#LIKE I KNOW ITS KIND OF AN ASSHOLE MOVE OF GREG BUT AT THE SAME TIME HES LIKE. idk early 20s. 26ish latest???

[skinsharpenedteeth]

NYE Malex prompt fill

A thousand, thousand years ago @mander3-swish sent me a prompt for a list for quote “Can we pretend never said that?” and i have literally had the WIP in my docs every since. Well, today I FINALLY wrote out a little story for the prompt. I am *SO* sorry it took this long to fill it. I hope you enjoy it!

Story under the cut, or feel free to check it out on AO3.

              The crowded main floor of the UFO Emporium felt claustrophobic to Alex as more and more people were packed into the already filled space. The room was dark with strobes and lasers cutting through the air while techno remixes of the Top 100 boomed over the speaker system. New Year’s Eve and he was alone once again. Alex tugged on the collar of his shirt and made his way over to the bar that was set up in the center of the room. Maria was behind it with Max and Liz slinging drinks for everyone. He caught Liz’s attention and she nodded, finishing up the beer she was pouring and getting started on something for him. He turned and let leaned his elbows back onto the bar as he surveyed the crowd and surreptitiously looked for someone relatively quiet to hide out.

              “Are you cruising for a hook up?” A familiar voice asked next to his ear and Alex jumped to stand up straight as he turned to look at Michael. Michael looked… good. His jeans were clean but worn, his belt buckle was alarmingly prominent at his waist, and as per usual, he’d neglected to button half the buttons on his shirt, but he looked sober and there was a light in his eyes that Alex hadn’t seen in months. A beat too late, Alex scoffed at Michael’s remark and tried to act like he hadn’t just spent that awkward second checking Guerin out. He hadn’t seen him this close in a while and it was tragic how starved he felt to take in every detail of him now that he was near.

              “I don’t know, are you?” Alex asked, trying to sound snarky but hearing the flirtatious edge to his voice instead. Michael raised his eyebrows at him, and Alex flushed in embarrassment. “Can we please pretend I never said that?”

              “Sure,” Michael agreed easily, though he still looked Alex over with interest. Liz came over and set down two drinks in front of them, barely sparing them a smile before turning to start making her next customer’s order. Alex picked up his double shot of bourbon and coke and took a slow sip, trying not to obviously appreciate the way Michael’s lips wrapped around the lip of his beer bottle. It was always like this for Alex, stolen glances and awkward encounters. Public interaction was never their forte and he knew he shouldered a lot of blame for that.

              “So, who are you here with? Forrest?” Michael asked over the music, having to lean close as another song started and the bass seemed to drown out everyone’s individual voices. Alex shook his head in response, getting another sip of his drink before leaning close to Michael’s ear to respond.

              “I’m supposed to be here with Greg. At least, he’s my ride,” Alex answered. Michael looked at him in confusion and Alex shrugged.

              “I’m pretty sure he’s with Isobel and Kyle. Want to get out of here?” Michael responded, but Alex only caught half of what he said.

              “What?” Alex yelled, trying to be heard over the music. Michael opened his mouth to respond, but when the DJ started in on the foghorn button he scowled. With a tilt of his head, he beckoned Alex to follow him away from the bar. They left their drinks behind as they started to push away from the center of the room. The crowd quickly started to swallow him, and Alex lost Michael for a moment as he tried to navigate around the drunks with their stupid New Years Eve tiaras and top hats. He stopped and looked around, trying to spot the honey brown curls that usually led him straight to Michael, but he couldn’t see anything. His brain started to panic a little until he felt an abnormally warm hand close of his. He looked to his right and there was Michael smiling softly at him. This time when Michael set off, he kept Alex’s hand in his as he wormed his way through the bustle of revelers. Alex concentrated on the strength of his fingers and the warm shot of electricity that danced through him at Michael’s touch. A simple touch probably shouldn’t have meant that much, but since his breakup with Forrest, Alex had been isolating himself and it was possible he’d become more than a little touch starved because of it.

              Michael led them to one of the far walls and just when Alex thought that was as far as they’d go, he was pulled through a door marked “No Admittance” and pulled into a service hallway. Michael locked the door behind them and kept pulling Alex along the hallway further away from the main room even though the hallway was easily quiet enough for them to speak without having to yell. Having worked for the Emporium before the fire, Alex was pretty sure this was the hallway that would lead them back to the backstage area. A sharp right turn put them into the area where the large travel cases for the rented stereo equipment was stored. Alex was about to ask them where Michael was taking them when he pushed open an unmarked door and they ended up in one of the back storage rooms. The light was dim, but it was almost silent amongst the alien props and discarded display cases and office furniture. Michael finally dropped Alex’s hand and took his phone out of his pocket.

              “We have ten minutes until midnight,” Michael announced, shoving the phone back into his pants. Alex opened and closed his mouth a few times in confusion. Michael was looking unsure, bashful even as he watched Alex watch him. Alex didn’t know what they were doing so he shrugged and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

              “What are we doing in here, Michael?” Alex asked, looking around at the dusty remains of the old emporium that was stacked around them.

              “Do you know the superstition that whatever you’re doing on New Years will trend for the following year?” Michael asked in lieu of answering Alex’s question. Alex furrowed his brow but nodded, watching Michael swallow nervously as he stepped closer to Alex. Alex could feel the heat of him even a foot away. Even nervous, he still looked like he was the silver lining of Alex’s fucked up life since returning to Roswell. Michael reached forward and gently removed Alex’s hands from his pockets and then held them in his own.

              “I really just wanted to be with you when the ball dropped. I know its stupid, but I want a better year next year and I’m hoping it means seeing a lot more of you,” Michael confessed quietly, eyes trained on Alex’s hands in his. Alex felt like the breath had been knocked out of him at Michael’s words, but he closed his hands over Michael’s and squeezed in silent agreement.

              “So you stole me away to hide in what amounts to a large storage closet?” Alex asked, smiling a little at the unintentional irony. Michael, however, looked stricken at the observation.

              “Fuck, no. That’s not what I meant to… I just figured this was, uh… more romantic than a bathroom stall?” Michael countered, smiling a little when Alex started chuckling at his explanation.

              “Oh, option two was a bathroom stall? Damn, Guerin, not that I don’t appreciate you sparing me the scent of urine cakes, but…” Alex trailed off as he pointedly looked around their surroundings.

              “Fuck, we don’t speak for a while and I always forget what an asshole you are,” Michael laughed, taking his hands from Alex’s and pushing his chest playfully. “Jesus, you’re so mean.”

              “Well, what do you really want next year, Michael? Because you’ve got...,” Alex looked at his watch before continuing, “…3 minutes.”

              Michael looked at him thoughtfully, bottom lip trapped between his teeth, and Alex found himself holding his breath as he waited for Michael to speak. Alex opened his mouth again to say something snarky, arm coming up so he could check the time again, and Michael moved forward in a flash. He walked Alex back the two steps until he was against the cold metal door and his hands came up to pin Alex’s wrists. He wasn’t hurting Alex and he didn’t look angry as he did it.

              “This isn’t a closet, it’s somewhere private. It’s somewhere I can kiss you like I always want to kiss you and not just in the ways that are socially appropriate,” Michael breathed against Alex’s lips before making good on his word. It wasn’t a sweet, chaste peck that would be fine for friends and family, or even a long, smoldering open mouthed caress that would be fine for New Years Eve on the dance floor surrounded by hundreds of other people doing the same. It was a rough and ardent, tongue searching every inch of Alex’s mouth, teeth nipping at lips, only rough half breaths through noses permitted type of kiss. It was the only kind of kiss that made Alex glad Michael had pinned his wrists to the door, because his body wanted to surrender and wanted to writhe and take, take, take. Faintly Alex could hear the throbbing yells of the crowd counting down in the main room, but his heart was beating so much faster and it felt too slow to him to be real. Michael let go of his wrists, hands sliding down to grab Alex’s waist and pull him flush against Michael’s body. With his hands free, Alex tangled his hands in Michael’s curls, making fists of them and tugging gently the way he knew drove Michael crazy. He wanted the volume between them turned up to eleven. He’d missed this undeniable connection between the two of them.

              When they had to part, had to press their foreheads together and gulp down air, Alex unclenched his hands and let them slide down to grip the open sides of Michael’s shirt.

              “Happy New Year,” Michael breathed, Cheshire grin in place even as he kept panting.

              “Yeah. Happy New Year. Fuck,” Alex replied, voice slightly awed.

              “You wanna go somewhere else even more private?” Michael suggested, hands slipping under the hem of Alex’s shirt to grasp at the smooth muscles at his waist.

              “Not until you and I go on a real first date. I’m going to teach you about romance through immersion,” Alex said, punctuating his statement with a soft kiss that made his toes curl just as much as the previous, hungry kisses had. Michael returned it, his hands sliding up Alex’s back before he moved and tucked his face into the hollow between Alex’s shoulder and neck. It took Alex a moment to realize that Michael was hugging him, but when his brain finally came back online, he wrapped his arms around Michael’s shoulder and kissed his neck and ear lightly. “Let’s make sure this trends for us this year, yeah?”

              Michael nodded against him and it felt like maybe they were finally in a place to do it right that time. This had to be a better year.

[floralguccistyles]

Hello all! While I am very happy to share this chapter with you, I am also aware that a lot of my social media feeds and timelines have stopped highlighting the BLM movement, which is so much more important. This fight is not over. It will not be over until there is justice for every single black mother, father, sister, brother, cousin, aunt, uncle, friend that has been killed by police brutality and violence. Please don’t allow the people we follow to sweep this under the rug. If you do not have the means to protest, there are several other ways you can donate and raise awareness to this issue. Here is a Twitter thread of donations that still haven’t reached their goals. Here is a compiled list of petitions you can sign, numbers you can text, and causes you can donate to. Here is a Twitter thread of Youtube videos you can watch that gain ad revenue and donate all money made to the BLM movement. Please do what you can, especially my fellow non-POC users, to help with this issue. It is so, so incredibly important.

wildflower :: chapter two

...and stays up with you all night

There was a tradition between the Horan-Fairbrough clan that once a month, we would all try and get together and have dinner. It usually ended up with Greg’s son Theo falling asleep while I held him and Violet spewing on about something she learned in college before we all settled down to watch a movie. We had an ongoing rotation on who picked the movie, and this month it happened to be Niall’s turn.

Which was why I was so shocked that it was a horror film.

I didn’t like scary movies. And neither did Niall. But when he sat between Lily and I (on the floor since our parents took the couch while Greg and Theo took the loveseat), I realized his intention. Lily hated horror films even more than I did. And when the first jump scare came around, Lily hid her face in Niall’s side and squealed a little.

Smart boy, that Niall.

“You’re an asshole for picking this film,” I told Niall as I held the popcorn bowl between us. Niall and I hadn’t spoken since last Monday, when he’d dropped off his stuff at my house. Everything had been in a nice neat pile except for my necklace. When I had inquired about it, he had told me that he hadn’t seen it, but he would look again. I think the look of panic on my face told him how serious I was about that particular piece of jewelry.

“Why would I give up a chance to hold both my Fairbrough girls while they scream bloody murder?”

He wasn’t wrong. I found myself jumping right alongside with Lily whenever something frightening happened, so Niall just grinned at me, called me a baby, and then offered his hand for me to hold. 

I gripped it like it was my lifeline. 

The day had started off normally, waking up in Lily’s bed to her arm strewn across my neck, quite close to choking me. Though I may have snored in my sleep (according to she and Niall, I was still doubtful), Lily tried to kill me in hers. Her alarm went off approximately three minutes after I untangled myself from her comforter and I went to work on making us coffee and breakfast while she took a shower. I was expecting Niall to show up at around seven-thirty, since that was normally the time Lily was done taking a shower and I was expected to keep him entertained. When the door opened and I saw him in a salmon-colored dress shirt, I smiled.

“Morning,” I said, blinking against the bright smile he gave me. “Want a cup?”

“God, you’d be an angel.”

“I’m always an angel, what are you talking about?” I stuck my tongue out at him, but started to work on his coffee. The eggs were frying in the pan, so I quickly added some garlic salt to them (because I knew Niall liked it) before I poured his drink into a to-go cup. I watched him sit at the barstool, tossing his sunglasses on the counter as he watched me make breakfast. “So, it’s your pick for movie night tonight. Any contenders?”

He shrugged. “Hadn’t thought about it much, to be honest. I’ve been dealing with some stuff at work.”

Rummaging through some drawers, I found a Sharpie and uncapped it. “What’s up?”

He sighed. I didn’t like this look on Niall, the defeated kind of look that made him look at least three years older. He looked like he was carrying the weight of something heavy on his shoulders. “Hey,” I said quietly, reaching across the counter to grab his forearm in what I hoped was a comfort. “What’s wrong? Tell me.”

His other hand reached to grab my fingers, moving my touch on his arm to hold my hand. His fingers interlaced through mine, examining them for a moment. “One of my boys...a girl came forward and made a sexual assault claim yesterday.”

I tried not to freeze. I wasn’t sure if he noticed when my hand suddenly went limp, but his eyes were still locked onto our hands as if he were contemplating much more than just how large his were compared to mine. “Oh. Shit, I’m sorry, Ni. What...what’s happening?”

His nose wrinkled. “They’re getting him off the team, that’s what. I’m not going to have someone like that representing our team. He’ll go to the dean next week to talk about expulsion.”

“And the girl?” I asked softly.

“I don’t know, Rose. She’ll have to...Christ, she’ll carry this around for the rest of her life. I’ve assured her that his place on the team is nonexistent, but she didn’t look like she believed me.”

“So you didn’t think...she was pathetic or anything?”

“Pathetic? Jesus, Rose, no. I just feel like shit that she was even put in that position at all.”

I squeezed his hand tightly. He didn’t know why my fingers turned from a caress to a grip, but he squeezed my fingers back even so. 

The truth was, his words meant more to me than he’d ever know. But it also made me sad. For the girl, for me, and for anyone else who ever had to deal with something like that. I knew I didn’t deserve to place myself on the same caliber as the girl Niall was talking about. She’d been assaulted, and all Kent ever did was corner me in his office to exchange a promotion for sex. Still, knowing how Niall felt about it made things a little easier. There was no question on whether the player would still be on the team. He would just be...gone. No questions asked.

“You’re a good guy, Niall,” I whispered softly.

“It’s not a matter of being a good guy or not. It’s a matter of being a decent human being.”

Lily appeared in the kitchen before either of us could continue with our conversation, which was probably for the best. “Morning. Smells good, Rose,” Lily commented, coming over to stand by Niall. She wrapped her arms around the back of his shoulders and gave him a squeeze, kissing his cheek. “You smell good,” she mentioned to him.

He didn’t blush, which was weird because Niall always blushed when someone complimented him. He just grinned and let out a little chuckle. “Thanks, Lil. You’re dripping all over me.”

Lily usually let her hair air dry while she ate breakfast and then ran the dryer over it. It locked in enough of her curls to make it stylishly wavy, but not dry it enough so that they straightened out. She had it down to a science. “Sorry,” she said sheepishly, pulling away and lovingly wiping off a bit of water droplets from Niall’s shirt. The salmon color darkened to a burnt coral with the water, but it would be dry in a matter of minutes, so Niall didn’t look like he minded terribly. “What’s for breakfast?”

“Eggs, coffee, and I was going to cut up some of that fruit,” I announced, grabbing said fruit from the fridge. Lily usually kept her fridge pretty stocked with fruit, so she had several berries and a couple of assorted melon slices. 

“Where’s the bacon?” Niall groaned.

“We have some microwaveable bacon, but I doubt you want that.”

He wrinkled his nose. If there was one thing Niall hated, it was the shitty pre-cooked bacon Lily bought. I didn’t mind the taste of it, personally, and appreciated its convenience. Niall was a firm believer that bacon should take time and love. “I’m fine with eggs and fruit.”

“That’s what I thought.” Cutting the fruit and not cutting my finger proved to be a task, but I accomplished it and put all the berries and melons on a plate. The eggs, which had been taken off heat during my fruit-cutting, were still warm, so I put them onto individual plates and handed them off to Lily and Niall. “Bon appetit.”

“A meal fit for a king,” Niall exclaimed. He was always too generous when describing my cooking. I wasn’t terrible and my food was almost always edible, but I wasn’t going to become a chef anytime soon. “Thanks, Rosebud.”

The morning continued on as usual, with Lily leaving Niall and I to keep each other company while she went about her morning routine. There was no more discussion on the girl that had come forward about Niall’s student athlete, but I could tell by the duller color of his eyes that it was still weighing heavy on his mind. Which was why when he was looking away and getting things situated for his day at work, I took the Sharpie and scribbled out “you’re a great role model for the students” with about a thousand x’s and o’s underneath it. He grinned and pressed a kiss to my hair when he saw it, and claimed “he’d keep the cup until the end of time, Rosebud.”

But Niall couldn’t hide his disappointment and sorrow. Which, in retrospect, might have been the reason that he had chosen a horror movie. It was probably a last minute decision.

I wasn’t sure what the title of the movie was, but it was some gory and bloody thing with demonic possession. Our families had varying reactions to the film. Greg was falling in and out of sleep, while his parents on the other side of him were cringing at the film. My parents, who had grown up with horror films, seemed to be genuinely enjoying it, letting out little ohs and ahs when something interesting happened. Violet just stared at the screen with the indifference of a Gen Z child, typing away at her phone whenever the plot got too boring for her to handle.

It was only about forty minutes into the movie when Violet nudged my foot with hers and gestured towards the kitchen with her chin. Things had been back to normal between the two of us, the vulnerable night of sleeping by her side long forgotten. I was honestly thankful for the usual attitude. If she started treating me like some frail thing, I might have burst into tears. I had always prided myself on being a strong person, and I was obsessed with Violet and Lily seeing me in the same light. So when we had woken up the next morning, Violet with drool down her chin and my hair in a wild disarray, I wished she would say something normal.

I believe her exact words had been “Jesus, you have bad morning breath,” before she had promptly rolled over to face away from me.

Still, I followed her to the kitchen, Niall’s eyes on me questioningly when Violet and I walked away from the family. I shrugged my shoulders, unaware as to what Violet wanted as much as he was. Unlike Lily and Niall’s apartments, my childhood home had a kitchen separated by a thick wall, so maybe Violet wanted some advice on Selma and Eric and needed privacy. 

When we arrived to the kitchen, however, I did not expect the turn our conversation took.

Without saying anything, she walked to her purse and pulled out a slip of paper, handing it to me. 

“Am I supposed to know what this is?”

“It’s the health specialist at my university. She has a practice outside of the school, so I asked for her office number.”

I stared at it, a little more than confused. “Alright. Cool. What am I supposed to do with it?”

“She’s a psychologist.”

The paper suddenly felt like a weight in my hand. I gaped at her, mouth open like a fish as she stared at me, almost daring me to give it back to her. Which I tried to do almost instantaneously. “I don’t need this, Violet. Save it for someone who actually does.”

“Seeing a therapist isn’t a bad thing, Rose. She can help with the whole Kent thing. She’s been helping me a lot and I really like her, so I think you will too.”

“I’m sure she’s a wonderful lady, but I don’t need to see her.” I crossed my arm over my chest, only after setting the unwanted phone number on the countertop. “This was a little invasive of you.”

“It wasn’t invasive. It’s me trying to help. You’ve got some shit you need to deal with, as do I, and she can help. I mean, she’s no miracle worker, but it would be nice to talk to someone about what happened.”

My mouth went dry. “Violet, nothing happened. People have had it much worse than I have.” I thought about this morning, about Niall’s defeated face when he told me about the girl at the college. “He didn’t...he didn’t assault me or anything. He just made some lewd comments. It isn’t enough to see someone over, trust me.”

“Rose, you’re nearly twenty-five and you have to sleep with someone else in the room.”

I knew deep down that Violet was coming from a place of love, just like all her other jabs and pokes did. But this felt too personal for me to brush off. I had opened up to her that night at Lily’s, and she was throwing it back in my face. “You didn’t have to come into my room that night,” I said defensively, and I wondered if she could tell my voice was ten times icier than it had been before.

“I’m not trying to attack you or anything—”

“That’s what it feels like.”

Lily must have sensed that Violet and I in a kitchen alone would stir some trouble. She came in only seconds later, raising an eyebrow at the two of us. “Having a party in here without me?”

“I gave Rose the therapist’s number and she’s refusing to take it,” Violet commented. 

“Keep your voice down,” I hissed.

“You gave it to her in the middle of the Horan-Fairbrough family night?” Lily asked incredulously. I was happy that she seemed to be as confused as I was, but then her words actually caught up to me.

“You knew?” I asked, turning to face my big sister. “Did you tell her what a bad idea it was?” Lily looked at me, her lips pressed together in a thin line. When she didn’t speak for a few moments, I knew. Maybe it was stupid to feel the stab of betrayal, but I did. “You told her to do it.”

“She was mentioning how much her therapist has helped her with college and I thought it might be beneficial to you. I didn’t know she was going to give it to you during family night.”

Lily never went behind my back. About anything. She and I were always open books with one another. So hearing that she had gone out of her way to ask Violet do this made me feel like shit. “I thought you were fine with me staying at your place?” I couldn’t keep the childlike whine out of my voice. I had never thought that Lily disliked having me in her apartment, but maybe she did. Maybe she had asked Violet about this because she wanted to get rid of me.

“Of course I am, Rose! That’s not the point of this,” Lily was quick to assure me. “I just think talking about it might help.”

I felt like someone had just pulled the rug out from under me. They were asking me to see someone, like I was a giant burden. I would have expected this from Violet, who was always blunt and truthful, but I would have never expected it from Lily. Lily would have sat me down, brought it up, asked my opinions, and then let it go when it seemed like it was something I didn’t want. “Right. Well, I don’t think it will, so let’s drop it and go watch the rest of the movie.”

“Okay,” Lily said, reaching out to rub my shoulder comfortingly. “Yeah, we’ll go back out.”

“No,” Violet mentioned, her posture hard and defiant. “I’m not letting you walk back out there until you take the phone number. Lily may baby you about this, but I’m not going to.”

“Violet,” Lily chastised.

“You let her get away with so much shit, Lil. And then the one time we dare request she do something to help herself, you act like her word is final. You’ve got some serious shit going on, Rose. You need to let it out before it eats you alive.”

“Right now, all I need is to exit this conversation. A conversation, might I remind you, that our parents and Niall don’t know about,” I snapped angrily.

“What don’t I know about?”

Perfect. When I turned, Niall was standing in the kitchen, hip leaning against the counter with the empty bowl of popcorn in his hands. His hair was tousled, most likely from Theo running his fingers through it playfully earlier on in the dinner portion of the night, and he was wearing a flannel that looked soft to the touch. He also looked adorably confused at our conversation.

“Nothing, Ni,” Lily commented, sending a quiet look towards Violet to remind her to keep her mouth shut. Violet huffed impatiently, but luckily shut her mouth. “Need me to get more popcorn?”

“Yeah, Greg’s fat arse ate most of it.” Lily took the bowl from him and got another bag from the pantry, placing it in the microwave. “What are my favorite girls discussing?”

“Rose’s job,” Lily deflected, sending a blinding smile towards Niall, as if that was going to stop him from asking questions. “The hotel’s offering her a couple of free rooms and she was going to use them for our parents’ anniversary. She wanted it to be a surprise, so you can’t tell them, got it?”

“That’s sweet of you, Rosebud. I won’t tell them, promise.” 

“Thanks, Ni,” I breathed out. Violet rolled her eyes.

I knew this conversation was far from over. Violet was glaring at me and Lily was looking at me like she was apologetically about to burst into tears, but all I wanted to do was curl back up on the floor and finish the stupid movie. I knew there would be no more getting scared tonight, due to the fact that I wouldn’t be paying attention to the rest of the film, so I was safe from any nightmares I might have had about a possessed demon child. But the tension hung from the three of us like albatrosses, and it continued as we slowly made our way back to the living room.

“Need me to hold your hand again, Rosebud?” Niall joked. I mustered up a small smile, putting the popcorn bowl between us again. I ignored my sister as they sat back down, Lily for once not cuddling up to Niall’s side. He stared back and forth between the two of us. “Something wrong?” he whispered towards me.

“Nope.”

“That wasn’t very convincing.”

“Drop it, Niall.”

He seemed taken aback by my shortness. His jaw ticked, a sure sign that I knew he was either embarrassed or annoyed, and nodded at me, leaning back against the couch. He didn’t look in my direction for the rest of the film, and while I felt shitty about being so snappish, I couldn’t bring myself to stop. My sisters had somehow ruined my night in one fell swoop.

There was a reason I didn’t talk about what happened at Barkley’s. On top of me being completely done with the situation emotionally, I was also incredibly embarrassed. How had I not noticed that Kent seemed to favor me simply because he thought I was cute? All of the times he had complimented my work ethic, made me feel like I was one of the best employees, and the consecutive months of being employee of the month (which wasn’t a feat because there were only three of us and the other three hardly made their goal sales), he had just been doing it because he wanted to have sex with me.

It made me feel useless.

And if there was one thing I hated most in the world, it was feeling useless.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered to Niall, trying to keep my voice soft so my parents wouldn’t overhear. “You caught me in a bad mood, and I shouldn’t take it out on you.”

“No,” he agreed, “you shouldn’t.” But he held up his palm, an invitation. I relaxed immediately, threading my fingers through his and cuddling up against his side. 

He didn’t let go the entirety of family night, his little reassurance that we were okay.

~

I was willing myself not to leave my bed. 

Like usual, I had woken up about three hours after falling asleep. The apartment was quiet and a little chilly, so cuddling up next to Lily’s side would have solved all my problems. But my head continued to revolve around the conversation with Violet and Lily, and now I felt like I was just going to be a burden if I went into her room and bothered her.

The ride back to the apartment from the Horan-Fairbrough family night had been quiet. Lily had kept the volume low so I could talk to her if I wanted to, but there hadn’t been anything to say. Knowing Lily as well as I did, I knew she was feeling guilty. But I couldn’t bring myself to talk about the night’s events with her.

Now, sitting alone in my bed, I wished I would have. 

I shifted my weight, moving so I was laying on my side and facing the door to my room. In the year that I’d been here, I’d made it my own. I had pictures and plants on my shelves, I had brought in a bookcase, and there was art hung on my walls with command strips so I wouldn’t have to put a nail through the wall. This room was my safe space, like nothing bad from the outside world could ever get me when I was in here.

Violet’s words rang in my head.

My hands were on my phone before I could really process what was happening. I scrolled through the Facetime app until I came across Niall’s information, clicking on the silly little photo I’d set as his contact photo. On bated breath, I waited for Niall to answer the phone call. I should have known better than to feel nervous. Niall was the type of guy to always answer, no matter what time of night it was.

Which was why I was staring into a grainy version of his bright blue eyes only seconds later.

“Rosebud,” he grumbled, groggy from sleep. His hair was mussed, his eyes half closed, and he was shirtless. I couldn’t see much because the blanket covered most of his chest, but I still grew a little warm. “What time is it?”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, shaking my head, feeling incredibly foolish. “I shouldn’t have woken you up.”

There was something in the tone of my voice that had him sitting up, eyes opening a little wider. A cute yawn escaped his mouth, but he looked more awake than he had when he had initially picked up the phone. “Don’t be stupid,” he said softly, “what’s up?”

“Has...has Lily ever talked to you about not being happy I’m at her place?”

Niall’s eyebrows furrowed. “No. She loves having you there.”

“You don’t think I’m a...a burden?”

“Rosebud,” he said, and his voice was so soft and sweet that it made me want to cry. “You could never be a burden. Where is all of this coming from?”

The tears came faster than I thought they would. I hated crying in front of people. I could probably count on the fingers of one hand the amount of times I’d done it and all of them had been in front of Lily. Lily, who I knew wouldn’t judge me for it. Niall wouldn’t judge me either, of that I was sure, but I still felt like a stupid little kid when the first tear spilled over.

“God, Rose, please don’t cry. I can’t handle it when you cry.” At the look on my face, he let out a small laugh. “Not because you’re a burden, Rose. Just because seeing you cry honestly breaks my heart.”

“I’m sorry,” I managed to stutter out.

“Don’t be sorry, Rose. Just dry those big brown eyes and talk to me. What’s going on?” I couldn’t answer for a few moments, still trying to stifle my cries so I wouldn’t wake Lily up. I saw Niall start to move on his bed, before I heard his voice. “I’m coming over there.”

“No,” I said immediately, shaking my head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t call to bother you.”

“When are you going to get it through that thick head of yours that you aren’t a burden to me?” he asked, rolling his eyes. “I won’t come if you don’t want me to. But I’ve got to know what’s going on, Rosebud. You’re worrying me a little.”

Once I calmed my tears a little, I sniffled so I wouldn’t look like a complete fool with snot dripping down my nose. “In the kitchen earlier, Violet made a subtle dig that Lily might not like having me here. Like I’m a burden to have. I just...I know you know her better than anyone, and maybe she felt like she couldn’t share her real feelings with me. So I wanted to ask you and see if she’d said anything. You know Lily. she wouldn’t tell me to my face if that’s how she felt because she’s too nice.”

“She is too nice. But she wouldn’t lie to you about something like this, Rosebud. I know for a fact that she doesn’t hate having you there, though. You’ve got to know that.”

I nodded hopelessly, rolling my eyes at myself. “And I just feel so stupid because I can’t sleep unless I’m with someone. That’s why I asked you to stay at your apartment. The idea of sleeping alone terrifies me. But Violet has me paranoid that Lily doesn’t want me here, so I don’t want to wake her up and bother her.”

“Lily won’t mind,” Niall said softly. He was leaning back against his pillows. Sometime during my crying, he had turned on his lamp and basked in the soft yellow light. No one looked good in that awful yellow light, but somehow Niall managed. “But I could stay on the phone with you until you fall asleep, if you want,” he continued. 

“I don’t want you to pity me or think I’m pathetic, either.”

“Rose, I don’t think I’ve met anyone stronger. You take everything in stride and still have a smile on your face. It’s more likely that I’m going to be in complete awe of you.”

My breath caught in my throat, stuck in the center like I needed to swallow it down. His words filled me with the kind of reassurance and comfort I needed at this exact moment, and I sighed when the warmth of his words hit me. “You always know what to say, Niall.”

He laughed. “Not true. I feel like I’m a bumbling mess around you most of the time.”

Frowning, I shook my head. “You’re one of the most eloquent and well-spoken people I’ve ever met. I always value your opinions and advice.” I moved myself back against my pillows, laying on my side and propping my phone up on my nightstand so I didn’t have to hold it up while I conversed with Niall. “You’ll make someone a very happy girl someday.”

I saw the way his eyes softened, like he was lost in a memory. They were the color of the sky in the morning, right when the sun was rising and it was cast in a warm yellow glow. “I don’t know,” he said, raising a hand to the back of his neck. His cheeks, like they normally were when someone complimented him, were an endearing pink. “There’s...there’s really only one girl’s opinion I care about.”

I wanted to sit up straight and demand he tell me more, but I refrained. I knew that acting suddenly might spook him into not telling me. “I didn’t know you liked someone.”

“Like…” he trailed off, shaking his head and letting out a little laugh. It sounded like the word wasn’t sufficient enough for what he was feeling. “Yeah. Yeah, I like her.”

“Tell me about her,” I encouraged, my voice as soft as I could make it.

“You don’t want to hear about this, Rose.”

“I always want to hear about what’s going on in your life.”

He groaned, running his hand through his hair. “I shouldn’t have even said anything.”

“Don’t make me pull the Fairbrough puppy dog eyes.”

“Not the Fairbrough eyes,” he gasped dramatically, clutching his hand to his chest as the both of us let out small laughs. Then, he sobered up, his smile turning a little more soft and caring. “She’s great. Driven, strong, stubborn. She’s got this crazy loyalty to her family, like no other. And she’s probably the most gorgeous fucking girl I’ve ever seen in my life.”

He was describing Lily almost perfectly. I felt the smile growing on my face. As Lily’s sister who wanted the absolute best for her, I knew that Niall was it. He was kind, almost to a fault. He would never hurt her intentionally. The way he revered her...it was how I’d always wanted someone to look at me. “She sounds incredibly special.”

“She is.”

The question was burning on the tip of my tongue, begging to be asked. But these things took time. I didn’t want to scare him away from his feelings for Lily by discussing them, so I let the subject drop. “She’d better get ready to be a babysitter for Horan-Fairbrough family nights. I think Greg passed Theo onto me the second I walked through the door. How that man became a father, I’ll never know.”

He laughed, but there was something off about it, like he was disappointed in the subject change. “Must be because you’re so good with kids.”

“I’m shit with kids. Greg’s just fucking lazy.”

That seemed to bring the smile back to his face and he let out a chuckle that sounded like melted chocolate and sunshine and everything else good in the world. Lily would never be lacking in the husband department when she and Niall got married (because let’s be honest, it was an inevitability). He was the entire package, gifted in every area. He would be the kindest, the handsomest, the funniest. 

I didn’t expect the pang that went through me.

I’d always wanted what Niall and Lily had. The easy friendship and the fiery passion (I imagined there was fiery passion, I’d never personally seen it) and the desperate longing. I wanted someone to look at me the way they looked at each other and talk about me the way Niall talked about Lily now. It was how Patrick and Niamh looked at each other. It was how my mother and father looked at each other.

It felt so impossible, so far away for me, that it made my heart curl in my chest. 

“Tell me what’s going on in that head,” he whispered, and he must have thought I had fallen asleep by the look on my face. I blinked, giving him a soft smile.

“Just thinking.” I heard another voice, something grainy and staticy and narrowed my eyes. “Are you watching TV? I didn’t know my company bored you so much.”

Niall shrugged. “It’s Dawson’s Creek, Rosebud. You’d do the same thing.”

I laughed, snuggling up further against my pillows. “What episode?”

“The one where Joey and Pacey kiss for the first time.”

“Okay, but the car kiss or the fireside kiss?”

“The fireside, obviously.”

“That’s not technically their first kiss,” I pointed out.

“It’s the one that matters,” he countered. “Can you believe there are some idiots who would prefer Joey with Dawson?”

“The horror,” I agreed, rolling my eyes. “Say some of the lines for me so I know what’s going on.”

“I’m not going to talk over one of the best scenes in television history.” He took one glance at my pleading face and groaned. “I hate you, you know that?” 

“No you don’t. If it’s the fireside scene, I have this one memorized. You be Pacey and I’ll be Joey.”

He rolled his eyes, but turned back to the television. His voice came through just seconds after Pacey’s did. “The only reason that you don’t have the answers is because you’ve been too scared to ask yourself the right questions.” I recognized the line right away. 

“What are you talking about?” I replied, grinning when he gave me a look, as if asking do I really have to do this?

“Look!” he suddenly exclaimed, making me laugh and stifle it into my pillow so I didn’t wake up Lily. “I know how I feel. You know how I feel. That much is obvious by now. But during this whole process, we’ve managed to miss the point. Because the point is not how I feel, it’s how you feel. So how do you feel?”

“It’s so obvious she loves him back.”

“Oi! If I have to do the lines, you have to do the lines too.”

“Awful!” I copied his exaggeration and heard him chuckle. “That’s how I feel Niall—”

“We’re supposed to be Pacey and Joey!”

“I’m adding flair! That’s how I feel Niall, I feel awful.”

“So do I. When I was kissing you tonight, I don’t think I’ve ever felt better and worse in my entire life. I mean, the very idea that...who should be Dawson and Andy?”

“Patrick and Niamh.”

He raised a brow. “Hopefully Niamh and Patrick aren’t cheating on each other with the two of us.”

“Just finish it!”

“The very idea that Niamh or Patrick could find out about us is killing me. It is tearing me up on the inside to have these feelings for you, but I can’t get rid of them. I can’t keep on kissing you, Rose.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean just that. I can’t keep on kissing you. Alright, I’ve done it twice now! I can’t be the one who’s always initiating this. I can’t be the one who’s always giving you all the answers. Look at me, Rose.”

“Shit I forgot the next line.”

“What a shit Dawson’s Creek fan you are. I thought you knew all the lines.”

“Shut up,” I laughed, pausing the Facetime so I could look up the exact scene lines. “I can’t,” I said dramatically, finding the lines easily and returning to the Facetime so I could see Niall giving me a deadpan look. 

“Please,” he recited. I went to go find the script again but he protested. “You’re supposed to be looking at me! You’re not a very good Joey.”

“It’s your line anyway.”

“If you felt even one shred of what I feel for you...then we wouldn’t be standing here having this conversation.”

There wasn’t another line for me to reply with, as Pacey and Joey had finally kissed, so I looked at Niall with a grin on my face. He was staring at me, something unreadable in his eyes. I knew that our game of reciting lines was over in the way that his eyes burned and his mouth turned downwards at the corners. I wished more than anything that he was here so I could reach out and embrace him, reassure him that there was no possible way that Lily didn’t love him back. He didn’t have to be heartbroken anymore.

“Unrequited love is a bitch,” I said in a whisper.

“I thought you said it was obvious that Joey loved him,” he replied.

“It is. I just meant...in general. It’s a bitch. But we should still tell the people we love that we love them. Life’s too short.”

He swallowed. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

It was silent between us. I didn’t ask Niall to recite any more lines and he didn’t ask me to join in. He just sat and watched his TV and I just sat and watched him. Eventually, my eyes slowly closed and I drifted off into sleep.

I heard him whisper a “goodnight, Rosebud,” before I completely fell.

~

I woke up, for the first time in the past year, alone in my bed. 

When my eyes opened, I blearily glanced at my clock. If waking up by myself hadn’t surprised me enough for one morning, then I would have been surprised at how late I had slept in. Most days I was up around the same time as Lily, since I could never go back to sleep if she started making lots of noise. Looking at my clock now, my eyes widened a little bit when I saw it was just four minutes past nine, which meant Lily and Niall had already been at work for an hour. 

I allowed myself only five minutes to stay cuddled in my blankets before I stood, rubbing my eyes and making my way to the kitchen. The coffee was still out, though it was probably cold. Since I usually didn’t eat much for breakfast, I just popped bread in the toaster and poured myself a cup, shoving it in the microwave to heat it up.

Since Lily and I hadn’t really gotten a chance to talk about what had happened, I regarded the little pink Post-It note with hesitance. I knew that she was apologizing. But I still felt a little sad. The betrayal and anger had left me last night, as I was falling asleep with Niall humming something in the background. I was still furious with Violet and probably would be for the foreseeable future, but it was hard to be mad at Lily when she meant so much to me.

Dinner on me tonight. We’ll hang out and talk. Stopping by the bundt cake place after work and getting white chocolate raspberry. Your fave!! Love you.

I set the note back on the counter and retrieved my cup of coffee. I didn’t have much to do today since it was one of my days off, but I felt too antsy to stay in the house. Deciding to get ready for the day and see where it took me, I headed back towards my room with my plate and coffee cup in my hand.

I wondered how Niall was doing. Today was the day that they were meeting with the dean to discuss the expulsion status of the sexual assaulter. Knowing him, he would be incredibly stressed and worried about the whole ordeal. 

Which was why I found myself standing in the donut shop thirty minutes later.

“Rose!” The owner, Matilda, said. She was a larger woman with pretty dark skin and incredibly white teeth. “Nice to see you. Day off?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“You here for Lily and Niall’s favorites?” 

“Just Niall today. I’ll get four of his favorites. He’s meeting with the dean at his job about a student and I thought he could use the pick me up.”

Matilda grinned at me. “You are too sweet. Niall’s lucky to have you.”

“I’m the lucky one,” I responded. And it was true. I was so incredibly lucky to have Niall in my life.

She walked back towards the display cases, grabbing a vanilla cake with chocolate frosting donut, sprinkled with coconut shavings. Niall could devour three of them in a minute. As she loaded up the to-go box with the donuts, she added in a maple bar for me. “How long have y’all been together?”

It took me a moment to process her question. I blinked at her, giving her a confused smile. “Oh, Niall and I aren’t together. He’s in love with my sister, Lily.”

Matilda’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. “No shit? I could have sworn he was all moon-eyed over you. When you used to come in here with him back when you in school, he would stare at you with the most adorable look on his face.”

I laughed. “Knowing him, he was looking longingly at the donut I was holding. He and Lily are soulmates. Our whole family has a bet on when they’re going to get together.”

She handed me the box, accepting the tenner I passed over the counter. “You know, my David just got married. Nice girl. They moved to New York, so they’re too far away, but I just found out she’s pregnant.”

“Grandma Matilda. It’s got a ring to it,” I joked. 

“I could have sworn he was going to end up with his childhood friend, Zoe. They did everything together when they were younger. They’re still super close. In fact, she and Clarissa, the new wife, hit it off. Zoe was the maid of honor.” I didn’t really realize the point of her story, but I didn’t care. I could listen to Matilda talk for ages. She was just someone you wanted to listen to. “If I had made bets on Zoe and David, I would have lost.”

“I might lose because of the timing,” I countered, shuffling with the change she handed me, “but they’re definitely getting together.”

Matilda shooed me out of the shop with a wave of her hand and a threat that if I didn’t come visit her soon, she’d drag me out of the apartment by herself. I just grinned and got another Uber to take me to the college. 

Niall’s coworkers knew Lily like the back of their hands. They were always wondering who it was that Niall was taking out to lunch. However, they didn’t know me. Which was why when I walked into the athletics building of the college and asked to see Niall, the secretary looked at me a little strangely. 

“Sure,” she said hesitantly, like she didn’t think Niall knew anyone else besides Lily. “Just fill out this sign-in sheet and let me print you out a visitor sticker.” I filled out the sheet and handed it back to her. The second she saw my last name, she understood. “Oh. Fairbrough. You Lily’s sister?”

“Guilty.”

“He might still be in the meeting with the dean, but feel free to wait in his office. If he is still in the meeting, it won’t be long. Ten minutes tops.”

Offering my thanks, I made my way through the building. It was decorated with sports jerseys from the college, as well as professional jerseys. I realized I had never been in Niall’s office before, so when I walked in, I was a little surprised to see how open and spacious it was. Obviously I didn’t think he worked in a tiny little cramped space, but there were large windows on one wall and his desk only took up a quarter of the room, meaning he still had a good amount of space for filing cabinets and things of the like. I sat in one of the chairs on the opposite side of the desk, admiring the pictures and little knick knacks that littered his space. Just like in his room, the frame he had next to his computer had pictures of he and his family and my sisters and I. 

The door opened and slammed shut. Niall hadn’t noticed me yet, but he was pinching the bridge of his nose and looked like he had the headache of the century. I heard him let out a tiny curse before he opened his eyes and all anger melted away from his face, leaving only confusion.

“Rose?” he asked softly, like I was a figment of the imagination.

“Hi Niall!” I greeted cheerily, ignoring how wrong it felt when he didn’t call me Rosebud. “I brought donuts.”

He ignored the proffered white box, instead marching forward with purpose and wrapping his arms around me. A surprised grunt left my mouth, but he clutched me like I was a lifeline and I immediately wrapped my arms around his back. I let him cling to me, sensing it was something he needed. Honestly, I probably needed it too. It was nice to be held and know that Niall wanted to keep me safe from any harm.

“That bad?” I whispered into his shoulder.

“They had us talk to the girl afterwards. She had a meltdown. It was horrifying to watch.” His grip on my waist tightened.

“I figured it would be bad. I brought donuts,” I said again, weakly. 

“Don’t need donuts,” he stated, “just need you.”

“I’m here.”

I couldn’t begin to fathom the moments we stood there, just gripping onto one another. Occasionally, his hand would move from my waist to my hair, tangling there and drawing me even closer, like he couldn’t believe I was there. My forehead pressed into his shirt, a pretty lilac color. One of the many things I loved about Niall was that he wasn’t afraid to wear color. The purple soothed me a little bit, even though I hadn’t come into his work wanting to be soothed.

Eventually, he pulled away. His eyes were red and he looked on the verge of tears. “What’re you doing here?” he asked gruffly, his voice low from emotion.

I reached out and grabbed his hand, not wanting the contact between us to end. He laced our fingers together immediately. “I knew today would be tough. And you were so supportive and...there for me last night that I wanted to do the same for you.”

“You don’t have to pay me back for last night, Rose. I wanted to.”

“And I wanted to help today,” I argued, shoving the box of donuts at him once more. He smiled and took them. “Matilda has threatened to come hunt us down if we don’t come in more often.”

“I don’t need to be seeing Matilda on a daily basis unless she wants to roll me out of the building.” He sat at his desk, across from me, and dug into his donuts. I wondered if he had been too nervous to eat anything that morning, despite the fact that Lily made them breakfast. 

“I realized I’ve never been in your office,” I commented as he ate. “I love it. It’s bigger than I expected.”

“Yeah, it’s a pretty decent setup. I can give you a tour of the campus later, if you’d like.”

 I nodded enthusiastically. Though I’d known Niall nearly all my life, I’d never really been around the campus he worked at. I’d been once or twice for a class that they offered when spots at my own college were limited, but that was it. 

He reached into the  box and handed me my maple bar, along with a couple of napkins so I wouldn’t get his desk sticky. We ate in comfortable silence, him looking over some documents and me just enjoying being in his presence. Once I had taken my last bite and he had shuffled his papers around, he cleared his throat and gestured towards the door.

“C’mon, we’ve got a pretty decent coffee place and I know the pot was probably cold when you woke up. Microwaved coffee is shit.”

“It was fine.” I shrugged. I hadn’t minded it that morning, more focused on my plan to comfort Niall. 

“Bullshit,” he said, giving me a grin that for some reason did weird things to my heart. Holding out his hand, I laced our fingers together as he led us out of his office. The secretary’s eyes nearly popped out when she saw us together, leaning over to whisper something quickly to a coworker that was sitting at the front desk. It made me a little uncomfortable, but Niall pulled me along quickly so I didn’t have time to dwell.

The college was gorgeous. I could admit that. It was even prettier than the own college I attended. When Violet had been applying for colleges, this had been one of her main contenders because of how gorgeous it was. Ultimately, it didn’t have a veterinarian program like the college I attended. Therefore, she was at my alma mater. Still, as Niall pointed things out with the hand that wasn’t holding mine, I made sure to comment on how pretty the layout of it was.

“Hey, Mr. H!” I heard someone shout when we started walking towards the little coffee stand outside of one of the buildings. Niall blushed a little at being called “mister” in front of me; it was as endearing as every other time he blushed when he was complimented. The kid walking towards us waved his hand enthusiastically.

“What’s up, Jordan?” Niall asked, grasping Jordan’s hand and pulling him into that guy hug I’d seen him do many times before to his brother. “Aren’t you supposed to be in Styles’ class right now?”

Jordan was a muscular kid with shoulder-length brown hair and pretty dark brown eyes. “Nah, he cancelled today. My girlfriend and I were going to get some coffee and then see a movie. She’s technically got Payne in twenty minutes, but they’re just doing an optional extra credit quiz.” I saw his eyes wander over to me, wondering who the girl with Mr. H was.

“Jordan, this is my friend, Rose. Rose, this is Jordan. He’s probably one of the best baseball players this college has seen in a while.”

I didn’t know shit about baseball, but I smiled. “Nice to meet you, Jordan.” His hand engulfed mine comically when he shook it. “I’ll give you a tenner if you call him Mr. H again. He got so red.”

Jordan laughed. “We call him Mr. H until he tells our coaches to push us harder. Then we call him names behind his back.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Niall said, waving off Jordan’s comments. “What are you and Poppy getting? I’ll buy.”

“Mr. H, you don’t have to!”

“It’s pointless arguing with him,” I told Jordan, shrugging. “I usually just relish in the free stuff.”

Jordan laughed. “In that case, just a vanilla latte and a caramel macchiato.”

Niall didn’t bother asking me for my order, since he knew how I took my coffee. He stepped forward to the cart to order, leaving Jordan and I a little ways back. “So, what’re you studying?” I asked Jordan.

“Kinesiology,” he responded. I was impressed. I could never get into the big sciences. “You?”

“Graduated a couple years back with a business major and marketing minor.”

“Cool. You’re lucky to be such good friends with Mr. H. He’s one of the nicest guys I’ve met. Told me he’d give me a letter of recommendation for my masters program in the fall.”

“Sounds like him,” I agreed. And it did. Niall wouldn’t hesitate to help his athletes. Plus, I imagined for Jordan’s sake that a letter of recommendation from the athletics director of the school was nothing to scoff at. 

Niall returned with our coffee, handing Jordan his two drinks. “We’ve got to take off, but come visit me sometime, yeah? Have fun with Poppy.”

“Thanks, Mr. H. I’ll see you later.”

Jordan walked off, leaving the two of us to enjoy our coffee as we made our way through the courtyard of the school. “You really make an impact in these students’ lives.”

He shrugged. “A lot of directors are removed from the teams. They let the coaches do all the work. I want to be involved in the careers of the athletes. Feel like I helped them in some way.”

I grinned, taking his hand and wrapping his arm around my shoulders. He squeezed me into his side. “You help everyone in every way. It’s pretty much impossible to meet you and not be affected in the best of ways.”

That blush came again and I smiled at the sight of it. “You’ve got to stop complimenting me. It’ll all go to my head.”

He wasn’t expecting the shove, but after he finished being dramatic about how I could have killed him, he wrapped his arm around me again and I caught him smiling.

I realized I hadn’t thought of the situation with Kent, my lackluster job, or my sisters once.

[starkergames]

Title: New Years Artists: @lilsoshie (Sketch), @iammagicfishhook (Lineart), @marveling-marvelous (Color) Writer: @darker-soft-starker The years will change and people will change as much as they stay the same. Some changes though, Tony finds, he really doesn’t mind.

Fic below the cut

Some things never change.

Like, being riddled with nerves whilst attending big events. 

Or, the little ticks he’s adopted to mitigate the uneasiness, like bouncing his leg up and down, firing off questions to anyone in earshot like, do you think they’ll have sushi at this thing, I have a craving. 

Or Pepper singing along to whatever is playing on the car ride over, and Morgan answering his inane questions with things like, ew, sushi.

Some things do change, though.

Like, coming back to life after five years of being dead. 

Or being delegated to the backseat next to his daughter, despite the honourable resurrection. Or having his wife remarry in the years following his death. 

You know, typical resurrection things, like realizing that the entire world and everyone you knew has changed. 

Tony’s got a thing about control. Always has. He likes to know, has to know, all of the variables. He thought he knew all of them before he snapped his fingers and prayed to the stones in his gauntlet.

Here’s the thing about infinity stones: they’re sentient. They like balance.

They’re also assholes with a perverted sense of symmetry.

Somehow, perfect balance and perfect symmetry translated into bringing Tony back to life after five years. Or, being suspended in the ether that was neither life, nor death, the holding cell between worlds. 

That was the airy-fairy, hand-wavey way that Strange explained to him. Sparkles and mystery. But Tony doesn’t remember any of it. The not being alive. One moment his heart was giving out, the next he was clawing himself out of the earth. 

That was pleasant.

Emerging dirty and naked to find he’d missed five years of his life was also a barrel of laughs. Missing five years of his daughters growth, finding out his wife had moved on? Hilarious. Best cosmic joke to have happened to him yet.

Though, Tony supposes this is how the recovered Snap victims felt, after. Chasing and chasing the years that were missed, feeling as if they will never be completely caught up.

But that was months ago, his resurrection. Reawakening. Whatever. Seven months and three and a half weeks, if he’s counting. He’d say he isn’t, but he definitely is. 

He’d used the time mostly caught up on the life of his friends and family, shed his tears. He’s lamented Steve, grieved over Natasha all over again. Wondered why the divine equilibrium didn’t include her sacrifice. 

But he’s learned to be okay. He’s living back at the re-built compound with Clint and Wanda and the old-new crowd of super-people that populate the place he used to call home. 

He doesn’t don the suit, hasn’t since he came back, worried that the moment he activates the housing unit that it will all be over, and Morgan will lose her father for the second time. 

He’s a consultant, now, for the new team. Financier. Benefactor. It’s very boring.

“You sure you want to go to this thing,” Tony says again, stretching his legs so his knees hit the driver's seat in front of him, where Peppers’ new husband sits. “You don’t want a quiet one at home? Ring in New Years with the llamas?”

“Morgan wants to go,” Pepper repeats, peering back to smile at her daughter. “Right, sweetpea?”

Beside Tony, Morgan looks up from her hand-held video game and nods vehemently, smiling brightly. Tony feels betrayed by her enthusiasm.

“Are they paying you to say that?” he leans in, whispering close to her ear. “You can tell me Morgasboard, name your price. I’ll beat it.”

His daughter flicks her gaze between her mother and Tony. She leans into her father and whispers loud enough for the entire car to hear, “Uncle Peter is going to be there. I haven’t seen him in forever.”

Tony sighs exaggeratedly, nodding along, even though he knows she saw him two weeks ago. 

“Forever is a long time,” he agrees. 

That was another change that Tony feels weird and wonderful about. 

Somehow, in the time that he was six-feet-under, his former protege had become something akin to family to his daughter. Which, if he’s honest, in the years after the Snap, was the goal, the dream as he skipped through time with the Avengers, the proverbial what if that drove him to say yes that one, final time. 

Happy families, he’d thought. What else could two wayward orphans hope for?

Tony’s at least glad that Peter got that part of the deal. That Morgan got Peter. 

Even if Tony didn’t really have either, after.

“Uncle Peter could go back to the compound or the penthouse with us,” Tony offers, nudging his daughter. “You could ask DUM-E to be your new years kiss.”

“You have a speech scheduled, right, babe?” Peppers husband, Greg, cuts in. He was hired as CFO of SI three years ago and it was heart eyes at first sight, Tony is told. He watches as Greg frees one of his grubby hands from the steering wheel to reach across the console and squeeze her knee.

“Sure do,” Pepper smiles, snaking her hand down to clutch his, squeezing their fingers together. 

Tony’s not jealous. No, really. He’s adjusted, he’s over it. 

But he’s still Tony Stark, so he’s unapologetically petulant. And it’s Pepper, what kind of ex would he be if he didn’t properly field the prospects of the one woman he truly loved?

Feigning a stretch, he kicks his feet out again and jolts the driver's seat, delight welling up when Greg huffs irritatedly. Morgan giggles as if it’s some kind of game, and all the adults pretend that it is to please her. 

The unimpressed stare from his ex-wife caught through the rear-view mirror does little to dampen his satisfaction.

It’s the little wins, Tony thinks, as they pull up to the building, paparazzi huddling around the rope barriers that flank the red carpet, flashes firing through the tinted windows as they come to a stop.

Just because some things change, doesn’t mean he has to.

It’s that mentality that gets him through the dreaded, interminable walk from the car to the ballroom entrance. This is old hat, he tells himself as he waves to the crowd. You could do this with your eyes closed. God, he used to be so good at pretending to care about this kind of crap.

Reporters brandish their network-issued microphones at him, at his family. Fans shoulder against security, all of them yelling out in a cacophony of noise he might call white were it not the sound of his own name, in all of its iterations. 

Although he’d rather make a beeline straight to the ballroom he stops and greets a few fans, shakes a few hands, high-fives a few kids. After a slew of signings and selfies the comparatively calm interior of the ballroom is blissfully welcomed. The quartet supplying tunes in the far corner is a reprieve. 

So is the way that Pepper clutches Greg’s hand and leads him away at the same time Morgan clutches Tony’s. She looks back and says, be good. Tony doesn’t know if she’s directing it to him or their daughter.

Socialites swan around them, but Tony just looks down at his daughter and smiles. He squeezes her tiny fingers.

“You wanna dance, Morgarita?”

Her serious expression turns gleeful as she drags him to the centre of the room to dance without a shred of shyness. 

She’s a lot like she was before he died. Smart and mischievous, cute as a button. But she’s markedly different, caught in that pre-teen phase where she’s gaining modicums of independence. Tony’s getting used to not needing to make all her meals or do her hair for her. He kinda misses it.

Little things. It’s always the little things.

She’s taller now, too. That was a change, to have his daughters head rest against his chest when she hugs him. She’s too tall to be picked up, too proud when Tony offers. So she wraps her arms around his midsection and they sway together on the dancefloor. 

Only a few couples are dancing. The night is still young. But, like anything in high society, it’s all smoke and mirrors. 

Which means most guests are mingling, telling each other how beautiful and fabulous they are, filling the room with so much re-circulated pomp and hot air the room is practically a hotbox.

Of course it’s a business event as much as it is a philanthropic one, so not even Tony can avoid the inevitable schmoozing that comes along with it. When Morgans tired feet demand a break they seek out seats and snacks - and they too, are sought out.

To his ire, associates come and go like a conveyor belt to shake his hand, politicians and socialites thank him for reversing the Snap, the Blip, the Click, the Dusting, all of the stupid names and his daughter is sitting right there, growing more and more morose at each mention of the worst thing that ever happened to her.

So Tony looks down at his daughter, mid conversation with a senator and says, “Hey, sweet child of mine, wanna go to the dessert table?”

She perks up at that and is off like a rocket to the other side of the room where swathes of mouth-watering sweets are spread over an eighteen foot table. 

Tony follows her beeline without saying goodbye to the senator, mentally rubbing his hands together at the grub. He’s sure he will pay for directing his daughter to a trove of sugar and hyperactivity. But desperate times. 

Who is he kidding. He’s going to need all the sweet stimulation he can possibly consume to get through this shit-show himself. 

When he catches up Morgan already has chocolate smeared on her lips. Fancy desserts perch daintily upon gold lined plates, on tiered stands. Thin streams of velvety, liquid chocolate trickle out of apex fountains, flakes of edible gold cover the setting.

She points excitedly with messy fingers to the ones she wants Tony to try. He should resist, right? He’s really isn’t supposed to eat dairy. That, along with his faulty levels of serotonin, was something the all powerful stones failed to fix. Which was really just plain lazy, if you ask him. 

But he spies a flamboyant looking fruit-pastry and thinks, fuck it.

Then he sees a yellow-treat that makes his mouth water and thinks, I can work it off tomorrow.

He reaches over and crams an entire portugese egg tart in his mouth, cheeks bulging like a chipmunk. Morgan laughs, tipping her neck back in unbridled delight.

“Do it again!” she says, bouncing on her feet.

He does. And then again, and again.

Which is how Peter Parker finds him no more than ten minutes later.

“Mr. Stark!”

Tony nearly chokes in his haste to chew and swallow the pastry when Peter swans into view, dressed to the nines and grinning a mile wide. He hears Morgan gasp delightedly beside him, running off to catch up with the younger man while Tony tries not to quietly asphyxiate.

Swallowing roughly, Tony gives him a thumbs up.

Several feet away, Morgan throws her gangly arms around Peter. She buries her head into his chest, just like she does with Tony, brown hair cascading over her shoulders as she embraces him tightly. Peter settles his arms around her neck and leans down to kiss the crown of her head, whispering something to hear that Tony can’t hear.

There’s a weird pang somewhere behind his ribs at the sight. 

He swipes his half-empty flute of champagne and downs the remainder in one gulp to cover it. 

“Mr. Parker,” Tony greets, rocking on his feet when his daughter and former protege walk back to him hand-in-hand. “Didn’t know you owned a suit in your size.”

The younger man holds his free arm out, twisting it to test the fit. It’s a grey suit with a maroon dress-shirt, tailored to perfection. It looks new.

Peter smiles. The action has creases forming at the corners of his eyes; a small, subtle nod to the years Tony missed. Gone is all of his baby fat, his face angular and defined. He holds himself with more self-assuredness, even now. 

He wouldn’t say it aloud, but Peter grew up handsome. 

Worse, he grew up to be Tony’s type.

“Oh, this? I didn’t pick it - but it’s nice, right?”

“Yeah. You, uh,” Tony swallows roughly, eyeing the man from head to toe. “You look good. You clean up well, kid.”

Peter rubs the back of his neck, smiling sheepishly at the compliment. 

“Thanks, Mr. Stark. You - you too. You look... good. Really good.”

Peter meets his gaze, his cheeks a furious shade of pink. 

The motion of the room slows as he watches the sparkle reach Peter’s eyes. Everything in his peripherals becomes dull, unfocused. His own heartbeat jackrabbits against his chest and his sure his face is doing something without his permission. 

Tony’s throat clicks when he swallows. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Peter nods, stepping closer. 

Now, Tony thinks, staring at Peter’s face, the earnest smile still tugging at his lips. Now is the time he would say something to curdle the mood. 

Peter being a full-fledged, rent-paying adult adult is new. Being on an even footing with Tony as a person and a professional is new. There’s so much new about him that Tony still has to learn.

There’s plenty that has stayed the same. His soft-spoken, courteous nature, his ethics.

But Tony can read the unfamiliar in Peter’s posture as much as he does the carefully curated vocabulary, how he stops himself from stammering into subjects he might have stepped into, before. The barely-there lines of age around his eyes, the confident squaring of his shoulders. 

And how Tony finds that his imperfect teeth compliment the ever-wayward hairs of his eyebrows - and how all of it, all of Peter, is now somehow charming, rather than awkward.

“How have you been, Mr. Stark?” Peter asks, stuffing his hands into his pockets and shuffling forward

“Good,” Tony says, lips stretching onto the first genuine smile of the night. He’d try to tug those corners down, were it not for the infectious way Peter’s mouth does the same. “You?”

“Good, yeah. Super busy.”

“That’s good. Good to keep busy, as they say.”

“Yeah,” Peter nods. “It is good. Keeping busy. And how are you? -- Wait, shit, sorry, I already asked that.”

“This one keeps me going,” Tony tugs on a lock of Morgan's hair, taking mercy on him. “You been too busy to see the news about Spider-Man? I know you’re a fan.” 

Peter steps closer again, clasping his hands behind his back, smiling coyly as those around them perk up in interest.

“Which news?”

“Taking down Kingpins empire. Fisk behind bars.” 

“Oh, I think I heard something about that.”

Tony nods.

“What a guy. New York’s never looked cleaner. Although, take that from a guy who hasn’t seen the city for five years.”

“That’s some high praise,” Peter says, wringing his hands together as he nears. 

“He’s a hero,” Tony looks to his daughter. With an affirmative nod of dark hair she concurs.

“I think he’s just a regular guy,” Peter huffs, snorting when Morgan giggles knowingly.

Before Tony can inch closer, maybe to do something impulsive like what his hands have been itching to do and grip the lapels of Peter’s suit jacket, the moment is broken by a nearby cry.

“Peter! There you are!”

Sweat beading along his receding hairline, a heavy arm slung over Peter’s shoulders, Otto Octavius swims into view, nodding politely at Tony and Morgan.

“You’re a slippery one, Parker,” he says, shaking Peter’s shoulders. “Been looking for you.”

“Otto, this is --”

“ -- Got some guys that want to meet you,” Octavius interrupts, thick fingers squeezing Peters bicep. He leans in and and whispers in a way Tony is sure is meant to be discreet, “They’re keen to meet the brains behind the project; come say hi.”

Another change Tony never counted on was the trajectory Peter’s life took after his passing. 

Peter never went to MIT like Tony had dreamed for him. He went to Empire State University.

Pepper informed Tony that she in fact had reached out prior to his graduation and offered him a position. But Peter had declined. He hadn’t said why, but he’d chosen to work under Otto Octavius at Octavius Industries instead. 

One thing that Tony learned in his short time back in the land of the living was that Otto was infamously proud of his new employee and favoured immensely. 

It’s what Tony would have wanted for Peter, really. Doing what he loves, being given the respect his intellect and kind heart deserves. He seems to be happy and all grown up. As if Tony needs the reminder.

It’s just that Otto was always an insufferable do-gooder. Save the trees, save the bees. ALl noble notions that Tony agrees with - but Otto is like the human personification of a PETA ad. He’d never been a fan of Tony’s, even after he reformed, literally. 

Still, do-gooder or not. There’s something about him. Something that Tony doesn’t like. Just a vibe he has. He’s got good instincts after all of these years and he knows he’s got a solid hunch. There’s something about that man, he knows it.

It’s got nothing to do with the proprietary hand Otto has on Peters shoulder, like the younger man is just a thing to show off. Or how Tony wanted to be the one doing that.

It’s got nothing to do with the way Peter’s suit perfectly fits his frame, or how the maroon and grey compliments his clear, milky skin.

It’s definitely not related to the way Tony’s heart beats just a little bit faster when Peter is in the room.

Yeah.

“Um, I’ll just be a minute,” Peter smiles apologetically at the Starks, eyes softening at Morgans pout. “I won’t be long, you owe me a dance little miss, remember?”

Tony waves dismissively at him, reaching for another flute of champagne from a passing waiters tray. He swallows another generous mouthful, bubbles burning on their way down. 

With Morgan munching on a gold flaked cheesecake at his side, Tony watches as the young hero is led away. Otto’s hand on his back, guiding him to make nice with some university hacks. Five years ago Peter would have fumbled through these introductions. He would have gone bright red and blurted some weird factoid to make conversation. 

But he’s polished now, Tony watches. Not perfect, but his posture says confident adult, not awkward teenager, like the last time he wore a suit around Tony. This suit really does fit him like a glove. His handshake looks strong, too. Firm.

Were Peter’s hands always that big? 

Tony sips his champagne, observing the girth of his former mentee’s fingers. It’s not until he feels the burn of Morgans stare on the side of his face that he breaks his gaze.

“What,” he says.

She points a chocolate covered finger at his face. 

“You know how I feel about people holding up one finger at me. If you’re gonna do it, it should be the middle one.”

“You like him.”

Tony huffs, rolling his eyes. “Of course I like him. He’s your Uncle Pete.”

“No, dad, you like like him. You want to be his boyfriend.”

“What -- I do not,” Tony says, casting her an incredulous stare.

“You do. You want to marry him,” she says, scrunching up her face and making kissy noises. 

“Do not.” 

“Do too.”

“I --” he huffs, gesturing to the room at large as his words run away from him. “Do not. I’m the adult. You’re the child. I’m right, you’re wrong. Case closed.”

“Dad.”

“Fine, here,” he fishes out his wallet from his back pocket and slips a crumpled fifty out. He waves it in her face. “Take this and never speak about it again.”

“Can I speak about it to mom?”

He slips out another fifty and hands it to her.

“No.”

She smiles, neatly folding the notes and tucking it into her little bag. Tony stuffs another tart down his throat, knowing he’s been played.

She really is his kid.

----

It’s not that Tony doesn’t know.

He knows.

It’s familiar after decades of experience. That weird feeling he gets. The fluttering of his heart, the topsy-turvy motion in his stomach, were he any younger he might call them butterflies.

He just doesn’t get it.

There’s a lot of things that were jarring when he awoke, soil under his fingernails as he tore through the earth in the desperate search for oxygen. He remembers waking up, confused and naked, body restored to the moment before he snapped his fingers. He remembers stumbling onto a rebuilt compound, unable to speak, learning that the entire world had moved on and changed without him.

With FRIDAY as his guide Tony had seen all of the monuments and the altars in his name, fresh bouquets propped against them, even years after his death. The adoration and the glorification immortalised in murals and statues, in grants in his name, in tell-all books. 

They’d even made a shitty movie about his life. 

The actor who played him was too short and the woman who played Pepper wore a wig. It was funny. Not like, funny haha, but funny in that uncanny, meta photo-within-a-photo kind of way.   

But when Peter had come to the compound that first time and they talked after they both finished crying -- it was different. And every time after, it was different. 

It was… awkward. At first, they didn’t know how to be around each other, automatically falling into old molds of mentor and protege. It was almost immediately clear that their old roles weren’t going to work -- too much between them had altered to fit back into the old model. 

They needed to recalibrate, and quickly.

Their dynamic did change. If Tony thought about it long enough, innocently enough, he might dare to call it a friendship.

He would, but there was that feeling in his chest. Beat, beat, bang.

It was a work in progress, to reconcile the flutter in his stomach with the Peter now, with the Peter that was, before. A man who had lost all his baby fat, who was old enough to have colourful stories and a wealth of life experience, who had remarkably broad shoulders looked damn good holding a wrench.

It was the hands. 

They looked very dexterous. Capable.

But that didn’t stop him from spiraling into deep, existential pockets of despair as he wondered if the stones really thought it was best to revive him so he could actively thirst over someone he used to be responsible for. 

Peter is barely fifteen years older than his daughter. He’s lost count how many real and missing years are between them now between death and the Snap. Five a piece.

He can’t tell his road-runner heart if that’s better or worse, though. 

But, too high on the adrenaline of seeing Peter, he forgets to tell his body to stop, to remind his stupid heart that this one is not available. 

----

Sometime after eleven the gala is in full swing. The mood perks right up in anticipation of the New Year.  

Most of the remaining guests are pleasantly tipsy by this point, if not outright drunk. All of the stirring speeches have been made, Peppers included. 

Tony tried to listen, however got distracted by - well, anything. But the effort was there. Something about giving and starting the year fresh, clean slates. 

The relaxed atmosphere has more couples dancing on the floor. The Mayor and his wife stumble over each other, moguls and A-Listers mingle and take selfies against attractive backdrops. 

Even Morgan grew tired of Tony’s ornery approach to the evening, departing with a kiss to his cheek to dance with her mother.

Tony forgets, sometimes. That people expect something of him, something more. Like his resurrection was divine intervention, and if the universe intended him to be here, surely it was for a purpose higher than acting like a morose old man, hiding in the corners of ballrooms.

It’s just. He doesn’t know where his place is anymore.

Norman Osborne stops by to crow about his latest achievements, his contract with the NYPD to provide surveillance towers all over the city. Tony’s seen them. They’re hard to miss.

“Design’s a little archaic, don’t you think? Not very discreet. A pettier man would say you were overcompensating for something.”

He’s not really paying attention as he’s speaking, too distracted by the debacle before him. 

Harry Osborn and Peter dance together in the centre of the room, leaned in close to one another and snickering at what the other has said. 

They look loose and comfortable around one another, as if they were old friends. Or something else.

Peter leans in close to Harry’s ear to whisper something, the flush on his face creeping down his neck. In one swift movement Tony throws back the rest of his champagne, wishing the liquid would drown him, stomach turning to cement.

Whatever Norman says in response goes unheard. 

With the crowd dispersed, Peter catches Tony’s eye and waves exuberantly, nearly hitting Harry in the face.

Tony raises his glass, wincing. 

At least some things stay the same.

“They roomed together at ESU,” Norman breaks Tony out of his musings.

Clearing his throat, Tony tries his best to appear indifferent. Why should he care? That’s right, he doesn’t. Not even remotely.

“I see.” Play it cool, he thinks. “They look close, are they —?”

Nailed it.

“No. They tried, but it didn’t work out. Harry’s engaged now.”

“Huh.”

“But Peter is always welcome in our home,” Norman drawls. “He’s like a second son, really. Wasn’t he your protege once?”

Osborn is so smarmy. All at once Tony remembers why he hates this man and his dumb, weathered face. His covetous tone makes Tony want to hurl, or send a suit to the nearest Oscorp building and play rain of fire.

“Good god, imagine if he was your son,” Tony says blithely. “As if you need another one of those to mess up.”

Norman huffs.

“You’re hardly the authority on raising well adjusted children, Stark.”

Ire spears up hot to his throat, but before Tony can deliver a withering reply, he’s interrupted by the arrival of Pepper and Greg. 

Morgan trails behind, dragging a laughing Peter with her by hand. She weaves her thin body through the crowd, having pulled the man away from his dance wearing identical grins.

He watches his daughter cut through swathes of the elite in a trail of chiffon, delight clear in the laughter that follows her. Tiny heels clack against the polished ballroom floor, and Peter indulges her mischief, catching Tony’s eye and winking as they near him.

It’s the first time he’s seen his whole family look truly carefree since he came back. 

And Tony is where he should be. An inscrutable mass against the beige, peeling wallpaper. 

The look of distaste on Normans face as he walks away is enough to dampen some of his churlishness as his family form before him. Pepper makes small talk with Peter and Greg smiles awkwardly at a passing senator. Morgan dives for a profiterole before anyone can stop her. 

For a moment Tony feels like he’s in a McDonalds playground instead of an upper-class charity event.

Pepper must have had a hand in choosing Morgans dress, Tony thinks, because it has pockets. And, watching her as the adults talk, she sneaks handfuls of tarts and truffles into the grooves of her dress. Tony wants to laugh, to wink at her conspiratorially at the same time he wants to tuck her into bed, new years or not. 

Morgan beckons Peter closer to the sweets table. The younger of the two piling her favourite sampled sweets onto a napkin and thrusts them towards Peter, fervently requesting that he try them, they’re so good, Uncle Peter. 

“Not everyone wants dessert for dinner, little miss,” Tony reminds her, swiping a napkin off the table and wiping the melted chocolate off the corner of her mouth.

“I’m not a baby, dad,” she complains, taking the napkin from him.

He forgets that too, sometimes.

Peter smiles between them, delicately plucking a single strawberry off one of the offered miniature flans and popping it into his mouth. 

Lust spears through him so suddenly Tony sways on his feet. Fuck. 

His daughter and ex-wife are right there. 

“Mr. Stark. Would you - uh,” Peter breaks off to swallow audibly. “Would you like to dance?”

Otto is by the bar. Harry, by the French Ambassador. Tony is in his self-made corner of the room, nibbling on vol-au-vents and sashimi to pass the time. 

He can smell Peter’s cologne and his sweat when he steps closer and sheepishly offers his hand and Tony’s entire damn body wants to just reach out and interlock their fingers, to pull Peter close and breathe him in. Never has Tony wanted to bury himself in another body before and not come back out, not like this.

Tony would consume all of what Peter had to give, if Peter let him. The offering look in Peter’s eyes say that he would let him.

“I… uh,” Tony begins, searching for a quip to cover his falter. Smiling at his companions, Tony smooths his hand down his tie, pretending the curious looks of concern are just the alcohol. “I need fresh air.”

“Tony --”

“Mr. Stark --”

He waves them off and smiles apologetically at Peter.

“-- I’ll just be a sec. Is it hot in here? Is anyone else hot? I’m like, sweating here, wow. It’s just pooling under the armpits. I’ll just be a minute, excuse me --”

The crowd parts for him like the red sea as he marches through it in search of the nearest door. But he’s never felt less powerful in his entire life.

Or lives, as it were.

----

Outside, the air is blissfully fresh and cold. The rooftop is far less crowded than indoors, only a few patrons lean against the railing, cigarette smoke curling up from their fingers, some in quiet conversation with another.

There’s a carefully constructed pyramid of wide, vintage wine glasses brimming with champagne. He’s careful not to topple the entire thing over when he goes to reach for one. Overheated, even as the winter wind nips at him, he takes his drink and finds a quiet corner to sulk in.

Perching upon a stone bench away far away from the others, Tony tips his head up at the starless sky and huffs. 

What the hell does he think he’s doing?

The New York City skyline is alight before him in all its glory, but the memory of how Peter’s face dropped flashes across Tony’s mind on a loop. He looked taken aback. Hurt even. 

Shame wells up low in Tony’s stomach and doggedly stays there. 

It’s for the best. Right? It has to be for the best. Peter deserves the best and Tony is not that.

It’s not right for him to want to fit himself into Peter’s life when he seems to be happy and successful without Tony - there’s one thing he knows unequivocally about himself is that he would ruin that. Ruin Peter, one of the few good things he has left.

His heart doesn’t get the memo. 

Because when he closes his eyes, all he imagines is the way Peter’s firm body would feel against his. What it would feel like to curl together on the sofa, in bed, under the sheets. How his curls would tickle the underside of Tony’s chin, and what it would be like to trace the lines that branch from his eyes when he smiles, or to stroke the narrow slope of his nose as he sleeps. 

It’s wrong.

It’s wrong because Tony doesn’t fit there. Not there, nor in all of the places he used to. He’s not Iron Man or a businessman. He’s not a husband or a full-time father. He’s not even Peter Parker's mentor. 

What he is, for all of his resurrected glory, is an afterthought. A spectre, hovering in the fringes of all of the places he used to be the centre of.

He smiles, raising his glass to the smoking couple as they nod politely at him.

It’s fine. He’s happy that everyone is happy.

But it’s been months. He ain't Jesus, but surely by now he’d find some sense of purpose.

“Mr. Stark?”

When Tony opens his eyes Peter stands before him, clutching a perspiring glass of wine.

Tony doesn’t want to notice, but he does anyway. The look of concern written on his face is unmistakable, even in the dim lighting of the rooftop, the nearby flamelight serves to deepen the frown lines on his young face.

“Are you alright, Mr. Stark? Sorry to follow you out here, you just seem kind of...”

“Surly?” Tony guess. “I’m fine, kid. Just had a few too many. Didn’t want to hurl all over the drapes. No need to worry.”

“I was gonna say overwhelmed, but yeah,” Peter says, shifting closer until Tony’s bent knees hit the top of Peter’s thighs - his stomach swoops, again. “I’m gonna worry anyway.”

“Yeah, well, happy New Year,” Tony says dryly, knocking their glasses together. 

Peter taps his smart-watch with a finger. 

“Still got five minutes before that. Can’t break into Auld Lang Syne yet, Mr. Stark.”

“We could if we were in Halifax,” Tony counters. The younger man tilts his head agreeably and Tony calls the easing of tension from Peter’s shoulders a win.

“Let’s stick to New York.”

“Sure,” he agrees. “You don’t have somewhere you’d rather be? You got four-something minutes.”

“Right here, actually, if that’s okay with you.”

Tony doesn’t know if that’s frankness or fiction, but he smiles all the same, patting the slab of stone he’s sat upon invitingly. 

“Well, come aboard, Mr. Parker.”

Without pause, Peter hoists himself on the bench with a single hand, delicately balancing the glass of champagne with the other. He shuffles to get comfortable, swinging his legs as he settles.

The firelight catches onto the curve of Peter’s curls, slicked down into wilted tendrils from the sweat dotting his hairline. 

His heart is positively thunderous in his chest. He raises his hand to soothe it and at once, sickeningly, painfully misses the comforting heat of the arc reactor.

“You wanna talk about it?” Peter asks, after a moment.

Tony smiles wryly, mostly to himself. Of course, there’s nothing that escapes Peters notice.

“Trust me, kid. There’s not much to say.”

“I somehow doubt that,” Peter says, fishing something out of his pocket and handing it to Tony “I, uh, thought you liked those. I took the last one.”

It’s a portugese egg tart, Tony notes, warmed slightly from Peter’s body heat. Fuck. He does like them. They’re his favourite. 

Tony pretends like his heart isn’t swelling to the point where it feels it's going to burst and breaks the tart in two, passing over the other half to Peter. 

“Thanks, kid. Try some.”

They eat their halves in relative silence, save for the sound of chewing and Peter’s shoes hitting the stone as he swings his legs. But the mood grows quieter, noticeably pensive after they finish eating. It makes Tony’s skin crawl.

“You know,” Peter says softly, as if raising his voice would shatter the moment, “you’re not the only one to come back to find years lost. To find the world different. I know it’s not easy. Especially on nights like this.”

Tony swallows roughly, chasing it with a mouthful of champagne. 

“You seem to have managed well.”

Peter huffs. “Oh yeah, real well. God, you don’t even know how --” his voice breaks off, voice wet with emotion. He looks away, throat bobbing as he gathers himself. “You just -- you don’t know.”

The moment feels fraught with enough gravity that it would bring the moon down between them.

“Hey,” Tony chides, trying to diffuse the heavy emotion with what levity he could utter. “Come on now, it’s supposed to be me out here maudlin. Don’t steal my thunder, Charlotte's Web.”

“Sorry,” Peter says, cracking a smile. “I’ll try to pencil in sad hours for later.”

“Appreciated.”

A comfortable silence settles between them. A woman, visibly drunk, passes them and raises her glass to Tony, the liquid sloshing out from the glass and down her arm. She doesn’t seem to notice, smiling and stumbling away.

That would have been Tony ten years ago (in his lived years). On the weekends without Morgan, sometimes it still is.

“Got any resolutions, Mr. Stark?”

Tony snorts. “Shit, kid, I don’t know. Take Morgan to Saturn. Run for president, get back on the Cosmo’s Bachelor of the Year.” 

“Most people just join a gym.”

“I didn’t come back to life to break my hip on a treadmill,” Tony says, offended. “What about you, Peter Rabbit?”

Peter takes a sip of his drink as he visibly deliberates. Wayward drops of champagne gather at the corner of his mouth before he scoops them with his tongue, eyes drifting to the glittering skyline.

“Yeah. I’m trying to get this guy that I’m into to take me seriously.”

Tony hums, stomach dropping.

“Some guy, huh?”

“Yeah. I’ve known him since I was fifteen and I’m like, super into him, but he still sees me as a child.”

His stomach swoops back up.  

“Well,” Tony clears his throat, daring to hope, “this guy’s an idiot if he can’t see you for the man you are. You’re a catch.”

Peter shrugs, inching closer as he adjusts his balance. Their hands are nearly touching and Tony can feel the heat radiating from the man's body and he hates himself for it, just a little bit, he’s too old to feel like a kid with a crush again. 

“He’s not an idiot. Well, he is, sometimes. Not all the time.”

“You sure this guy is good enough for you?”

“Yeah,” Peter nods, looking out at the skyline again. “He’s just lost. I can wait.”

“What if he’s not right for you?” Tony says, throat closing unexpectedly. “What if he’s not worth the wait?”

Peter shuffles closer. 

“He has been so far,” he says, bravely extending his pinkie so it curls atop Tony’s. In the cool night air the touch of skin against skin is scorching. “Worst case scenario has already happened. I’ve already lost him in the worst possible way. I could do without him calling me kid all the time though.”

“He makes no promises on that.”

“I thought as much.”

“You deserve better than lost, Pete,” Tony says around the lump in his throat. For a moment he can’t speak, the memories of electricity ripping through his body in a moment of love much like the feeling he has now. “You deserve the best.”

But Peter doesn’t say anything. He tugs on their linked pinkies to intertwine their fingers, resting them in the interstice of their pressed thighs. Tony doesn’t miss how Peter’s palms are damp against his, how they tremble ever so slightly. It’s grounding, to know Peter is as nervous as he is.

When he gets brave enough to stroke the back of Peters hand with his thumb some of the mired shame melts away.

“Deserve is subjective,” Peter says, squeezing Tony’s fingers. “And I decide he is the best.”

“What if he wants you back,” Tony whispers, shifting closer on the stone until their sides are entirely flush together. “But he has nothing to offer you. Doesn’t fit in with your life.”

“What about what I can offer him?” Peter clutches his hand tighter, raising it to his lips and pressing a soft kiss on the back of Tony’s hand. “What if I'm there while he finds his way?”

“Pete.”

“You have time, Mr. Stark. You can figure the rest out as it comes to you.”

“And until then?”

“You go with the flow.”

“How?”

“Like this,” Peter whispers, pressing their lips together in a chaste kiss. 

Closing his eyes, Tony leans into it and lets himself fall. Peters lips feel soft, pillowy, the kiss chaste and unassuming. When Peter pulls back he looks dazed, which is silly, because that was a tease for Tony. 

Eyes on the glistening bow of Peter’s lips, he wants to dive in and tug it between his teeth. So he does.

“That’s -- yeah,” Tony says, sliding their noses together, “Were you -- were you always this confident?”  

“I’m not confident,” Peter replies, kissing him again, pulling back to exhale shakily against Tony’s lips. “Holy cow. That was, like, a super big risk for me. Wow. Did I fool you? Are you fooled?”

“Bamboozled,” Tony says, staring at Peter’s lips again. “Just to confirm, I’m the guy, right? Resolution guy?”

“Y-yeah. Yes.”

 “Good,” Tony says, cupping his cheeks and kissing him again.

Fireworks bathe the couple in an electric array of neons, and crowds can be heard cheering from all around them. Tony pulls away to see Peter illuminated in brilliant colour, lips wet and swollen.

“Is this okay?” Peter reaches his free hand up to cup Tony’s cheek. “Is it weird? It’s a bit weird. Right?”

“It’s weird. But weird-different,” Tony amends. “Good different, right?”

“Right.”

“I should, maybe, keep kissing you to be sure.”

Peter’s answering grin against his lips vivifies the lights exploding around them.

To the soundtrack of waning fireworks, Tony gets lost in learning how Peter kisses, the shape of his lips, how the heat of his tongue feels against his own. 

Struck suddenly by a memory Tony pulls away from Peter to groan.

“What?” Peter queries, flushed and panting. “What’s wrong?” 

“I literally paid Morgan a hundred bucks to not tell you I was hot for you.”

Peter balks, staring at Tony as if he were stupid.

“Um, I have enhanced hearing, remember? And she told me, like, two months ago.”

Tony squints. 

“That little brat.”

——

The knowing smiles when they walk back into the ballroom from their family is a little uncalled for. Morgan is asleep in Peppers lap so she isn’t even awake to crow about her victory.

But the way Otto splutters as his eyes dart between the bruise on Tony’s neck and their joined hands is deeply worth it.

“Happy New Year, Mr. Octavius!” Peter beams, swinging their hands together. 

“And - and you. Mr. Parker.”

“Sorry to drop this on you last minute, would you mind if I get another ride home?”

“Well, I --”

“Let me compensate you for the cab,” Tony offers, dropping Peter’s hand to wind his arm around the younger man's waist, pulling their sides flush together. “It’s the least I can do. Don’t worry, Peter’s ride will be very enjoyable.”

“I take it you’re not coming back to the penthouse,” Pepper cuts in, sharing a look with Greg.

“Yeah,” Tony nods, already pulling Peter away. “When Morguna wakes up from her beauty sleep tell her she owes me a cut of the winnings, okay? Good. Happy New whatever.”

They stop by the dessert spread on their way out.

-----

Their taxi driver sends them scalding stares from the front seat.

It’s fine, Tony will compensate him generously in tips. Though, if he were the driver, he’d probably be pissed too. 

For all of his stealthyness as Spider-Man, Peter is not quiet right now. He bucks into Tony’s touch, rubbing his crotch against Tony’s hand. He breaks their kiss to moans lewdly into Tony’s mouth, breath hot against his face.

“Oh god,” he exhales shakily, tugging on Tony’s tie to bring their lips together in a filthy kiss.  

“Good?” Tony mumbles against his lips, grinding his palm down harder. Peter nods, tilting his head back to groan as Tony’s mouth latches onto his neck. The creamy skin is mottled with teeth marks and barely blooming hickies. 

Tony sucks and and laves his tongue over the heated skin to hear how his breath hitches, those high ahh-ahh’s that fall breathlessly out of his mouth, to hear him moan --

“M-Mr. Stark!”

Tony winces, pulling back.

He sighs. “Kid, if we’re doing this, you really gotta call me Tony.”

In an instant Peter’s face turns stony, somehow looking stern despite his swollen lips and wrinkled shirt. He looks like a petulant pitbull.

“If we’re doing this you really gotta stop calling me ‘kid’, Tony.”

Tony undoes the first button of Peter’s dress shirt, then the second, parting the folds of fabric to get a view of his collarbones.

“I suppose I would be amenable to such amendments, Peter,” he nods, “on the condition that you let me take you on a date.”

As Tony snakes a hand over the curves of his clavicle, Peter’s deft fingers undo the knot of Tony’s tie until it lies loose from his neck.

“I would be amenable to that. Conditions accepted.”

“Fantastic.”

“Yeah. I’m going to kiss you again now.”

“Okay. Yeah. Good.”

-----

With a heavy arm slung around his midsection, Tony finds out what Peter’s body feels like curled around his body when he wakes up the next morning.

There are a lot of little discoveries on New Years Day.

Like the feeling of Peter’s morning wood pressed pleasantly against his ass. Or how Peter squints adorably as he wakes up, as if he were confused by his own consciousness, his bedhead a mad nest of curls. Or how much Tony doesn’t mind the humid exchange of morning breath. 

“Do you always take your first dates to bed?” Peter queries over breakfast, the ghost of a teasing smile on his face.

“That was not a date,” Tony points his fork at him. Scrambled egg falls from the utensil onto the table. “And we didn’t even have sex. That’s misleading, mister.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Tony sniffs.

“You’ll find out when we have our first date, won’t you? Friday at seven. Yes or yes?”

Peter sips his coffee to hide his smile, but Tony still sees it.

“Yes.”

-----

They got their date. 

Six months after the New Years festivities comes Morgans eleventh birthday. 

Tony’s had a lot of dates with a lot of people, including Peter, but nothing quite trumps this. 

It’s a double date. With his ex-wife and her new husband. Plus twelve other kids and their parents at a McDonalds. 

All four are seated at a table, Peter to his side, squirming on the terrible, hard chairs while Pepper and Greg sit opposite. Several servings of burgers and fries lay cold between them. Mostly melted McFlurries ooze off the provided plastic spoon when disinterestedly stirred.

It’s terribly romantic.

Morgan wanted McDonalds with her friends for her birthday, and before the big move to middle school. It fell on date night. 

The garishly decorated diner is alive with the sounds of yelling and laughing, kids and their siblings running after one another, pushing each other down slides and following each other through narrow, plastic tunnels.

Tony’s never really been a double date kinda guy, particularly when it involves the mother of his child and his new, twenty-something lover. It was stilted in the beginning, made more awkward by Tony’s foursome jokes, but Peter keeps the conversation afloat, dipping the congealed fries into Tony’s melted ice cream. 

He rubs Tony’s lower back as he speaks. Soothing, grounding circles that inadvertently keep Tony in the present.

Peter likes being in constant contact, Tony found. Now that he has the permission. Whether its holding hands, a casual grip on Tonys knee, his thigh, his back. 

It’s… actually nice. Maybe because he does it too.

It’s not always about comfort though, Tony concedes, as Peter’s hand dips a little lower, brushing over the swell of his ass.

They share a knowing look. 

Tony knows now, what that odd twinkle in Peter’s eyes mean. That little pervert. He knows it in the way Peter bites his bottom lip, as if canary feathers are about to flutter out of his guilty mouth. He wants to lean over and kiss the look right off them.

Greg keeps a close eye on the playground, loafers tapping anxiously on the tiles when a kid pulls a daring move and nearly misses their landing. 

He’s not the worst, Tony concedes, wearily assessing the other man. He cares for Morgan which is a plus. But he’s greying gracefully and is genuinely so nice and humble that Tony can’t help but test him every now and then. How earnest can he truly be with Tony stealing a fry here and there and knocking his knees ‘accidentally’. 

The conversation turns to Morgans transition to middle school. Pepper thinks she’ll outgrow her peers in months and will pursue a more scientific-focused academic curriculum. 

It’s one of those rare, transient moments of life that Tony’s here to witness. He’s getting used to feeling like everything is going to be okay, like maybe he wasn’t brought back just to be a part of another fight. But there’s a lingering anxiety, he just doesn’t know how to deal with without a solder or a suit to tinker on.

He’s working on it though.

“Should we manhandle her highness back in for the cake?” Tony asks, hand snaking down to squeeze Peter’s firm thigh.

Peter, not missing a beat, sends him a smirk that says I’ll manhandle you. 

It’s only right that Tony tightens his grip on Peter’s thigh, smiling proudly to himself when Peters breath hitches.

A kid knocks into the back of Tony’s chair, screaming as they run towards the playground. Tony winces, the moment broken.

“Need I remind you two that we’re in a family establishment,” Pepper stresses.

“Yes,” Tony rolls his eyes, gesturing to the playground of rambunctious, screaming children. “How could I forget.”

“Tony.”

“You heard her, Pete, keep it safe for work. You’re making people uncomfortable,” Tony says, clamping down tighter on Peter's leg. Speaking to the couple, he gestures to Peter with his thumb. “Real horndog this one. Insatiable.”

“Me?” Peter says accusingly, jaw dropping.

Pepper raises an eyebrow cooly. “Please, Tony. Don’t think Morgan hasn’t told me about the time she walked in on you two. One time you told her you were checking each Peters temperature. With your long thermometer -- honestly, Tony. Try not to traumatise our child.”

Peter visibly colours at the mention.

“Wait,” Tony says. “That little -- I paid her twenty bucks not to tell you that.”

“So did I,” Peter frowns. “And I gave her the rest of my Reeses to seal the deal. Ah, crap.”

“You got played,” Greg snickers. Tony hates him again.

He nods at Pepper. 

“She gets that from you.”

Pepper smiles, unbothered, looking every ounce the image of class as she raises her plastic cup of milkshake to them.

Tony sighs, not even mad.

Some things never change.

-- Thank you to our wonderful artists and writer who participated in the first Starker Games! <3 <3 <3 this is fabulous and we hope you enjoyed yourselves!

[chinuppoppins]

prompt- tandy and tyrone are pen pals that meet up at some point.

So uh, this is going to be a either two or three part-er. I had fun with this one and may have gone a little off topic. Hope it is still alright!

Tandy sighs when her mom hands her the sheet of paper, her brow raising almost off her forehead when she reads the heading. “You adopted a solider for me?” She asked slowly and Melissa nodded from the other side of the counter. The diner isn’t as busy as it usually is, the rainy weather had something to do with it. “Mom, seriously?”

Melissa Bowen wipes her hands against her apron and shakes her head. “Honey, I’m concerned, that’s all. You seem lonely to me, I mean you don’t have any friends, Liam screwed you over-”

“That asshole better hope I don’t get my hands on him!” A voice yells from the back and Tandy sighs when Greg looks through the window at her annoyed face. “What? Who the hell steals EVERYTHING you own and leaves town like that.”

“Mom, Greg, really- I appreciate the thought, but I’m alright on my own.” She told the older, concerned adults while her mom rolls her eyes.

“Just write ‘em, give it a chance. I have a feeling that those men and women serving are just as lonely as you are.” Melissa says.

Tandy looks down at the paper and the name of the person she was sponsoring. Tyrone Johnson. “I’ll think about it.” and then looks down at her phone. “Ah shit, I’m late for class. I’ll see you two later.”

------------

A few weeks pass when she comes across the paper that her mom gave her crumbled at the bottom of her bag, smashed by her books. Tandy sits on her bed as she begins to read the letter.

‘Dear Tandy,

Thank you for adopting one of our soldiers through their deployment. The kindness and support that you will be providing will help their time from home a little easier. Provided within is the name of the soldier you will be sponsoring. Please keep in mind that your soldier may be in a remote location so internet access is limited as well as receiving letters.’

She eyes the rest of the letter until she comes across his name again.  PVT Tyrone Johnson. She sighs as she reaches for her computer and types his email address. Tandy honestly doesn’t know what to say. So she wings it. “Hi, Tyrone. I’m Tandy Bowen, your pen pal/personal care package sender. So is there any specific items you want or need. Just, you know, nothing gucci cause I am on a college budget. But um, thanks for your service and stuff, I mean honestly, I’m not too sure if I could ever do it, especially with the man that was put in charge of our country. Anyways, hope to hear from you.”

She reads it over a few time before just saying fuck it and sends the email before crashing into her bed. At least she was attempting to reach out to another human.

----------

Months pass and she was in the middle of writing a thesis statement when her computer bings with a small notification at the right side of her screen. She clicks it and is quickly brought to her gmail account and an email from her soldier buddy. A small smile plays on her lips and she quickly opens it up and blinks the sleep from her eyes.

“Hey Tandy, I’m seriously sorry it took me this long to get back to you. I really didn’t know I was signed up for the adopt a soldier program until I got your email. I reached out and found out that it was my mom that took the initiative to sign me up. Don’t worry though, I’m not an expensive guy and besides, Gucci doesn’t play well with desert camo anyway so your wallet it saved for now. It’s cool though that you are in school,  what’s your major?

Yeah, I know the country is screwed up. Though my vibe on joining The Marines was to protect the innocent you know? I mean, someone’s gotta look out for the little guy.

Um anyway, below is a list of some necessities if it isn’t too much of a bother for you. Can’t wait to hear from you again!

-Tyrone Johnson.”

Tandy finds herself reading the email more then once and then finally the list he sent, it’s the usual types of things that a person would need. Through her eyes stop at the fact that he requested food and not just any type of food, but candy, specifically sour patch kids. She decides then and there that her first priority was to get this guy some sour patch kids first thing in the morning.

------

For Tyrone Johnson, joining the Marines and leaving his home was what would help him succeed in life. He thought that this path would give him respect and yeah, it was harder most days than others. Though a day he saw as a good one was when he received an email from a spunky sort of girl. It takes him a while to come up with a good reply for her and when he does, he sends it as quickly as he could.

But a reply never comes back, maybe he crossed a line with her? Hell if he knew. However he eats his thoughts when he hears. “Johnson, mail for you!”

It’s a medium sized box that he quickly rips into, his eyes meet a bag of sour patch kids and he beams. She had gotten his email and she actually got him the candy, alright, this Tandy Bowen was amazing. His eyes quickly fall to an envelope with ‘Read Me’ written neatly on it. So he sets aside his candy and carefully opens up the envelope to find a letter written on a piece of college ruled loose leaf paper. The writing is neat, pretty and in a mixture of cursive and print. There is a faint smell of lavender on the paper and some of the items in the box. He skims the note before fully reading it, chuckling at the doodles in the corner of the page. There was something about a handwritten letter that was much deeper and personal.

“Hey, Ty!

Just so you know, the lecture I am in is super boring right now so rather than falling asleep like the sleep deprived girl that I am, I decided to do something much more interesting which is writing to you.

I think that your reasoning for joining the Military is really honorable and of all things, The Marines? Pretty awesome. I am majoring in Biological Sciences at Loyola University. It’s in my home city of New Orleans. I’ve always been interested in science, kinda nerdy, yeah, but it’s what I am was always good at so why not?

So I looked through your list, and while I approve of your candy choice (sour patch kids are my second favorite candy after all) , I decided to throw in a few of my favorites as well. You got to broaden your horizon, my friend. What I wish I could send you is a Beignet, you haven’t lived till you’ve tried one. My mom and her boyfriend own a diner and while Greg is awesome, he sucks at making them. So we get an order every morning from the bakery and I am not allowed to touch them.

I was actually kinda wondering how old you are, Tyrone Johnson, where you came from, life before you joined up? I mean you don’t have to if you’re not comfortable. I’m 20 though, I waitress at my mom’s diner and like I said, on a college budget.

Talk to you soon!

Tandy”

Tyrone smile stretched from ear to ear and of course one of his commanding officers notices. “What's got you so giddy, Johnson?”

Frank Castle is a pretty intimidating sort of guy. He was at least six foot two and was complete muscle. “It’s a package sir.”  Tyrone explains as Frank nods, folding his arms across his chest and smiles. “My mom signed me up for the adopt a soldier program, so this girl just sent me a care package.”

Frank plops next to him and looks into the package. “Whoa, she sent swedish fish, those are my favorite. Karen would never send me those,” He chuckles. “Though Lisa might sneak some in the care package.” Most of the men knew Frank’s story. His wife and him divorced mutually and a few years later, he met Karen Page. She was a reporter that his daughter had actually set him up with. “So you know anything about this girl?”

“Uh, she is a college student, we come from the same city, but she doesn’t know that.” Tyrone tells him. “Her mom owns a diner and she goes to school for- biological science.”

“So you finally over that Evita girl?” Frank asks, mouth full of swedish fish

Tyrone thinks for a moment and then shrugs. “I think so, maybe.”

“Don’t be so indecisive kid, women hate that. Write back to that Tandy girl, see those written letter hold more of a punch, trust me.” Frank advises before taking another handful of sweets and leaving him with a pen and paper.

‘Hey Tandy,

Thanks for the package and the candy. So you are from New Orleans, huh? Well, we have something in common-’

-----

She is on her break at the diner when she finally reads Tyrone’s letter. It’s neatly handwritten, unlike any sort of handwriting from a guy she had ever seen. She remembered reading something about how you could know someone through their penmanship, and maybe it was right.

‘- I’m from New Orleans too. I grew up in the lower ninth and then moved to MidCity when I was nine. I’m missing the food though and my parents. When I come home for leave, I plan to just eat my weight in beignets and calas. Another thing we have in common? Well I just turned twenty myself while on duty. My mom was upset that I wasn’t home for it. She gets scared sometimes, you know? I have an older brother, he’s in a wheelchair from being gunned down by some crooked cop when we were kids. Mom was never the same after that. I had a nine o’clock curfew till I left for basic. I can’t blame her though. Maybe, if it’s not to weird, we could meet up when I go on leave? I could come to your mom’s diner so it’s not that awkward.’

Tandy doesn’t miss the fact that there is a stray tear making its way out of the corner of her eye when she reads Tyrone’s letter, though her heart skips a beat when he asks if he could meet her. She panics, would he even like the girl that he would be meeting? Weren’t they moving too fast, they had to be moving too fast. What if he was catfishing her, could that be a thing. This whole pen pal thing was supposed to be a way to make a long distance friend, not one that was from her hometown. So in her nature, she decides to run from this and him.

The summer months pass and she still can’t rid of the nagging guilt that had been eating away at her. How she so carelessly ditched someone who was slow close to being called a friend. She has morning shift at the diner, her mom is already there and so is Greg, cooking up breakfast.

“Tandy!” Her mom exclaims as she walks through the door. “Can you do me a huge favor and take care of table three?”

Tandy nods as she walks past the table first, going back to the kitchen to pull her apron on and her hair up. She rounds the corner again and pulls out a notepad and a pen. “What can I get for you?” She asks, eyes trained on her paper.

“A beignet would be great.” A male’s voice says. “Though I was told they were not made here, since Greg sucks at making them. Did you remember to pick them up this morning?”

She freezes and looks up from her notepad, her pen falls to the floor and her voice isn’t quite working. Sitting before her, is a young man in a military uniform. She blinks once, then twice to make sure she isn’t seeing things and then asks. “Tyrone?” In an unsure tone and he smiles. He’s more handsome than she imagined with a strong jaw, beautiful eyes and a sculpted chin. She wondered for a moment if he was made from marble or something like that and had to fight off the need to actually trace his jawline with her fingers. Tandy glances over at her mom who had a shit eating grin on her face and then sits across from Tyrone. She had a million questions, she she just goes with the first one. “How did you find me here?”

Tyrone sits back against the booth, his hat on his left and tells her. “After you never got back to me, I got worried that maybe I crossed a line. I wanted to drop me, but Frank Castle wasn’t having it. He’s my commanding officer and has kinda adopted me as his son? I don’t know. I know that this sounds creepy and down right stalking, but his daughter looked you up and then told her dad, who told me what diner you work at. I’m sorry, you’re weird out, I’ll leave.”

Tandy reaches out and grabs his hand. There is a jolt, a spark almost and he stops in his tracks. “No, stay. I mean it is a little strange but, I should have wrote you back. I just, I don’t know, I got scared. I can’t believe that you actually still want to see me. I really did screw you over.”

He beams at her and she can’t get his smile out of her head, jesus christ, what was wrong with her? “Well” He tells her. “You have all week to make up for it, deal?”

Tandy stretches her hand out to shake his. “You got yourself a deal.”

[howellstvdies]

love, simon.

hello, internet! 

first off, how are you guys doing? have you had water? have you eaten? make sure you take care of yourself, babe, okay?

this is my review of the movie love, simon. i wrote it a while back, but i never really got round to publishing it, so here we are. i’m gonna try my best to be really eloquent, but i tend to not like rambling, so we’ll see how this goes. 

director

greg berlanti

cast/characters

nick robinson/simon

katherine langford/leah

keiynan lonsdale/bram

alexandra shipp/abby

jorge lendeborg jr./nick

logan miller/martin

genre

comedy, romance, drama

country / year

usa / 2018

language

english

when, where, who did you watch it with?

april 3, in the theater, with my mom. my very christian, very not-gay-positive mother.

any favorite characters? why?

i love simon. it’s stereotypical to love the title character, but i love simon with all of my heart. i love how protective he is over his friends, how he’s very concerned with protecting blue even though they’ve never met. i love how done he is with martin sometimes because honestly, same. 

do you have favorite lines?

why is straight the default?

also: hey! i like your boots!

what were your expectations?

i expected it to kind of be like a typical teen romance but with two boys instead of a boy and girl. but it had its own story, its own distinct characters, its own distinct problems.  i loved that.

what were the best scenes?

scenes with blue and simon emailing each other. it made me so happy, seeing them grow closer to each other. also, the scenes with simon’s family, especially his parents talk about goals.

did you instantly get hooked?

the instant nick robinson and his goofy, adorable-ass-self flashed across the screen, i was hooked.

anything you learned?

black + jewish = bluish. jacques is simon in french.

describe the characters!

simon = soft cinnamon roll with very relatable parents. i love how he and his friends interact, but i did not like the way they treated him when they found out about the whole martin thing. yes, it’s bad what he did, but image having someone blackmail you with this huge-ass secret that you’re terrified to tell anyone because you know it will change your life or you feel like you’ll lose your friends, and then you lose your friends anyway?? no, that’s just too much. 

blue = adorable cinnamon roll. i mean, who else sits next to their crush for theree years, and says a total of three words? who makes his pseudoname blue because he’s black and jewish? this cutie that’s who

leah = best friend that didn’t deserve what happened to her. like seriously, why would they turn this beautiful sweet person into the best-friend-in-love-with-the-gay-kid thing? why can’t you ever have opposite gender best friends not in love with each other?

abby = adorable badass. i genuinely love her so much, how she’s happy and comfortable with herself, kind of. i relate to her so much, the struggle of moving to a new place. i love that she has a friend group that takes care of each other like that. 

nick = adorable teenage boy (that i can’t find a gif for). i love how he acted with abby, how he liked her but he didn’t treat her like a piece of meat, like he genuinely cares about her. i want a nick.

martin = a villain that i simultaneously loathe and understand. i understand what you were trying to do, but using someone’s sexuality to blackmail them is just an asshole move.

the film in three words?

ADORABLE. ENVY-INDUCING

anything about the film you didn’t like?

the whole best-friend-in-love-with-the-main character thing that happened. i hated that trope terribly; it makes me so mad. you can build tension some other way other than ruining a perfectly beautiful friendship.

did the soundtrack stand out?

i loved it. i was dancing in my seat, genuinely dancing. my mom kept hitting me to make me stop.

anything you didn’t understand?

i don’t think so??? i was pretty good with everything.

would you watch the film again?

Y E S. i want to watch this so much every word in every scene can be recited from memory.

any questions you have in mind?

what happens after? what about college? what about leah? she deserves a love story too. what happens with martin?

why did you watch the film?

i’d been wanting to watch love, simon for a while. on the third, i was supposed to go with my friend, but she bailed on the last minute. so my mom decided, “okay, you’ve asked to see this for a while, let’s go, child of mine.” i was hesitant (see the beginning of this review) but i actually liked it at the end. this was a big movie for me, like black panther, because i wanted to see this finally happen.

heard the film where? from who?

it was advertising everywhere. plus, i follow nick robinson on twitter.

did you like the movie?

i loved it. four out of five stars.

feel free to dm me your opinions, anything you agree with or disagree with.

and with that, i’m signing off. bye, babes!

[gentlyphotographing]

(1) Give the Monkey Sugar

A/N: it looks like its gon be a slow thing, while I write this, I can still do some short drabble/scenario stuff as well so hmu with prompts idk,? this is supposed to be after S2, college AU so to speak?  Some character introduction and scene setting at first so yeah... Tell me if you liked it pls thx k bye

“..and yeah, that’s how I got Kenneth to cry about his mullet” you grinned as the table erupted into laughter at the end of your story. The bellowing sounds from your right, paired with a fist hitting the table let you know that Kenneth was definitely not angry anymore about it either.  “Could have needed you at my graduation with that trick” one of the guys next to Kenneth called out, “I had a major mullet-asshole at my school too!” 

“Just to clarify, I was NOT a major asshole.” your best friend stuck his nose up in the air. “Just a regular one.” At that, the almost died down laughter grew wild again.  

There was eight of you, squeezed around a small round table in the corner of the dingy student bar meant for four. Every other friday night there had been four other people with you, your best friend Kenneth, whom you had known for the past five years, your roommate Wiebke, whose painting untensils had decorated your favourite shirt with paint speckles on the move in half a year ago, her twin brother Waldemar who always looked like he just crawled out from under his car, tweaking something, disheveling his hair and smudging his cheeks with grease  and Gail, a mousey girl with big bambi eyes that got almost every guy to do her bidding. She mostly got all of you free drinks though.

Tonight, however, your group had run into some fellow students on the way to the “Jukes Box”. Kenneth and Waldemar recognized the three guys from their mondays and wednesdays physical education course, while you knew one of them from your part time job at the local diner.  Of course Greg, Dale and Steve were happy to join you, which is why you now found yourself sandwiched in between your roommate and your best friend.  After the second beer, the conversation had went from current classes to past ones, high school times and party stories. While the guys on your right talked about their keg-stand high scores, you tried to explain to the German twins exactly what that was. “Well, with your beer, that’s easy!” snorted Wiebke once you were done. 

“I had no idea if this was gonna be the right thing, you know?” Gail said, smiling when she looked at you. “But the more I looked into the courses it became clear to me, that yes, I definitely want to become a teacher.” 

“I know exactly what you mean. Until last winter I didn’t even know if I could study at all. Sure, I got all those brochures from colleges east and west but, when nothing really interests you, what do you sign yourself up for?” One of the new guys, Steve, you rembered, spoke up with a sigh, chin in hand, elbow resting on the table. You leaned your head on Kenneth’s shoulder, eyes focused on Steve, wanting to know more about this new guy in your group. “So why did you end up enroll here? Oh and didn’t you say you’re from one town over? Haulings? Drawings?-” 

“Hawkins. Yeah it’s not even half an hour away. And well, I kind of became a babysitter to a group of middleschoolers. It was completely by accident too. But they listened to me, uhm, most of the time.. sometimes they listened to me and one kid’s mom told me that he kind of looked up to me and I thought to myself, wow, that’s a cool feeling. Few days later I was looking through the college flyers again, actually read them this time and thought hey, Bloomington doesn’t sound that bad. My coach always told me I’m pretty good at sports, can’t be that hard, right?” he grinned at you and you smiled back. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Several drinks later, you and Wiebke had taught everyone how to play one of the educational games from classes as a drinking game, you had challenged each other to arm wrestling, Gail being the gleaming winner at the end of it, and your group had shrunk to five after Greg, Dale and her had left for their dorms.

“Don’t get run over again” Wiebke told Kenneth while you hugged him goodbye. About two months ago he had run into a parking car while you all walked home from the bar. It had resulted in panicked yelling and hysteric laughter, as well as a continued joke.  “Yeah yeah” he waved his hand after letting go of you, sticking out his tongue and winking at her. “You won’t get rid of me that easy.” You rolled her eyes along with her as he walked out of the bar. 

Breathing had become a little easier, now that there were actually as many people as there were supposed to be in the booth. You may have scooted a little closer to the dark-haired new addition to the group as necessary, but who could blame you. One of his arms was draped over the back of the booth behind you, the other hand holding onto an empty glass of beer.

Waldemar ruffled his hair a little before signalling the waitress. “Hey, what time is it?” “Five mins to midnight ” you told him with a look at your wrist watch. “Oh verdammt! We still gotta call our cousin, otherwise mom’s going to be pissed”  “Yeah but isn’t it like i dont know, 5 am?” you cocked your head to the side, looking at him.  “Almost 6am, but he is turning 12 and he is ALWAYS up early on his birthdays. Also, if we call now, we can’t forget to do it later.” he nodded while rummaging through his jeans pockets for change, his sister doing the same. 

The waitress came over, writing down a last round of drinks before pointing the twins towards the payphone in the other corner of the room. They stood up, leaving you alone with Steve, but not before Wiebke could shoot you a mischievous wink. 

You fidgeted a little in your seat, looking over at the tall guy next to you, only to meet his gaze that was already on you. Your eyes widened a little and both of you blushed, turning away from each other.  “Soooooo...” you broke the silence,”do you have any siblings?” 

[orionsangel86]

A retrospective look at the Season 12 wishlist.

Back shortly after the season 11 finale I wrote out a wishlist of all the things I wanted for Season 12. Looking back at that list (here) It’s funny to see what I wanted with hindsight now that season 12 is over and season 13 is only a week away. I thought I would revisit my season 12 wishlist to recap the season and where I went wrong (and right!) before I post a wishlist for season 13.

Wish 1. Castiel gets his emotional arc resolved - This is a big one. As a Cas girl I was left unsatisfied with Castiel’s arc this season, HOWEVER, we KNOW from previous Dabb episodes that he loves to explore Castiel’s emotional story and I have no doubt that this will continue into season 12. Our angel still has a story ahead of him (hopefully ending in the love of a certain green eyed hunter.)

In Hindsight: Ah yes, my big number one on the wishlist was all about Cas getting his emotional arc resolved. Did he get this? Well, kind of. I don’t think any of us could have predicted that Dabb would give us THREE Castiel heavy episodes exploring his emotional past, present and future in ways which blew our collective meta brains out. Cas got lots of love this season and its why season 12 is now one of my all time faves. Where we are now is unknown in some ways for Cas but in other ways his past is clear. He has finally reached the transformation part of his character journey, and season 13 will bring us a Cas rising from the ashes like a beautiful phoenix shrouded in flames.

Wish 2. SUPERBRITISH - I am not going to stop going on about this. This is my land, My green and (fairly) pleasant land. The British are coming to Supernatural and I cannot stop being excited about it. Can I please have ALL the TFW in London head canons please? From traffic jams and silly accents to discovering the glory that is a bacon roll from Gregs on a Sunday morning whilst suffering a horrendous hangover.

In Hindsight: LOL. Yeah right. Am I disappointed? Totally. The British Men of Letters were for me, totally underwhelming. There was no trip to England, there was no grumpy Dean stuck on the M25. At the end of the day they served their purpose. They brought home the fact that hunting is not black and white. That sometimes it is humans who are the most monstrous. Honestly right now I just hope we don’t revisit it. I think its best that this story line gets dropped from now on. *sigh*

Wish 3. Awesome female characters continuing to kick ass - I adored the use of female characters in the finale. They all lived, no one female was a sexy lamp (sadly that role was given to Castiel) and no one got forced into unnecessary make out sessions. The women are smart, sarcastic badass queens who will RULE this show come October, and I for one, cannot wait. 

In Hindsight: Can I hear a cheer for the WAYWARD SISTERS! Hell’s YES! I mean, they have granted us what we wanted with the Wayward Sisters in season 13, but did we actually get this in season 12? Well, Lady Toni turned out to be a psycho, who died. Her British badass knuckle duster lady also died. Alicia and Tasha both died, so did Rowena and Eileen. It actually wasn’t a GREAT season for the girls. This is what happens when you give Bucklemming too much control over the main plot I suppose. *sigh*. So whilst the Wayward Sisters announcement definitely counts as a win, overall I can’t say this wish has been ticked off. 

Wish 4. Men of Letters vs Grand Coven - Yes this is a big one and I am hoping is the main story arc going forward into season 12. I want to see more of the Grand Coven of witches and their European battle with the Men of Letters. I am expecting more awesome women kicking ass thanks to this potential storyline.

In Hindsight: LOL. Again. Wasted. Potential. *sigh*

Wish 5. Mother Mary and family time - Mary’s reveal was pretty amazing especially since I think we were all expecting it to just be her ghost or a vision or something, but nope, Mummy Winchester is back on the scene and I can’t even begin to imagine what they are planning to do with this. All I am hoping for is that Mary’s influence will help Dean to accept certain parts of him that he loves to keep repressed (effeminophobia and his bisexuality being the big ones). Mary coming back will hopefully start to truly break down and destroy John Winchester’s toxic influence over his sons. I also really really want her to meet Cas and say the words “Thank you for watching over my son.” YES.

In Hindsight: Ok so this one I think gets ticked off. Mary’s purpose was to get Dean to let go of some of his major hang ups, to finally get some really heavy stuff off his chest, and to break down John Winchesters toxic influence. Also for Dean to finally take his mother off that pedestal he’s been keeping her on his whole life. I think the show, and 12x22 particularly, did an excellent job with this. We didn’t quite get a bisexual reveal, but the subtext was thick and heavy (12x11 was glorious). Mary also mirrored Cas continually throughout the season as two people both looking for their place in this little family dynamic and having Mary accept Cas as “one of my boys” really was the icing on the cake for any Cas fans out there happily sipping on hater tears.

Wish 6. Sam gets some distance from Dean, some other friends, maybe a girl, and definitely a dog - I think it is safe to say that Sam isn’t dead. Probably just shot in the arm or leg or something. I want him to be taken to England by Lady T and face the Men of Letters. I hope that they will warm to Sam (and his wonderful moose charms) and that Sam will get to bond with his British companions away from Dean (because Dean always steals the side characters away and bonds with them more than Sam ever does - except for Eileen). Maybe there could even be love in the future for Sam - either by bringing back Eileen or developing a decent and believable relationship between Sam and Lady T (I don’t want her forced into the love interest role, I think she is far too good for that already, but if she becomes a regular throughout the season like Rowena is then potentially a relationship could blossom slowly between them. It could work. I have been hoping for love for Sam for some time now and I can see the potential in this).

In Hindsight: Urgh so this is a yes and a massive NOPE at the same time. Bucklemming managed to ruin Lady Toni in the second episode of the season and then killed off Eileen in 12x21 (seriously fuck those assholes). I guess even the THOUGHT of shipping Sam with someone now gets a girl killed in this show even if she doesn’t go near his killer dick. Poor Sam. On a more positive note he DID get some distance from Dean in 12x22 and symbolically the toxic co-dependency has been broken. So that is one major point to mark off. (I didn’t actually even wish for that as I doubted it would happen myself!) Shame about him still not getting a dog though. WHY CAN’T YOU GIVE SAM A DOG DAMMIT! Sam has definitely moved forward in season 12 to a healthier place, though I think he still has far to go compared to Dean. Hopefully we will see him reach his full potential in season 13.

Wish 7. Lady T is a well developed, fully rounded, likeable character and not a sexy lamp or boring love interest - I already love her. I want to know more about her, her motivations, her back story, how she became a woman of letters, I want her to be a worthy adversary to the Winchesters before becoming a trustworthy ally. I want her to continue to take none of their shit, to put them in their place and therefore earn their respect. I also really want to see her face of with Rowena. That would be awesome. England vs Scotland right there! Potentially I would accept her becoming a love interest to Sam only if it was done right. If it was done in the subtext throughout the season and is only a very very tiny part of the storyline. It would have to be major slow burn. No forced kisses like in CACW (did you guys see that? what the fuck was that?). Only then, would I accept any sort of romantic sub-plot between characters.

In Hindsight: *ugly cries into pillow over how off the mark this was*

Fuck you Bucklemming.

Wish 8. More screen time for Dean and Cas = DESTIEL - Well obviously. It wouldn’t be a proper supernatural wishlist if it didn’t have Destiel written in big letters somewhere now would it? After all the build up in Season 11 in the subtext I am still convinced that this is going somewhere. The season finale has NOT destroyed my positivity at all. In fact it has only added to it. (come ask me about it if you want more info). At the end of the day, Dean and Cas are going to have to save Sam. This means spending time together trying to FIND Sam in a completely unknown city (hence my excitement over them renting a car and getting stuck on the M25 before ending up lost in somewhere like Surrey… Oh the fanfiction potential! I can practically taste it! I have faith in Dabb to bring us more destiel moments. he has always been good to us.

In Hindsight: *stops crying*

*jumps around in glee*

*remembers the end of 12x23*

*cries again*

Do I even need to talk about it? Every good wishlist should include destiel, but I NEVER would have predicted what they gave us. I NEVER would have seen it coming…

Mixtaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaappppppppppeeeeeeeeeeeeee

But seriously though? With the pining over each other in 12x09, the angel/human love stories and human weakness of 12x10, the LOVE CONFESSION of 12x12 and the MIXTAPE (among other amazing moments) in 12x19 where do I even START with season 12 destiel?!? The fact that they have ended it like they have KNOWING Cas is coming back… I mean… it is BEYOND ANYTHING I COULD HAVE DREAMED UP. There is a reason we call it season fanfic 12. Holy crap it was glorious. I’m marking this a big YES for the wishlist.

Wish 9. Following on from the above… HUNTER CAS - Dabb brought us the wonderful episode Hunteri Heroci which had Cas try out his hunting skills (and save the day I might add). We know Dabb loves Cas. I have every reason to believe that Cas will get more time as a Hunter. I want him in MOTW episodes. He will be soooo good in MOTW episodes please please PLEASE let this happen! (especially if the MOTW episodes are set in BRITAIN because the boys are still out there dealing with the MOL and the Grand Coven…. I see them dealing with ghosts that are 1000 years old and haunting freaking castles… it will be glorious.)

In Hindsight: Does “Agent Beyonce” count as Hunter Cas? Because I want to count it. It may not have been on the level of Hunteri Heroici, but I loved his grumpy married couple bickering with Dean at the start of the season, the lumberjack comment? That was genius. Give us more stuff like that SPN PLEASE.

Wish 10. More funny episodes - More witches doing ridiculous things to the boys. Give me ACTUAL MOOSE SAM WINCHESTER PLEASE! Give me the kind of silly witch stories we have been reading about in fanfics for far too long… come on show, its season 12! What have you got to loose?

In Hindsight: Well, 12x11 was witches and was pretty funny whilst being equally heart breaking. Plus it gave us the wonderful end scene of Dean riding Larry to his hearts content. None of us are gonna forget that in a hurry. I think it counts. Even though I am still royally pissed off that they killed Rowena. *sigh*

We do have a Scooby Doo animated episode in season 13 though which again I never ever would have considered possible but heyho, they love to surprise us.

Wish 11. Beach Episode - This is purely for @elizabethrobertajones. Maybe once they are done in Britain, they’ll head off to the med for a true European beach experience… They’ll be fine as long as they have Cas with them. He speaks all the languages. He can order the cocktails and ice creams. ;-)

In Hindsight: I TAKE IT BACK. NO BEACH EPISODES EVER AGAIN. Sometimes I swear Dabb lurks on Lizzy’s blog to read the kind of stuff we are dreaming up just so he can grant our wishes in the MOST PAINFUL WAY EVER. Cas DIED on a beach. All Dean wanted was to visit a beach once in his life, but they KILLED CAS on a BEACH. WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO US DABB? WHY?

*continues sobbing into pillow*

Stay tuned for my Season 13 Wishlist... Once I stop crying...

[flauntpage]

Your Thursday Morning Roundup

Apparently Roger Goodell couldn’t bribe Jerry Jones with the NFL Draft.

The feud between the NFL Commissioner and the owner of the Dallas Cowboys has gotten testier now after reports last night that Jones has hired a lawyer and threatened to sue the NFL to try and stop Goodell from getting a contract extension:

Jones said in a conference call last Thursday with the six owners — those of the Chiefs, Falcons, Giants, Patriots, Steelers and Texans — that legal papers were drawn up and would be served this Friday if the committee did not scrap or delay its current plans to extend Goodell’s contract.

As of Wednesday, the owners and the league had not been sued.

Jones, who has owned the Cowboys since 1989, has been a nonvoting member of the committee that is considering Goodell’s contract, which expires at the end of the 2018 season. He has fought to have a say.

After Jones’s conference call last week, the six owners revoked his status as an ad hoc member of the compensation committee, which decides on pay packages for the top league officials.

Of course all of this stems from the Ezekiel Elliott case as the Cowboys’ star fights every week with injunctions and court appeals to delay and potentially overturn a six-game suspension that is looming over Elliott and Dallas. For now, Elliott is eligible to play, but is due in court today.

As you would expect, Goodell is not taking this well:

A person who spoke recently with Goodell said the commissioner is “furious” about Jones’ and other owners’ insistence that his next contract’s compensation should be more performance-based, including incentives that would allow him to be paid at roughly the same level of his current deal. “He feels as if the owners have made a lot of money and he should be compensated accordingly,” the source said. “The incentives thing really angers him.”

Maybe the 2018 season would start without Elliott or Goodell? That would be something most football fans would cheer about.

Let’s go.

The Roundup:

Philadelphia, the Major League Baseball community, and many others are still reeling after the tragic death of Roy Halladay on Tuesday. Kyle has a story, like many do, with Halladay. His Thank You post, in part:

The first ever post I wrote on this site was on the day the Phillies traded for him in December of 2009. I of course celebrated the arrival of Halladay but criticized Ruben Amaro for trading away Cliff Lee to make it happen. It’s a bad post. But it’s also one that quite literally changed my life, or at least my “career,” if that’s what you can call sitting at home blogging about sports.

I started multiple sites over the years, and none of them stuck. No one read them. But interest in Philly sports may have been at an all-time time high when the Phillies traded for Halladay. I figured I’d try one more time to start a website and see if I could make something of it.

I took to Facebook to create a Halladay fan page. At the time, you could be a fan of anything on Facebook– from a sausage link to a famous athlete. The social network wasn’t used for brand or official pages yet, and there were probably 10 or so dedicated to Halladay as a Phillie, but for some reason mine is the one that stuck, and it quickly amassed a few thousand fans, and then 10,000, and eventually more than 80,000.

I realized that I had a captive audience and that I could post links to my blog posts on the page. Despite the accusation of some Phillies bloggers at the time, I never posted as Roy or pretended to be him, I simply ran a fan page dedicated to him.

The readers I got from those early posts are the reason the site exists today.

Tom Verducci of Sports Illustrated also posted a great ode to Doc yesterday:

Just by being himself, Halladay somehow became the best pitcher in baseball with a dearth of attention. When I once asked him about such a rare achievement in this noisy world of sports, he replied, “It’s definitely by choice. For me the satisfaction is always the competition, and the self-gratification knowing you did something to the best of your ability and I think that’s all it will ever be for me. It’s not ever going to be who knows me and what do they think about me. It’s ultimately going to come down to how I went about doing my job.”

Never before or since have I seen ferocity of greatness combined with such humility. Halladay was the genuine article: a gentle, charitable soul with the most aggressive, attacking pitching style you could ever find.

Sadly an asshole in Boston mocked Halladay’s death.

TMZ Sports posted some pretty breathtaking videos from witnesses of Halladay’s flight and the crash aftermath.

The latest Crossing Broadcast dropped yesterday and was dedicated to Doc.

—

In hoops, the Sixers extended their winning streak to five games with a 104-97 win over the Jazz on Tuesday night. Our Sixers reporter Kevin Kinkead has his observations from the west-coast win:

It was January 9, 2012, the last time Philly won five games in a row. Andre Iguodala put up 20, 9, and 5 in a 96-86 win against the Pacers. Lou Williams added 13 off the bench and Tyler Hansbrough was still in the league.

So it’s been awhile since we’ve seen this kind of success, and I’m not still not even convinced they’ve played their best basketball this year. Again we saw Brett Brown’s team come flying out of the gates only to slump through an ugly 14-point second quarter.

But again they shot above 44% from three-point range and ripped off timely steals, blocks, and defensive stops. Again they outworked another team in their home building. Again and again and again. They just find a way to get it done despite the circumstances.

Jahlil Okafor played on Tuesday night, just his second appearance this season. HoopsRumors summarized the potential landing spots for the former Duke Blue Devil, should the Sixers trade him:

The Celtics are one obvious suitor, with an $8.4MM disabled player exception available to use on Okafor, but the Sixers seem unenthusiastic about sending the big man to a division rival. The Bulls and Hawks have been mentioned as possible landing spots, and it makes sense that rebuilding teams like those would be willing to take a shot on a player with Okafor’s pedigree. The Suns – another rebuilding club – reportedly has some interest in Okafor too. And the Bucks look like an ideal fit — they just traded Greg Monroe, and they’re armed with a $5MM trade exception that is the perfect size for Okafor’s $4,995,120 salary.

The team returns to action on Thursday night at the Sacramento Kings (2-8). Tip is at 10pm.

—

Back to the NFL, things are pretty quite on the Eagles front with the bye week and no media availability for a few days. NBC’s Tony Dungy probably wishes he was quiet, instead of talking about the Colts, on a hot mic.

Another team that is in disarray, the New York Giants, may be making some changes, sooner or later:

For the record, w/o giving him away, source showed up in my DMs around last offseason and has been right/wrong about a few Giants reports re: Free Agency and then the Draft. I'm not jumping the gun just yet, I just want to pass along what I'm hearing. https://t.co/EQ9uZJUEFK

— Dan Schneier (@DanSchneierNFL) November 8, 2017

Another report:

#Giants source says he would be "Shocked beyond belief" if Ben McAdoo were to be retained as HC for next year. Says "[Players] hate him, no one trusts him…he's only out for himself."

— Benjamin Allbright (@AllbrightNFL) November 8, 2017

If you don’t have an NFL RedZone or Sunday Ticket package, on cable, you’ll get Pittsburgh-Indianapolis, Minnesota-Washington, and Dallas-Atlanta this sans-Eagles Sunday.

—

Have you missed the Flyers yet? They return to the ice tonight against the Chicago Blackhawks at 7pm. There will be a moment of silence for Roy Halladay.

Meanwhile Danick Martel has been crushing it for the Phantoms as he scored in his sixth straight game in Lehigh Valley’s win on Wednesday. Martel leads the AHL with 14 goals on the young season to help the Phantoms jump out to a 9-3-2 season.

—

In non-sports news…

A woman got each of her 20(!!) boyfriends to buy her a new iPhone 7s…the best part? She sold them and used a the money for a down payment on a house. Baller move.

AT&T has to make a decision, to keep CNN or buy Time Warner?

Facebook is testing a way to prevent your ex from posting revenge porn videos/photos of you. It’s solution? Upload a nude photo of yourself.

The State Trooper who was shot on Tuesday was ID’d yesterday.

Barack Obama was in Chicago on Wednesday to report for jury duty.

Your Thursday Morning Roundup published first on http://ift.tt/2pLTmlv

[graftondance88-blog]

The (R)evolution of Steve Jobs, Santa Fe Opera

iPhone announcement

Edward Parks (Steve Jobs) and the Santa Fe Opera Chorus

Ken Howard for Santa Fe Opera, 2017

(The photos are not loading. It's my Chromebook and I won't be able to fix this until I get home on Sunday. I have completed my updates, which are marked below.) I was at the second performance of the new opera The (R)evolution of Steve Jobs, music by Mason Bates, libretto by Mark Campbell. As readers of this blog and my Twitter feed are aware, I had reservations about the subject going into the premiere, which came on top of being less of a Mason Bates fan than many. I have also seen two operas with Campbell librettos, which contributed somewhat to my skepticism; more about this below. So, the good news about the opera: the production is really terrific, using a bunch of rectangular structures on wheels to divide up the stage and, with beautiful and imaginative production, represent various outdoor locations, Apples offices, a garage, Jobss childhood home, etc. The lighting is gorgeous. The singers are amplified, which I did not know in advance, but it was obvious from the first vocal entry. Its done well enough, though there was one two minute period when I had some problems hearing soprano Jessica E. Jones. It was certainly necessary for making the guitar in the orchestra audible with what sounded like a pretty big orchestra in the pit. Whether it was necessary for the singers, I am doubtful, but it is not the only thing about the opera that was School of John (Coolidge) Adams. The performers are unimpeachable, which did not surprise me at all. I believe I have never heard baritone Edward Parks before; he sings the role of Jobs and as far as I can remember, he is on stage for the entire opera. He was absolutely tireless and sang and acted very well. Garrett Sorenson (Woz) and Edward Parks (Steve Jobs) Ken Howard for Santa Fe Opera, 2017 All of the other roles are subsidiary to that of Jobs, and because I have not seen the libretto (yet), I am not sure what the line division among the other roles is. I think its likely that the second-largest role is that of Steve Wozniak (Woz), friend of Jobs from their teen years, co-founder of Apple, and designer of large parts of early Apple hardware. This role was sung by tenor Garrett Sorenson, and he was just about perfect vocally and dramatically. He is the emotional foil of Jobs within Apple, the nice guy to Jobss asshole. I have seen him before, but I had to look it up: he was Narraboth in San Franciscos last Salome. Edward Parks (Steve Jobs) and Sasha Cooke (Laurene Powell Jobs) Ken Howard for Santa Fe Opera, 2017 Sasha Cooke, taking the role of Laurene Powell Jobs, got very high billing in the cast, and she is wonderful, but oh man! The part is seriously underwritten. The same is true of the role of Chrisann Brennan, Jobss girlfriend and the mother of his first daughter Lisa, sung by Jessica E. Jones More, lots more, about this below. That is not a set or a projection in the background; that is the scenery behind the opera house. Edward Parks (Steve Jobs) and Wei Wu (Kobun Chino Otogaway) Ken Howard for Santa Fe Opera, 2017 The bass Wu Wei was impressive as Kubun Chino Otogawa, spiritual mentor to Jobs over a long period of time. More on this below as well. And some more good news: for this opera, Bates has composed a score that is consistently lively and inventive, with considerable charm as well. The publicity all says that this opera was his idea, and it has inspired him to write some terrific music, music that I liked better than just about anything I have heard from him in the past. The vocal lines are mostly well-written and by and large he sets the sometimes-awkward text very well. The orchestral burbles along with a fascinating assortment of sounds, some of them based on sound effects from the Macintosh computer line. Theres a guitar in the mix (obviously amplified); the orchestra is imaginative and often very beautiful. Was that a duet for alto flutes I heard at one point (possibly two)? I cant say, because I havent located the orchestra breakdown yet. There is some beautiful pastoral music when Jobs and Chrisann take an LSD trip; it also registered on me as a loving pastiche of the genre. Edward Parks (Steve Jobs) and Jessica E. Jones (Chrisann Brennan) Ken Howard for Santa Fe Opera, 2017 There are some minor issues: the extremely high-energy score gets tiring to listen to after maybe 50 minutes to an hour. It could use more repose, more breaks from the relentless energy. I certainly could have done without the disturbing subsonics in one scene. Rhythmically, it is very school-of-JCA circa the 1980s and early 90s; one of my notes says somebody has been listening to Nixon in China. And, you know, that is a good thing! Nixonis one of the great postwar scores, and you ought to listen to it, especially if you are writing an opera about a public individual, because it is the progenitor of every other such opera in the last 30 years. I would say that the most successful and memorable stretches of music in the opera are the many purely orchestral sections and the two duets between Jobs and Woz. By duets, I mean non-conversational sections where the two men are really singing together and bouncing off one another. And right there, I am starting to get at some of the problems with the opera. So, the libretto is a big problem, and so is the length of the opera, and of course I have no way of knowing the process by which Steve Jobsbecame a one-act, 90-minute opera with no fewer than 18 brief scenes. But it is too short for what it is trying to accomplish and it misses a couple of golden opportunities to properly develop the female characters in keeping with the overall plot, which is ostensibly supposed to show not only how Apple and Jobs revolutionized tech, but how Jobs evolved (and presumably improved) as a person. I have been wondering since the performance whether Steve Jobswas originally a two-act opera that got reduced in size along the way. One reason for this is that at around the 50 minute mark, there is a section that dramatically and musically sounds exactly like the close of a typical first act. The music reaches a huge climax and the libretto sets up some kind of significant dramatic conflict. My notes unfortunately do not say where in the opera this is, so you will have to wait until the CD release (yes, there is one coming) before I can pinpoint its location, unless one of my fellow ink-stained wretches has also commented on this and has more detailed notes than I do. In any event, the libretto does rather rocket around, geographically and temporally. It shifts from 2007, when Jobs was already sick with the cancer that eventually killed him, back to the 1970s, forward to the 1980s and 90s. Sometimes you are outdoors, sometimes in a home or office. It is very cinematic, and given its length and familiar subject, it is in some way exemplary of the sort of thing Greg Sandow was espousing a decade ago as the future of opera. (Note: I didnt agree then and I dont agree now. The success of productions of the Ringand Troyensare evidence that operagoers have a long enough attention span that 90 minute operas do not need to become the norm.) The many short scenes encourage a telegraphic survey of the events and they really short-circuit the character development we are supposed to be seeing in Jobs. We get plenty of scenes of Jobs-the-jerk, in how he treats Chrisann when she becomes pregnant and in his treatment of Apple employees. He is truly horrible to Chrisann, blaming her for the pregnancy and ordering her to get an abortion.How can you do this to me?he sings, as though it was deliberate and he had nothing to do with it. Get rid of it. Heres the first big miss in the libretto: its the perfect setup to give Chrisann an aria of some combination of regret, longing, shock, confusion, and rage (take your pick; I can imagine any of these). Bates and Campbell duck it, and the next we see her, its years later and Chrisann, broke while supporting herself and their daughter, begs Jobs for some financial assistance...which he refuses. (Yess, he is an asshole.) Heres the second big miss: Laurene Powell comes along; she and Jobs fall in love and marry; he turns into a better person. But all we get about how and why is that she is someone who kicks his ass when he is a jerk. She is a counterbalance to his worst self. Well, so? This is not really anything extraordinary! It is not uncommon in long relationships for the partners to call out each others bad behavior and ask or demand better. And in the Jobs marriage, this is very briefly conveyed even though there is a hint, at least, that they may have once nearly broken up over his behavior. Missed opportunity: an aria for Laurene about what the relationship felt like to herand what she needed from him. Also missed: an aria of self-reflection from Jobs himself! There just isn't anything really persuasive, merely a bunch of hints and aphorisms about how he becomes a better person. We need a window into his interior life and we do not get it. Yes, this would take something long, in an opera where the scenes average five minutes in length. I rather suspect it would take an aria the length of Tu che le vanita, which might be Verdis longest, and greatest, aria. All of this really limits the extent to which we can be movedby Jobss life and transformation. We see very little about it that is intimate or convincing, and without that, we are entertained but not moved. Oh, I see you asking, but what about the spiritual mentor? Well, we dont get much from that direction, either. Some aphorisms, some humor, some really embarrassing moments. Like Chrisann and Laurene, he is more a prop in the story than he is a real person. You could say I am made uncomfortable by this: Woz is the best-developed secondary character, and that is a big problem given that it seems that this is a redemption story in some way, and the redeemers are Laurene and Otogawa. I do own that Woz is well-developed and truly a mensch; he is the guy who behaves well when Jobs does not. There are some other embarrassing aspects to the libretto: some of those Jobs/Otogawa conversations take place in 2007 and 2009, and Otogawa died in 2005 trying to save his young daughter from drowning. Jobs witnesses his own memorial service and comments on it. This comes across as mawkish sentimentality. More profoundly, we never see or hear a word about Jobs's kids, beyond Laurene lamenting that they miss him when he's working hard and is never home. We get a one-liner about how he and Laurene "adopted" Lisa, his daughter with Chrisann. She was thirteen years oldwhen Powell and Jobs married, so you really want to know what exactly that throwaway line means. His relationship with her, and perhaps Laurene's, would have been more complex than you can convey in a couple of sentences; in this opera, he spends way ore time denying paternity than he does relatingto his child. [Updates follow] Since i wrote the bulk of this review, I've had a couple more thoughts on potential additions to the opera that could improve it dramatically and emotionally. The first is that although Fitzgerald's famous line about second acts is quoted, the opera skips entirely over Jobs's amazing second and third acts: after he was booted from Apple, for good reasons, he went on to found NeXT Computer, fund Pixar as an independent company, and return to the company to rescue Apple from the hole his successors let it fall into. These are astonishing accomplishments by any standard, but there isn't a word about it. He is just mysteriously back at Apple presenting the iPhone, with no explanation. This is a blank that needs some type of filling in. I mentioned this to Joshua Kosman last night before Le Coq d'Or, and he made the persuasive argument that leaving this out means the opera never presents Jobs riding in as the white knight, which would interrupt the story of his personal evolution. True, and yet it's an awfully big part of his legend and revolution. I referred a couple of times above to Nixon in Chinaand some musical aspects of Steve Jobsthat come from that trailblazing and brilliant opera. I've never much liked JCA's reasons for using amplification; to a great extent I think it boils down to his distrust of singers and discomfort with operatic singing style. Other composers need not adopt these views: if singers can be heard over Richard Strauss's enormous orchestras, so can present-day singers. Trust your singers, ask them questions, work with them about what their strengths and weaknesses are. One reason Nixon in Chinais so successful is its amazing libretto, by the poet Alice Goodman. For the libretto, she didn't write lines for Richard Nixon; she invented a character "Richard Nixon" and gave him an inner life and thoughts that are true to Richard Nixon while clearly being her imagined version of the man. Steve Jobs, the character in Steve Jobsthe opera, remains opaque and somehow unknown because Mark Campbell takes him literally - except for the embarrassing business with Otogawa and so on - and does not succeed in expressing Jobs's inner life in a way that illuminates the life the man lived. [End updates] I mentioned earlier that this is the third opera I've seen with a Campbell libretto. The others also have significant dramatic weaknesses. In the case of Kevin Puts's Silent Night, I must say that I am not familiar with the source material, a film that is evidently popular and moving. I found the opera episodic and dramatically diffuse, and without seeing the film, I can't say whether it was because the libretto too closely recreates the film. (I also did not love the music.) The other opera is Laura Kaminsky's As One, which has gorgeous music and a libretto co-written by Kimberly Reed and partly based on her life. I wrote extensively about As Onewhen West Edge Opera performed it in 2015; I won't repeat those comments here. I want to note that some of the best parts of the libretto were the funniest, which led me to think that Campbell could write an excellent comic libretto. That led me to wonder why there aren't more operatic comedies being commissioned and composed. People need to laugh as well as cry! In closing, I think that The (R)evolution of Steve Jobs is pretty successful, with attractive, inventive, and entertaining music, an outstanding production, and admirable performances all around. Michael Christie conducted and did a fine, fine job, perhaps excepting one episode that is just too loud (but maybe Bates is to blame for this). I predict that it will sell plenty of tickets in its future runs at San Francisco Opera and Seattle Opera, and that is a good thing. I also think it's possible that it will get some revisions in the next few years, and I do think it can be significantly deepened and made more emotionally satisfying. I would want a better sense of what was going on inside Jobs himself, who remains enigmatic to the end.