed her so much; he had always been aware of the hole in his heart from her absence, but he had only realised the size of it in that moment. He had been so afraid of losing her, one of the few things that made him happy, and he was sure he was losing her but she was right here. She was here, and tears started to trickle down his cheeks, and for the first time in forever they were tears of joy.

It took Jellybean three consecutive nights of screaming and crying, but it was finally decided she would take the long weekend to see Jughead.

Of course, Jughead’s mom refused to come, some excuse about work, but of course Jughead knew it wasn’t about that. However, he wasn’t even thinking about his mom, because he was too busy thinking about Jellybean.

Fred was off doing something for work that weekend, so he offered to let Jellybean use his room whilst he was gone. Archie had been helping Jughead plan activities and foods to buy, and what movies to watch. Each day leading up to the Friday Evening she’d arrive was agonisingly slow. It was like Jughead’s life was actually cooperating.

But of course on the Thursday, Jughead woke up at 4 in the morning to a relentless and never ending sneezing fit.

Archie was up in an instant, grabbing a box of tissues from his drawer, a few left from the last time Jughead was sick (which wasn’t too long ago, at all) and offered them to him once the fit had ended.

Jughead sniffled hard and accepted the tissues gratefully, pressing them against his nose and rubbing irritably. He looked up to see Archie’s concerned gaze, and when the redhead was about to speak he cut him off.

“Archie–I’m fine,” Jughead pressed, and gave his nose one last run before flopping back against his bed and pulling the blankets over him, knocked out in a second.

Archie sighed, whispering to himself, “This is what you get for sleeping in the garage..”

However he did lightly press a hand against Jughead’s cheek, which was slightly warm. He frowned, knowing what was coming and left the tissue box next to him just in case, before heading back to sleep.

Needless to say, Jughead was not looking his best the next morning.

“Well–I hope you and Jughead have a good weekend, so as per usual, be safe, don’t do anything stupid. This is really good for Jughead, he really needs this,” Fred chatted idly, walking around doing various things.

Archie nodded, drinking his OJ but looking slightly concerned.

“Wait, what’s up, Arch?” Fred asked, but Archie didn’t even have to reply because Jughead walked into the kitchen that moment looking horrible.

“Oh no,” Fred muttered under his breath. This again.

Jughead approached the breakfast bar to sit when he was interrupted by a powerful sneeze that bended him at the waist, making Archie slightly startled.

“Excuse me,” Jughead said in embarrassment, rubbing a finger under his nose.

Fred walked up to the boy and went to feel his forehead when Jughead ducked away. Fred glared at the boy and put his hand on anyway, despite his protests and groaning.

“Yep, definitely warm..oh god, now I don’t want to leave you–”

“I’m fine, Mr Andrews, really,” Jughead protested.

“He’s not fine dad,” Archie insisted, “..but..I can do this, dad. I’ve done this a million times before, and if there is an emergency, the Coopers are next door.”

Fred sighed, “Just make sure he doesn’t die, Archie. I don’t trust him to keep himself alive, and also you’re both staying home from school today. Jughead, you need as much rest as possible until Jellybean comes home tonight, okay?”

The thought made Jughead smile amidst all the discomfort and pain of his illness, and while Archie was happy for his best friend, he was also worried.

Jughead was not any better by the time they had to leave for the bus station. Jughead would sneeze every minute, and he started to develop this chesty cough. Walking to the bus stop in this winter weather would not help Jughead at all.

Jughead would be taken over by a harsh fit of sneezing every minute or so, his nose changing from a shade of pink to deep red every time. Archie was just thankful he had thought to bring some tissues for him.

“Bless you–Jug, listen–”

“I’m fine, Archie,” Jughead pressed again, firm and strong in tone.

Archie sighed, normally he wouldn’t let Jughead win, but he knew that it would rip Jughead to shreds if he tried to take this away from him. Jughead was hurting, and it seemed Jellybean was the only thing that could take all that pain away, even if just for a little while. Anything to make his best friend feel happy again.

He just hoped he’d be okay.

Jughead waited anxiously for the bus to arrive, checking his watch every few seconds. He wrung his hands, bounced his leg, bit his lip, whatever he could to fidget. Heck, Archie was anxious for him.

Then, the bus from Toledo arrived, pulling into the parking lot. Jughead jumped out of his seat and ran over to the bus door, and waited as people began to pour out and suddenly, his body froze as he saw her.

Jellybean thanked the bus driver cheerily, and she turned to go down, and then she saw him. God, she grew even more beautiful. Her hair has grown a few more inches, and she was wearing a Pink Floyd tee and the Pearl Jam backpack Jughead had given to her for her birthday.

When her eyes landed on Jughead, her eyes widened and her entire face lit up, she looked so happy and lively that Jughead’s heart lit with a passionate fire.

She ran down the stairs and leaped out of the bus into Jughead’s open arms, squealing with happiness. She held her older brother tight, squeezing him with so much love, love that Jughead had been yearning for for so long.

Holding her in his arms like this felt like a distant memory, like a fantasy, a dream that was finally coming true. It felt too fantastical to be possibly true, and he felt little tears pricking his eyes and he struggled to keep them from pouring out of his eyes. He sniffled softly.

“You’re home, you’re home..” he croaked out, voice cracking with emotion, and with his sickness.

“So my best friend Alison is great at football–you would love her Archie–and she’s nothing like you and I Jug, she’s very different to me. But we still work, like you and Archie!” She chatted happily, holding onto her brother’s hand as they walked home from the bus stop. She still knew the way well.

Jughead smiled at her, “That’s so gre..g…hehh..”

Jughead turned away from her and sneezed loudly into his elbow, trying to restrain the sound but only succeeding in increasing the power of it and hurting his throat.

Jellybean jumped, “Bless you! You only sneeze like that when–”

Her eyes narrowed, “Juggie..”

Jughead smirked and shook his head. “Nah, you just smell awful, that’s all!” He teased, ruffling her hair only for her to whine, laughing and punching his arm.

Archie laughed with them, but felt concerned all the same.

Jellybean climbed up onto Fred’s bed and bounced on it, relishing how big the bed was, spreading out like she was a snow angel.

Jughead smiled, her giggles music to his ears. He couldn’t believe he had been deprived of this beauty for so long.

Suddenly he was snapped out of his thoughts by a prickle in his sinuses, and he tried to subtlely pinch at his nose to avoid it, and managed to ward it off for the time being.

Eventually she was curled up in bed, understandably tired, it was 12:30 am, and they’d spent the last few hours catching up and joking around.

Jughead approached her and sat at the edge of the bed, “Night, JB..”

Jellybean sat up and opened her arms, “Good night, Juggy!”

Jughead smiled softly and embraced her, holding her close, and she locked him in the embrace, refusing to let him go. It was such a lovely and warm moment.

But of course this was Jughead’s life so of course his nose began to tickle yet again.

He tried to pull away, when of course she wouldn’t let go, and he panicked, managing to clamp his hands over the lower half of his face and fell into a sneezing fit, his body shaking and racked with the force of the fit.

Once he finished, Jellybean let him go.

“..Jug..are you sick?”

Jughead sniffled wetly and shook his head, “No, no, just some dust in the air.”

Jellybean looked suspicious, but dropped it and gave him one last hug before heading off to sleep.

Jughead made his way over to Archie’s bedroom, and as he made his presence known, a packet of pills and a glass of water was being thrust in his face.

“Woah, Andrews,” Jughead blinked, rubbing at his nose as he took the supplies gratefully. He opened a packet and popped a pill into his mouth and swallowed.

Archie glared, “I gave you the water to avoid hurting your throat further.”

Jughead rolled his eyes, “I am a renowned pill popper, Archie, I think I’ll be fine.”

Archie rolled his eyes and patted at his bed, “you’re taking the bed tonight.”

Jughead shook his head profusely, “No! I’ve slept in your bed more times than you have these past few months, this is so unfair on you Archie–id rather take the couch..”

His sentence trailed off as his nose itched again, and his breath began to hitch as he desperately grabbed for a tissue, just barely enough time to cover his nose with the tissue and stifle 5 sneezes into it.

Archie frowned, “Why’d you hold them in? That’s not good for you!”

“I didn’t want Jellybean to hear!” Jughead replied, blowing his nose into the tissue.

Archie groaned, “You are impossible, Jug. You can’t hide this from her, she’s not stupid, she’s smart and you know that!”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to ruin this Archie! I ruin everything! I haven’t seen her for 8 months, Archie! It’s two days, Archie, I have her for two days and god knows when the next time I’ll see her! Will there even be a next time?! Seeing as how my life is going–”

Archie pulled the smaller boy in for a hug to shut him up, embracing the smaller boy and filling him with warmth and love.

“Jug, stop this, you’re tired, and emotional, you should just get some rest. You need as much rest as you can so you’re in the best shape you can be tomorrow, even if that’s..not 100%, you need some rest,” Archie whispered caringly.

Jughead nodded softly, sniffling a little, rubbing at his reddened nose and pulled away to give Archie a soft smile.

Archie looked at him kindly, “..on a proper bed, at least..?”

Jughead sighed, giving in as he climbed up onto Archie’s bed and snuggled into the covers, falling into a peaceful slumber.

For the most part at least, excluding the parts where he kept on waking up to sneeze and cough.

Jughead woke up at 7:20 the next morning, feeling like absolute shit.

His head was pounding and he couldn’t breathe out of his nose, and his throat felt so sore like nails were currently scratching it. He felt exhausted; but once he remembered his little sister was in the same house as him, he got up excitedly, only to groan at the head rush he received at the action.

“Jug?!” Archie yelped, waking up, overly worried.

Jughead shook his head, “Just a headache–anyway, we have to go make Jellybean breakfast! She loves pancakes and maple syrup..oh, and with bacon! C'mon!”

Archie grabbed the boy and shook his head, “medicine first.”

Jughead pouted, much like a little child, which made Archie laugh, and did as he was told, and then proceeded to make his way down to the kitchen to cook his little sister a meal, like he used to when their family was still whole.

“Rise and shine, sunshine,” Jughead joked, as he saw his sister emerging into the kitchen, already dressed in jeans and a jumper. She beamed at him, but then took a second to realise how congested her brother sounded.

“You swallow a frog, or something Jug?” She teased, hauling herself up onto the chair for the breakfast bar and beamed at the food.

“My favourite! You remembered..”

“Of course I remembered, it’s not like I’ve cooked this a million times,” Jughead said, rolling his eyes and sitting down next to Archie, who was chowing down on his food.

A tickle in his throat caused him to stifle a cough, and drink some OJ to stop the incoming fit, causing Archie and Jellybean to raise an eyebrow.

Stories were shared as food was eaten, and eventually the three finished their meals. Well, two and half. Jughead hadn’t eaten much at all; only one pancake and one piece of bacon compared to Archie and Jellybean who had eaten triple that.

“C'mon, let’s go do something, shall we? I’d love to take you the drive in, JB, but it’s gone,” Jughead said, with a hint of bitterness in his voice.

Jellybean would’ve been upset by that, and she was, but she was more concerned for her brother who sounded like a dying cat.

Just as Jughead was pulling on his thick, winter coat, a tickle in his nose caused him to stop dead, the tickle so intense his entire body was taken over by it. He hitched, nose quivering with anticipation until the eventual release, of a harsh and powerful lasting 8 sneezes.

The sheer force of the fit caused him to bend over, holding onto the wall as he sneezed to support himself. Archie was over at his side, holding him steady as he sneezed.

When it was over, he felt his knees buckling but tried to ignore it by holding onto Archie. He turned around to see Jellybean’s concerned gaze.

“Juggy, you’re sick.”

“No, I’m not–” Jughead fell into a harsh coughing fit, his chest convulsing, and he started to feel extremely dizzy, and extremely light headed. His knees buckled, unable to support him any longer and Archie scrambled to catch him, clutching him tightly as to not let him fall.

Jellybean smiled at him softly, “Juggy, I heard you coughing and sneezing last night. It’s okay, don’t worry, we all get sick..”

“No! I’m not ruining this for us, I planned to go to the Bijou to watch this double feature–of Stand By Me and ET, and I don’t want to ruin this, Jellybean! It’s been so long, and I’m not missing any moment of this because I was so dumb to catch a cold–”

“Jug! I don’t need a huge celebration; I came back here because I want to be with you. I’m here for you, just you. I could not care less if it was you in some Vanity Fair Party or you eating some popcorn with me while watching the TV. You’re enough for me, that’s all I want,” Jellybean said softly.

Jughead sniffled, “I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for. I just want you to be my brother, like old times, being normal. I want it to be simple, Jughead, just the three of us watching movies on the television. Eating snacks, drinking soda,” She pleaded.

Archie nodded, “She’s right, Jug. C'mon, I’ll get you to the couch and we can go pick out some movies for a marathon!”

Jughead gave her a small smile and nodded, finally giving in and allowing Archie to lead him away to the couch.

He was beginning to wonder what took her so long when Jellybean barged into the living room, dumping a huge pile of fluffy, warm blankets and about a dozen pillows. The two boys blinked, unsure of how this tiny girl managed to carry all of that.

She grinned, and ran back to the kitchen and returned with a few packets of chips, candy and a steaming mug of tea. She placed the mug into Jughead’s hands, and as the warmth transferred onto his shaking hands he couldn’t help but sigh in relief.

Jughead smelled the tea, and blinked, then a wide smile began to play on his lips.

“..it’s the tea you always made me when I was sick..”

Jellybean grinned, “Yeah, and you’re sick now, so as per usual, I made you this tea.”

Jughead chucked, and pulled the girl close to him, underneath the blankets. She pulled him close and let him rest his head on her shoulder, filling him with warmth and love.

It wasn’t quite the day he had expected, but it was even better. Just like this, with two of the best people in the world, who loved him, and who he loved too.

[serpent-bearer]

Most Trusted

5.

He better be fucking in there, the elusive prick. 

Aurora knocked upon the office door a good twenty times.

“Severus! Severus! Get out here!”

It was with much gratitude that she heard hurried footsteps getting closer and closer to the door before his face, sallowed and sunken with stress, appeared from within the office.

“Could you be a bit noisier next time? I don’t think Pluto heard you.”

“It’s burning,” Aurora interjected in the middle of the quip.

Severus frowned disconcertedly; his eyes scanned her from her head to her waist.

“Do you want me to make you an ointment for that, or…?”

Aurora gave a robust groan.

“No, I mean this!” she jabbed her fingers hard on her breastbone. “It’s burning.”

Severus’s cavernous eyes widened in comprehension.

“The Uagadou portal?”

“Someone’s coming though. Come with me.”

Aurora had been somewhat dubious when Dumbledore had come to her at the beginning of the year with the idea of burning a two-way teleportation rune into the centre of her chest.

It was a concern that had been fair, of course, and she had many questions and concerns regarding the process. It had almost felt like being branded with a Dark Mark of her own - only it didn’t hurt and burn as much as Severus’s. In fact, before tonight, it hadn’t burned her at all.

She had agreed to be keeper of the Hogwarts end of the Uagadou portal out of sheer Slytherin haughtiness. She didn’t trust anyone else to be opening and closing the doors, allowing Merlin knows what to scurry between the two countries that had been her only forms of home. No. If anyone was going to watch who or what was passing in between the schools, it would be her.

Just as long as it wouldn’t cause a permanent scar, of course. She could do without that reminder for the rest of her life, thanks.

The night it had finally glowed and burned, it had been an extremely frosty February night, and she had just been finishing up shovelling down Sheppard’s Pie which she had been brought up to her office by the House Elves; there was no time anymore to socialise in the Great Hall.

Aurora had almost forgotten that she had been branded with the responsibility due to there being absolutely no movement between the schools. It was only to be used in dire circumstances after all. Which was why both Defence Against the Dark Arts and Astronomy professor was currently attempting to look as casual as possible to all the students they passed as they began to run towards Sinistra’s office. 

But running casually, especially during times such as this, proved to be no easy task.

“Something terrible must have happened…” Aurora breathed hoarsely as she and Severus approached the abandoned corridor, and, seeing that no students were present, began to sprint side-by-side. Their cloaks collided together in a black and coffee coloured dance. 

She couldn’t get visions of a war-torn and flaming Uagadou out of her head… her brother… what if it was a messenger coming to inform that something had... no... she couldn’t bear to think anymore.

The both of them drew out their wands as they came to her office door at the end of the corridor, Aurora skidded to a halt and exchanged ready nods with a panting Severus. She thrust open the door safeguarded by his ebony wand, which was resting upon her shoulder, ready to blast any rival intruder into millions of shards.

Upon sensing their owner’s presence in the room, the office lights became illuminated at once. And upon catching her first sight at the intruder currently standing behind her desk (rubbing his arms vigorously and looking most out of place in his thin, dark green cotton robes in the wintry climate), Aurora felt her heart rocket out of her chest and into her throat.

“Balima…” she wept, unable to contain the flood of tears. She practically flew over her desk to get to him faster. Aion remained surprisingly steadfast as he caught the full weight of his airborne sister in his arms.

“Balimamuso.”

Sister.

Her heart couldn’t explain how it felt to hear Bambara spoken again. Aion pressed his lips firmly upon her cheek.

“N bila a’,” I’ve missed you, he moaned as if the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders just for a few moments.

Aurora rocked him against her. She held his face in between in her hands and looked at him as properly as she could with tear stained eyes.

“Filanan bè badaa,” every minute, she sniffed. She dropped down back upon the ground and promptly hit him angrily on the arm.

“And why has it taken you so long to let me know that you were alive?!” Aurora shouted. “A year without any news! A year of imaging the worst! I would kill you myself if I didn’t love you.”

“You know everything is being intercepted,” Aion responded, still shivering. “International correspondence is near impossible. Believe me, I’ve had it worse with both you and Mithras over here.”

“What’s happened?” Aurora asked. “No one has had cause to use this passageway until now - ”

In the middle of her sentence, the archway encrusted with the same Adinkra and elder futhark runes as the one in Gisemba’s office began to glow the same vivid blue. Aurora felt the burning upon her breast bone, which had been constant ever since the portal had been opened, subside and ease. She breathed a sigh of relief.

“There’s been trouble,” Aion explained – rather cryptically in Aurora’s eyes. She understood why he was looking so concerned when she glanced at the other man in the room behind her, still looming in the doorway and still with his wand raised at her own brother.

“Put it down, Severus, for God’s sake…” she commanded.

Looking as if he wholly opposed her directive, Severus nevertheless allowed his grip to lessen.

“What kind of trouble?” queried Aurora. “Not Uagadou?”

Aion sighed.

“Not yet,” he replied. “But it was a close call. At least I think it was. I really need to speak to Dumbledore… Gisemba thought it a good idea.”

“I am afraid the Headmaster is indisposed at the present time,” Severus finally piped up from the shadows of the doorway. “He has left the school for the weekend. I, however, would be more than willing to receive a briefing and pass the message on. Dumbledore is far too busy to hear every scrap of possible leads, after all…”

A dubious expression crossed Aion’s face at the mention of this. As if he would rather cut off his own arm than confide any shred of information to Severus Snape. Aurora’s suspicions were proven right.

“I’d like to have more than one Order member present, if it’s all the same to you,” he replied with a dubious undertone. Aurora’s eye flicked between the two wizards on the opposing ends of the room, almost suffocated with the tension.

If it had been anyone else, she thought, if anyone else in the Order had accompanied her here Aion would have been more than happy to talk right here right now.

“May I ask why?” Severus folded his arms somewhat defensively across his chest.

“Let’s not - ” Aurora started.

“I would just feel more… comfortable with that,” Aion murmured darkly.

“Alright,” Aurora called an end to the conversation. “This is getting nowhere fast; we’ll go and get Minerva.”

She curved her fingers around her thick winter cloak, wrapped it around her shivering brother and pulled him with her toward the door.

~*~

“Give Severus a break, would you?” Aurora whispered as quietly as she could as the three of them marched up one of the hidden staircases; Severus was just far enough away from them for her to be able to give Aion a verbal beating.

“Why should I?” he replied stubbornly.

“Because! You have no idea the pressure he’s under. He barely sleeps or eats. Working for the Order and the… other side.”

“Getting special treatment from both sides, you mean,” Aion muttered skeptically as they crossed into the dark fourth floor corridor. The two Sinistra’s found themselves alone for just a few moments as Severus continued to ascend the stairs behind him.

“I don’t trust him, okay?” Aion quietly spat; he was still wrapped in Aurora’s cloak and still shivering profusely. “End of the day he’s still a Death Eater. And you are putting yourself in mortal danger being seen with him! They’ll use you as bait!”

“Ok, let’s not start this macho ‘protective’ father-figure routine, shall we?” Aurora was very accustomed to this, and equally as accustomed to putting a stop to it. “I’m a thirty-five-year-old woman who’s fighting in this war as well. I make my own decisions, and I’m the one who decides whom I do and do not ‘get seen with’. Understood?”

Their hushed conversation was cut short as Severus opened the door to join them in the corridor. Aion looked away as if he couldn’t bear to even look at him. Severus, in turn, began walking toward McGonagall’s quarters without them.

Several minutes later, all three of them awkwardly stood in Minerva McGonagall’s living quarters – a very perturbed Transfiguration professor was currently eyeing them all dressed in her ridiculous tartan dressing gown.

“Well, I can’t say I’d ever expect to see a sight like this in my living room,” Minerva addressed the trio, stifling a yawn.

“And I don’t believe we’ve ever had the pleasure?” she added, nodding toward Aion, who immediately threw out his hand.

“Aion Sinistra,” he introduced himself. Minerva reached out and took his hand with great interest.

“Sinistra?” she repeated with a raised eyebrow, “so you are…?” she exchanged looks with Aurora who nodded.

“He arrived out of the Uagadou portal, Minerva,” Aurora explained. “He has news he needs to share with Order members.”

“Who aren’t me,” Severus quipped from behind with a smirk. “Would you prefer it if I stepped out? Put my fingers in my ears, perhaps?”

McGonagall frowned but did not continue that avenue of conversation.

“I see. Very well,” she said, gesturing to Aion. “Let’s hear it.”

And so Aion told his tale. Of the surveillance and the sudden figures in the tropics, amongst the coffee-tinged air and damp ground… of Naki not finding a single of them… of the brief glimpse of a mask… hooded, black, masked wizards…

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Minerva enquired at the end of his story.

Aion shook his head and shrugged.

“I don’t know what I saw, and I don’t want to cause panic by jumping to conclusions; masks are a common accessory amongst magical folk after all.”

“They could be the Vodun Priestesses,” Aurora offered, referencing the clan of matriarchal witches chosen by an oracle to lead and protect sections of the West African magical community. “You only caught a brief glance of them after all.”

“I don’t know what I saw,” Aion repeated – harsher, as if he were trying to convince himself more of the fact than her. “Though they certainly didn’t strike me as Priestesses. Gisemba merely thought it would be appropriate to alert the Order of any disturbances…”

Minerva nodded and strolled away, musing, toward the window.

“Severus,” she commanded. “Are you aware of any activity near Uagadou school?”

The thus-far silent, dark entity near the door shuffled slightly.

“I have not been informed of any activity outside of the United Kingdom,” he answered. “The Dark Lord, as far as I am led to believe, plans to establish utmost control within local boundaries first.”

“What he’s been informed of and what he’s telling us could be vastly different!” Aion snapped suddenly.

“Alright, that’s enough!” Aurora had officially had it up to here with her brother’s exhausting commentary. “Just because He Who Must Not Be Named might not disclose every detail to every single one of his followers -”

“- even his most trusted followers?” Aion interjected, his glare at Severus in this dim candlelight was sharp enough that it might well have blinded them all.

“- it doesn’t mean that Severus is hiding anything from you!” his sister finished without acknowledging his riposte. “And even if he did, so be it. You’re a messenger. You’ve done your job. Best he keeps his secrets and lives to see another day!”

Thankfully Aion had learned to pick his battles. Annoyed as he looked, he shrugged and said no more. Saying more would be slightly worrisome, anyway, considering that Minerva had called an order for calm and was currently issuing instructions for each witch and wizard in the room. 

It had been the first time since entering Minerva’s quarters that Severus had looked up and acknowledged anyone. And when his eyes locked onto hers they were glittering intensely, with an emotion she could not quite distinguish... 

[gretagerwigarchive]

Greta Gerwig & Joe Swanberg: The Penny-Pinching Future of Indie Cinema

By Steve Dollar  |  March 2, 2009 

source: https://www.pastemagazine.com/articles/2009/03/greta-gerwig-joe-swanberg-the-penny-pinching-futur.html

There’s low-budget guerrilla filmmaking and then there’s low-budget guerrilla filmmaking. Greta Gerwig, the 25-year-old star of indie-cinema micro-faves such as Hannah Takes the Stairs, Nights and Weekends and Baghead, recalls an inspiring moment during a visit home to her native California. Making an overnight stop at a motel in Santa Barbara, she flipped through the TV channels until she was stopped cold by something on the local public-access station. There, she discovered a very curious action flick called The Pharaoh Project.

“It was beyond amazing,” Gerwig says, her cadence by turns hesitant and headlong, as she recalls the insane saga about an elite squad of legendary warriors (Genghis Khan! Alexander the Great!) reincarnated to wreak havoc on the modern world. Really, it was like the director and his beefiest bouncer buddies were trying to create a Steven Seagal sci-fi/action epic on a PBR budget. “The most official-looking car they could get their hands on was a cream-colored Toyota 4Runner, but they played it like it was an FBI armored vehicle.

     Gerwig, a Barnard-schooled playwright, screenwriter and director, has won glowing reviews for her comedic acting skills, mostly channeled into fetchingly flaky characters as romantically befuddled as befuddling. But even if the Los Angeles Times calls her “an ingénue for the text-message set,” and even if she’s about to start shooting John C. Reilly in her next feature, she still shares a nothing-fancy Williamsburg pad with a roommate. Make fun of The Pharaoh Project all you want. Gerwig won’t. “I just kept watching because there was so much there to admire,” she says. “It isn’t that far removed from the kind of movies I’ve made. The ‘let’s just go do it’ attitude. We’re interested in different things. I’m interested in the million tiny deaths that occur in everyday human interactions, and they’re interested in sweet-ass roundhouse kicks. But the motivation to make something is similar.”

Along with her friend and sometime collaborator Joe Swanberg, 27, Gerwig is one of the most prolific characters in a new wave of young filmmakers lighting up the indie landscape. The past few years have seen the arrival of a slew of talented, original directors who have thrived despite—and sometimes because of—miniscule budgets and improvised means: The list includes the Duplass brothers (Baghead), Aaron Katz (Dance Party, USA; Quiet City), Todd Rohal (The Guatemalan Handshake), Ron Bronstein (Frownland), Mary Bronstein (Yeast), Craig Zobel (Great World of Sound), Ry Russo-Young (Orphans, You Won’t Miss Me), Frank V. Ross (Hohokam, Present Company), Kentucker Audley (Team Picture), Jeff Nichols (Shotgun Stories) and Andrew Bujalski (Funny Ha Ha, Mutual Appreciation).

Early on, Bujalski’s sound mixer, Eric Masunaga jokingly referred to one of the films as “mumblecore,” and the label stuck for a while. It was catchy, and spoke to the indie-rock flavor of efforts like Swanberg’s LOL, in which urban post-grads stumble in and out of relationships, bands and poorly furnished apartments, endlessly discussing feelings they can’t always articulate. The use of consumer-grade handheld digital-video cameras, spontaneous dialogue and casts comprised mostly of other budding directors are also common tendencies, although by no means exclusively so. Katz gives his actors scripts. Bronstein, who co-starred with his wife Mary in the Swanberg-shot Web series Butterknife, works in 16mm. So does Zobel. Not everyone digs Final Cut software. In other words, these filmmakers are hardly clones—but they have more in common with one another than they do with everyone else.

This movement, as such, has branched out as Swanberg and his peers have begun to mature after years of film festivals such as Austin’s annual SXSW, which became a flourishing seedbed for the movement around 2005.

“The technology changed in the mid-to-late ’90s,” Swanberg says, giving his socio-cultural analysis as he takes a chair next to Gerwig in a photographer’s studio near the Manhattan Port Authority. It’s a brittle winter evening after a day of hiking around bleak locales in upstate New York, where the pair posed as Depression-era vagabonds—even as all-too-real panhandlers proliferate on the streets outside. “The resolution got better, and the Internet allowed social networking to happen like it hadn’t before. The threat of the actors strike in 2001 that paved the way for a lot of reality TV to hit the mainstream made a huge impact on the way mass audiences perceived handheld video. Because they got used to watching it, all in one year, with Survivor and every other show that came along shot in a run-and-gun style on a small camera.”

It wasn’t long before young filmmakers hit the festival circuit with their own low-budget projects, though, as Swanberg notes, “A bunch of celebrities had to make movies on [digital video] to legitimize it. Ethan Hawke had to make one, and Richard Linklater and Robert Rodriguez. Jennifer Jason Leigh and Alan Cumming made The Anniversary Party, and everyone said it was cool, and even then it took a lot longer.”

Swanberg began shooting so-called “webisodes” in 2005 with Young American Bodies, a series for the erotically minded Nerve.com, which reflected the diaristic—OK, blog-like—intimacy of his features. “This whole idea of exposing very personal inner thoughts to a general public whether they wanted it or not seemed really crazy five years ago,” he says. “But it was around the same time that these smaller movies started to do something similar: I’ll tell my story and my friend’s story. If it plays festivals and people see it, great, and if it doesn’t, it still exists. I made my first two movies for less than 3,000 bucks.”

That vow of insularity can’t stick forever, though. Swanberg’s new film, Alexander the Last premieres March 14 at SXSW and, on the same day, becomes available by demand on IFC, as part of its Festival Direct series. The idea, Swanberg explains, is to make the film broadly accessible while it’s still playing festivals, and not wait for interest to fade. “The way people are watching stuff is changing,” he says. “If I don’t start putting these movies out very quickly they will start backing up on each other. Theatrical distribution doesn’t make sense anymore.”

Benten Films, a DVD outfit run by two film critics—Andrew Grant of FilmBrain.com and Aaron Hillis of GreenCine.com—has done an impressive job of packaging and promoting work by Swanberg and fellow indie upstarts like Audley, Rohal and Katz. But it’s not easy. “There aren’t enough distributors to go around,” Hillis says. “If you’re an independent filmmaker there are not a lot of options out there. There’s no more middle class. It’s just a matter of time before it becomes either The Dark Knight or mumblecore, with nothing in between.”

If that’s the case, Swanberg’s work doesn’t suffer from a smaller screen. Alexander—a slender (72 minutes) but quietly observant drama that says as much with silence as with its improvised dialogue—is lucky to have an irresistible center of gravity in Jess Weixler (Teeth), a rising star whose face is a delicate map of feeling. About nothing if not process, the film charts the keenly attenuated emotional swings of Alex, a young actress drawn to her handsome co-star Jamie (Barlow Jacobs) while her rock-musician husband is on the road. To further complicate matters, she has introduced the fresh-from-Kentucky Jamie to her older sister Hellen (Amy Seimetz), who actually engages in the fling Alex and Jamie pretend to have onstage. The milieu may not be too far away from the tempest-in-a-beer-can angst of The Real World, but the spirit is much closer to the bedroom intimacies of the French New Wave. Yet, even if Swanberg’s actors are at home with casual nudity and candid couplings, their journeys of self-discovery are not linked to a larger political or philosophical agenda. They prefer singing their own songs and tinkering on thriftshop keyboards to dropping postmodern allusions to art and cinema. Their point is not to be clever, but to be honest. The film also broadens Swanberg’s professional circle. Jane Adams (Happiness) takes a small but key role, and Brooklyn filmmaker Noah Baumbach (The Squid and the Whale), for whom Swanberg has been working as a cameraman and assistant director, helped produce when another project failed to jell. Likewise, the Duplass brothers, whose ambitions skew more mainstream, have cast John C. Reilly, Marisa Tomei and Jonah Hill for their next comedy. And Reilly also takes the lead in Gerwig and collaborator Alison Bagnall’s Funny Bunny.

“There’s an audience now, and I’m wanting things I didn’t want before,” Swanberg says. “I want to shoot in other cities now, and I want to shoot in HD. I want to rent apartments, and I want sailboats and all these other elements. But before, I was content with a few people in a room.”

Gerwig—who spent the past year racking up performances in neo-grindhouse genre flicks like Ti West’s House of the Devil and a non-mumblecore indie in which Iggy Pop plays her dad—has a good laugh about her efforts to go Hollywood. “I’ve made a bunch of audition tapes,” she says. “I start cracking up because I can’t get through the scenes. Some of them, I have to cry and say things in Southern accents.” She drifts into her best Scarlett O’Hara: “Johnny did not kill that bay-buh! I killed it! Because I hated it!” Nonetheless, the actress confesses, sure, “I’d love to be the girl in the dinosaur movie.” Well, OK, maybe a movie with little plastic dinosaurs.

Gerwig says she was astonished to learn that the guys who made Cloverfield are fans. “The woman who casts Gossip Girl loves Aaron Katz. What!? But maybe I’m not supposed to say that. The number of people who are around watching you out of the corner of their eye is amazing.”

Swanberg—whose output has increased since he brought on Anish Savjani (Wendy and Lucy) as a producer—won’t likely be taking on any Cloverfield sequels, even with his handheld-video skills. If his films don’t make money, he’ll still shoot. “It’s a compulsion for me,” says Swanberg, who also finds time to continue acting in his friends’ movies, shooting Web projects and helping his wife, Kris Williams, with both her filmmaking and burgeoning gourmet-ice-cream business. “It’s not like I started doing it because I was good at it. Nor is it that I continue to do it because I’m good at it. I do it because I can’t help it, and I don’t know what else to do. I already know there will be a period when I will make 10 of them that nobody sees or likes or writes about. But the reason why I will continue through that period that nobody cares is not because they will care again but because I can’t help it. It’s selfish. I’m making these things for me.”

[eliserunsboston]

Boston Marathon 2015

It’s been a little over a month since the marathon and I’ve been soaking in the love from this season and working on my thank-you’s to all of you!

Marathon Weekend

The night before the race, Dana-Farber holds a pasta party so that we can gear up for the race, but the most important part of that dinner is not the food and physical fuel, it’s the emotional motivation behind that night. I wish that everyone could come to this event. I’ve included several videos to watch so you can experience part of it. There are speeches from researchers who directly benefit from the Barr program, there are children who have been or are being treated at Dana-Farber. Last year we heard from a teammate who was battling cancer and passed away just this last fall. This year we heard from a teammate who lost his wife to cancer. Because of Dana-Farber his wife was given 3 “bonus years,” he called it. Finally we closed the pasta party with inspiring words from our coach Jack Fultz. Our job, he said, was to get our flag back to Boston – our flag being our jerseys inscribed with the names of the people we remember on our training runs.

  It’s hard to convey the emotion behind this group and the training season. Each year they put together a video of the training season. This year you can watch it here!

  Race Day

Up at 5am to take the buses out to Hopkinton, I got ready with my good friend Kate. When we arrived at the buses, we were greeted by an Australian volunteer with a smile and an energy that was unmatched. The race didn’t start until 11:15am for us, so we had a lot of time to wait before the race.

  Meesh and I competed for best pre-race pants to defend our title from last year. The pre-race pants are the warm-up pants we toss just before we toe the starting line. In years past we were able to bus them back home, but after the bombings no bags were allowed at the start. While we had some great ones, we were just no match for the Elmo-covered pajama bottoms. My sister gave me 26.2 earrings to rock on the race and I took words of encouragement from Meb (winner from last year’s Boston Marathon and also a San Diegan!) on my run. As we were waiting for our start time, I photobombed the photo below, not realizing it was Uzo! She is one of the stars from Orange is the New Black and was running for Dana-Farber this year!

  11:15am Hopkinton

We started the race in ponchos. Despite the rain, the energy at Hopkinton was electric. This is my favorite moment of the race, when we begin the race on a downward slope and all you can see below you are miles of bobbing heads in neon. It always hits me with a wave of emotion.

  Mile 1: Ponchos

It was wet and a lot colder than I expected. Shorts were not a great choice. I looked down at one point and realized my legs were pink from the cold and wind.

  Mile 13: Welleseley

Better known as the scream tunnel, this is the spot on the course that runs through Wellesley College, an all women’s college. They also make signs that beckon runners for kisses. It’s the mile you can hear before you see it. My favorite sign was one that said, “Kiss me, I’m wet.” And it gave me a chuckle. I just can’t get over the energy of the Boston Marathon. Each mile brings something new.

  Mile 16: The Newton Flats

Mile 16 onward might be some of my favorite miles, because it’s the precursor to Beacon St where I know I’m going to see so many familiar faces and it’s where I try to kick it into high gear. Just as I turned by the firehouse and knew the hills were awaiting me, I saw Tara! That just boosted me right up the hills, followed by seeing Micha! And then John Murph, and Nance, all standing in the rain and cold to cheer us on.

  Mile 22: Boston College

There must have been some hot girl named Amy behind me because all of the guys at BC were shouting her name.

  Mile 25: Beacon St.

There were so many more people than I expected out that day cheering! I saw UCLA friends Josh and Denise. I saw Sam and Ben running down the street, sign in hand, to catch me. Micha who was apparently in two places, on the hills in Newton and at Kenmore Square, but I was booking it too set on getting to that finish line at Kenmore. Entering Kenmore was incredible. It was a rush of emotion and enthusiasm. Katie, Divya, and Grace were cheering from the bridge and Cappy was right after! Then I saw my family as I was turning right on Hereford. The look of joy and excitement and pride gets me every time.

  Finish Line

I crossed the finish line in 3:58:15 with negative splits on the hills, picking up speed as we went and running the majority of the race with my partners in crime and my running buddies, Kate and Meesh.

  After Party

After the marathon we had a giant meal at 5 Napkin Burger, complete with Sam Adams specialty 26.2 brew.  The look of how proud my mom and sister were and all of the texts made me so grateful for that day. I left my phone in the car and didn’t get it until much later, but was overwhelmed with the flood of love and support. And of course what would be a true Boston Marathon without a little dancing at the end? We danced the night away (or really more of a slow rock back and forth) at Brandy Pete’s with the DFMC team. Alia gave me a piggyback ride up the stairs to the party we have at the bar after the marathon! Now that’s love. Has anyone realized how many stairs are in Boston? Thank goodness for elevators and roomies.

  I am BEYOND excited to announce that we raised over $8,800 this year!!!!! This means that with your help over the last three years we’ve raised over $18,800 for cancer research. $8,000 is a milestone marker for Dana-Farber. It’s a special moment that they mark with a pacesetter patch. In the years I’ve run with the team, this is the first time I’ve hit that marker. Thank you for being a part of that.

  Those funds will go to support the Claudia Adams Barr program at Dana-Farber Cancer Institute. That program funds basic innovative cancer research and some of the brightest researchers in cancer. 100% of those funds will go to research projects at Dana-Farber Cancer Institute, so that one day we can live in a world without cancer.

  This year I ran in honor of my close friends’ parents, Peggy and Rob, two incredibly strong people diagnosed with cancer last summer. Seeing them fight incredibly hard with their positive spirits is what gave me strength to keep training and put one foot in front of the other.  They are the inspiration behind the miles.

  THANK YOU for getting me out the door in the early morning, in the cold, bitter winter, in record snowfall, in rainy weather. Thank you for surrounding me and the ones I love with your love and warmth. Thank you for being a part of this experience. With your help, we raised over $8,800 this year alone, contributing to the Dana-Farber team fundraising of $5.4 million

  From running 16 miles on an indoor track, from ice bath after ice bath (and I don’t mean just the snow). From endless high fives with Heartbreak Bill, from dancing in the mile-high snow banks.  From bowling events to yoga events to sweatpants. From lobster shoes to brunch-filled Saturdays. thank you for making this record-breaking year (in snow and fundraising against cancer) unforgettable.

  Thank you for three incredible years.

Boston Marathon 2015 was originally published on Elise Kovi