#mid-January letter to friends | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cellythefloshie · 5 months

Text

;; What My World Spins Around

Dedicated to @ladylooch for @wyattjohnston 's winter fic exchange 2k24

Summary: Christmas day sparks a series of unexpected gifts that lead you and Timo to face a question the two of you had been avoiding since his trade to the New Jersey Devils almost a whole year ago. What will your future hold, and will you be spending it together?

Tropes & TW: Brother's Teammate, Exes To Lovers, Friends with Benefits to Lovers, "we were on a break", gift giving, reader wears glasses, trade angst, - there is no smut in this fic - Injured Timo - written as if he will remain on IR until mid/late February.

Word Count: 4k+

A/N: I was getting a little worried as the January days have been passing like falling dominos! But alas! My 2k24 Winter Fic Exchange entry is complete! A huge thank you to @wyattjohnston for organising the event and being so supportive when I ended up in your messages feeling like I was never going to be able to write a proper story again after months of not really writing because of my new job. And another huge thank you to @matthewtkachuk for letting me jump into their messages for the same reasons, and when I needed a little help to gain my confidence with Timo. I very much appreciate it! Now, for my lovely recipient, @ladylooch ! Thank you for giving me an opportunity to explore a player that I have only really admired from a far! It was so much fun doing the research and uncovering his career through the NHL in the last 7 seasons! I hope that I was able to touch on all the things you love about Timo and expected from this fic every time I dropped into your anons to ask questions. Enjoy!

There was only a single moment of calm on Christmas morning, and it could only come after gifts had been opened and breakfast had been eaten, and you intended to take advantage of it. The children could be heard in the family room, preoccupied with one of the many toys they had been spoiled with from their parents, Santa, and naturally, yourself. Being the fun live-in aunt came with a cost, not that you minded. You loved your family and your matching Christmas pajamas that would be plastered all over your family’s Instagram page for the coming weeks. And with the children distracted, you used your rare moment alone to enjoy your own gifts.

Curled up in an armchair by the tree, you held your new book in your hands, your fingers holding each side carefully as you did your best not to crease the binding of the paperback romance novel. You had only been sitting there thirty minutes at most, but you were a quarter of the way done when you heard a pair of footsteps shuffle into the room. You didn’t have to look up to know who they belonged to. You had been hearing them her entire life. The slow, heavy step of slipper clad feet over hard wood could only belong to your brother.

You had half expected him to be sleeping in front of the television with a Christmas movie playing on repeat for the kids already, but you could hear him shuffling around the Christmas tree just over your shoulder. The scratch of his slipper was harsh against your ears.

“Making all that noise, you better be taking that tree down–” you finally spoke when the noise was becoming too much, all without looking up from the pages of your book.

The tree never came down until after the new year, but in your mind, there was no other excuse he could have for making so much noise.

“There’s still a present back here for you,” he claimed, and you peaked over the edge of the pages.

“What is it?”

“Don’t know, but it’s not from me,” he told you, and his hand came into view in front of you.

In it, he held a deep red envelope with your name written across it in an elegant cursive. It was unlike any you had seen before. It wasn’t your brother’s hand, or your sister in laws. Nor was it your mothers. The unfamiliarity of each letter left your brows to furrow as you placed your book down in your lap and took it from your brother’s hand.

You opened it slowly, careful not to rip the pretty envelope as you pulled out what looked like a basic Christmas card. It was only when you opened it that you realized the magnitude of the gift: dinner reservations at your favorite restaurant in San Jose.

It was the one restaurant where you spent every special occasion. Your birthday, anniversaries, celebrating your brother’s milestones, had all been spent there at the same table since your brother had been traded to San Jose almost a decade ago. But it was also a restaurant you had been avoiding since your own boyfriend had been traded from the team - giving you very little to celebrate as the status of their relationship had been called into question when he left.

Were you single? You wouldn’t say so.

Were you taken? You didn’t know the answer to that question either.

You hadn’t broken up, but you were on a break.

It was easier, or so that was what you both claimed, when there was a whole country between them. Timo was on the East Coast playing with the New Jersey Devils now, and you were on the West helping your sister-in-law raise her two children while your brother was busy in net for the San Jose Barracuda and the San Jose Sharks on the rare occasion.

You could have gone with him, but that was a reality you chose to ignore. You couldn’t justify going to Jersey with him, not even when he asked. Your entire life was in San Jose, and uprooting it for someone who struggled to commit until your brother had found out you were sneaking around together, and hadn’t even thought about proposing in the five years you were officially together.

Seeing the reservation sent memories of Timo flooding through your mind, your stomach feeling as if it were suddenly tied into knots as you looked up at your brother with a sad smile.

“This isn’t from you?” You asked slowly, your voice on the verge of breaking.

His large shoulders shrugged. “Not from us, but you should go. I don’t think you’ll regret it.”

***

Your dinner reservation wasn’t until the new year after the chaos of gift giving and family events were over. That also meant the restaurant scene was quieter. There was no waiting in line just to tell the hostess you had a reservation while they were turning others away on a thirty minutes or more waitlist. It also brought a certain peace. One that was laced with the gentle melody of classical restaurant music, the gentle clink of cutlery against fine china, and the subtle sound of wine being poured into your glass as you eyed up the menu you practically had memorized.

“I didn’t order any wine,” you spoke, your gaze rising from the menu as one hand left the leather cover to push your glasses back up the bridge of your nose.

The server didn’t stop his pour until he was satisfied with the fullness of the deep red wine in the glass. He then offered you a soft smile and displayed the label of the bottle to you. The wine was your favorite. The same one you had ordered every time you had dined in their establishment - which, in reality, was only two or three times a year. There was no way they would have remembered.

Lowering your menu further to place it down on the tabletop, you turned in your seat. You looked one way, and then the next looking for a familiar face. Your brother. Your sister-in-law. Timo. Anyone. But the surrounding faces in the restaurant were those of strangers, and the seat across from you at the table remained empty. You were alone, and would spend the remainder of your evening alone, too.

Through the three courses of an appetizer, main course and dessert, you enjoyed it alone. The wine, and your favorite dishes, should have been enough to keep you distracted, but your mind found no peace as you stared at the glass of red wine. It became closer and closer to empty with each sip, but it couldn’t answer the question that haunted you in the back of your mind.

Who had gone out of their way to make this reservation for you?

Your questions were only fueled further when the bill was delivered to the table. You reached into the depths of your purse and pulled out your wallet, but you were met by the same smile he had when you had questioned the wine. The bill had already been paid for.

***

Dinner was just the first gift of many that you would receive in the month of January. The second came in the mail one day – the date one you couldn’t quite remember. It was a package among junk mail, its stiff cardboard box sandwiched between color flyers. You hadn’t expected a delivery, so you were going to leave it resting on the table for your brother, or his wife, but with a clumsy step you had walked into the table. It sent the flyers fluttering to the floor and your name became all too clear on the shipping label.

You carried it with you up to the privacy of your bedroom before you opened it. The shock of the gift sending it to fall from your lap to lay open on the bed. Inside, a book. But not just any book, your favorite book. A special edition, signed by the author.

Pushing up from your bed, you rushed down the hallway to the children’s room where your sister-in-law was with the kids. Their laughter was a pleasant sound to your ears, coaxing a smile as the question slipped from your lips without a proper announcement that you had come home, “that book that was on the table downstairs, that from you?”

She looked up from the children with a smile, her hair falling into her face before she could push it back with a single hand. “No, that wasn’t us,” she said, her smile knowing. She knew just who had sent you the book, but she wasn’t about to tell you.

The next gift came on Valentine's Day. You were at the part-time job you balanced with helping with the child care of your brother’s kids. It was there you received a bouquet of flowers, your favorite flowers. They came with no card. It came with teases of having a secret admirer from your colleague, your brother when she arrived home, and the children. But now, you had an idea of who had been sending you all the gifts, but had yet to receive any confirmation.

All your speculations were put to rest when you received one final gift box on the 20th of February. It was a large black box with a teal ribbon that sprawled halfway across the dinner table. You stared at it for a long moment, your hands sweating as they came together to nervously rub at each other. Teeth bit at your lower lip, and your lungs struggled to take a single breath as you reached out and tugged at a single strand of ribbon that made up the bow. It fell so fluidly away from the box it almost left you in awe as it draped over the table top but your eyes could only fixate on it for so long before your hands were lifting off the top of the box revealing bright red tissue paper inside.

It was a harsh contrast from the cool hues of the teal to the heat of the red tissue paper - or maybe that was just the raise in her body temperature as you stood at the head of the table as you finally realized who had been sending you all the gifts since the holiday season. The box was stuffed with New Jersey Devils' merchandise. Everything from hats to t-shirts, to pucks and photographs. The box was filled with everything shot of a hockey stick and a set of hockey equipment – but what it did have was a hockey jersey. Black and red, and gorgeous with a 96 on the back and on the sleeves. And across the back, the name of your admirer, your boyfriend, your ex-boyfriend, whatever it was. Meier.

You lifted it out of the box slowly, sighing as beneath it another gift came into view. A single ticket to the game against the San Jose Sharks in seven days. He wanted you to go, but could you? You had both been apart for so long already that the closure it would give you would do more harm than good. It left you to wonder that maybe it would just be easier to move on–

***

The San Jose Sharks had become a team that struggled to fill their seats beyond an 80% capacity most nights. They were falling back into a rebuild with fan favorites and rookies alike, getting traded away for draft picks to bolster the Sharks' future. But it came with a cost. Fan loyalty wavered, their faith in management wore thin. But on February 27th when Timo Meier returned to SAP Center, the fans followed. His name was on the backs of many and slid off the tongue of all. Some cursed him for leaving, others were excited to welcome him back if only for one night, and you were lost, silent among them.

You walked with your head down, the large New Jersey Devils jersey hanging off your shoulders as you wound your way through the crowd to get to your seat. It was high up in the area, but not so high that you felt like you were in the ceiling. You could see the ice, but from down there, you were sure Timo wouldn’t be able to see you. The thought left you nervous.

Going to the game had been a tough decision, but the thought of going and there being an empty seat left you felt guilty. Your attendance wasn’t a hard set decision on what your course of action with Timo would be. You could attend and decide that it was over - or it could reach the end of the game and you could decide that you wanted to try again. Or Maybe, he had decided it all for you. You could decide you wanted him, but the gifts had been a thank you for putting up with him, and a goodbye. At least then, after you were done crying, you might make a couple of bucks after selling it on eBay.

You sat in your seat with your stomach in your throat, your eyes fell on your phone one minute, and then the next. Every second felt like hours, but then time seemed to freeze as the players flooded the ice to warm up. You held your breath, reading the backs of every single player that took to the ice until the parade from the tunnel was over. You sat there for a moment, your hands curled into fists in your lap and your nails pressing into your palms. Timo wasn’t among them. He wasn’t skating in circles, shooting a puck on the net, or talking up the trainer. He wasn’t on the ice at all.

You stood up slowly, your eyes squinting as if you had just happened to miss him. You pressed up on your toes even, giving yourself an extra inch to see him, and yet, you still could not see him.

In a breath from your lips, you cursed so quietly that even your own ears couldn’t hear it. He invited you all the way down there, to what? Not even play? You huffed out an exaggerated breath as you stepped back so that your legs were pressed into the seat of your chair. One hand reached back to lower it for you to sit, but before you could, you felt the warmth of a large hand on your shoulder.

Turning in place, you saw the back wall first, the number of the section in bold a few seats away, but above you, as you tilted your head back, you saw the edge of one suite. Reaching past it was a single arm clad in a suit you knew could only belong to one person.

“Timo,” his name was a whisper on your lips as your gaze found his.

You were breathless as you stared at him. You had almost forgotten just what shade of blue his eyes were. Not too blue that they looked cold or harsh. They were soft and bright but had an almost gray tone, like the sky as a storm rolled in. Your lip quivered as you took in the color, as if you were seeing them for the first time. And if they hadn’t been enough to captivate you so fully you had forgotten about the tens of thousands of fans that gathered for the hockey game, Timo also wore that soft smile of his that had always left you smitten with him.

“You made it,” he spoke as he leaned over the edge just to get a little closer to you.

“I wasn’t going to miss this,” you told him with a smile, “but I thought you’d be out there.”

Your head cocked as you pointed back over your shoulder with a thumb towards the ice where his teammates were warming up from the game.

Timo shrugged in response, his smile wavering and his eyes shifting away from yours for a moment. He was disappointed that much was clear. Had he been expecting you to be keeping tabs on him? “Been on IR since December-”

That’s right! You remembered seeing that headline circulating your social media pages months ago. You had even skimmed one article for the reason - a mid-body injury - and you had assumed that he had healed up and been back in the roster by now. But you were wrong.

Worst of all, you just should have called. Or texted. Anything. You should have reached out, wished him well. You should have made sure that he was okay. Maybe then the two of you could have figured out just what was going on between the two of you. Yet, you stood before him not knowing his intent, or your own, but happy to see him.

“That’s right, but then why fly all the way out here?”

“Or you,” he said your name with a smile as he pulled back just enough to find his seat. He was just behind you, just slightly elevated. When he sat all the way back, you couldn’t see him, but as the light went dim, Timo leaned forward, keeping his arm reaching out just enough that his hand could rest on your shoulder for the duration of the game. You could feel the warmth of his touch on your shoulder throughout the night, it only left you when Timo had gotten up throughout the game – including when he stood and waved to the crowd after they played a tribute to his time on the team high above on the screens.

It was a tribute that left you in tears.

Image by image, one video clip after the next, you were forced through the years you spent with Timo. You weren’t in a single shot, no one else in the arena knew you existed - but you could fill the gaps between each game, between each milestone because you were there for every single one. You were just sneaking around when he took his rookie lap, but you were his girlfriend by the time he scored 5 goals in two periods and everything in between - right until the trade when you felt more like an ex-girlfriend than his partner. Yet, even after so much time apart, you loved him. You could feel it then and there as you sat surrounded by people who applauded him. You could feel it from your head to the very tips of your toes.

You wanted nothing more to turn around in place and yell it at him. To proclaim it there as the crowd roared along with the game, yet you watched in silence, and welcomed the warmth of Timo’s touch again as he settled to watch the rest of the game with you.

The two of you remained there long after the game was over and the stands were left empty. You stared down at the empty ice, his hand giving your shoulder a careful squeeze before he spoke out, “get your ass up here.”

“They aren’t waiting for you-”

“We’re in town for the night. I can get a car back to the hotel… com’on, I should be able to help you up,” Timo assured, his arm training outstretched to you as you stood.

You took his offer carefully, your one hand collapsing with his as the other gripped at the edge of the suite. With his help, you climbed up and over the side, before you settled in the hold of his embrace.

“I’ve been wanting to do that all night,” he whispered into your hair, and your grip on him grew a little tighter. “I’ve missed you.”

You choked back a sob, “I’ve missed you too. So much.” More than you had realized, “but you like New Jersey?”

“Love it,” he sighed, “but-”

“But?” you asked weakly.

“You aren’t there,” you felt his entire body rise and fall in a heavy sigh, and then came the cold of the arena to creep up on you as he pulled away. But he didn’t go far. He moved just far enough away to dip a hand into his pocket. Then, he offered you one final gift.

Timo dropped a square velvet box down into your palm. It was small, but it felt like the weight of the world in your hands as your neck snapped back to look up at him.

“Don’t worry,” he half chuckled, “I'm not proposing, but it is a promise.”

Lifting your hand up, you pushed open the box and let your eyes all on a dainty gold ring with a large ruby accompanying an equally beautiful diamond that glimmered in the light.

“We were still so young when we first met, you remember?” He asked slowly, one hand finding your hip to draw you back in while the other found your cheek and stroked your hair from your face.

You nodded, your eyes still fixated on the ring.

“We still had so much growing up to do, and we did a lot of that together. Two kids screwing around, and even as things got more serious, it didn’t feel like much more than that,” but he didn’t need to tell you that. What he had felt, were the very things you had been feeling, but while you were scared he had been feeling trapped and was using the trade to get away from you, you had been hoping it would have finally been enough to commit to you.

Almost a year later, you were finally getting your answer.

“But it should have been. I should have proposed. Two, maybe three years in. Before the trade happened. So long ago,” he said your name like it was a curse, his eyes staring up at the ceiling, trying to hide the emotion that crept up on him as he spoke. “I owed you so much more, and I’ve wasted so much of our time growing up. But I needed it. I needed that time to realize what I had, what I had lost - what I can’t afford to lose, and it’s you. It’s always been you."

“I understand that after all this time, it's too late. That you’ve moved on - or maybe you haven’t, but you want to. You don’t have to say yes, because after what I’ve done I’d be surprised if you’d even say yes to a date with me but not promising to you was the greatest regret I’ve ever had and I’d like to try and make that right, if you’d let me.”

You stared at the ring for a long time in silence. Your eyes flickered from one glimmering gemstone to the other. It was flashy for a promise ring. Expensive. One you would wear on her right finger and not her left - because the offer required no thought. You were going to accept.

You loved Timo, and it was clear that he loved you, too.

“As much as I would love to see you grovel,” you grinned a little too wide as you held out your right hand. It was bare, waiting.

“There will be so much more time for that.” His words were a playful promise as he reached out for the ring and slid it down into its place on your finger. It was perfect.

Tears burned as they built up in your eyes at the feeling of the ring around your finger. It was one you would have to get used to, but felt right. This was the way it was meant to be. You and Timo, and you hated how long it took for you both to reach that conclusion, but you were grateful you were finally there. Pressing up onto your toes, you threw your arms around Timo. You welcomed the strength of his arms around your body, and then you welcomed his kiss. Your stomach became giddy with butterflies as if it were the very first time and you smiled, knowing it wouldn’t be the last.

#timo meier #time meier fanfic #hockey rpf #hockey imagines #nhl imagine #nhl rpf #timo meier x reader #timo meier x reader insert #hockey romance #the winter fic exchange 2k24

127 notes · View notes

emailsfromanactor · 7 months

Text

Do you like Hamlet? John Gielgud? Richard Burton? Theatre and film history? The process of putting on a show? Snarky, insightful, really entertaining commentary on all of the above? Then you're in the right place! Emails from an Actor is a (mostly) real-time readalong of John Gielgud Directs Richard Burton in Hamlet: A Journal of Rehearsals and Letters from an Actor, two books written about the 1964 Broadway production of Hamlet. Both have been out of print for decades, but I acquired PDFs, extracted the text, edited it, and now they exist in accessible form, woohoo! (Edit: Letters from an Actor is coming into print again on March 5! I'm still going ahead with the emails, but buy it when it's out!)

John Gielgud Directs Richard Burton in Hamlet: A Journal of Rehearsals by Richard L. Sterne, is, well, what it says on the tin! Sterne, who played the Gentleman and understudied Laertes, secretly tape recorded rehearsals, going so far as to hide under a platform for a private rehearsal with just Gielgud and Burton. The book summarizes and quotes heavily from those recordings. It also includes a prompt-script for the production with descriptions of the blocking and acting choices - I haven't edited that part yet, but I plan to.

Letters from an Actor by William Redfield, who played Guildenstern, is less objective but way more fun. I love it so much that when I first got it in 2006, I just about killed my hands typing up quotes to share on Livejournal. Redfield had an extensive career in theatre, film, and TV. He's best known for playing Dale Harding in the film One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, but if you happen to be a musical nerd, you might know him as Mercury in Cole Porter's Out of This World. (Also relevant to musical nerds: Alfred Drake as Claudius, John Cullum as Laertes, and George Rose as the Gravedigger!) The book is structured as letters to a friend, Robert Mills, who wanted to know about life in the theatre. Redfield took Mills from his audition through opening night on Broadway, relating thoughts and anecdotes about his profession along the way. As in Hamlet, Richard Burton plays a major role, with stories of his own and a glimpse into his life with Elizabeth Taylor in the days surrounding their (first) wedding. The rehearsal process was frustrating for Redfield, and with all the time he and his Rosencrantz spend feeling lost, the book kind of comes across as a Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead AU.

I'll be sending out the journal entries and letters on the days they were written and/or are about, with just a little bit of jumping around in time. Subscribe here! I made it private for copyright reasons, but don't worry, I'll approve everyone. The emails will start with some introductory material on January 24 and continue through an epilogue in mid-April. Follow this blog for some extras! And reblogs, if people end up talking about this! Tag me or use the tag "emails from an actor" if you want me to see something.

I'm so excited to share these books with people! But mostly Letters from an Actor. Seriously, it's so good.

#hamlet #shakespeare #john gielgud #richard burton #elizabeth taylor #william redfield #is the guy in the icon by the way #rosencrantz and guildenstern are dead #(not really but i think people who like it will also like this so hey!)#emails from an actor

99 notes · View notes

conradscrime · 3 months

Text

The Strange Disappearance of Runaway Justin Pollari

March 16, 2024

In 2001, 14 year old Justin Pollari ran away from his home in Hilton Beach, Ontario, Canada. He has never been seen since.

Many youth run away from home, but most are found soon after. In 2018, 92% of missing children in Canada were found within one week.

Justin's photo was shown a lot. Posters all across Canada were put on bulletin boards, transport trucks, ect. Some believe that if the authorities took the case more seriously earlier on, Justin would have been found. Many do not take runaways seriously at first, as they think they will make contact with loved ones shortly.

Justin Pollari was born on January 31, 1987. His parents divorced when he was a baby, and he was living with his father, John and stepmother, Janis McLeod at the time of his disappearance. He had dyed black hair that he would wear in a Mohawk. Justin had two earrings in his left ear. He was known as a troubled child, never doing well in school and struggled with his parents divorce.

On December 7, 2001, Justin came home upset. He had been in a fight and his lip was cut. It was reported that he had admitted to being in this fight, however he later denied it. He was very angry and it was reported that he had even lunged at his father.

A couple hours later, Justin left the house with his skateboard and backpack that had a few clothes in it. He was wearing dark blue or black baggy pants, a dark blue or black hooded sweater, and a black toque over his 6 inch Mohawk. He had red or burgundy running shoes on.

Justin had run away from home one other time, but had gone to a friends house and returned the next day. It is unclear why he left when he did and wanted to runaway, if that was even the plan.

In the first few years, many sightings of Justin were reported. Some claimed to have seen him in a shelter in Toronto. Another person said someone matching Justin's description introduced himself as "J."

Another theory speculates he could've went to Michigan, as Hilton Beach is extremely close to the U.S. border.

Justin's family believes he was going towards Toronto. His parents and grandparents made several trips up to Toronto (a 7 hour drive for them), to look for their missing son and grandson. They went to homeless shelters, asked homeless youth, and looked through the streets.

In 2003, Justin's parents (father and stepmother) expressed frustration, stating that the shelter system makes it somewhat easy for youth to live. They think Justin was lured in by the "glamour" of Toronto street living.

A gas station attendant in Sault Ste. Marie, believed to have seen Justin get into a Quik X truck around the time he disappeared. This sighting was not reported until mid 2005, almost 4 years later.

On May 16, 2005, Justin's case was reopened by the East Algoma O.P.P. with the Criminal Investigation Branch. A huge search was completed, with a canine unit and forensics.

After 4 days, the search led to nothing.

Justin' family kept a briefcase full of photos of Justin that they would hand out during searches. They also had letters and drawings he left, that they had not discovered until after he disappeared. Three months before the disappearance, Justin had wrote to his grade 9 teacher a letter that said,

"I really hate school and the government. At class I plan on trying until I get sick of it, then I'll give up and drop out when I'm 16."

It has been reported that most youth who runaway and are at risk do so because of troubles at/with school, being bullied, having difficulty making friends, or having major life changes such as divorce, moving, or changing schools. Most runaways do not perform well in school and are seen as troublesome to teachers and peers according to the stats.

Many people believe Justin is deceased, explaining why he has been missing for over 22 years. Others think Justin made it to Toronto, or another big city and has been living homeless. Locals think more people know what happened to Justin but are not speaking out.

In 2018, Justin's case was again reopened. There are age progression photos of him available. He would be 37 years old today.

Justin's nickname was "Woody." He was listed as being 5'11 and weighing around 140 pounds. He has blue eyes and a dimple in his chin. He wore his hair in a 6 inch Mohawk style which may be dyed black or blonde. He had two earrings in his left ear and wore heavy chain necklaces.

He may have been wearing a wooden name tag with the inscription "Woody." He was an avid skateboarder and may have been hanging around skate parks. He may go by the nickname "Joe."

If you have any information regarding Justin Pollari’s disappearance or whereabouts, please contact Crime Stoppers, you can stay anonymous. Call 1-800-222-8477(TIPS)

You can also call Missing Kids at 1-866-KID-TIPS(543-8477).

The Ontario Provincial Police (OPP):

1-888-310-1122 1-888-310-1133 (TTY)

#true crime #crime #unsolved mysteries #unsolved #unsolved murder #unsolved case #murder #homicide #solved #mystery #runaway #youth #homeless #toronto #ontario #canada #missing #missingyouth

17 notes · View notes

george-weasleys-girl · 9 months

Text

North Star Series

Chapter 40 - The Very Short Engagement

Start here:

Summary: Plot twist 😉

Warning: none that I remember

~•~

Someone was knocking at the door.

"Go away, Fred," George muttered and rolled over to pull Y/N close. "We agreed I get the room tonight." He was back at Hogwarts, and it was Thursday night, his and Y/N's night to get the dorm room to themselves.

The knocking continued.

George groaned, rolling back over and rubbing his eyes. "Alright, alright. Gimme a bloody minute." He reached over the side of the bed to grab his pants, only to discover they weren't there. That was strange. He and Y/N always kept their clothes nearby in case they had to get dressed quickly.

George opened his eyes and realized that he was not at Hogwarts, nor was it night. He was instead in his apartment bedroom, and according to his clock, it was almost noon.

That's when everything came flooding back, and a surge of euphoria overtook him. He looked over at Y/N, now his fiancé, and smiled. She was beginning to stir but wasn't yet awake. He was about to lean over and kiss her nose when the knocking started back up.

Except it wasn't knocking. It was tapping. On the bedroom window. He looked up to see Artemis, his parents' new owl waiting outside patiently.

Well, at least he didn't have to get dressed for that. Good thing, too, since his clothes from last night lay in a pile on the floor next to the dining room table.

~•~

"You really don't care?" George looked stunned. "I thought every girl wanted the fairytale wedding."

"Not me," Y/N smiled. "The marriage is far more important to me than the wedding. I'd marry you on the side of the road and wearing a potato sack."

They'd talked about being married many times, but it wasn't until the letter arrived that George realized they'd never discussed getting married. He just always assumed, because of her parents' drunken Vegas nuptials, that she would want a proper wedding.

Except she didn't. And truthfully, he was okay with that. More than ok.

"I'd elope with you right now, except..." He looked down at the parchment on the table.

"Same," she picked up the letter and reread it.

Dear Y/N,

I'm so excited! When do you two plan to announce your engagement? Hopefully soon! I can't wait to help plan the wedding!!!

Love,

Ginny

"It'd break her heart if we ran off and eloped," Y/N sighed. "I can't do that to her."

"Me either," George agreed.

Y/N folded up the letter and placed it back in the envelope. "So, when do you want to make the announcement?

~•~

Two days later, at the Burrow, George and Y/N announced their engagement. It went exactly as they'd expected. Molly nearly smothered them both. Ginny spent half the night bragging that she knew before her mum. And then everyone else gave hugs or handshakes and offered their hearty congratulations.

"We're actually thinking something small and simple," George said before Molly went overboard with grandiose plans.

"And we'd like to do it as soon as possible," Y/N added.

"How soon?" Arthur asked.

"We were thinking mid-January," George answered. "Everything will be wound down from the holidays, and it'll give her grandma and her best friend time to make arrangements to fly over."

"Are you sure that's safe," Hermione asked. "With everything... going on."

"We'll make it safe. We're not leaving her family out," Molly asserted with such finality that no one else dared to argue.

"Well then, that doesn't give us much time to plan," Ginny said, breaking the silence. "So we best get to it."

~•~

Five hours later

Y/N fell face first onto the bed as soon as she and George got home.

"Tired, love?" He smiled, rubbing her back.

"Mmfmhmfm," she answered.

"Sorry, sweetheart. I don't speak muffled pillow."

Y/N rolled over and gave him an apologetic smile. "I don't think I've ever been this exhausted in my life. I can't believe we planned the entire wedding in one night."

"Well, I, for one, am quite impressed," he stretched out across the bed beside her.

Y/N smiled and nuzzled her face into his neck.

"I just don't like having to wait a month," he mummered.

Y/N was quiet for a few moments, then she leaned back and looked at him. "So, why should we?"

"What? You mean cancel the wedding?"

"No," Y/N sat up. "I mean, we could get married tomorrow and not tell anyone. Except for Fred, of course, but he'd never breathe a word of it."

George sat up, meeting her eye to eye. "Get married? Tomorrow?"

She nodded.

"This what you really want? Truly?"

"Yes, truly," she admitted. "I don't want to wait anymore than you do. I want to marry you tomorrow."

He stared at her, searching her eyes for any doubts, before a huge grin spread across his face, and he tackled her. "You are the most amazing woman to ever live," he said. "And I can't believe that tomorrow I get to call you my wife." He leaned in to kiss her, then paused, eyes widening. "We need to tell Fred! C'mon!" He started to pull her up but stopped. "Never mind, you're tired. I'll go get him," he jumped up. "Be right back!"

Y/N giggled, watching him run out the door. Godric, she loved that man more than life. George Weasley was her dream come true.

She leaned back thinking about their long-running "argument" as to who was the lucky one in the relationship and finally decided they were both right.

@milivanili99 @slytherclaw1978 @quackitysdrugdealer @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @ladylizzieofdarbyshire @fancy-pantaloons @samberriejams @totalwitch2 @aslanvez @mrsgweasley @morally-grey-obsessed @asuperconfusedgirl @hmisa11 @superduckmilkshake @junerprsh @wolfkill16 @kaysau2510 @planetkt @thankyouforanonymity @thatonepersonwhocantwrite @smallsweetvanillabean @themaraudersslut @hanne-montana @greenapplegrass @peachesgaeass @yoursarahg @marvelgirlstories @ceehance

Maybe that's what true love really meant, she thought. Both people thinking they were the lucky one.

#george weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley x y/n #george weasley x fem!reader #george weasley x you #hp universe #hp fandom #north star series

38 notes · View notes

blackswaneuroparedux · 2 years

Photo

Since Trotsky came to Mexico I have understood his error. I was never a Trotskyist.

- Frida Kahlo

In the summer of 1940, Frida Kahlo found herself in jail. Mexico City police suspected her as an accomplice in the murder of the embattled Russian revolutionary Leon Trotsky. Several days prior to her arrest, he’d been gruesomely offed with an ice pick. His murder - and her implication in the crime - was a dramatic turn of events, especially considering that Kahlo and Trotsky had been giddy lovers just three years earlier; she’d even dedicated a striking self-portrait to him.

Kahlo had many romantic partners over the course of her short life (she died in 1954 at 47), but few resulted in dedicated paintings—and fewer pointed explicitly to her political beliefs. The liaison with Trotsky did both. Although their romance only lasted several months, it offers a window into Kahlo’s politics and how deeply they influenced her work.

Kahlo and Trotsky first met in 1937, when the painter was 29 and the politician was 57. Kahlo and her husband, muralist Diego Rivera, were vocal supporters of Marxism and had been on-and-off members of the Mexican Communist Party for a decade, since 1927. Influenced by the Mexican Revolution at the turn of the century, they advocated for a populist government and believed political power should rest in the hands of the working class.

By the mid-1930s, Kahlo and Rivera both considered themselves Trotskyites. They’d followed the Russian Revolution and the rise of Communism closely, and knew Trotsky as a hero of the 1917 October Uprising, which cemented Vladimir Lenin and the Socialist regime’s rise to dominance. But when Joseph Stalin assumed leadership in 1924, he consolidated power and demoted Trotsky, exiling him for good in 1929. As a result, the Communist party fractured into two main camps: Stalinists and Trotskyites.

It was Rivera who convinced Mexican President Lázaro Cárdenas to offer Trotsky political asylum in Mexico. After several years in Turkey, France, and Norway, Trotsky and his wife Natalia Sedova boarded an oil tanker and docked in Tampico, Mexico on January 9, 1937. Rivera was sick, so Kahlo greeted them at the port, along with a troop of armed guards.

Kahlo and Rivera offered the Trotskys their second home, the now famed Casa Azul, equipping it with guards, barricades, covered windows, and alarm systems to ensure their political hero’s safety. Sedova recalled the beginnings of the trip fondly in a letter to friends: “We were breathing purified air…A motorcar…carried us across the fields of palms and cacti to the suburbs of Mexico City; a blue house, a patio filled with plants, airy rooms, collections of Pre-Columbian art, paintings from all over: we were on a new planet, in Rivera’s house.”

It wasn’t long after the Russian couple settled in that a romance developed between Kahlo and Trotsky. The politician’s secretary, Jean van Heijenoort, remembered the pair’s blatant flirtations under the nose of Trotsky’s wife. Sedova didn’t understand English, the language in which the lovers communicated. They met clandestinely at Kahlo’s sister’s house, and Trotsky slipped love notes into books he lent her. Kahlo and Trotsky’s meek attempts at discretion didn’t prevent Sedova from discovering the affair. She gave her husband a “me-or-her ultimatum. It seems that Kahlo tired of the romance around the same time. Despite their split, the two remained friends for some time until Trotsky’s murder.

Photo: Russian revolutionary Leon Trotsky (right), Mexican artist Frida Kahlo (centre), and revolutionary and wife of Trotsky Natalia Sedova, photographed Together In Mexico In 1937.

166 notes · View notes

sunskate · 3 months

Text

Preparing for the World Championships, at home no less, is one thing. Doing it while trying to recover from a concussion is another.

Marjorie Lajoie was supposed to be at training on the morning of January 4, when your journalist went to the Verdun Auditorium to speak with her and her partner, Zachary Lagha. This trip was motivated by the desire to get news of the duo in the run-up to the World Championships presented this week at the Bell Centre.

Both skaters had achieved good results, including two Grand Prix silver medals, in the first portion of the season.

“Marjorie won’t be there. She was injured in a fall,” Lagha said in the corridors leading to the locker room. It would later be learned that she had suffered a concussion in the preceding days.

Lajoie resurfaced only two months later, during the media availability of the athletes invited to the biggest figure skating event of the year.

Wearing sunglasses with yellowed lenses to soften the reflections of the light, she trained without difficulty on the Canadiens' ice. “I was able to start skating again. We followed the protocol, here we are at the Bell Center and we are capable of doing complete programs,” she said a dozen days ago.

The risk of concussion is part of the game, of course. These athletes, capable of performing pirouettes as spectacular as they are perilous without the slightest protection, apart from a suit as thin and fragile as a butterfly's wings, risk their health on almost every flight.

Marjorie Lajoie knows it. And this is undoubtedly why this discipline is so exhilarating. But above all, she understands the need to follow each step of the recovery protocol. “I can do anything now. It just remains to gradually and safely get back into shape."

Supported at the Institut National du Sport du Québec, the 23-year-old athlete was followed by five professionals “for the eyes, the head, the energy”. She believes she followed the protocol to the letter. Thus explaining why she will take part in the Worlds, in front of family and friends.

The importance of healing

Her desire to perform in front of her family was a fuel as soon as Montreal was awarded Worlds, initially planned for 2020. She will finally have the chance to participate, though with much more baggage than at the time.

Lajoie obviously feared having to forfeit due to her condition. The verdict would have been particularly hard to digest. However, healing completely was the sine qua non condition for skating in Montreal. A rule that she had imposed on herself.

Even though she has been skating with Zachary Lagha for over a decade, the two protagonists are still in the prologue of their careers, considering that some of their rivals and title contenders are in their mid-30s. Hence the interest in rebuilding now, a question of focusing on the long term. “Even before my concussion, I took extreme care of my body, my mind and my health. It's a priority. We know that in ice dancing, it's the long term that counts. It's not at 20 that we will be world champions, it's the oldest who have the results. So I always prioritized recovery and my injuries.

The ice dance gold medalist at the 2019 World Junior Championships cited Kaitlin Hawayek as one of her inspirations to get her through the long and frustrating recovery process.

American skater, Hawayek had to give up her season due to another concussion. “Maybe they [Hawayek and her partner Jean-Luc Baker] will have to stop because of the concussions, because precisely, I think that they had been less well followed, less well informed by his team, and I do not never want to go there."

Hawayek even contacted the Quebecer when she was made aware of her situation. “We had discussions, she wrote to me, because she knew exactly what I was going through, she was still in shock herself. She knew exactly where I was going. I had a lot of support from her."

With Zachary Lagha, Marjorie Lajoie took 13th place at the Olympic Games, 11th at the last Worlds and 14th place in their first participation in 2021.

The goal this week will certainly be to enter the top 10. In Grands Prix this season, their worst result was a sixth position in Beijing. They were forced to forgo the National Championships at the turn of the new year. These Worlds will therefore be their first, and only, real test before ending the season.

Last week, the routine was not yet perfect, according to Lagha, but he promises a worthy finish when the time comes: “It will be perfect for the Worlds. There are still some details to work on in the free dance. The short is pretty much set in stone, but there is still a little work to do."

#lajoie lagha #lala #her concussion was from a fall #oof and the implication that kaitlin's still not recovered from hers 😢

7 notes · View notes

otmaaromanovas · 1 year

Note

What was Tatiana’s relationship with N Rodianov?

Hello there! Thank you for your question and I am sorry for the late reply!

Nikolai Nikolaevich Rodionov was Tatiana’s favourite officer on the Standart. The girls naturally had their favourite officers: Olga’s was Pavel Voronov, Maria's was Nikolai Demenkov, Anastasia’s was Georgii Taube. Some of these were obviously crushes, whereas some were just close friendships.

When Tatiana was suffering from typhoid, Alix sent notes to her to comfort her and give advice. In one of these notes she specificallly mentions she saw Rodionov. So judging by this he was definitely a family favourite and/or Alix knew that would cheer up dear Tatiana.

Here are some photos of them together:

And this super cute one of them sharing a coat to keep cosy!

From Tatiana’s diary and letters - Rodionov is almost always referred to as 'N.N.' (Nikolai Nikolaevich):

'29 May [Old Style, her birthday] Thursday [1914]. ...I played 2 singles sets [of Tennis] with N.N., both of which he won... I played 3 sets with N.N. against Papa and Olga, won two lost one. N.P. arrived. We had tea there. After that I had a rest and wrote telegrams... I sat between N.N. and N.P. It was very good. After that, there was a cinematograph in the dining room. I sat with N.N. on the divan. We went back home at 12. It was so awfully good. They drank my health three times at the table. So sweet and cosy. To be with such dear friends.' - Full diary entry here, translated by the wonderful Helen Azar

'10 January. [1916]. ...One of these days N.N. Rodionov is supposed to arrive, and I am very happy. We have not seen him for almost a year...'

Letter from Tatiana to Countess Zinaïda Tolstaya:

'1 March, 1918 Tobolsk. ...Write to me again. I love receiving your letters. Do you know where N.N. is at the moment? I know that his friend was killed in Simferopol and he was there too...'

She also wrote occasionally in her diary about speaking with him on the telephone, something that OTMA did with their favourite officers, mostly in the evening.

She didn’t write about him quite as passionately or often as Olga did about Pavel Voronov or AKSHV, so I don’t know whether you would consider it to be a ‘crush’, or just a particular favourite :) She sometimes called him 'dear N.N.', which could just be Russian endearment expressed in many of their letters and diaries, or something more romantic.

From the photos that exist of him, he seems to have been close to all the girls, posing with them affectionately, holding their hands, etc. They all write about him in their diaries fondly. Judging purely off photos, he seems to have been extra close with Tatiana and Anastasia. There are some super cute photos of him and Anastasia, I’ll attach them below! You’re pretty much guaranteed to find him in all their albums!

Rodionov survived the Revolution, despite staying loyal to the Imperial Family, which would have placed him in considerable danger. At some point he emigrated, and he passed away in 1962 in France, aged 76. He would have been 24 in 1910, and therefore his mid 20s during his time with the Romanovs.

Also, random fun fact, his hand writing was strikingly similar to Tatiana’s! The same very sloped, pointy text.

Hope this was helpful! To conclude, I don't know exactly whether Tatiana saw Rodionov as a favourite officer or more of a crush. She was more reserved than Olga, so her not writing about him like Olga did with her crushes is understandable when you consider her personality. But she clearly was very fond about him, and didn't forget him even in the last year of her life.

#q #ask #anon #answered #Nikolai Rodionov #Rodionov #favourite officers #crushes #?? maybe #Tatiana Nikolaevna #Tatiana Romanov #Standart #N.N.#Nikolai Nikolaevich Rodionov #Romanovs #my own #diaries #letters #sources

30 notes · View notes

edgysaintjust · 1 year

Note

I Don't know if you answered this before but uhh- .. I don't understand the jokes about saint-just and desmoulins's relationship (it's funny as hell I swear).. like when did they met at the first place? What's the whole story about them? ..

Thx and have a nice day♡

Hello!

The jokes about their relationship! Yes, there have been a few about them having a supposed not unequivocally platonic thing between them. We do have reasons to make such speculations, but we have very little, and it’s highly exaggerated; most of it is just a fun theory to fill the gaps/spice things up but shouldn’t be taken too seriously. What we have is plenty of space left for speculations with the traces they left us. To summarise: we can’t say anything occurred; it’s just a light theory, slightly humourized recently, but it also didn’t materialise out of completely nothing ;)

Desmoulins and Saint-Just more or less kept in touch since 1789, and it continued until mid 1793. Those four years, and especially everything that happened at the very beginning, the correspondence, are very intense from SJ’s side. In May 1790, SJ wrote to his colleague: If you need me, write to me, and in general expresses a lot of enthusiasm about the relationship, while the same is not seen from Desmoulins’ side; he is successful as a journalist and just married, and perhaps didn’t consider responding to SJ’s letters due to lack of time / simply didn’t wish to. It’s also important to note that the two men shared a similar passion for both poetry/literature and politics; earlier, on 2nd January 1790 Camille will publish a short note recommending SJ’s Organt in his Révolutions de France et de Brabant.

Before the age of 25, SJ planned to participate in journalism. We can obviously suspect that there’s some influence of Camille, since young SJ looked up to him; admired him dearly as an older, respected colleague and perhaps seen him as kind of a guide; he read his newspaper, and likely tried to follow and watch how his career develops. Desmoulins, on the other hand, mocked him (half-jokingly?) numerous times, by calling out SJ’s previous support for the constitutional monarchy and calling him chevalier de Saint-Just, etc etc. There is nothing that suggests a close friendship between them; it seems that Saint-Just didn’t even know Camille’s address for some time of their correspondence (it had to be added by the post office, but wasn’t written by SJ himself on the envelope).

We observed their relationship cooling down. In 1793, in an unsent letter, SJ expressed a lot of emotions while referring to Desmoulins; which is important to highlight, because by 1793 it was important to SJ to look as professional as possible, putting personal feelings aside to create a serious facade. The letter, including the kiss* Camille from me and tell him I won’t be seeing him anymore line is personal and raw; it’s nothing suggestive per se, but leaves plenty of space to raise questions such as: what made him suddenly write such a letter, wishing to cut Desmoulins off completely? Why wasn’t it ever sent? It’s undeniable that the letter is highly emotional, and less-political.

Go to Desmoulins, embrace him for me, and tell him that he will never see me again, that I esteem his patriotism, but that I despise him, because I have penetrated his soul and he fears that I will betray him. Tell him that he does not abandon the good cause, and recommend him, for he has not yet the audacity of magnanimous virtue.

That’s the cherry on top when we speak of the supposed “crush” Saint-Just would have had on his colleague, the dramatic end of the quite one-sided relationship between them. Obviously, most of it is a light joke based around the incomplete story and shouldn’t be taken too seriously.

The facts are: young Saint-Just was seeking connections, political allies/guidance and possibly good friends; he was enthusiastic about his correspondence with Desmoulins, he was fascinated by him as an older colleague and a revolutionary voice, but it wasn’t met with an equal feedback, the letters suggest an emotional bond between them, mostly one-sided, but not a close friendship. Eventually they cooled down in terms, which was then sealed by political differences.

Hope this cleared the case a little!

*In the original Saint-Just writes embrassez-le pour moi, which as far as I know is translatable as both kiss and embrace.

#have a nice day aswell!#once again highlighting we do not know much about their relationship and we should keep that in mind #but yeah the thing is pretty fun (at least so I find it)#saying this in tags ofc but still thinking about likely closeted bisexual SJ writing about close male friendships and the bisexual himbo #thank you for the ask :)#ask #saint-just #camille desmoulins

30 notes · View notes

valyalyon · 3 months

Text

January-July, 2025

Ayooo errybody :) Continuing from December 20 and 25, 2024 , this is mostly all fluff for Raphael and Dolores during D's pregnancy. Jan 19 for cravings March 3 gender reveal April 9 Raphael's birthday + Julius confrontation May 27 family picnic July 10 maternity photo shoot + foreshadowing

For more, including SMUT, see below. DIE MASTER LIST OR #LYONDIE DIVIDERS

January 19, 2025.

By mid-January, the pregnancy cravings were really doubling down...

CW: Mentions and descriptions of pregnancy symptoms and experience. It isn't super detailed, but still might make someone uncomfortable, so I did want to mention it <3 No sexual content, no violence, no drug use. 1.2k words

...I woke up feeling starved that morning, and went to the kitchen right after checking on Theo.

Raphael was getting up, too, but he had gone to the bathroom.

My craving that morning was chocolate covered strawberries. Now, let me explain something. And don’t judge me. I don’t like chocolate, so we definitely weren’t going to have any chocolate covered strawberries in the fridge.

When it hit me that I had no way of having my craving, I immediately started to cry like a baby. This pregnancy was way harder on me emotionally than I had expected.

Raphael came into the kitchen and quickly rushed to my side when he saw I was crying, “what happened? Are you okay?”

“I woke up craving chocolate covered strawberries and I want them so badly but we don’t have chocolate because I hate chocolate,” I said everything so quickly, sobbing as he pulled me into a hug.

Summer's gone, but you can be my winter loving. Summer's gone, but you can be mine.

“I’m not going to ask right now, I’ll get you chocolate and fresh strawberries. Do you want milk or dark chocolate?” He asked, rubbing my back as I cried into him.

“Milk, please,” I choked out in between cries.

“Okay, I’m gonna get it, but you wipe away those pretty tears, Doll, you’re hurting my heart,” he used his thumbs to wipe some tears off my cheeks.

I nodded my head, wiping my eyes as my lip still trembled.

The world stops spinning when you open your eyes, my darling.

March 3, 2025.

Towards the end of February, Raphael and I had gone to the doctor and the doctor had written down the gender of the baby in a letter. I gave the letter to Catalina, my childhood best friend.

On March 3, our families and our closest friends, came over to our home for what they thought would be a late dinner to celebrate our wedding.

Raphael had invited his parents, his older siblings, his best friend Marcus, and Julius. I had invited my parents, my little sister, and my friends Catalina, Natalie and Sara.

Once everyone arrived, we all stood around talking in the living area. Theo was playing with J’s son, Anthony. Raphael cleared his throat, “actually… this isn’t a dinner for our wedding…”

There was a confused silence.

Raphael placed his hand on my tummy, flattening my dress over the bump, “Dolores has a little baby here, and she’s due to give birth end of July.”

Everyone erupted into congratulations, except for Catalina who broke off from the group to go to her bag. She came back with cards for everyone, and waited.

‘We didn’t just want to announce my pregnancy. We also wanted to find out the gender with all of you,” I smiled, thanking everyone for their kind words.

Catalina happily handed out the scratch cards that she had gotten made, and she was smiling ear to ear.

Everyone took their card and we all crowded the dining room table, putting our cards down and beginning to scratch together.

Natalie was the first to finish scratching, so excited to hear I was pregnant again, and she squealed when she saw, “Dolores! Theo’s going to have a little…”

Raphael, Julius, my sister, and Raphael’s mother, shouted at the same time as they all finished scratching, “brother!”

April 9, 2025.

I planned a 26th birthday party for Raphael, inviting all his closest friends and family to our home. I invited Catalina and Natalie too, so I’d have help with everything. I was 25 weeks pregnant and my mobility wasn’t terrible, but I definitely couldn’t run the party alone.

I was glad I had invited my friends, because when the party was winding down, Julius came up to me while I was apart from Raphael.

“You think I could talk to you?” Julius asked, semi-casually, but there was a hint of anxiety in his voice.

I made eye contact with Catalina, and she left quickly to get Raphael, I turned my attention back to the dishes I was in the middle of, “About what exactly?”

“The baby, uh… your pregnancy?” Julius shifted and got closer to me, just as Raphael entered the kitchen.

“Julius,” Raphael’s voice was tense, and I was worried he was going to rage out on his birthday, but he seemed to be keeping his cool.

“I just have a question,” Julius said, his attention on Raphael now.

“What exactly would that be?” Raphael asked just as I finished the dishes.

I turned toward the two men, they were staring at each other with each face showing clear irritation over the situation. I was always so confused about why Raphael insisted on inviting Julius to things if he continuously would get mad at him.

Julius turned his expression to me, “does he know?”

I looked at him utterly confused, “does he know what?”

Julius groaned and finally spoke his mind, “you two announced that the baby is due at the end of July. I had unprotected sex with Dolores the week he would have been conceived.”

Raphael was about to speak, but Julius continued, “are you sure that he’s Raphael’s son, Dolly?” His eyes were on mine.

I turned my eyes back to Raphael’s, but he wasn’t looking at me. His face and eyes were dark and unreadable. I’d never seen him so angry.

“Yes, we are absolutely sure that he is my son,” Raphael said, his voice so sharp that I felt personally cut by it. His expression was cold as he stared at Julius, “Man, I still want to be your friend, however… Dolores is my wife. Do not call her any pet names, and do not speak to her without me around.”

Julius nodded his head, “you’re right, Ralph. Sorry for overstepping.”

“You got your question answered. Don’t ever bring that up again,” Raphael led him out of the kitchen.

May 27, 2025.

I got orange blossoms in the air right now. Smells so sweet, until they hit the ground.

We took Theo to Papago Park for some much needed time in the sun. We took turns playing with Theo, and on Raphael’s turns, I would look into baby names for our son.

I won't save my breath for another day, 'cause the wind might come and blow them all away.

By the end of our family picnic, Raphael and I had a list of about 10 names that we liked. I had made a list of about 30, but there was a lot of back and forth and we crossed out so many names.

I can't think of anything I wanted more than to see the colors of my seasons change.

Still, the name we ended up picking for our son was actually on that 10 name list.

July 10, 2025.

I was nearly 39 weeks pregnant when Raphael booked a maternity shoot for me. We went out into the desert with the photographer and I wore a red gown.

In between photos, Raphael and I would talk back and forth, and it was during one of those conversations that I said, “you know, I really don’t think he’s going to come on his due date.”

“Do you think he’s going to come early?” Raphael asked, touching my belly.

“I wish, but no… I really don’t think he will. I really don’t know why I feel this way, but I think he’s coming in August,” I placed my fingers over Raphael’s for another photo.

“This is going to be such a long pregnancy for you,” Raphael spoke after the photo had been taken.

“Yeah, but he’s worth it.”

“100%.”

SONG REFERENCES Summer's Gone by NoMBe, Thutmose Orange Blossoms by GoldFord

#fluff #pregnant #dark romance #writeblr #creative writing #lyondie #bluestlyon #booklr #original story

5 notes · View notes