#I once again apologize to dark mode folks

[lefaystrent]

Friendly Neighborhood Criminals Part 2

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Pairings: platonic Patton/Dark Sides

Summary: Patton spent most of his life praying. This is the first time anyone's answered.

In other words, the friendly neighborhood criminals are there to save the day once again.

Ao3 Link: click here

Part 1

A/N Notes: This part is entirely inspired by a comment left by DnDeceit (Hazgarn) from Ao3. Thank you for the awesome idea and hope you enjoy! If anyone else has ideas for this AU, hit me up and I may write them!

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Patton sits at the bus stop waiting for a bus that is over forty minutes late.

Miraculously, he has not run into this scenario since he moved to the city. The busses have been fairly reliable until now. They're his main mode of transportation to get to and from work. It would take a couple hours to walk otherwise. While manageable, the problem is that...

It's pitch black outside.

Patton hugs himself on the rickety bench and tries not to peer too closely into any shadowed corners. He typically doesn't take the late shift for this reason; he hates the dark. Whenever his mom got mad at him or just didn't want to look at his face, she would lock him in a closet without light. She'd tell him to pray about what he had done, to ask for forgiveness. Patton never knew what he had done in those instances, but he prayed hard and apologized for hours and told God he would be better so he didn't bother his parents so much.

The night reminds him too much of that tight space, and buying a night light for the apartment is one of the few luxuries he afforded himself.

Thankfully, a streetlight buzzed above him. Things could be much worse! His manager even apologized to him for asking him to come in on his off day! If Patton hadn't, he would have left Joan to close the store all by themself, and that would have been rough. Besides, Patton can use the extra hours! And working with Joan is always fun. They made Patton laugh and sometimes bought him snacks! And when they had locked up and walked into the parking lot earlier, they had offered to give him a ride.

Patton refused, of course! That had been far too generous, and Patton didn't want to make Joan drive him around when they were clearly tired. Patton could catch the last bus and things would be okay.

But things are not so okay, and there are no more busses scheduled until morning. If Patton left now, he would have to make the trek home. In the dark.

Just thinking about it has his throat seizing up.

Patton wishes he could be like normal people and call his family up in this situation. That his dad could give him a ride, or that he had a sibling who would speed over in a heartbeat. Or even friends.

He does have friends though! Well, one friend mostly. Her name is Valerie and they went to high school together. She moved out of Florida after graduation, so they never really see each other in person anymore. But she's always a text away and she's been so supportive of Patton moving out and cutting off his folks and–

And Patton wishes she could be here, but she's not.

Patton sits on the bench as if waiting for something to magically happen. He groans to himself and pulls out his phone. It's refurbished and a way older model, but it gets the job done just fine. Maybe he can distract himself for a bit and text her. She's probably asleep by now, but he can send her a joke or a meme–

There are new contacts in his phone that were not there before.

Patton rechecks his phone several times because surely this is an error. But no, there are three new contacts where before there had only been his best friend, store manager, and landlord.

Janus

Thing 1

Thing 2

Beyond baffled, Patton racks his brain for when the contacts could have possibly been added. It wasn't him of course, so one of his new...acquaintances must have done it. Ever since they brought him furniture and groceries, they have visited Patton again a total of twice. Each time, they brought him things from shampoo to a microwave. And then they would shove take out into his arms and order him to eat it.

It's...the most aggressive kindness Patton has ever been subjected to. And quite frankly, he doesn't know how to respond to it other than submit. Remus told him it's easier that way anyway.

Patton doesn't know what to make of the well-to-do criminals. And they are criminals, there's no doubt about it. They don't try to censor themselves around Patton. Last time, Patton listened reservedly while Remus recounted a story of lighting a dumpster on fire in order to distract some cops on their tail.

And they laughed and it wasn't at Patton. Virgil would tell Remus off when he overwhelmed Patton with gross details, and Janus– good grief could he write a novel about that man. Well, about all three of then really, but Janus had been the most aggressively kind. Patton can hardly say two words to the man because he can't figure out if he's mad at Patton, the world, or just in general. And he'd do it all while calling Patton pet names, and Virgil would grin and say, "I'm so glad someone else is getting the Janus treatment."

They aren't bad people, not really.

But can Patton call them like this? What would he say? Worse, how on earth could he ask for more of them?

Then maybe just to talk? Not Janus, the man intimidates him too much. But which one is Thing 1 and 2? Was it Janus who snuck the contacts into his phone? Surely it incriminates him if he is the only one with a proper name.

Just then, the light above him flickers and goes out, bathing him in blindness.

Patton does not panic.

He skyrockets straight to losing his mind.

The phone light is not enough to stop his hyperventilating. He stands up, ready to flee, but to where? Into the same darkness enveloping him now? There are distant lights further up the street, more store outlets, but they are fuzzy and far away and Patton's legs quake where he stands. Tears sting his eyes, and his chest squeezes tight enough to make his shoulders hunch inward.

He can't do it, he's weak.

Fumbling, he pulls up the phone and presses one of the Thing contacts. He doesn't know which one, doesn't care. What he cares about is someone saving him right now. Please open the door, he wants out, please–

"City morgue, you kill 'em, we chill 'em," a nasally voice chatters in his ear. Patton doesn't even remember hearing the phone ring or pressing the dial button.

"Remus?!" Patton says, stricken.

Remus catches onto his tone immediately. From the handful of times he has been around the man, he had only ever presented himself with a dramatic, unhinged flair. He grinned without abandon, and he honestly made Patton giggle a time or two.

Now, the gravelly tone of a dangerous man takes over. "Pat?"

"Remus," Patton pleads. He doesn't know exactly what he's begging for. He just wants to be okay now. He wants it to stop.

"Where are you, Pat?"

"B-bus stop, corner of Cherry Ridge Avenue and– and– by, I don't know, I'm by the– the State Farm office? I think. I think–"

"That's okay, Pattycake, you stay right there. I'll find you, I'm coming."

Patton keens and nods his head, though Remus can't see him. He stays on the phone with Patton too, cursing occasionally at something on the other side and rushing to ease Patton with gentle assurances whenever he whimpers into the phone too loudly.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," Remus tells him, and Patton believes him.

By the time a revving motor breaks the night, Patton has curled up against the side of the bus stop awning in a poor attempt to make himself as small as possible. He flinches when a singular headlamp spills over him, and he momentarily freaks out upon recognizing that someone is driving a motorcycle straight at him. But Remus's voice is in his ear, yelling over the roaring that it's him, that he sees him.

He's here.

Remus drives the bike right onto the sidewalk and doesn't bother pushing down the kickstand. He lets the bike list sideways to the ground as he scrambles off, one hand barely hanging onto his phone in his rush.

Seeing him is the biggest relief Patton's ever experienced. More than the day he signed the apartment lease. Because someone finally answered his prayers to save him.

Patton finds the strength to stand and barrels into Remus's chest. He meets him halfway, using the momentum to spin them and he clutches Patton against the front of his leather jacket.

"Are you hurt? Did someone hurt you? I'll fucking kill them!" Remus snarls.

Patton answers the only way he can, by breaking down into sobs. Remus can't get any details after that. He runs his hands up and down Patton's back and arms looking for injuries. When he doesn't find any, he just keeps on rubbing his back to soothe him.

"I got you, I got you. I'm not going anywhere, Pattycake."

It's rough. It's exhausting. It's tears and snot and frightened little hiccups.

It's everything to Patton that Remus holds him throughout.

When Patton is calm enough that he's only sniffling now, Remus pulls back and takes his face in his hands. Remus's hands are calloused and blisteringly warm. They contrast with the cool metal of the rings he wears.

"Want me to take you home?"

Patton can't speak, but he gives a tiny whine and nods his head, bleary-eyed and spent.

The ride back to his apartment is a blur. Remus pushes his only helmet over Patton's head and warns him multiple times not to let go of him. The leather of his jacket is a security blanket, and Patton does his best to snuggle into it. He's never rode on a motorcycle before, and he's doesn't know if it's a good or bad thing that he's not aware enough to process it. It's fast and loud, and the wind whips around them constantly. He barely keeps his eyes open and trusts Remus will get them home safe.

They pull up to his apartment quicker than he thinks possible. Remus slides off first, keeping hold of Patton's hands as he turns around in his arms. He tugs the helmet off, careful not to jostle him too badly.

"Gotta say, Pattycake, helmet hair's a good look on you." Remus is trying to make him laugh. Patton doesn't have the energy to make his facial muscles move or thank him for his kindness. The most he can do is make grabby hands at Remus.

"Oh, puffball..." Remus's expression softens. He bends down and sweeps Patton into his arms and full-on carries him to the door bridal-style. Patton knows that Remus is tall and strong, but distantly he's impressed with how easily he's lifted.

Remus nudges him and patiently waits for him to dig out his key and unlock the front door. Once inside, Remus doesn't stop in the living room. He strides to the bedroom and deposits his cargo on the mattress.

"Okay, Pat-tay. It's beddy-bye time." Remus crouches below him and tugs Patton's shoes off his feet one by one. Patton watches him silently in the glow of his nightlight plugged into the wall. After the shoes are off, he reaches up to pull Patton's glasses off. Strangely, he notes that Remus's hands are shaking. Just a little bit.

Remus covers it up with a smile and waggle of brows. "Clothes on or off?"

In response, Patton flops back on the bed. Remus chuckles and situates him more appropriately, manhandling him until he's under the sheets.

"You're gonna be okay, I swear," Remus tells him, fingers brushing the hair from his forehead. Patton sinks into the mattress, closes his eyes and drifts.

A ringing pulls him to the surface. Remus answers his phone and Patton is too content to open his eyes.

"Yeah?....Because I'm with Patton.... Because he called me.... No I will not tell you all the juicy details of our midnight tryst, what kind of gossip do you think I am?"

Patton wonders who he's talking to. Someone who knows Patton, one of the others?

"He's had a bad night," Remus says and Patton tunes back in. He missed some exchanges and Remus's tone has taken on a somber edge. "I've got him home. I'm gonna hang out with him for a while... Janny can suck it, he'd be worse than I am.... I don't know, but it was bad enough he called me. Not that I'm not an absolute gift, right?.... well you didn't have to answer that. Okay, Emotional Baggage, I'm hanging up now. Don't wait up for me."

The return to quiet pushes Patton farther under. His muscles grow lax, and Remus is doing that thing with his fingers in his hair again. Patton reaches out and pulls himself a little closer. He thinks he's holding onto a jacket sleeve. He tries to wrap himself around it.

He thinks he feels the tickle of breath at his ear, a hushed voice, "I have a feeling you're going to be the death of me. And I'm gonna like it."

Patton falls asleep.

The next morning, there's a box of donuts sitting in the middle of his bedroom floor. A notification on his phone shows he has a text.

Call me anytime ;)

–R

[elsanna-shenanigans]

December 2023/January 2024 Contest Submission #9: a pinch of salt

Words: ca. 5,000 Setting: modern AU Lemon: no CW: none

With a low grunt, Elsa lifted the bag of flour to spill into the industrial mixer. Holding her breath and turning her head away while a puff of flour wafted out of the steal bowl. She didn’t need to measure, the cupcakes she was making required the entire bag and if it was a little off, no one ever seemed to notice. This wasn’t Paris anymore after all.

It was a big shift from quantity over quality. She still did her best on the more specialty confections, the ones in smaller batches. But with these cupcakes, she simply couldn’t, they were made and bought in mass.

“Good morning sweetie,” Elsa’s mother said, pushing open the back door with her shoulder. Letting in both the sounds and smells of the city. It closed with a soft thud and the noise in the back room was once again just the hum of the equipment. “I got you a latte.”

“Mom, we can make lattes here.” Elsa sighed, crumbling the empty bag and brushing off her apron.

“Yes, but that little shop on the corner has the egg sandwiches your father loves. And I just want him to be happy, he’s really struggling.” Iduna dipped her head and placed a small paper bag and a coffee cup on the counter near Elsa. 

“I know.”

“I got you some food too, I can’t just go in there and buy one sandwich, that would be weird.” Iduna laughed, it sounded a little forced but Elsa chose to ignore it.

“Well, you can, but thank you I didn’t have time to make anything.”

“Hmm, I figured and you can drink this coffee now while I get our machine set up.”

“Thank you, Mom.” Elsa opened the paper bag and took out the egg sandwich. her mom smiled and disappeared through another door that led to the upstairs. She glanced over at the mixer, debating for a moment before she leaned back and ate. Better to eat it while it’s hot, the cupcakes could wait a few minutes.

***

“And that wraps up today’s cafe adventure, make sure to leave a comment with your suggestion for my next cafe. Thanks for watching!” Anna smiled and held of the peace sign, counting to three in my head before she flipped the phone around and stopped the recording.

She took a sip of her drink and looked around the busy cafe, glad that she had long since grown out of being embarrassed of filming herself in public. Truly no one really cared, specially in cafes where folks were in and out with a snack and drink or deeply buried in their work of choice — hunched over laptops. 

Anna pulled out her own laptop, a few minutes later she was deep in editing mode, headphones on, computer glasses askew. A little notepad sat next to her where her marked notes for a voice voice she would record later.

The cafe thinned out around her, settling into the mid-afternoon calm before the teenagers and after-workers descended in masses. This was Anna’s favorite time at any cafe when she could really look around and enjoy the decor and little unique touches. This place was rather ordinary. Anna found herself stretching to come up with some positive things to say.

“Miss, we have two hour limit unless you buy something.” A tired looking barista said.

“Oh I’m sorry, I’ll just pack up and get out of your hair.” Anna smiled and the barista just sighed and nodded, drifting off to another table. Anna debated buying something on her way out as an apology, but the only non-drink items were some basic-looking chocolate chip cookies. She shoved her laptop in her backpack and shouldered.

“One cookie please,”

“Sure,” the person behind the counter said, scooping the cookie into a paper bag and handing it over in one smooth action.

Outside the cafe, the early evening was just starting to kiss the city, long shadows and slow traffic. She started walking, no destination, just to wonder till it got dark and then she would navigate the subway system home from wherever she ended up.

She passed a homeless man, sitting on a small blanket with his back leaned against a wall. People passed without paying him much mind. Anna approached and he eyed her but made no other moves.

“Here, I just bought it,” Anna said, offering him the cookie.

A weather-worn hand reached out and grabbed the bag, “Thank you, young lady.” He said offering a smile.

Anna returned it before continuing, hopefully the cookie would brighten his day a bit.

“Jimmy get the door.” A woman shouted once Anna rounded a corner. Only Anna didn’t see a woman, she only saw a stack of purple boxes wobbling towards a waiting town car and a panicked-looking young boy who was opening the door while his eyes, wide and frightened, stared at the stack of purple.

Anna held her breath but the woman was able to safely get the boxes into the back seat and she breathed out a sigh of relief at the same time as the boy. The pair of strangers disappeared into the car and it pulled away into traffic. She glanced at where the woman had come from and was surprised to find a combo cafe and bakery.

She pulled out her phone and googled the location. ‘Fjord Flavors Bakery’ popped up on maps but lacked a website or any social media. Anna’s interest spiked, this could be the hidden gem she’s been looking for for her web series.

She walked up to the door at the same time someone did from the other side of the glass. A woman. Tall and blonde, stood inside the shop. She looked at Anna for a moment as if waiting for something before she reached up and flipped the sign on the door to closed. She pointed with a long finger to a faded paper sign with hours before turning her back and walked away.

Anna was left speechless and intrigued, she needed to know more. She attempted to look through the windows at the bakery counter but the lights were flipped off and Anna was left staring at her own reflection.

***

Elsa pushed through the door to the back and hung up her apron. It was quiet now in the back room save for a faint hum from the walk-in fridge.

“Hi sweetie,” Iduna said, opening to door to the apartment upstairs. “I scrubbed the floors and wiped everything down already. You just need to take the trash out.”

“Thanks Mom,” Elsa said, rolling her sleeves up. “What did you want for dinner?”

“Oh, your father really wants Chinese takeout if that’s okay.”

“Yeah, that will work,” Elsa said with a sigh. “I’ll just get my usual. I’ll be up after this.”

“Alright sweetheart, I’ll call Wok The Block.” Her mother disappeared through the door. Elsa took the trash out, wrinkling her nose at the smell and pretending not to see the rats scurrying away from the shared dumpster.

She looked up at the glowing window of the second floor where she shared an apartment with her parents. This wasn’t where she had imagined herself being but life is weird like that.

“Hey dad,” Elsa said as she finally walked into the apartment. “How are you feeling?”

“Oh, I’m doing great honey, I think I can come downstairs and help tomorrow.” Her father replied, his voice raspy.

“That’s great dad.” Elsa forced a small smile, it was the same every day. But he was never well enough the next day. She often flipped between annoyed and missing the man her father used to be before he got sick, before Elsa came back home to help.

  ***

Anna held up a hand to shield her eyes from the early morning bright sun, well early for her anyway. She was making her way back to Fjord Flavors Bakery, she needed to scope it out and make sure they were okay with her filming a vlog in there. Most places had no issue but she always asked anyway.

The bakery was fairly busy with sleepy patrons and frantic-looking folks of intern age. It smelled like a lovely mix of coffee and fresh bread with a hint of sweetness. There were stacks of purple boxes in various sizes on nearly every counter behind the register and the sparking large glass case showcased everything from chocolate moose cake to simple bagels.

Anna was captivated, her eyes darting around the small shop, bouncing from various things in the glass display case to the handwritten menu board. She didn’t notice she was next in line till a warm voice cut through her thoughts.

“What can I get you this morning?”

Anna blinked and chewed on her lip. “Um, a vanilla latte and a—“ She looked over at the case, noticing the blonde woman from last night for the first time. She had a baseball hat pulled down low on her face, hiding most of it in shadow as she moved with an almost floating grace, putting goods in boxes or bags.

“Sweetheart?” The woman at the register asked again. She was older but looked much like the blonde woman, at least from what Anna remembered from the few seconds she saw her on the other side of the glass.

“A chocolate muffin please.”

“Good choice, you can tap your card when you’re ready.”  She didn’t wait for Anna to finish paying before turning around to begin working on Anna’s latte.

As Anna waited for her latte and chocolate muffin, she couldn’t shake the feeling of anticipation that fluttered in her chest. The bustling atmosphere of Fjord Flavors Bakery seemed to envelop her. She pulled out her phone on instinct, realizing at that moment that she forgot to ask about filming, too distracted with the baked goods. And, if she was honest, the younger of the two women behind the counter. Something about her just captivated Anna.

Lost in her thoughts, Anna’s eyes inadvertently met those of the mysterious blonde woman. A brief moment passed between them, a flicker of recognition that left Anna both intrigued and slightly unnerved. The woman’s gaze was penetrating, as if she could see through Anna entirely.

The older woman at the register, likely the mother of the intriguing figure behind the counter, smiled at Anna, snapping her out of the momentary trance. “Sweetheart, your card didn’t go through.”

Anna fumbled for her wallet and tapped her card again, grateful for the distraction. Once the reader beeped the older woman nodded her head and handed over her latte and muffin — enclosed in a little purple bag. Anna stepped away from the counter and took a sip of her latte before turning on one heal — committing before she could change her mind, and approached the younger woman who was still engrossed in her work.

“Hi,” Anna began, her voice carrying a hint of nervousness. “I was here last night, and I’m Anna, and I’m a food blogger. I was wondering if it’s okay for me to film a vlog here. Your bakery is so charming, and I’d love to share it with my audience.”

The blonde woman, her eyes still concealed beneath the shadow of the hat, looked up from her task. There was a pause, a moment of silence that stretched, leaving Anna wondering if she had overstepped a boundary.

But then, to Anna’s surprise, a small smile tugged at the corners of the woman’s lips. “Sure, you can film. Just try not to get in the way too much. We’ve got a busy morning ahead.”

Anna beamed with gratitude, her excitement bubbling over. “Thank you so much! I promise I’ll be quiet as a mouse. Your bakery is truly special, and I want to capture its magic.”

The woman’s smile vanished. “Can you not put my face in your video? You can film my mom, Iduna, she loves attention.”

“Yeah of course, no problem-o uh… I’m sorry I didn’t catch your name.”

“Because I didn’t give it, I usually don’t, but maybe I’ll tell you.” The blonde shrugged and turned around to busy herself with some other task, effectively ending the conversion.

Anna retreated to a corner, setting up her camera and adjusting the frame. The bakery’s ambiance, the hum of activity, and the tantalizing aroma of fresh pastries served as the backdrop for her vlog.

As Anna began recording, she couldn’t help stealing glances at the blonde woman, who continued working with a quiet intensity. The exchange between them felt charged with unspoken intrigue, a dance of curiosity and captivation.

***

Elsa continued her meticulous work behind the counter, arranging pastries with practiced precision. The rhythmic hum of the bakery machinery and the murmur of customers created a familiar symphony around her. She was engrossed in the delicate dance of crafting confections, her mind focused on the artistry of each creation.

The arrival of this new customer, Anna, occupied Elsa’s thoughts. She had observed the woman from beneath the shadow of her hat, curious about the stranger who had locked eyes with her the night before. Elsa’s eyes, sharp and discerning, followed Anna’s movements as she fumbled for her wallet and paid for her order.

Her mother, ever knowing glanced her way and gave her daughter a smirk. Elsa could swear that woman was some kind of mind-reading witch sometimes.

When the woman turned away from the counter, Elsa felt her heart sink a little only to have it completely flip over and she couldn’t help but feel a flutter of anticipation as she approached. There was something about this food blogger, Anna, that piqued her curiosity, a blend of charm and nervous energy that resonated with the essence of the baking itself.

Anna’s voice, smooth and kind sounding, reached Elsa’s ears and rang through them like a gentle song. The request to film a vlog seemed to echo through the busy bakery, and Elsa found herself torn between the desire to share Fjord Flavors’ story and the instinctive need to guard her own privacy.

The moment of silence that followed stretched, and Elsa locked eyes with Anna. The intensity of the gaze exchanged between them held a silent understanding, a recognition of the delicate balance they were navigating. When Anna’s request was met with a small smile, Elsa allowed a fraction of relief to wash over her.

“Sure, you can film. Just try not to get in the way too much. We’ve got a busy morning ahead,” Elsa replied, her tone measured. The decision to allow the filming was not without hesitation, but she couldn’t deny the bakery’s newfound visibility had its benefits. They needed more customers, they were barely breaking even as it was.

Anna’s gratitude beamed like a ray of sunshine, but Elsa’s smile faltered when the request about her face being excluded from the video surfaced. The vulnerability beneath the confident exterior became apparent. “Can you not put my face in your video? You can film my mom, Iduna; she loves attention,” Elsa stated, her voice carrying a mix of firmness and vulnerability.

“Yeah, of course, no problem-o, uh… I’m sorry I didn’t catch your name,” Anna responded, her enthusiasm tempered by the subtle shift in the conversation.

“Because I didn’t give it. I usually don’t, but maybe I’ll tell you,” Elsa said with a shrug, turning her attention back to her tasks. The brief exchange left an air of mystery hanging between them, an unspoken understanding that some stories were meant to be guarded.

As Anna retreated to a corner to set up her camera, Elsa returned to her craft, the dance of creation resuming amidst the inviting aroma of freshly baked pastries. The bakery’s ambiance, now subtly altered by the presence of a camera, continued to weave its magic, leaving Elsa to navigate the intricate dance between visibility and the sanctuary of the shadows.

****

Anna’s vlog unfolded seamlessly, capturing the essence of Fjord Flavors Bakery with a blend of charm and authenticity. Anna highlighted the meticulous craftsmanship behind each pastry, the warm interactions between staff and customers, and the unique charm that set the bakery apart.

The mysterious blonde woman, now a central figure in Anna’s narrative, moved gracefully through the frames, her hands expertly crafting delicate pastries. Anna didn’t realize until she was editing how much footage she got of the woman. That was not like her to make that much B-Roll.

The vlog, however, resonated with Anna’s audience, who eagerly embraced the enchanting story of Fjord Flavors. Within a few hours, it was already set to be one of her top posts. This was truly the hidden gem she had been looking for — she couldn’t wait to get back and film more.

As the week unfolded, the bakery continued to buzz with activity. The patrons, now aware of the filming, exchanged smiles with Anna. The atmosphere was charged with a sense of community, a shared appreciation for the hidden gem that had captured their hearts.

As Anna packed up her equipment, a few days later the older woman approached her, her eyes reflecting a mix of warmth and curiosity. “You’ve got a way of capturing the soul of a place,” she said. “We’re glad to have you share our story.”

Anna smiled, touched by the genuine sentiment. “It’s a special place, and your daughter… she’s something else. There’s a magic about her.”

The older woman’s eyes twinkled knowingly. “Elsa has always had a touch of magic. It’s what makes Fjord Flavors what it is. Don’t tell her father I said that though, he built the place.”

“Elsa,” Anna repeated, tasting the letters for the first time.

“Hmm, I don’t think I was supposed to tell you her name. Silly old me.” Iduna said, failing to hide a smirk. She turned and walked away before Anna could reply, disappearing into the back room.

“Elsa.” Anna repeated to herself as she glanced over to the counter again where Elsa herself was polishing the top of the glass case. Her hat pulled down so low that Anna could only see the very edge of her chin.

***

Elsa wiped her hands on her apron, the remnants of flour clinging to the fabric. The bustling activity of the bakery had quieted as closing time approached. Iduna, joined her behind the counter, offering a weary but affectionate smile.

“Another day is done,” Iduna remarked, her eyes reflecting a mix of exhaustion and resilience.

Elsa nodded, the weight of responsibility settling on her shoulders. “Let’s clean up and head upstairs. Dad’s probably waiting.”

Together, they moved with a practiced efficiency, tidying up the bakery with a shared understanding of the routine. The aroma of the day’s creations lingered in the air, a comforting scent that masked the underlying concerns both women carried.

Once the last tray was stored, Elsa locked the front door. They ascended the narrow staircase that led to the second floor. As they entered the apartment, the atmosphere shifted from the warmth of the bakery to a more intimate, subdued setting. The living room was adorned with family photos and traces of the life they had built together. Soft light illuminated the room, casting a gentle glow.

Elsa’s father was in his favorite chair, a worn blanket draped over his frail shoulders. His eyes, once vibrant, now held a weariness that spoke of battles fought within. Despite his illness, a flicker of a smile appeared and he sat up straighter as he saw Elsa and Iduna enter.

“Hey, Dad,” Elsa greeted, her voice carrying a mix of tenderness and concern. It had been months now and he hadn’t shown any progress. “How was your day?”

He coughed softly, a reminder of the fragility that had settled in and Elsa was painfully reminded that they couldn’t afford the medicine that could help him. “Same as always, sweetheart. You girls working too hard down there?”

Iduna leaned down to kiss his forehead. “You know us, always keeping things running.”

Elsa fetched a glass of water from the kitchen, handing it to her father. As he took a sip, his eyes met Elsa’s, and an unspoken understanding passed between them. The weight of their shared reality hung in the air.

“I’ll start dinner,” Iduna suggested, attempting to infuse the moment with normalcy.

Elsa remained by her father’s side, her hand gently resting on his. “You doing okay, Dad?”

He sighed, his gaze distant. “Just tired, sweetheart. But seeing you and your mother’s faces at the end of the day makes it all worthwhile. Your mother tells me the bakery has been a video-er the last few days.”

“Yes, we’re not paying her but it seems to be helping business.”

“I heard she’s really sweet and pretty and your mother told me I have to tell you to talk to her.” A familiar twinkle danced across her father’s eyes.

“I’ll try Dad.” Elsa replied, not sure how much she believed her own words.

Her father smiled and leaned his head back, closing his eyes. Elsa squeezed his hand, a mixture of love and sorrow coursing through her. The trio settled into the familiar routine of an evening together, finding solace in the shared moments that transcended the challenges they faced.

As the evening unfolded, the soft hum of family echoed through the apartment—a fragile melody that held within it the strength of love, resilience, and the unwavering bond that anchored them in the face of life’s uncertainties.

***

The following week unfolded with a rhythm of anticipation as Anna returned to Fjord Flavors Bakery. The atmosphere had shifted subtly as if the bakery itself recognized the growing curiosity that surrounded it.

Elsa, the elusive figure behind the counter, continued her work with a quiet determination. Her hat pulled low, veiled her expression, leaving Anna to wonder about the stories concealed beneath the surface. The name “Elsa” echoed in Anna’s mind like a secret she was on the verge of unraveling.

As Anna set up her camera for another day of filming, she couldn’t help but feel a magnetic pull toward the enigmatic blonde woman. It was a dance of curiosity and respect, a delicate balance that Anna had grown accustomed to navigating.

The day unfolded with the familiar symphony of Fjord Flavors—the hum of machinery, the aroma of fresh pastries, and the chatter of contented patrons. Anna’s lens captured the intricate details of the bakery, from the artful arrangement of desserts to the interactions between staff and customers.

While filming, Elsa’s hands worked their magic with practiced finesse. The vlog became a canvas, each frame painted with the passion and dedication that Elsa poured into her creations. Anna couldn’t deny the magnetic allure that Elsa exuded, and her camera seemed drawn to the mysterious pastry chef.

As the day wound down and Anna packed up her equipment, Iduna approached once more, her eyes twinkling with a knowing gleam. “You’ve been capturing the essence of Fjord Flavors beautifully, dear. My daughter may be a bit of a mystery, I’m afraid. There’s a reason I suppose, but I think she needs someone to talk to.”

Anna nodded, grateful for the hospitality she had received. “Thank you,” she paused before continuing, weighing her words. “Do you think I’m the person to talk to her? I’m just a vlogger, I can’t say I’m really friends with Elsa.”

Iduna chuckled softly. “Well, dear, I watch your vlogs and I know my daughter,” She looked directly into Anna’s eyes, her expression hard to read. “Sure, sometimes the best stories are the ones left untold. But I have a feeling Elsa might be willing to share a bit more, given the right nudge.” She winked and walked away.

Encouraged by Iduna’s words, Anna glanced over at Elsa, who was now meticulously arranging a display of delicate pastries. The hat cast a shadow over her features. Anna swallowed, she wanted nothing more than to have a meaningful conversation with Elsa. Even with her face covered, the woman drew Anna in like a moth to a flame.

Approaching Elsa with a newfound resolve, Anna couldn’t suppress the curiosity that fueled her, if Elsa was a cliff, she willingly jumped over the edge.

“Elsa?” Anna began.

Elsa jumped and visibly tensed, forcing Anna to fall silent. She turned slowly, cold blue eyes locking with Anna’s. There was fear there, a panic that stirred under the surface. And Anna wanted nothing more than to reach out and calm the storm.

“Elsa?” Anna tried again and was met with a scowl as Elsa rushed forward and placed a hand over her mouth.

“How did you learn my name?” Elsa demanded in a hushed whisper. Anna was distracted by how close their bodies were, never mind the strong hand over her mouth. With Elsa this close she could really see her face and the delicate features, the sharp cheekbones, the soft lips. She was beautiful.

She looked familiar…

Someone cleared their throat on the other side of the bakery and Elsa stepped back, letting her hand fall but her eyes never left Anna.

“Come into the back, we need to talk.”

“Aye aye, Captain,” Anna mumbled, she ran over to her bag and scooped up her belongings before following Elsa behind the counter and through the door into the back room.

***

The back room offered a small reprieve from the prying eyes in the bakery. Elsa closed the door behind them, the muffled sounds of the bakery now distant. She turned to face Anna, the air between them charged with unspoken tension.

Anna broke the silence first. “Okay, spill. Why the secrecy, Elsa? Which, by the way, your mom told me, alright?”

Elsa sighed, feeling the weight of the years of hiding settle on her shoulders. “I’m sorry I touched you without asking, it just caught me off guard and I got scared.” She took off her hat and ran a hand through her hair, letting her bangs fall. “As for the name thing… well, that’s on me. I should’ve been more careful I guess. But the secrecy, it’s a long story.”

Anna grinned, and Elsa could sense her eagerness and curiosity. “Long stories are my specialty. Lay it on me.”

Elsa motioned for Anna to sit at a small well-worn table in the corner. The old chair creaked as she sat down and gathered her thoughts, her gaze fixed on the floor. She was so tired of hiding, but so scared of being open. Yet this weird nerdy girl with a camera that kept coming back day after day had worn down a wall. And Elsa felt this urge to open up to her. Anna felt safe, and she liked that feeling.

With a sigh, she decided to just open the floodgates and see what happened. “I used to be a TV chef, you know? A pretty famous one, actually,” Elsa began, the memories stirring a mix of nostalgia and regret. “I had my own cooking show, traveled the world, won awards. It was everything I thought I wanted.”

Anna’s eyes widened with genuine surprise. “You were a TV chef? Seriously? That’s amazing! That’s why you look so familiar, I used to watch your shows. I was so upset you lost Iron Chef, that judge was stupid. Why’d you stop?”

Elsa sighed again, the weight of the past pressing upon her. “It’s a glamorous life, but it comes at a cost. The constant scrutiny, the pressure to maintain an image. I felt like I was losing myself. And then my dad got sick. So, one day, I decided to step away. I came back here, to my family’s bakery.”

Anna’s excitement tempered with understanding. “But why the secrecy? You could’ve been a sensation, Elsa! People would love to know the famous TV chef behind Fjord Flavors.”

Elsa’s eyes met Anna’s, revealing a vulnerability that went beyond the façade she had carefully crafted. “I don’t want the fame, Anna. I found solace here, away from the spotlight. I wanted to be able to focus on my dad and help him, and I did till my money ran out.” She picked at a piece of dried flour on her apron. I didn’t want people to see the TV chef; I didn’t want the food critics coming here and tearing this place apart just because I was famous. I just wanted them to enjoy the pastries.”

Anna nodded, absorbing the sincerity in Elsa’s words. “You’re not just hiding from the world; you’re hiding from your past. From who you used to be.”

Elsa simply nodded.

Anna’s gaze softened “You know, Elsa, I get it. Fame isn’t always what it’s cracked up to be. But your story, it’s captivating. People would understand.”

Elsa offered a small, appreciative smile and stood up. “Wait here.” She ran up the stairs into the apartment, pausing to check on her father who was softly snoring away. After grabbing the box she was looking for she ran back downstairs to find Anna looking around at the various machines.

“Look, I don’t know if this is the right thing or not, but if anyone was going to break the news that Chef Elsa has been here in this little bakery, I want it to be you.” Elsa held out the box to Anna who took it with a confused look.

“What’s this?”

“It’s a bunch of my old TV stuff, tapes, and photos, things you can use in your video. Everything in that box is all yours, consider it a gift.”

“No Elsa, I can’t take this,” Anna said, handing the box back. “You kept your privacy for so long, why now suddenly?”

“Because maybe you’re right. I thought people would judge me. But as you pointed out, people would understand. And I’m selfish for not using my fame to help my dad. So here we are.”

“Okay, but I have a better idea than I box of the past.” Anna bit her lip and looked up at the ceiling.  “Two things, first, let’s let up an interview and I’ll film it. Second, let’s go on a date, get dressed up, have some drinks, and just talk about whatever.”

A warm feeling bubbled up inside Elsa and she couldn’t help but smile. “You mean that?”

“Well yeah, I have my camera stuff with me.”

“No, about the date?”

Anna’s face turned bright red. “Oh I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have overstepped, I just thought that uh… I’m sorry.”

“Hush, I would love to go on a date with you. I’ve been waiting for you to ask.”

[the-stove-is-on-fire]

Ectober Week, Day 4: Darkness/Poison 

Danny would like to show you something

CLICK THE IMAGE :))))

[Edit 2021-07-09: Added light and dark versions under the cut so folks in night mode can see the difference. And bonus OG sketches just for fun :D]

Light -> Dark

The shadows on his face were probably the most technically difficult piece but I had a lot of fun figuring it out. Getting all the different levels of transparency to work right was SO satisfying. 

Original sketch idea below; I had to change up my colours a bit so the transparency trick would work. While I was at it I decided to give him a core glow and some will-o’-the-wisp friends because they were a really cool reveal. I also decided to have him look a bit cheeky instead of seeming so serious. Though, the og dark version has a very appealing creepy factor I enjoy.

[father-time-and-baby-new-year]

OFF WITH YOUR HEAD

PART 2 OF HEADS WILL ROLL

SYNOPSIS: Whenever school is in session, Eren will just keep finding new places to corner you.

PAIRING: BULLY! EREN x FEM! READER

DEDICATED TO: you guys, always you guys.

WARNINGS: unedited, slight dubcon, groping, degradation, bullying,

WORD COUNT: 2.4K

Gooooood Morning Paradis Birds! Remember to give a big round of applause to the football team for clutching the victory against reigning champion Marley High! We stay undefeated thanks to our excellent and hardworking team. Special shoutout to Captain Eren Yeager for guiding the team to another flawless victory-

You're half-heartedly paying attention to class, sleepily listening to the school announcements over the speaker until the mention of his name douses you like a shock of ice-cold water.

You can't catch the rest of the announcement because your class erupts into cheer, enthusiastically clapping their hands for the boy of the hour.

The only one not joining is you.

Eren's smile is brighter than 100 kilowatts. In the back of your mind, you wonder where he learned to smile like that. When his emotions became so practiced.

Mr.Berner tries to calm the kids down, especially Sasha who bangs on her desks and howls, creating even more hype and ruckus. The class, now in a chattier mode, excitedly breaks into little conversations.

"Man, thank god. That school is so pretentious, I'm glad we finally have something over them."

"Jeez, I know our team was good, but it's this good-?"

"-Bro, year of XXXX is stacked as fuck. It's literally never been this stacked before. We have a whole team of prodigies, it's insane-especially Eren. "

"Yepp. My dad went to Paradis too and he said shit like this never happened during his time. The academic comps were one thing, but these footballs wins? We're being put on the fucking map."

The announcements are still going on, but it's hard to hear over the noise. You're only able to catch the tail end, a useless tidbit about the word of the day.

pre·mo·ni·tion a strong feeling that something is about to happen, especially something unpleasant. Here is an example: "She had a premonition of imminent disaster" Have a good day folks, hope it's free of any premonitions!

Overhearing the unceasing praise of the boy who pinched your thighs until they bruise blue and purple was a little painful-but you were used to it. After all, he's putting Paradis on the map. Whatever the fuck that means.

While you didn't love sharing this class with him, he was seated far across the room and surrounded by a gaggle of friends. You might as well have been invisible, the way he did not acknowledge you. Maybe you should treat it as a small mercy.

Unwittingly, your eyelids grow heavy. You're sitting in the back of the class, no one would notice if you took a little nap right? Assured by the fact no one will notice, you lower your head into your folded arms and let your thoughts float.

You dream of vaguely nothing but shadows of smiles, tufts of dark hair, and the smell of the wind at sea until a noise confined to the shape of your name breaks the harmony.

"[y/n?]"

"[y/n?]"

You startle awake with pairs of eyes piercing their gazes at you. Swallowing thickly, you apologize to Mr.Berner who looks worried. He's a good teacher, and one of your favorites.

"I'm sorry Mr.Berner. I had a migraine so I laid my head down." You lie smoothly, with more grace than you knew you were capable of. Course, you could have just said you were taking an unprompted nap, but that would disappoint your lovely teacher.

He sighs, "Guess that can't be helped then. Go to the nurse ok?"

Bingo. The nurse was an understanding lady, she'd let you sleep the rest of the period off. You nod, and start to gather your materials, relieved the class' attention on you was beginning to dwindle.

"Wait, Mr.Berner, let me take her. What if she gets disoriented and falls in the hall?"

Fuuuuck. You should have known. You should have expected this because attached to the request dripping with faux concern was none other than the precious jewel of the kingdom. Eren's intrusion makes your peers perk up again at the scene unfolding in front of them.

You smile, lips tightly pressed, "I'll be fine. I don't want to distract anyone from the lesson and it's a short walk-

"It's still potentially dangerous.", Your teacher interrupts, pinching the bridge of the nose, "And while I'm completely surprised by Eren's sudden streak of altruism, he's right. Something could happen. He'll take you there safely."

A very convenient streak of altruism, all right. You think it over in your head, yeah the nurses' office is right down the hall, and once you're there, he'll leave. Sure, he'll taunt you but you can handle a few minutes worth of cruelty.

It's awkward getting up, and walking in front of the class while Eren props the door open like a gentleman. You know what a sharp contrast it must look like, you and him, you cowering into yourself, not meeting any eyes while he stands tall and confident.

"Do you have everything?" His tone is one of reassurance, and for the barest of the moments, feels too familiar. You know he's not being genuine right now, and for the first time, you question if he was genuine back then.

"You can hold onto my arm if you're too dizzy to walk." He says as you guys slip out of the classroom, purposefully a little too loudly. You hear coos from girls and a stray "She's so lucky!"

He must have heard it too, because he lowers his head to whisper into your ear, "Yeah, very lucky, aren't you?" Wisps of dark hair tickle your cheeks. You see the glint of tiny silver hoops and wonder when he had gotten his ears pierced. The illusion breaks and the performative charming prince's reassuring smile is replaced by a sneer.

"Didn't know you could lie like that, by the way. Some good girl you are if you're trying to ditch class like this." Fingers dig deep into your waist as he drags you along the empty hallway that seems to stretch on for miles.

Your breath gets stuck in your throat, "How did you know I was lying?"

Viridian eyes narrow, "I've seen you get migraines before." There's a knock on your heart. As if realizing he was talking about something far away ago, a vindictive edge laces into words pouring out of his mouth, "I bet you wanted this to happen, didn't you? Wanted to get us all alone."

He's trying to get a rise out of you, that much is obvious. So you ignore him to the best of your ability.

...which quickly proved to be futile, as you suddenly find your arm pinned to your back, and your front facing the nearest walls.

"I asked you a fucking question bitch." He's practically growling, "Fucking answer me."

If there was a world record for the shortest temper, best believe Eren Yeager will have collected that accolade too. He's getting too worked up, and you could definitely feel his harness poking the back on your ass, as he grinds into you.

You manage to crane your neck, wanting to have your face shoved into the wall, and then venomously spit out, "You're not looking for answers. You just want me to repeat whatever you think is true."

This position brings back flashbacks to the library when he caged you in against the bookshelves, and like then, he spins you around to face him quite abruptly.

His smile is full of sharp teeth, "No. I know I'm right."

You don't respond. He moves in closer, his breath fanning on your earlobes. Your body can't help but let an involuntary shudder, and you close your eyes, not wanting to see his pleased grin or the way the fluorescent light makes his hoops gleam like silver bullets.

One calloused finger flicks your nipple, "Do you want to know why I'm right?"

At your lack of response, the dark-haired boy rolls your nipple in between his fingers before pinching it painfully, eliciting a small whimper out of your fuckable lips. "N-no", you answer finally. You're wearing your thinnest bra because of the seasonal heat, and you can't help but regret that decision right now. The fact he's only paying attention to one of your nipples is driving you insane. Not that you want it, but you're so fucking sensitive right now. You struggle in his hold, causing him to hold you tighter, and by now his nails were probably embedded into your skin.

He chuckles at your honesty, rewarding you with a thick stripe of his tongue over the collared shirt of your uniform making you gasp. Did he just-, over your shirt too-, you look down and see a very visible wet spot.

Taking advantage of your distracted state, a eager hand snakes under your skirt until it settles in the middle of your panties. He licks your earlobe before speaking, his voice like ice under your heels.

"You were so fucking wet that day in the library while saying you hated me the entire time," he pauses as his fingers scissor you through your panties, as if to drive the message home, "About as wet as you are right now."

There's a wet spot there too, also caused by him. You crush your eyes shut, "Eren...please just take me to the nurse." You're not even struggling anymore, holding onto him out of your own accord, worried that if you don't hold onto anything-you'd fall on your knees.

The very headache you lied about having seemed not so non-existent after all.

Eren hooks his arms under the plush of your thighs, "Yeah. Of course, that's what I came to do, right?"

*

You had hoped you'd be granted a reprieve in the nurses' office but you'd forgotten that luck was never really in your favor. Because while you guys had entered the squeaky-clean office, the nurse was nowhere in sight.

Instead, a note sat on her desk in unassuming frilly cursive that Eren read with glee.

Sorry students! Minor emergency to take care of, and I'll be back by the middle of the next period. If you're badly hurt, see Mr.Ackerman in room 203. If not, just sit tight! Feel free to take up the beds.

Thank you,

Ms.Ral

Eren had turned to you with shining green eyes, "Since no one's here, I guess I'll have to keep you company. Don't want you to hurt yourself."

There was something claustrophobic about how Eren stood in front of the door as if to signify to get out of here, you had to get through him.

"Maybe I can get Mr.Ackerman..."

Eren's sudden bout of laughter makes you wince and retreat inside of yourself, "For what? A fake headache? You really wanna inconvenience him like that? Mr.Ackerman?"

You take slow steps backward until the back of your knees hit the school bed, making you stumble as you clumsily take a seat. Eren's been marching forward with every retreating step you took, and it's no surprise when he pushes you down the bed, strong hands on the side of your head, while his muscular legs force your thighs apart so he can settle himself in between.

"We have some time to kill, you know." Strands of dark hair fall into his eyes, and without thinking, you reach upwards to brush them aside.

He grips your wrist before you make it that far, nearly gritting out a "What are you doing?"

You just stare, not really knowing why that was your impulse either. Finally, you mouth out, "I want you to leave Eren."

The grip on your wrist is tighter than ever, and you very well know that you're going to have new finger-shaped bruises before the old ones even finish healing.

"And I want to stay." He punctuates each word slowly, and all you can think is how being pinned to a bed is much less painful than having the hard surface of wood digging onto your back.

You're fully aware of the heat in your core, and having Eren on top of you doesn't make this it any easier because fuck, he is attractive. Maddeningly so. And maybe you want him to go away so bad because you're afraid that if his fingers are caught inside of you, you'll thank him for it.

As if reading your mind, he lets go of your wrist (making a mental note of your sluggish movements and slipping resistance) and massages your warm hole from your panties.

"Eren please" You grit out. He merely chuckles, "What are you asking for, whore?"

You could feel tears threatening to fall. This was so embarrassing. Did you want this? Yes, yes. yes, yes. You were so wet right now and had enough of the teasing.

He alternated his kneading from slow and soft to fast and rough, and you couldn't help but let out the prettiest little moans Eren's ever heard. Since you lose all pretenses of resistance, his other hand roughly brushes against your hardened nipples, straining against the fabric of your shirt.

Okay, he decided. He's going to make you beg.

"Beg." It's announced like a command, and while you hear it, you don't really register it because your hips are busy chasing the heat, and it's all too much of an utter disappointment when his long thin fingers leave.

"I said beg slut."

"Eren, please, please. I need you so bad." You're blubbering and you don't care. You just want his pretty fingers to shove aside your panties and rub against your folds. You think back to the library, how wet you were, how the stupid fucking phone call from his coach interrupted him pumping his fingers inside of you. And you didn't know if you were happy or mad he left. But now, all you crave is the blissful wave of pleasure- the very pleasure he's been denying you.

Eren looks down at you, green eyes scrutinizing. After a long while of what it seems to be him just staring, he wipes his fingers on your skirt, brushes back his hair with a wayward hand.

"Looks like I should head back to class. See you later."

Too numb to say anything, you watch him leave with a smirk on his face. When you're sure he's walked away, you curl into yourself and cry.

[wishuhadstayed]

Yours

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x reader

Word Count: 2.9k 😳

Summary: Aaron and reader get married 🥺 Part 6 to Begin Again

Warnings: None, although I did make myself cry on several occasions

Author’s Note: it’s wedding time, folks. A thought both @yes-sir-hotchner and I had. (We share the same brain cell 😂) Inspired by a post from the wonderful @agenthotchner.

Previous chapter Next Chapter

Masterlist

It had been just a few short months since Aaron’s surprise proposal, after which the two of you had made a mutual decision to get married as soon as possible. The team had been delighted by the news, Penelope immediately jumping into full maid of honor mode. Rossi, being the most caring and generous friend out there, had insisted on taking care of everything and wouldn’t take no for an answer; even going so far as to offer his house for the venue.

Sitting in a luxurious upstairs room of the Rossi home, and being doted upon by your friends, you couldn’t help but feel a little like a princess for the first time since you couldn’t remember when. The day was finally here that you officially got to spend forever with the man of your dreams. Even after all this time, sometimes it still felt too good to be true.

Gazing out an open window, you could see backyard where the ceremony was to be held in just a few short hours and your heart began to race. You were snapped back to the present moment by the sound of your best friend’s voice.

“Earth to Y/N! Come in, Y/N!” She said, waving her hands in front of your face.

“I’m sorry, I got distracted. What was the question?”

“Your lipstick hon, what color?”

“Whatever color you think is best, Penny. I trust you to make me look beautiful.”

“You always look beautiful,” chimes in a voice from across the room.

“Thank you, Emily.”

Penelope finished off your makeup with waterproof mascara and JJ stepped in to put the final touches on your hair with delicate pearl hairpins.

As the hours passed and the final preparations were made, you could feel the nerves building.

Penelope, Emily, and JJ all helped you into your dress; a beautiful white gown with off the shoulder lace sleeves, a fitted lace covered bodice, and lace trim around the bottom of the full skirt. You were truly a sight to behold. Buttoning up the back of the gown, JJ asks, “You’ve been pretty quiet, Y/N. Is everything okay?”

“It’s just nerves, I think.” you reply. “I’d really like to see Aaron.”

“See Aaron before the wedding?” Penelope interjects, “You can’t! It’s bad luck!”

You knew there was no arguing with her and your spirits sank a little, disappointment written all over your face.

“What if we got Jack instead?” Offers JJ. “Would that help?”

Thinking it over, you give a small smile and a nod. “Yes, I think I’d like that. Thank you, JJ.”

“I’ll call Morgan and have them come up.”

Five minutes later, a knock at the door.

“I’ll get it,” you say, opening it before anyone can protest.

There stands Derek Morgan with the boy you’ve come to love as your own.

“You look amazing,” says Morgan taking in the sight of you with wide eyes. “Hotch is a lucky man.”

“Thank you, Derek.” You reply, giving him a tight hug. Pulling back and taking him by the hand, you make a request. “Will you tell him that I love him, and that I’ll see him soon?”

“Anything for you, lovely,” he says with a playful grin.

“You’re a good friend, Derek.”

With that, he retreats back downstairs to deliver your message, leaving Jack with you. Just having him there was already soothing your frayed nerves. Ushering him inside you ask, “How’s my handsome ring bearer? You’re not nervous are you?”

“No! I’m gonna do a great job, I promise! You look real pretty, just like a princess.”

“You are so sweet, little man. I know you’ll do amazing.”

“Y/N?”

“What is it, Jack?” You inquire, kneeling down to his level.

“Can I call you mom now?”

The question took you quite by surprise, causing tears to well up in your eyes.

“Do you want to?”

“Yeah, if it’s okay with you. I miss having a mom.”

Those few words are enough to break the dam and tears began to stream as you pulled the boy in for a hug. “Of course it’s okay with me.” you manage to choke out.

“Mom! Mom!” Jack squeaks.

“Yeah buddy?”

“You’re squeezing me too hard, I can’t breathe.”

Loosening your grip, you apologize.

“Don’t cry, everything’s gonna be okay,” Jack says reassuringly. Man, he is so much like his father.

“I’m crying because I’m happy, Jack. I just love you and your dad so much.”

“I love you too, Mama.”

“I hate to break up this sweet family moment,” Penelope cuts in, “But it’s almost time to get this show on the road. Jack I’ll take you back down to your dad.” Handing you a tissue, she makes her exit.

Emily and JJ sweep the room making sure nothing is left behind. “We’ve got to go,” says JJ, grabbing Emily by the arm and making her way to the door. “You look perfect, Rossi should be up soon. Love you.”

Sitting down for a moment, you gently pat your eyes dry. At least your mascara held up. In the quiet it finally began to sink in how all your wildest dreams were coming to life right before you eyes.

When the door opened again, there was Dave. Handing over your bouquet of pink roses he asks, “You ready for this, kid?”

“Absolutely,” you reply with a childlike grin.

He offers his arm and you rest your hand in the crook of his elbow, infinitely grateful for the fatherly presence.

“Then let’s get this party started.”

As the two of you arrived downstairs at the back door, you hear the processional music already playing. Luckily you had made it just in time for Rossi to give Jack his official ring-bearing instructions.

“Alright Jack. You know what to do. Just walk straight down to the end and give the rings to Derek. Then you can sit down with your Aunt Jess, okay?”

“Got it,” says Jack, giving a thumbs up.

“Go get ‘em kid,” Rossi encourages, opening the door.

Now it’s just the two of you left indoors. Rossi watches until Jack finishes his assigned duty and makes his way back to you as the music changes.

“That’s our cue,” he states, once again offering his arm.

——————————————————————————

Aaron hadn’t been nervous at all until that moment. When the music changed and the guests stood in preparation for your entrance, his hands began to shake.

“You alright, man?” Morgan inquires.

“Yeah, I’m just ready to have Y/N by my side.”

Just as he turned back from the short conversation, the double doors swung open and you made your entrance.

With the first glimpse of your radiant smile, he was immediately overwhelmed with emotion and moved to tears. Only somewhat managing to regain his composure, he took in every detail as you approached. The delicate lace of your gown, the afternoon sun making a halo of light on his own personal angel. A bouquet of perfect pink roses, just like the ones he had given you after your rudely interrupted second date. Time seemed to slow down, the walk that was in reality only a couple of minutes stretched into ages as he longed to have you near.

Then when your eyes finally met his with a look of pure love, all was right with the world.

At the end of the aisle, Rossi turns to you with one simple request.

“Take good care of our man.”

“I will,” you promise, giving the older man a kiss on the cheek before joining Aaron at the altar. Producing a handkerchief, you gently dried the remaining tears from his ever handsome face.

“Hey You,” he intones softly, hand grazing the side of your face. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

The rest of the world seems to fade away as the minister begins the service and the two of you are lost in each other’s eyes.

“The couple have chosen to write their own vows,” the minister states, snapping you both back to attention. “Y/N?”

Softly clearing your throat and looking deep into Aaron’s warm brown eyes, you begin.

“Aaron, If someone had told me over a year ago that I would be marrying a man that I met on a blind date set up by my best friend, I would have said that they were crazy. I had all but given up on finding true love. I went anyway. And everyday since, I thank God that I did. If it hadn’t been for that blind date, I would have never met the love of my life. I would have never met the most amazing group of friends that turned into family, who are standing by our sides even now. I would have never gained the most wonderful, loving little boy who I now get the privilege of calling my son. I promise that I will love both of you always. I promise that I will always be there, no matter how difficult the road becomes. And if you must venture into the darkness, I promise to always bring you back to the light”

Sniffling back tears, and taking a moment to gather his thoughts, Aaron speaks.

“Y/N, the long road that led me to you was full of heartache. When I met you, all of that changed for the better. Everyone says that I’m lucky to have you, but to be honest, I don’t feel lucky. I feel blessed. Every day with you is a blessing and a gift. There’s not a day that I’m not thankful for every pain and every heartache that I’ve been through, because without that journey, I would never have made it here to you. I’m not sure how it’s possible, but I fall a little more in love with you every day. When I’m finished with a long case, your arms feel like home. You’re the comfort for my weary soul when the world gets rough. I promise to spend the rest of my days loving you and hoping that it amounts to even a fraction of what you’ve shown to me.”

When you both looked up, there wasn’t a dry eye in the house.

Morgan hands Aaron the velvet pillow and you quickly exchange rings, suddenly anxious for the upcoming part of the ceremony.

The voice of the minister rings out once again.

“By the power vested in me by the state of Virginia, I now pronounce you husband and wife! Aaron, you may kiss your bride.”

Cheers rang out from the crowd as he pulled you in for a long, warm kiss. Probably too long for a wedding, but with the heart-stopping heat that clouded your minds, neither of you cared much.

As you come up for air, Aaron literally sweeps you off your feet, carrying you to the reception area. As you wait for the guests to make their way over, it finally sinks in. You’re finally married to your one true love.

As soon as the guests are all seated, dinner is served. Then before you could even blink, it’s time for speeches. Penelope taps her glass with a fork, capturing the attention of the room.

“We are gathered here today to celebrate two of our favorite people on the joyous occasion of their marriage. I would like to remind everyone that this is all my doing. If I hadn’t taken the liberty of setting these two sweet little lovebirds up on a blind date, we probably wouldn’t be here today. You’re welcome,” she says turning to face the two of you. “But in all seriousness, I think I speak for everyone when I say that we wish you a lifetime of love and happiness.”

Handing the mic over to Rossi, Penelope is seated.

“Where do I start?” He laughs. “I’ve known Aaron probably longer than anyone here. He’s always been more than just a good man. He is a loyal friend, and a great dad for Jack. If anyone in the world deserves true happiness, it’s this guy,” he says, placing a hand your husband’s shoulder. “We’ve seen your relationship with Y/N flourish and come to love her as one of our own. I can confidently say that she will a loving mother, and a caring, patient wife. I wish every blessing for the both of you from this moment forward.”

Rising from your seats to hug your two friends, you’re reminded by Penelope that’s time for your first dance. Taking you gently by the hand, Aaron leads you to the middle of the empty dance floor. With everyone watching your heart begins to race until Aaron pulls you close. The nerves melt away as you rest your head on his chest and his arms circle your waist. The two of you sway softly as the music begins:

We could leave the Christmas lights up ‘til January

This is our place, we make the rules

And there’s a dazzling haze, a mysterious way about you, dear

Have I known you 20 seconds, or 20 years?

As the song goes continues and you look into his eyes so full of love, you can’t help but sing along.

Can I go where you go?

Can we always be this close

Forever and ever?

Take me out, and take me home.

You’re my, my, my, my.... Lover.

Listening to the words you’re singing, he can’t help but fall in love all over.

My heart’s been borrowed and your has been blue

All’s well that ends well to end up with you

Swear to be overdramtic and true to my.... Lover

You pour you heart out in song, desperately hoping that Aaron knows how much you mean every word. He does. The sincerity is written all over your lovely face.

As the music slowly winds down, the guest begin to join the two of you on the dance floor.

Tapping Aaron on the shoulder, Rossi cuts in for his turn. You manage to dance with everyone, even Reid, reluctant though he may be. The whole team was having a great time, laughing and dancing when Penelope had to slip back into maid of honor mode. Grabbing both you and Aaron by the wrist she all but drags you to the table.

Approaching the cake, you grab the slicer with your right hand. Pressing closely against your back and giving you a soft kiss on the cheek, Aaron covers your hand with his. After cutting two small slices, you turn to face each other. Taking a piece in hand you raise it to Aaron and he opens his mouth just before you smear it across his unsuspecting face.

Closing his eyes and trying hard not to laugh, he responds.

“Oh so that’s how it’s gonna be, huh?”

“Yep!” you tease gleefully. “What are you gonna do about it, Mister?”

“This!” He exclaims, returning the favor and smashing the cake in your face.

“Really should have seen that one coming,” you muse.

“Yeah you should have.”

At that moment he pulls you close, pressing his soft lips to yours for the sweetest kiss ever known to mankind and the room burts into a fresh round of cheers.

The two of you scurried off to get cleaned up, and when you make your return, Penelope is waiting with your next task. A car is waiting to take you to the airport for your honeymoon. It’s time to go.

You make your rounds saying goodbye as everyone makes their way out for your final exit. One last song comes on as you make your way out and Aaron holds you close, singing in his perfect deep voice as you stroll through thrown confetti:

I was a boat stuck in a bottle

That never got the chance to touch the sea

But I came to life when I first kissed you

The best me has his arms around you

You make me better than I was before

Thank God I’m yours

The worst me is just a long gone memory

You put a new heartbeat inside of me

You make me better than I was before

Thank God I’m yours

By the time you made it to car and sat down you were in tears for probably the tenth time that night, you’d lost count.

The car was just about to pull away when Emily sprinted up to the door. Leaning down, she spoke to both of you.

“Hey you crazy kids, have fun! And remember, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

“Emily there’s nothing you wouldn’t do,” returns Aaron, catching you by surprise.

“Exactly,” she replies, slamming the door and slapping the roof of the car. You could have sworn you saw a wink.

As the car pulls away, the two of you get your first truly private moment of the night to process what just happened.

Snuggled close to Aaron’s left side, your head rests on his chest and his left arm drapes around your shoulder.

“We’re married,” you state, reaching to touch the gold band on his left ring finger.

“Yes we are,” he whispers, softly pressing a kiss to your temple.

“You’re my husband,”

“Uh huh,” he agrees, gently stroking your hair.

Looking up into his gorgeous face you confess once more, “I love you, Aaron Hotchner.”

After a slight pause, he replies with a smirk,

“I love you more.... Mrs. Hotchner.”

Tag list: @ange-must-die @agenthotchner @yes-sir-hotchner @hotchner-carisi @hotchners-slut @arganfics @ladyreapermc @rousethemouse @dr-reid-ismyspiritanimal @tgibstan @themanip @word-scribbless @quillvine @whoredonlightfoot @miss-united-ace

[angst-fairygodmother]

Tinsel: First Christmas (A Light Fingers Christmas Special pt 1/2)

Y/N and Diego spend their first holiday as a married couple. And maybe a few siblings drop in along the way. A/N: AKA an excuse for me to write cute domestic fluff for them.  Word Count: 1756 Cross-posted to AO3: here

You leaned in, draping yourself over the back of the couch to wrap your arms around Diego’s shoulders and plant a kiss on his cheek. He smiled, turning to you and kissing you properly, until you pulled away, knowing him and his propensity for pulling you down into his lap and too busy for what that would lead to.

“I was thinking,” you said, eyes dancing. “That since this is our first year together and we’re all, ya know, married,” you dropped your voice so it was low and teasing and grinned as you said the word, “that we should do something for Christmas. Assuming you celebrate Christmas. Oh god, I married you and I don’t even know your religious beliefs or stance on denominational holidays…”

He reached up, gently removing one arm from around him so that he could lace his fingers through yours and kiss the inside of your wrist. The gesture had an instant calming effect, and you sighed, smiling softly at him.

“Dad was never one for holidays or any of that. But I can celebrate Christmas if you want,” he said, smiling back.

“I don’t want to force it on you. We could do Hanukkah, or Kwanzaa, or we don’t have to celebrate if--”

“Christmas sounds nice, baby. What do you want to do for it?”

“Well...we could decorate, maybe get a little tree for the corner. Exchange presents obviously. Have some people over for dinner?”

Diego waited expectantly, knowing that if he gave you a moment, you would continue to explain without prompt. 

“I was thinking Patch, and Daniel obviously. And he’ll bring Amelia. And if you wanted we could try and reach out to your siblings?” You scrunched up your nose and gave him a half-hopeful, half-nervous questioning look.

“None of them will come,” he replied sourly, annoyed at them for risking ruining your excitement even though they hadn’t actually done anything.

“It still couldn’t hurt to offer right? If we can even get a hold of them? Christmas should be about family and hope and goodness. It might be the start of a new beginning?”

He sighed. “I don’t know about all of them, but…” he looked into your shining eyes, trying not to get distracted and dazzled by how his heart fluttered when you looked at him like that, “we can try.”

“Yay!” you cheered, swiftly giving him another kiss on the cheek before straightening up with a bounce, immediately shifting into planning mode. 

~

Eventually you had decided on having the party the weekend before Christmas, hoping that everyone would have the time off and no other plans. Now, the night in question had finally come, and you felt your stomach twist in nervous knots. What if no one came? What if it all went horribly wrong? This might well be Diego’s first real Christmas, and you was terrified to ruin it. 

Tracking down Diego’s siblings had been difficult to say the least. Allison was on the other side of the country but apologized, somewhat insincerely, for not being able to attend. Vanya had said she’d think about it, but that it might be awkward considering where she stood with the rest of them. Luther had huffed that their mother wasn’t available and hung up when you identified yourself as a friend of Diego’s, not even giving you a chance to extend the invitation, and then no one at the Umbrella Academy would answer after that. Klaus was a leaf on the wind, and though you had put feelers out through your connections, there was no definite answer to be had as to his location or possible interest. 

Finding a place to host had been another challenge, since there was no way your apartment was big enough for even the reduced guestlist to be comfortable. It had taken a lot of cajoling and pleading, a few bribes (with both cash and an invitation), and a promise to never ask him for anything again, but eventually you convinced Al to let you hold dinner at The Fighting Lion. Which was a perfect space, but required more planning to get the food and decorations there. 

But you had done everything you could, and decorated your home on top of that. And now it was time to see if it paid off. 

“Relax,” Diego said, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close and pressing a kiss to your temple. “It looks perfect.” 

You looked around at the twinkling rainbow lights and the strings of blue and silver garland, the fake tree you had set up in the center of the ring, and the red crepe-paper covered table and smiled. 

“I did do a good job didn’t I?” you asked, snuggling into his side. The motion was enough to press the little button that caused his sweater to light up and start playing music.

“I can’t believe you actually bought and willingly wore this monstrosity,” you laughed, wincing at the very tinny instrumental cover of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer in your ear.

“Isn’t a tacky sweater part of the whole experience?” he answered with a smirk. 

You shook your head, jingle bell earrings mixing with your laughter in one of the most beautiful symphonies Diego had ever heard. 

“Sure, but there’s tacky and then there’s that.” You stretched up to kiss his cheek. “It’s cute.”

A low whistle from near the door made them jump, both of them tensing before they realized it was just the surly gym owner. 

“I’m almost impressed. Wouldn’t have recognized my own place,” he quipped.

One by one, you greeted your guests, first your brother and future sister-in-law and then Patch, as they arrived. Diego hung back, feeling suddenly uncomfortable, though Patch wouldn’t let him get away without a hug and Daniel shook his hand, firm but not unfriendly. He felt like he had no idea what to do at a Christmas party, and was overwhelmed by the strange need to draw you back to his side as if he could hide himself in you.

“I think that’s everyone, so we can get dinner started,” you announced once folks had settled in. “Diego, you wanna help me get the food?”

“Oh no, Y/N, let me,” Amelia said, standing up with a smile. “They were just about to start up a conversation on workout routines.”

“Well, I wouldn't want to interrupt that,” you laughed. “Sure, Amelia, that’d be great.”

Once the food was laid out, practically a feast for an army your brother teased, everyone gathered around and the conversation and laughter flowed like wine. You were pleasantly surprised to find Daniel and Diego getting along swimmingly and felt yourself relax, looking around at this strange little family the two of you had built. 

~

Suddenly, as dinner was winding down but you had judged it wasn’t quite time for pie, the doors of the gym burst open, a chill wind whistling through. Patch tensed, hand instinctively going to her waist even though she was off-duty and unarmed. Diego slid a knife out of some holster you had managed to miss (because of course he couldn’t even come to a party without at least one knife). Daniel and Amelia looked at each other nervously. Al, several cups of eggnog in, didn't seem to notice the disturbance. 

“I’ve got this,” you murmured, resting your hand over Diego’s briefly before standing and circling the ring. “I’m sure it’s nothing…”

You frowned in confusion at the sight that greeted you. Standing in the doorway was a tall, dark-haired man, totally out of place and fidgeting uncomfortably. He was dressed in clothing that seemed highly inappropriate for the weather or season: a black sheer top, leather pants that laced up the leg, and a scarf clearly more intended for fashion (though at least it was a festive green with threads of silver glitter she supposed) than warmth. Only his long, fur-lined overcoat gave the impression he was even aware it was wintertime and that the temperature hadn’t been above freezing in days.

“Hello?” you asked, frowning in confusion at the strange man. “Can I help you?”

“Hello,” he sing-songed with a wave of a hand that also said the word. 

You squirmed slightly, feeling deeply uncomfortable under his shrewd gaze, clearly sizing you up. Then, with speed and strength far greater than should have been possible for his size and the restrictive nature of his clothing, he had crossed the room and wrapped his arms around you, lifting you from the ground in...a hug? Involuntarily you shrieked in surprise, and footsteps echoed behind as everyone at the party came running. 

“Klaus?!” Diego shouted angrily.

“Oh,” you breathed, suddenly understanding who this strange man was and feeling overwhelmed with joy. Somehow, the message had gotten to him, and he’d showed up. A true Christmas miracle. “It’s very nice to meet you, but would you mind...putting me down?”

Gently, Diego’s brother set you back on your feet, brushing the wrinkles out of your sleeves before you did the same to your skirt. Everyone else in the room relaxed, except your husband who was still glaring. 

“You missed dinner, but I think there’s some left, and we were about to have pie,” you offered awkwardly, guiding the suddenly much more uncomfortable party back to the table. 

“I love pie!” Klaus said excitedly, still looking at you like something amused him.

“What are you staring at?” Diego snapped at him.

“Nothing, bro,” Klaus drawled, shooting him a dirty look right back. “She’s just not what I expected. Although hearing my beloved brother had a wife at all...”

“It wasn’t exactly a phone call I expected from my baby sister either,” Daniel chimed in with a chuckle. 

“Was I the only one that saw it coming?” Patch asked, laughing at your shocked and mildly horrified expression. 

Introductions were made and the conversation resumed, with Klaus as a fascinating new addition, chiming in almost at random with a story for any topic. Somehow, by the time you had finished slicing the pie, he had charmed Daniel enough that he’d offered the other man a business card and said to call the next time he got arrested. 

You passed around the little plates of dessert and moved back to your chair, but Diego reached out, catching you by the waist and pulling you into his lap instead. You laughed, happily settling in there.

“This was pretty great,” he mumbled into your neck between bites. “Thank you for a perfect first Christmas, Y/N.”

[banashee]

i"I have way too many stories already planned" I said. “I can’t write in multiple fandoms at once, it will throw me off” I said. “OK so I’ll just get this out of my system real quick” I said. “Well shit, I’ve gotten more ideas now that I’ve started…” I said, determinded to face it - I have a problem. Just a small one… Who am I kidding. Send help.

Also, this is the first time I’ve written for this fandom. I’ve loved and enjoyed TMA for a while now, not just the pod but also fanworks. And now I’m joining in on the fun and you folks will have to deal with it :D ♥

This story got inspired by a conversation on Reddit with Swiftysmoon. Thank you very much for the inspo! This one is for you :)

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edit. sorry about the missing ReadMore cut, Tumblr is programmed like a pile of garbage and removed it after I edited a typo...I’ve added it back in now.

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please mind the tags and warnings

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 Into the Void

Truth be told, Jon never planned on this to happen. Of course not - it is ridiculous and more than a little embarrassing, but he can’t help himself.

See, the thing is, Jon is a restless, anxious person in general. He’ll hide away in his office for hours, typing away or recording statements in solitude, only interrupted when someone actually wants something from him. That, or when Martin brings him yet another cup of tea, checking if he’s still alive or starved to death on his desk.

No kidding - Martin had told him this, once, and although he’d been half-joking at the time, the underlying message had been very clear.

‘Please take care of yourself, you worry me.’ - it had been oddly sweet, and Jon still has no idea how to even react to this kindness.

But the thing is - Jon has nervous habits. While his mind is wandering and he is buried neck-deep in his work, he tends to fiddle. Mostly with pens, or anything else he can reach on his desk. That would be fine - no one notices it, unless they stand right next to him. But Jon had almost choked on the pen he’d been chewing on, lost in thoughts while reading his notes, omn more than one occasion. Mostly thanks to Tim bursting into the room like the whirlwind he is.

For one, Tim Stoker just doesn’t knock. Ever. He enters a room as loud and cheerful as he does anything else, and it can be a bit unnerving. Still, he somehow manages to be a professional and be really good at his job. That and the fact that there is  ‘Chaos’ written all over him makes for an odd combination sometimes, but they’re all somewhat used to this.

So, when Tim suddenly sticks his head into the room with a cheerfully casual

“Hey, Boss!”

Jon startles and nearly stabs himself in the throat with a pen while he scrambles to make it look like he  didn’t chew on it the entire time. He needs to preserve some sort of professionalism around here, even though he feels a little bit lost sometimes.

He glares halfheartedly, trying to keep whatever is left of his composure in place. Tim shoots him a bright smile with finger guns, then he rattles off the information that Jon had asked him for not long ago.

Thankful that he doesn’t have to explain himself, Jon launches onto it.

      As time goes on, things around the institute get more and more weird. One thing adds to the other, and suddenly, they’re at war against worms all over the place. They spend their days at the institute armed with fire extinguishers and in Martin’s case, a corkscrew. Martin even lives there now, which adds a whole different level to it all.

Really, it is not surprising that they rarely ever get any outside visitors down in the archives. They have a bit of a reputation for being weird, and truth be told, Jon can’t find any fault in the people who assume that. If he wasn’t involved - if he didn’t  know  what lurks out there, in the shadows, he’d have thought the same.

Pushing his own dismissive, sceptic act is getting harder and harder these days, but it doesn’t stop Jon from trying.

Even after Jane Prentiss’ attack, Jon tries to keep up that act. It’s clearly faltering now, though, which may or may not be partially due to the fact that he confessed to Martin that yes, he does believe and he is terrified. It’s been an awkward conversation, to say the least, and not just because Jon pretty much asked if Martin was a ghost and despite Martin stabbing him with the corkscrew. To be fair, he’d apologized profusely for that, and while Jon is not happy about it, he is thankful for his attempt to get the damn worms out of him. Just thinking about it still makes him shudder, makes him lay awake at night.

On the plus side, their team in the archives has grown much closer to one another - it eases the anxiety and paranoia, just a bit.

      Jon finds himself busy, not to say, utterly distracted. Time flies, and he takes even less care of himself than he did before. He practically lives off tea, and whatever food is offered where Martin, Tim and Sasha drag him along to.

Jon acts prickly and annoyed as always, but in reality, he appreciates their efforts. Lord knows, he isn’t sure he deserves this kindness, but he still makes an effort. These three people are all he’s got, after all. They’re the only group of allies who have any sort of idea what is really going on in the archives, and that alone is enough to have him lower his walls just a bit.

One day, Jon keeps blowing an annoying, grey-streaked strand of his otherwise dark hair out of his face. He didn’t have the time or energy to get a haircut lately - there are much more pressing matters to take care of. But his hair is currently at the awkward in-between length that he hated years ago, when he decided to grow it out. He’d kept it long, up until shortly before his promotion to head archivist. Only then he parted with the shoulder length ponytail in an attempt to be perceived as more professional.

It doesn’t feel right - never did. And as much as he hates the annoying strands falling in his face, it makes him feel like he is back on the way to himself. Or at least as much as he can these days.

Especially in the face of, well, everything else, it is a small comfort. Right now though, Jon is annoyed - he takes a pen from his desk, and sticks it behind his ear to hold back the constantly falling piece of hair - it works.

Jon only notices the pen again when he is about to go to bed that night - he huffs, places it onto the small desk in his bedroom and then crawls under the covers. Once he is in bed, Jon is waiting for the insomnia and the nightmares to keep him awake, despite his best attempts to fall asleep.

He is long used to both, but the last few months have been significantly more stressful.

The next day, Jon is exhausted. He barely makes it into the kitchen for some coffee, then he drives to the institute, the pen forgotten back home. Oh well - he’ll bring it back in another day - no big deal.

Except, it becomes a Thing, with a capital T.

Jon is chewing on and fumbling with his pens as usual, recording statement after statement and doesn’t exactly realize what he is doing. He hides away, until one of the others drags him away from the desk for inconvenient human needs like food and company, but really, he goes willingly now. All he needs is a small reminder.

The bit of human warmth and company means a lot to Jon, and he soaks it up as much as he allows himself to. Trusting people is a struggle for him. His relationship with each and every coworker is definitely a work in progress, but he is willing to try, anyway.

One night, Martin points to the side of Jon’s neck in quiet amusement.

“Oh, you’ve got ink on you - yes, right there.” he touches the spot behind his own ear. Jon blinks, and when he tries to wipe it away, his hand comes away with yet another goddamn pen.

It joins a small pile of accidentally stolen pens on Jon’s desk back home - he’s been meaning to bring them back ages ago, but he keeps forgetting. At this point, he refuses to drop them all off at once, because that would definitely catch someone’s attention - and attention is the last thing he wants right now. Add in the fact that this is, well, ridiculous and embarrassing… No. Just no.

Jon looks around the room, heat creeping up his face even though there is no one around to look at and judge him - then he opens an empty drawer in his desk. The pens disappear with one swift movement of his arm before Jon slams the drawer shut. There - done.

And this is how, what Jon secretly calls his “Desk Drawer of Shame”, comes into existence.

      Occasionally, a small handful of pens will make its way back into the archives. But at this point, they’re way, way too many to bring back at once, at least not without pissing off Elias. That is, if he isn’t chuckling at the ridiculous and mysteriously high cost of office supplies in the last few months.

At the very least, Jon would be at the receiving end of some good natured ribbing from his coworkers in the foreseeable future.

Jon is reading the last few lines of a statement, when the door to his office opens up after a quick knock. He looks up with a frown, which is more habit than anything at this point, and quickly drops his feet back on the ground. At least, he isn’t chewing on a pen this time.

Standing in the doorway, shooting him a small smile, is Martin and he is waiting for Jon to finish recording the last few lines. Only when the familiar

“Statement ends.” marks the end of the recording session, he starts talking.

“Hi! Uh, did you have lunch yet?”

Jon didn’t, and Martin knows it, but he is trying to go the polite route before his motherhen-mode is activated and he physically drags the man away from the desk in an attempt to make him take a break.

So, Jon smiles back, which still feels a bit foreign in a work context, but he secretly enjoys the spark of happiness on Martin’s face when he does. Not like he focuses on that or anything…

“No, I- I didn’t. Did you have something in mind?” he asks as he gets up and pulls his jacket from the back of his chair. It’s a welcome distraction from his work.

Jon didn’t sleep, again, and he can tell that he is getting sloppy and way more irritable than usual. Chances are, getting a bite to eat and spending some time out of the institute with a friend will do him some good.

On the way out, Jon falls comfortably into step with Martin. Plenty of thoughts cross his mind, and he chooses to ignore all of them. In fact, he’d been so busy staring up at a cluster of freckles on Martin’s cheek that he doesn’t even notice what he tells him about the little café that he was planning to visit. Only when he stops talking, obviously waiting for an answer, Jon nods, hoping that Martin actually asked him a yes-or-no question.

For now, it seems to be enough, and they enjoy their lunch break. Jon is still lost in thoughts though.

That night, he is unable to sleep once again, as his mind keeps him wide awake and Jon is shaking apart under the blanket. There are two new pens on his desk, and it feels like they’re glaring at him. It’s ridiculous - they really are the least of his worries. Jon is just distracted, that’s all.

      There is ink on his neck. Again. Jon swipes at it in mild annoyance, inwardly cursing himself for being so careless. His movement catches Tim’s attention, and then his eyes wander to the pen that is stuck halfway to Jon’s ponytail - it’s for convenience, really - but it’s clearly the cause for the ink scribbles on his skin.

Tim puts the pieces together and grins. He is way too easily amused about this, but to be fair, they get their laughs whenever they can these days. And this is still much better than the silent, angry version of Tim that tends to come out more and more and the last few months. At least, when he’s laughing, he isn’t that.

Small favors.

      The more distracted Jon grows, and the longer his hair gets, the more pens he keeps losing - or more like, forgetting - in it.

He doesn’t realize that he is doing it, really, until someone - mostly Martin or Tim these days, because Sasha is (gone) (different ) absent - walks up and plucks one of the pens right out of his hair in order to use it. Jon should be annoyed, but he can’t bring himself to be. It’s oddly comforting that the two of them are still willing to seek him out. Because that’s what this is - there are plenty of pens around, of course.

There is no need to come into his office, to come close to him just to get office supplies. They’re here because they want to, and that honestly means the world to Jon.

As much as he’d tried to keep them at arm’s length, he’s failed miserably. Thankfully so - things would be much, much worse if they had to deal with everything on their own.

      “Hang on - how many bloody pens are in there?” Martin asks one day, calling over from the other room. He looks up in utter confusion while already cracking up with  laughter.

“Wait, are those-?”

Oh goddammit.

Apparently, that’s what happens when Jon answers absentmindedly when asked for the location of a pen in his apartment.

He needs to renovate his kitchen, because the landlord just won’t do it in any reasonable amount of time, so Jon is in old jeans and an even older T-shirt, packing dishes and kitchenware into boxes with Martin and Tim. The two of them had been kind enough to offer help, so that’s why they’re all piled in Jon’s small apartment on a Saturday morning.

Partway through, they realize that they should probably label the boxes, and soon after, Martin stands in the bedroom, opening not the stationary drawer, but The Secret Drawer of Shame With Accidentally Stolen Pens From The Institute.

“Oh, good lord.” With an audible ‘thump’, Jons forehead collides with the kitchen table. His glasses sit crooked now, and he doesn’t lift his head up while he tries to explain, and despite being flustered, he manages to keep that certain tone of voice that’s usually reserved for work hours.

“I, yes. I may have accidentally taken a pen or two with me and only realized it here. Coming back into work with all of them at once seemed… well. Not ideal at the time.”

“No wonder when you keep storing them in your hair.” Martin comes back, with a handful of pens and a bright smile.

While walking past, he pulls another pen out of Jon’s bun, just to prove his point. A long strand of hair slips forward and falls back into Jon’s face. Meanwhile, Tim has snuck off to peek into the other room out of pure curiosity, then he proceeds to laugh his arse off for the next few minutes.

“You know, we should make it a sport at this point. How much stationary supplies can we steal until Elias catches wind of it?” Tim offers, because of course he does.

It is ridiculous and childish, so naturally, it quickly becomes A Thing.

Anything to get a tiny bit of satisfaction is a valid option at this point, and besides, it’s not like Jon is trying to be sneaky or anything. It just happens , like so many things these days.

      As it turns out, Elias doesn’t care. None of them is stupid enough to assume he doesn’t know - the bastard knows everything, that’s part of their problem. He just never calls any of them out on it - if it is because it’s too unimportant or if he is getting a chuckle out of it as well, they never find out.

At some point, late at night when all three of them had a few drinks, they’re brave enough to joke about what fear entity would be responsible for a never ending void filled with pens (“A.K.A you desk drawer of shame, Jon. Have another drink, you’re annoyingly sober for this conversation.”)

It’s a half-serious debate, and one which they continue every once in a while. Most notably so at the institute’s christmas party, huddled in a corner where they’re mostly being left alone. And if that is mostly due to Jon glaring holes through anyone daring to come close, just a hair away from actually hissing and snarling, well. He didn’t get his reputation of being rude and prickly for nothing.

      All of this turns into fond memories, once everything has gone to hell.

Jon is freshly awake from six months of coma, and the world around him has changed. Martin is barely around and Tim is  dead . So is Sasha, even though they never knew, for the longest time.

All of this hurts badly enough to stop him from breathing every once in a while, and after a series of even more tangled and unfortunate events, Jon finds himself huddled close to Martin on a train.

They’re on their way to Scotland and neither of them talks much, but they’re unwilling to let go of the other’s hand. The air is chilly, even inside the wagon, and Martin is still shivering under layers of jumpers and jackets.

The Lonely has settled deep into his bones, and sometimes, it’s like he is fading away again. Every time this happens, the steady warmth of Jon keeps pulling him back.

Jons hand is smaller and bonier in Martin’s own large, soft hand, but it’s grip is steady and warm. His thumb keeps stroking gently over the back of his hand while he is holding it, and it is the most loved Martin has felt in a long time.

Eventually, he manages to relax enough to doze off for a bit. While his head find’s it’s way down and onto Jon’s shoulder, he can feel the slight poke of a plastic pen that is sticking out of his hair.

Martin almost smiles, and squeezes back when Jon tightens the grip around his hand and settles against him.

    They keep finding the damn things around the safehouse, because frankly, they’re everywhere. And that’s just whatever Jon had on his person out of sheer habit. Lord knows, his hair has grown way past his shoulders by now, and more often than not, he keeps it up and out of the way with whatever is around him at the time.

Mostly, it’s pens.

At first, they’re just  there , and both Jon and Martin have about a million other things to think of and to deal with than a few too many office supplies laying around.

The exhaustion, both physically and emotionally, leaves them absolutely drained and dead to the world.

It is bad enough so that they crawl into bed almost as soon as they have arrived and inspected the small cabin. The question of whether or not they’re going to share the bed isn’t even raised - neither of them is willing to let go of the other. All the way from London to up here, they’d held hands to reassure themselves that they wouldn’t lose each other, and they’re not about to stop now.

It is a lot easier to remind each other that they’re not alone when all they need to do is focus on the breath and heartbeat of one another. Focusing on the heat radiating under the blankets, where they are embracing throughout the night to keep the nightmares and the ever growing anxiety at bay.

They have plenty of bad days when everything just creeps up at them and even talking is too much. Those days, they spend curled up in front of the fire or in bed, holding on tight for as long as they need to in order to feel more alive again.

After a while, they’re able to relax more. Martin is much warmer and solid now, doesn’t fade away into the fog without noticing. It’s happening less and less now - whether or not he will be able to shake off The Lonely entirely, neither of them knows, but he is happy about every step in the other direction.

Jon is just as happy to see him doing better, and he tells him as much over breakfast, smiling as he tangles their legs under the table.

There are two pens already stuck in his hair, holding it up in two buns. It’s probably from when he read a statement from the stack of files and tapes that Basira sent over the other day.

The statement has definitely taken the edge off of things for Jon. Now he can sit at the kitchen table with his boyfriend and enjoy a cup of tea instead of growing weaker and weaker with hunger for statements. As ironic as it is, it makes him feel more human, even though he is no longer fully human. He’s pretty sure of it.

“I love you.” Martin tells him, because it is true and he likes saying it as often as possible, now that he can. It sends a spark of warm happiness through his chest, and it is bright enough to chase away the cold fog that’s still lingering sometimes - just for a bit.

“I love you, too.”

He’ll never get tired of hearing this.

“I love you” they say, as they drink tea in the morning and eat freshly baked bread, still warm from the oven.

“I love you” they say, as they walk hand in hand through the cobblestone streets down in the village, on their way to buy groceries and look at the little local shops.

“I love you” they say, as they step around each other in the tiny kitchen while cooking dinner, distracting one another with kisses until one of them remembers the food or notices the charred smell of something burning. It’s only then that they break apart, cursing and laughing all at once.

“I love you” they say, as they spend nights wide awake, holding on tightly through their grief and fear. They say it out loud or whisper it into the darkness, comforting one another as best as they can.

“I love you”, they whisper through silence and tears, but they say it just as much through smiles and laughter.

“I love you” they say, after every single argument. Their love for each other is strong, so much so that they’re certain they will be able to figure out the rest. Whether that’s the end of the world as they know it or anything else doesn’t matter.

“I love you” Martin says, after he walks up behind Jon and plucks one of the pens out of his hair. There are at least two more, and besides, Martin woke up this morning with a few lines of poetry in the back of his mind. He wants to write them down before he forgets - maybe, just maybe, he can  turn them into  something beautiful.

“I love you.” Jon says, and he pulls Martin closer by the front of his pyjama shirt, turning around just enough to be able to press a quick kiss to his lips. The movement leaves them both in an awkward position, hanging over the back of the sofa with their glasses askew.

Martin has one of his arms wrapped around Jon, who is holding on tight, happily leaning into him with a quiet, happy satisfaction on his face. Clearly, he is enjoying this an awful lot.

No doubt, if it wasn’t for the hold onto the sofa Martin has with his other, he’d have toppled over and fallen right into the smaller man’s lap. And maybe that’s exactly what Jon is trying to do - who knows. He is way more affectionate than either of them would have thought possible, really.

They remain wrapped up in the tight hug, and neither of them wants to let go yet.

                                     Notes:  

Warnings: - Off-screen canon character death mentioned - insecurity - Loneliness - Trust issues - if you want me to add anything please let me know

[artificialqueens]

Make The Most of the Dark (Bitney) - Puppy

Summary:

Bianca is playing a babysitter for her cousin and a group of her friends at prom.

Courtney has come with someone else but they seem to have gotten distracted.

What happens when they lock eyes and meet up again?

Inspired by Madonna’s “Crazy For You”

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28301046

A/N: Merry Christmas, folks. This was for @opalescent-cheetah for a song fic challenge. I hope you all enjoy and have a happy holidays.

~~

Swaying room as the music starts

Strangers making the most of the dark

Two by two their bodies become one

Bianca observed the dancing couples in front of her and hoped no one heard her laughing over the music. The DJ just switched to a different track: something schmaltzy and slow, almost like how that night had been. Some of the couples in front of her honestly looked ridiculous to her. Most of them were either glued together or it was very obvious it was the first time they had danced together. Were they waiting for a third person to sandwich themselves between? If they were leaving room for Jesus, the space between could have fit Him and two other disciples.

She wasn’t intending to spend the past few hours leaned against the wall of the gym counting down the minutes, but here she was: standing in a dress she sewed herself and her reddish-brown hair in a fancy updo. She’d been to cotillion, and the atmosphere was much different. If those instructors ever knew what she was up to now, they’d probably have the biggest fit.

Bianca came with a few friends, but she didn’t really have a date. One of them practically begged her to drive, but she wasn’t aware that she was bringing a whole squad. They didn’t hate her, they just needed a designated driver if/when things got too much. Knowing that particular friend group, things were to get too much.

I see you through the smokey air

Can’t you feel the weight of my stare

You’re so close but still a world away

Among the dancing couples and general modes of merriment, someone started to approach her. Bianca squinted, as one of the disco lights was right in her eye. “Do you want me to unlock the car? You have to get whatever it is yourself. Just try not to hurt yourself on the way…” She did a quick double take and, realizing her mistake, she apologized profusely “Oh my god, I am SO SORRY. I thought you were someone else.”

“It’s fine,” the other girl responded. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Yeah… at least you aren’t one of my charges. Good thing you’re just one of those short-skirted, nice-titted, blonde bitches.” Oh shit… that definitely came out wrong. Please don’t leave me here. She hissed through gritted teeth.

“I’m one of many. Glad you think these are nice though.” She laughed; her blonde curls bouncing with every sound, and Bianca couldn’t stop staring at them. Great, she wasn’t offended. Her sense of humor… wasn’t strange, but it took some getting used to; it’s very off-putting at first listen. “Wait… don’t we have a class together?”

“Yeah! AP Lit.” The auburn-haired girl slowly nodded her head. “You’re Courtney, right?” She nodded her head. “Cool…” The tension between those two wasn’t awkward, per say but “So… what brings you over here? I’m just looking to see if those guys don’t do anything stupid,” She gestured to a group on the other side of the gym, loitering by the punch bowl. Bianca silently prayed they didn’t spike it. “And then to drive them to the after party… wherever it is. Probably some Motel 6 in the middle of nowhere…. Or some sketchy apartment uptown.”

“The apartment isn’t that sketchy,” Courtney added, then stopped herself. “Well that depends on who’s hosting this year. Is Jared hosting again?”

“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger. No one told me and I might not know until I get back in the car. Dory wasn’t invited, so I assume she and her friends will be crashing.”

“Wait, Dory?”

“Adore. My little cousin. She’s visiting from Azusa and she wanted to see what the scene was like. How was I to know she’d bring an entourage?”

“Oh my…”

“And you’re still dodging the question there, Court.”

“My date kinda blew me off last minute. Very last minute, now that I think about it.”

Well, that answers that question, Bianca let out a breath before answering. “Oh shit…”

“And it sucks because I drove her here! Just for her to spend all her time with someone else!” Courtney stared directly at her ditcher as she picked a few petals off her corsage. “She loves me, she loves me not.”

For a time, the two girls just stood there, wallowing in their own problems. They stared at each other, unsure of their next move. Bianca could only just take in her classmate’s beauty and the fact that she came with a date only made it better; there was nothing more beautiful than the unattainable, she always said. However, there was this chance. There was still something about Courtney that just itched at her brain a certain way. They were never really close, but there were always qualities she admired: her effervescence, the way she just lit up whatever room she was in.

“I think I should make her jealous.”

“What?”

“Why not make her jealous? She’s dancing with someone else, so obviously, I should get back.” Courtney replied, though her mind may not have been the most sound. Revenge often clouded this sort of judgement.

Some gears turned in the girl’s mind. The next song came on and Bianca pulled her classmate into the center of the gym. “B, what are you doing?” But she didn’t say anything more as the two girls wordlessly swayed along to the music, a little closer than what they had been before.

Courtney laid her head on Bianca’s chest and stared directly at her date with a look of both pettiness and regret. This may have seemed fun in the moment, but they just had to talk it out sooner or later. Maybe this was some big misunderstanding that could easily be cleared the next day. Yes, her girlfriend was great, but no one should ever feel like a third wheel on their own date. Being with this… mutual friend at best felt comforting, motherly.

The blonde looked up at her dancing partner who stared back at her. There was this gravitational pull drawing themselves closer and closer until their lips briefly met. “Sorry… I shouldn’t have done that, shouldn’t I?” Bianca quietly apologized before being shushed.

“You’re good.” The other girl hesitated a bit before continuing. “You can keep going if you want.”

“You sure?”

Courtney nodded again and reinitiated the kiss.

Sure the two had their own things to worry about, but in this moment it was just the two of them in the middle of the dance floor. Nothing else could have escaped that feeling.

What I’m dying to say, is that

I’m crazy for you

Touch me once and you’ll know it’s true

I never wanted anyone like this

It’s all brand new

[katiethxrne]

I: Magic! Of Potions, Alchemy & Ordeals of Being a Sellout

Katherine Thorne was never supposed to be a witch, she was probably destined to be working in a fashion boutique, working in a media conglomerate, or maybe if she felt particularly academic be a chemist. Her parents worked with media and fashion, her father was on the track to be a high-end lawyer, her mother though a paralegal had come out of the early 90′s high on the fashion industry and wanting to make her own line. No one had any idea Katie had magic when she was little, minor accidents brushed off as their imagination. Only her father had an inkling that maybe Katie was different, he had heard family stories about his grandfather, and buried somewhere in a trunk were magic books and wands. But it was only when her parents died, and Katie survived a night alive in a snowdrift, half-dead and dazed, that her magic came known. 

Katie belongs to the kind of wizard known as bang ‘n’ flash magic, bright, flashing, bombastic and bright. She excels in charmwork and flashy spells that require more force than finesse. Her mind whirls with different applications for spells, for how she can twist them to suit her needs. Katie Thorne is a good witch, an excellent one.

However, Katherine Thorne isn’t good at potions, nor at alchemy. She is something of a genius.

School was hard before Hogwarts, hard to focus on, hard to care about. She wasn’t a great student of anything except detention. Hogwarts was a new start, and the first day of class, first period, she stood with a loose gold & red  tie sporting a black eye in front of a cauldron and for once things made sense. Put everything together to make something new. Every knife slash had a reason, every crushed eye a magical property, every timed heating element and every stir had a purpose. Katie hadn’t ever felt like she had a purpose, and suddenly potions was there. It became rote, familiar, and she rose to top of the class in Potions before the Fall session was over.

Over the years Potions got more and more interesting, she had a Restricted Area Pass from her Professor, studied strange potions and recreated them. She had found half-detailed potions in these books and helped rebuild them under the tutelage of her professor. Katie was enrolled in the Alchemy course in her 5th year, despite it normally being a N.E.W.T. level course, with her Potions Professor showing off her new potions, her work, and that Katie and Alchemy would be a match made in heaven. McGonagall had her reservations, but allowed it. Katie submitted three separate potions patents to the Ministry for her O.W.L. and all three were accepted. Katie zoomed in on these subjects, whatever time she spent not being a total hellion was spent in front of a cauldron, painted runes and creating mock-plans for alchemy. Her study went so far as practicing necromancy, her first attempt at the end of her fifth year saw her bring a snake back to life for a few moments before it turned to ash. She spent her summer between her 5th and 6th year was spent studying every doubled restricted section book, every book she bought in Knockturn Alley. It all came to an attempt. An attempt alchemist had been trying to do for years-- bringing a human back to life.

Didn’t work.

Katie has filed away these notes every since, no-one needs to know how close she possibly was and Katie honestly doesn’t want to know. Doesn’t want to be caught in her mad spiral. The Ministry has them on file as well with the Unspeakables, who had chewed her out, but had also been reasonably impressed that this work was done by a 17 year old. It’s a well-accepted fact that Katie is a potions genius, an alchemist whiz with a working idea of necromancy and life magic. However it’s not her only field of study, Katie’s magic has always been instinctually, her magic comes in the form of Potions and Alchemy, it comes in this form but Katie has always been good at wandless magic. It became her focus during her 7th year, she has gotten highly proficient, able to throw up shields, cast curses and hexes, do some excellent charm-work. She really enjoys the trick of summoning fireballs and throwing them, uses wandless Accio charms, getting to see people’s shocked faces in the Dueling Halls when she throws up a shield after being disarmed. But Katie doesn’t really have an inkling of how people are spooked by how easily she can do this. Sometimes she uses it without thinking, casting wandless magic forgetting her hand isn’t in hand, it can be startling to folk who see her doing magic so easily. But her magic rises to meet her and the need for a conduit when not doing large scale complicated magic is growing less and less as she gets older. 

Now as an adult, she has an impressive little resume, she has several more potions patents, has done alchemist workings for Hogwarts and aided in some level of curse-breaking with objects for her job. As an Auror Katie gets to see the effects of dark magic up close, and feels a certain amount of fear and guilt for getting so close to that kind of madness. Picking apart bodies, working with blood, seeing the outcome of nefarious experiments functions in re-enforcing that Katie could have been that. She doesn’t like the Ministry, she doesn’t like the restrictions around magic, she doesn’t particularly enjoy the regulation she has to enforce and sticks to what she knows. Running missions and stopping dark magic, stopping people who harm others, and stopping people she might’ve been. 

Katie struggles with this, struggles with staring at dead bodies, working with taking them apart to see what alchemy attempted on them, stripping whole sites of dark magic to see what lurks beneath. Katie when on a mission has to switch modes, she cannot be Katie Thorne, the Little Lioness, the Hellion Brat-- she has to be Auror Thorne, Captain Thorne, Alchemist Thorne. She has to be stone, and put away her horror and the trauma before her. She worries if anyone knew this they would name her weak, cowardly. Katie has always dealt with nightmares, but it was easier when she was younger, when the potions she took weren’t needed, she wasn’t dependent on them. Now deals with the nightmares of missions gone wrong, watching partners die, watching what happens when you don’t solve the puzzle right, or skipped a piece. It feels like being in front of the cauldron again, putting things in order to make things right. But Katie’s mind never feels right, she takes potions to take the nightmares away, going high and higher in dosage, she numbs herself while at the lab, chugging potions to stop her from feeling the onslaught of emotions and get the job done. It’s gotten to the point where some potions just straight up don’t work on her any longer. She lies awake at night, thinking of everything she’s seen, and everything she’s done. Katie struggles with what she does on missions, the dark wix she’s killed, the people caught in the crossfire, and the people she couldn’t save. She thinks on it, meditates, and apologizes for her failures then she gets up, and mixes a potion, returning to what used to be so simple, untainted and natural.

[sheepdogjim-blog]

Good dog/bad dog

Holy crap it’s Friday and I’m sitting at home in front of the fire, coffee in hand and psycho dog at feet (Yes Dad, I still have job). Looks like we survived another 1/52th of our orbit around a slightly cooler yellow ball of life in the sky and we’ll get to fight the ‘rona for at least another day.

That is if the four legged spawn of Satan doesn’t try to kill us today.

I figured I might use my words today to give ya’ll an update on the fur monsters progress since the last time there was a trip to the Emergency room for any one of the residents at Furlong HQ.

So Lenz, and we have not started calling him Lennie yet because at this point it’d be like refering to Harvey Weinstien as “my cuddly uncle”, has began his transformation from working animal to pet. He no longer sleeps in a locked crate,  or spends his days in his outdoor kennel. Nope, now he sleeps spread out in the middle of our king sized bed from 9 pm until 4:45 am, regulating Gloria and I to a mere 1.5’ x 6.5’ slice of diametrically opposed real estate on either side of the bed. Every evening it’s a game to see what letter our sleeping pattern will be, H, N, Z, I, etc. as Lenz determines the path forward, because he generally goes to sleep first, and then there’s just no moving him. Not that you’d want to.

Remember how it took 4 months for us to actually see him sleep? When this ct decides its nighty nighty, you let him go. You don’t wake the nuclear reactor if you plan on getting any sleep yourself. We’ve also toyed with the idea of getting rid of our alarm clock radio because Lenz’s internal clock keeps much better time, and at 4:59 am he’s wide awake (but you’d never know because he’s in K9 stealth mode) until the first notes of whatever music 103.9 is playing at the moment. At that exact moment my body has been trained to fly quickly into a fetal position as Lenz leaps from a low sitting position over me to the floor on the other side of the room in one motion, and if there’s a body part under his hind legs when he launches, there will be curse words and A535 in the immediate aftermath. Obviously 8 months out of training hasn’t unconditioned his agility and strength, but more about that later.

So regardless of the day of week we head downstairs and have our coffee, and by our coffee I truly mean our coffee because Lenz has developed a taste for breakfast blend, and every time I forget to hold my cup in my hand when I get up to do something, I come back to find his barkness standing over the cup with his 12 inch tongue rapidly darting in and out of the cup consuming my morning joe, all the while looking at me with those big brown eyes as to say “don’t judge me”. He also has developed a taste for expensive scotch, but I’ve learned to drink the 14-year and older malts out of a sippy cup to avoid any more embossing apologies to the neighbors, and the trauma to their cat.

Speaking of chasing tail, Lenz unlike his predecessor Ozzy, is not a ladies’ man. Lenz refers to terrorize the members of the female persuasion, mostly by going into full K9 mode when they come visit. No before ya’ll start going all #metoo, there’s a theme. It started with a visit by our realtor who was wearing a long puffy coat, and when she came in to get our signatures on some papers one evening, Lenz went full K9 on her. Keep in mind the ‘rona has prevented us from fully socializing him yet, as we have had hardly anyone at our house since our dark overlords imposed dracoian lockdowns in the name of safety on us (idiots). So any time anyone informs us they are coming over, I keep him on a short leash until he gets a chance to get comfortable with a stranger in his home (and believe me, it’s his home now). So back to our poor realtor who is now standing in our kitchen with a 70lb mouth of teeth gnashing at 100 clamps per hour between full barks and lunges, and I can see her eyes (they are the size of dinner plates) darting between the great white shark teeth and the thin nylon fabric of his walking leash, I imagine praying that the leash holds (Note: he’s gone through 3 so far). He doesn’t normally respond that way to visitors, and it wasn’t until our masseuse came over one evening wearing a puffy jacket that I figured it out.

He sees them as bite suits.

I guess you can take the dog out of the RCMP, but you can’t take the RCMP out of the dog. (Ed. Note – that would explain his love of coffee, scotch, and general distrust of people).

He and Gloria seem to be getting along better, the references to “your f-ing dog” have declined, and I’m no longer allowed to lock him in his crate at night, so that means they’ve bonded somewhat, although the cheeky little bastard as smart as he is doesn’t seem to get that if you keep chewing her favorite slippers, your longevity within the circle of trust will always be tenous at best. Yesterday he ate her favorite Roots slippers.

They still aren’t speaking as of this morning.

Actually he’s been getting less destructive as we find ways to engage him to keep his boredom down, but last month there was the pergola incident. In our backyard we had an aluminum pergola over our dining table that over the winter had the screws loosen a bit that gave it a bit of a lean, so much so we tied two ropes to it one night after a wind storm as I wanted to get some plates made to reinforce the attachment points, and had to go to work. I figured I’d fix it that evening when I got home. When I arrived home that evening there was twist aluminum everywhere the pergola used to be.

Apparently Lenz kept untying the ropes for fun, and Gloria kept re-tying them, up until the point Lenz finally got bored with the game and used the two ropes, once he untied them again, to pull the pergola down, and then quartered it. There was aluminum everywhere, it was a scene directly out of Dr. Detroit (you know the one in the junkyard).

So I guess now we need a new pergola built.

Don’t get me wrong, he has his good points. He’s the cuddliest German shepherd of all times, he loves to spoon and will literally pay on top of you and fall asleep. He eats all leftovers, so there’s not much to go in the compost bin, and he’s the best security system in the world, because if you break into our house you will be the one calling 9-1-1, and that’s if you have it on speed dial. He is one protective MF, especially of Gloria.

All kidding aside, he’s turning into an amazing dog, he’s cute and cuddly on the outside and hype vigilant and protective on the inside, and he’s making progress to civilian life after leaving the force last summer, so there’s hope for getting him to a normal life as a pet. Mind you I’ve been out 13 years and I still struggle at times, but at least he and I can relate (usually over a scotch) and he’s a great listener, and as long as I can keep Gloria in slippers I think he’ll be around awhile. At least until the new pergolas built anyway.  

Have Friday folks, be kind to one another, or I’m sending Lenz over for a visit.

Jim out.

[dontatmethanks]

Love, I’ll serve it to you.

A levihan fic (modern AU)

A/N: Soo I had a dream about this the night before yesterday, and I couldn’t let it go so I’ll just post this here and on AO3 🙃

———————————————————————

“We’ve special guests incoming on table five!” Nanaba yells across the bustling kitchen.

Hange looks up from the tickets she was reading and raises an eyebrow at Nanaba as she makes her way over to stand next to her in front of the grill line.

“Business men, they’re having a very important meeting with a very important socialite.” Nanaba explains while waggling her blonde brows at her.

Hange snorts.

“Of course they chose this place.”

“They choose very wisely, Wall Maria is one of the best hot spot in this town!” Nanaba says, proudly puffing out her chest. Hange laughs.

Well she wasn’t wrong, Wall Maria is indeed one of the best restaurant bars in their city. It was owned by Nanaba and her longtime partner Mike Zacharias. They first opened it when they first graduated out of culinary school together, which was where they met. Hange’s heart always jumps for them when she thinks of their story, they were so lucky to have each other. They were soulmates.

Hange knew Nanaba since high school, they were best friends ever since. As soon as the restaurant was opened they knew that they wanted Hange to work with them. Ever since then Hange has been their best server and house Manager.

“I need every single dish that lands on that table to be nothing but exceptional, am I clear?!” Mike yells from the other side of the grill line.

“YES CHEF!” All the cooks in the kitchen yell in unison, flames bustling from burners.

“I need you to work that table.” Nanaba tells Hange who immediately groans in protest.

“Pleaseee Hange! Your out best server, everybody loves you!” Nanaba pleads her with clasped hands.

“Especially the rich old men.” Hange jokes with a roll of her amber eyes.

Nanaba pouts at her and Hange of course can never say no to her best friend.

“Fine.” She sighs.

“Yes! Okay they’re looking at their menus right now so showtime’s in two minutes. Give them your warmest most dazzling smile!”

Hange rolls her eyes before giving her an exaggerated smile.

“Perfect!” Nananba laughs before making her way to check on a lobster dish one of their youngest cooks, Eren, was plating.

Hange huffs before fixing her apron and adjusting her glasses and tightening her ponytail. She slips her notepad and pen into her apron pocket before grabbing a pitcher of fresh iced water and making her way into the dining room.

She immediately notices the table from the farthest side of the room, she can pick out the expensive suits very clearly from the rest of the guests.

As she reaches the table she takes notice of each of the diners, there were four of them. One was a man with shiny blonde hair and peircing blue eyes, he had an authoritative vibe to him. The man that sat in front of him was heavyset with slicked back dark hair and a thick mustache. His dark beady looking eyes immediately raked over Hange’s form when she approached, it made her skin crawl. The man who sat next to him was thinner and had dark brown hair that was made into a side part, his face was indifferent as he glanced at the rolex on his left arm.

The last man though, caught Hange off guard. He had short ink black hair that was cut into an undercut. His fringe fell delicately over his boyish face, even though his greyish blue eyes held a bored look he looked the youngest out of all of them. His skin looked pale but soft, and his dark blue suit looked to be the most expensive of the table. Most importantly he was very, very attractive.

Hange swallowed thickly before slapping on one of her most brilliant smiles that she could muster.

“Evening gentlemen, my name his Zoe,” she spoke in a cheery manner, gesturing towards her nametag. “I’ll be your server for today so we’ll be getting to know each other pretty well.”

The man with the beady eyes chuckled obnoxiously.

“I sure hope so.”

Hange laughed nervously, she could feel the eyes of the dark blue suited man trained on her.

“Can I start you guys on anything to drink?”

“I think our palletes may be too sophisticated for this place.” Said the man with the Rolex.

Hange’s smile faltered a bit, and blue suit did not miss the way her jaw clenched.

“A Chardonnay for the table is just fine.” He said , locking eyes with Hange for a few seconds.

Hange blinked before slipping back on her fake smile.

“Of course, are any of you also ready to order?”

“I think we’ll start with the wine first.” The blonde said with a warm smile.

Hange nodded before slipping her notepad and pen back into her apron pocket.

“I’ll be right out with the wine, once again my name is Zoe. Let me know if any of you fellas need anything, okay?”

Blue suit nodded in thanks before she departed and headed back into the kitchen with a bitter taste in her mouth.

“Did they order anything yet, Hange?” Nanaba said once she walked through the swinging kitchen doors.

“Chardonnay.” Hange said bluntly.

“That bad huh?”

Hange wrinkled her nose, “I’m pretty sure one of them sneaked dissed the place.”

Nanaba laughed.

“One of them is nice to look at though.” Hange muttered before grabbing the bottle of Chardonnay that Nanaba handed to her.

“Thanks.” Hange grunted before making her way back out to the dining room.

“Award winning smile Hange!” Nanaba called out after her, Hange just shook her head before plastering said smile back onto her face.

“Here you fellas are, Chardonnay. Just what the doctor ordered!” Hange announced, presenting the bottle to the men as if it were some rare peice of art. Hange didn’t miss they way it made the man in the blue suit’s lips twitch upwards slightly. She gave herself a pat on the back for that one.

After uncorcking the bottle she poured an appropriate amount in each of the men’s glasses, then set the bottle on the middle of the table.

“I’ll leave it here for y’all to enjoy.” She said before straightening up and pulling out her own and notepad. “Let me know when you’re ready.”

The beady eyed man ordered a thick cut wagyu style steak, while the brown haired man ordered a lobster pasta. The blonde haired man ordered a lemon grass sea bass and the man in the blue suit ordered a chicken cacciatore with an order of black tea.

“Anything else for you fellas?” Hange asked brightly after expertly reciting their orders to them, she didn’t even need to writes it down.

“Perhaps a side of you?” Beast eyes teased.

It took everything in her power not to outwardly cringe at the man’s remarks, instead she just chuckled condescendingly at him.

“Sorry we’re all out!” She joked.

The man in the blue suit almost choked on his whine at her comeback.

Filled with sudden courage, Hange lightly slapped at his back as he coughed.

“I’m here all night folks.” She said, earning a scowl from the blue suit. “Geez tough crowd.”

The blonde man chuckled from beside him.

Hange stepped back, “your food will be out in a couple of minutes, in the meantime enjoy the wine.” She said before heading back into the kitchen and yelling out the order to the people on the grill line.

Hange sighed before grabbing a cup of water and chugging it down.

“Heard Nana gave you the special table.” Mike Said as he slid next her her, leaning against the ice machine.

Hange grunted as she crunched on a cube of ice.

“Hey at least the tip will be good.” Mike teased.

Hange threw a small price of ice at him, which he dodged while chuckling lightly. The man then sniffed the air before whirling around violently.

“That better not be cayenne pepper in my risotto, Kirstein!”

Hange giggled before drying her hands on her apron.

“Ah-uh Ms.Hange?” A voice spoke from behind her, making her twirl around.

“Oh Sasha, hi!” Hange greeted once she recognized the young girl. Sasha was one of their hosts, she worked here as part time because she was still in school like a lot of their other employees.

“One of your guests would like to speak with you.” The teen said awkwardly, fidgeting in the spot she stood in.

“Don’t tell me it’s from table five?” Nanaba popped up from behind Sasha, slightly scaring the girl in the process.

“Ah y-yeah, he’s waiting outside.” She said and Nanaba groaned before thanking and shooing Sasha away, she then turned to look at Hange questioningly.

“I didn’t do anything, they seemed satisfied.” Hange said, throwing her hands up defensively.

Nananba sighed, “pray it’s good news.” She said before going to assist Mike.

Hange presses the heel of her palm against her forehead and groaned before pushing her way out of the kitchen.

She immediately freezes when she sees that it’s the man in the blue suit waiting for hear near the restrooms. First she realizes how short he is, second she notices that he in fact did not look happy. Hange was mentally kicking herself to think of anything she could’ve done to upset them. Perhaps it was the comeback she made at the beady eyed man? No, the short man seemed to enjoy that remark. Hange sighed in defeat before approaching him catiously.

The man lifts his head up at her when she approaches and before he can say anything Hange goes into apology mode.

“I am so sorry if I did or said anything to offend any of you, I can see to it that part of your check can be compensated.”

The man looks taken aback before frowning at her. Ah, she’s done it now.

“That’s not- look I can to apologize for all the unsavory remarks that my client has made towards you, it deeply embarrasses me,” He looks straight into her eyes. “Zoe.”

Hange almost melts right there onto the dining room floor, but she stays strong.

“Eh, O-oh that? It’s nothing I can’t handle really, it happens quite often.” She dismisses.

Levi’s frown depens.

“It shouldn’t be something that you have to endure.”

She chuckles.

“Thanks for the concern but I can handle myself uh..,”

“Levi.” He introduces himself.

“Ah, nice to finally put a name to that handsome face of yours. You already know my name, my friends like to call me Hange though. It’s my surname, hehe.”

One of Levi’s thin eyebrows quirk up at her sudden comfortableness with him.

“Did you tell them that you were coming to apologize?” She asks him cocking her head to the side.

“No, I told I went to powder my nose four-eyes.”

Hange’s face broke into an amused grin.

“Oh that’s new, if I didn’t know any better I would say you’re flirting with me.” She teased.

“So we’re on the same page then.” He scoffed.

“Glad to see that chivalry isn’t dead.” Hange laughed.

Levi crossed his arms over his chest.

“Are you actually interested or are you just looking for another source of income?”

Hange snorted loudly to keep from laughing too loudly, fear of disturbing the other guests.

“Oh, that was good.”

He grins, “I’m better.”

His voice becomes husky and Hange’s jaw almost drops at his boldness.

“I’ll just leave my number of the table then. It’ll be there if you want it, no pressure.” He says giving her a coy look before heading back to his table.

She just stands there for a minute, trying to figure out what just happened before going back into the kitchen.

“So he finds you attractive and wants to give you his number, so what?” Nanaba says, chewing on a peice of garlic bread.

After her encounter with Levi Hange had went to check on their food, it was ready so she brought it out to the table with the help of Armin, another young server.

Levi kept his eyes on her the whole time as she placed his meal in front of him, that sneaky bastard.

He smirked when he noticed the way the tips of her ears and cheeks tinged pink underneath his unwavering gaze as she poured iced water into their extra glasses.

So he wanted to play this kind of game? Oh, Hange will play along too.

Mustering up every once of courage she had inside, she locked eyes with him.

“Any dessert for later?” She teased with sultry eyes.

Levi held her stare with his own and smirked before licking his lips.

“I think we’ll eat our meals first, thank you.” The blonde man next to Levi piped up, lips twisted into a knowing grin.

The two men that sat in front of Levi and the blonde shared a confused glance.

“Ah o-of course, enjoy your meal gentlemen.” Hange stuttered before grabbing her serving tray and scurrying her way back into kitchen, of course she felt Levi watch her leave.

“I don’t know,” Hange said to Nananba, who broke a peice of her bread and gave it to her. “I just- don’t you think maybe he’s a bit out of my league?”

Nananba laughed out loud, almost choking on her bread.

“Hange, if anything, he’s out of your league. You’re really smart, funny, hard working and you’re beautiful in your weird Hange way.”

Hange snorted, popping her peice of bread into her mouth.

“Wow thanks, I truly feel beautiful.” She said sarcastically.

Nanaba lightly slapped her on the shoulder.

“You know what I mean!”

The both giggles together and for a second it reminded Hange of their days in high school, Hange smiles fondly at the memories.

“I don’t know... maybe I’ll indulge him.” Hange admitted softly, chuckling at Nanaba who wiggles her eyebrows at her suggestively.

After frequently checking on their table, the men finally finished their meal and decided to skip dessert.

“Thank you for dining with us gentlemen, we sure hope you’ll frequent with us in the future.” Hange bid them a farewell as they thanked her and each got up a walked out to the valet.

Levi trailed behind idly, waiting for his campanions to walk out through the glass double doors before approaching her.

“My number is in the checkbook,” he told her, light eyes scanning her face carefully before running his fingers through his fringe.

Hange notice how soft and shiny his hair looked, she had the urge to sink her own fingers into it. That though made her blush slightly and tighten her grip on the tray in hands.

“By the way, your face looks constipated when you flirt, four-eyes.” He said with a tiny smirk before turning to leave.

Hange’s face flamed as she quickly turned to grab the checkbook off of the table.

She opened it and almost choked on her own spit.

Yes his number was there, written on a small square napkin, but that wasn’t what shocked her.

There sitting innocently behind the napkin were five crisp twenty dollar bills.

Hange was puzzled, their bill was already paid for by credit card, just shy of sixty dollars. This must be her tip, Hange gaped.

Hell no, there’s no way. No one in their right mind would tip her this much, no matter how good she was.

Scooping the bills into her hand, she made a beeline out the door.

“Hey!” She called out to Levi, who was about to enter a shiny black Benz.

He paused before speaking inside the car to the driver and stepping back to close the door. He turned to her as she approached him with the money.

“Did I forget something?” He teased with a questioning raise of an eyebrow.

“Yea this.” Hange huffed, shoving the bills towards his unsuspecting face.

His smirk fell into a bored expression when he saw the money.

“That’s yours.” He said bluntly.

“This is way too much, way passed fifty percent!” She yelled.

“And you’re complaining?” Levi asked, frowning at her loud volume.

“Because it’s too much!” She whined.

Levi sighed.

“Look, the service was great, keep it.” He said, attempting to placate her.

Of course it didn’t.

Hange shook her head stubbornly. “If you enjoyed it, you tip me the appropriate amount.” She argued as she took one of the bills in her free hand before shoving the rest into one of his.

He made a ‘tch’ sound before grabbing her hand and shoving the money back in it.

“Stop being so stubborn, shitty glasses.”

Hange made an annoyed sound in the back of her throat before gripping his larger hand and shoving the money back into it.

“If im being stubborn then you’re being childish, calling me names you short ass grump!”

People were starting to stare at the pair as they went back and fourth, it was making Levi a bit uncomfortable.

“You’re making a scene four-eyes, just take the fucking money.” He hisses at her

“I’m not a charity case you asshole!” She hisses back.

Finally, Levi has had enough. He huffed before finally taking the money from her and letting go of her hand.

“Fine. Here take this,” He said as he gave her one of the bills and pocketed the rest, lofting a hand up before she could protest. “ you can make it up by going on a date with me.” He finished in a flat tone.

Hange gaped at him.

“E-Eh?”

“Tomorrow night, be ready by eight sharp. Text me your address, I’ll pick you up.”

Hange blinked a few times before answering.

“I-I work tomorrow.” Goddamnit stop stuttering so hard.

“I’m sure your boss will let you have the day off.” He spoke cooly.

Nanaba did Mike would most definitely want her to go, but she didn’t want him to know that.

“I can work something out.” Hange said with feigned disinterest.

“Good.” Levi said before reaching a hand out to her.

Hange stared at it in confusion.

“Your glasses,” he said. “Their filfthy.”

“Oh.” Hange muttered dumbly before removing her wire rimmed glasses and handing it to him.

He carefully took the from her and pulled out a handkerchief, wiping the lenses precariously. Hange just stood their squintly slightly at his blurry image.

When Levi finished he pocketed the hankerchief before leaning up to glide the frames back onto her nose.

Hange’s breath caught in her throat as she locked eyes with the shorter man, highly aware how close his face was to hers. She blushed as he tucked some of her stray hair behind her hair. They’re both frozen in place, getting lost in each other’s soft gaze.

Then hange thinks of something really funny and snorts.

“What the hell are you laughing at?” Levi glares at her.

“It looks like you could use some magnesium citrate.” She giggles.

“Hah?” Levi mutters, and looks at as if she’s grown a second head or something.

“Because you also look constipated when you try to flirt.” She finished before bursting out in full laughter.

Levi rolls his eyes before pulling away from her and heading back to his car.

“Just be ready by eight, four-eyes.” He calls out to her over his shoulder.

“Aye, captain.” Hange responds before he disappears into the vehicle and drives away.

Hange smiles dreamily like a school girl before looking down at her hand.

Her face falls when she realizes that the there’s another twenty behind the one he gave her.

“Goddamnit shorty!”

[suzanneshannon]

How to detect if the User's OS prefers dark mode and change your site with CSS and JS

I got a tweet from Stevö John who said he found my existing light theme for my blog to be jarring as he lives in Dark Mode. I had never really thought about it before, but once he said it, it was obvious. Not only should I support dark mode, but I should detect the user's preference and switch seamlessly. I should also support changing modes if the browser or OS changes as well. Stevö was kind enough to send some sample CSS and a few links so I started to explore the topic.

There's a few things here to consider when using prefers-color-scheme and detecting dark mode:

Using the existing theme as much as possible.

I don't want to have a style.css and a style-dark.css if I can avoid it. Otherwise it'd be a maintenance nightmare.

Make it work on all my sites

I have three logical sites that look like two to you, Dear Reader. I have hanselman.com, hanselman.com/blog, and hanselminutes.com. They do share some CSS rules but they are written in different sub-flavors of ASP.NET

Consider 3rd party widgets

I use a syntax highlighter (very very old) for my blog, and I use a podcast HTML5 player from Simplecast for my podcast. I'd hate to dark mode it all and then have a big old LIGHT MODE podcast player scaring people away. As such, I need the context to flow all the way through.

Consider the initial state of the page as well as the stage changing.

Sure, I could just have the page look good when you load it and if you change modes (dark to light and back) in the middle of viewing my page, it should also change, right? And also consider all the requirements above.

You can set your Chrome/Edge browser to use System Settings, Light, or Dark. Search for Theme in Settings.

All this, and I can only do it on my lunch hour because this blog isn't my actual day job. Let's go!

The prefers-color-scheme CSS Media Query

I love CSS @media queries and have used them for many years to support mobile and tablet devices. Today they are a staple of responsive design. Turns out you can just use a @media query to see if the user prefers dark mode.

@media (prefers-color-scheme: dark) {

Sweet. Anything inside here (the C in CSS stands for Cascading, remember) will override what comes before. Here's a few starter rules I changed. I was just changing stuff in the F12 tools inspector, and then collecting them back into my main CSS page. You can also use variables if you are an organized CSS person with a design system.

These are just a few, but you get the idea. Note the .line-tan example also where I say 'just put it back to it's initial value.' That's often a lot easier than coming up with "the opposite" value, which in this case would have meant generating some PNGs.

@media (prefers-color-scheme: dark) { body { color: #b0b0b0; background-color: #101010; } .containerOuter { background-color: #000; color: #b0b0b0; } .blogBodyContainer { background-color: #101010; } .line-tan { background: initial; } #mainContent { background-color: #000; } ...snip... }

Sweet. This change to my main css works for the http://hanselman.com main site. Let's do the blog now, which includes the 3rd party syntax highlighter. I use the same basic rules from my main site but then also had to (sorry CSS folks) be aggressive and overly !important with this very old syntax highlighter, like this:

@media (prefers-color-scheme: dark) { .syntaxhighlighter { background-color: #000 !important } .syntaxhighlighter .line.alt1 { background-color: #000 !important } .syntaxhighlighter .line.alt2 { background-color: #000 !important } .syntaxhighlighter .line { background-color: #000 !important } ...snip... }

Your mileage may vary but it all depends on the tools. I wasn't able to get this working without the !important which I'm told is frowned upon. My apologies.

Detecting Dark Mode preferences with JavaScript

The third party control I use for my podcast is a like a lot of controls, it's an iFrame. As such, it takes some parameters as URL querystring parameters.

I generate the iFrame like this:

<iframe id='simpleCastPlayeriFrame' title='Hanselminutes Podcast Player' frameborder='0' height='200px' scrolling='no' seamless src='https://player.simplecast.com/{sharingId}' width='100%'></iframe>

If I add "dark=true" to the querystring, I'll get a different player skin. This is just one example, but it's common that 3rd party integrations will either want a queryString or a variable or custom CSS. You'll want to work with your vendors to make sure they not only care about dark mode (thanks Simplecast!) and that they have a way to easily enable it like this.

But this introduce some interesting issues. I need to detect the preference with JavaScript and make sure the right player gets loaded.

I'd also like to notice if the theme changes (light to dark or back) and dynamically change my CSS (that part happens automatically by the browser) and this player (that's gotta be done manually, because dark mode was invoked via a URL querystring segment.)

Here's my code. Again, not a JavaScript expert but this felt natural to me. If it's not super idiomatic or it just sucks, email me and I'll do an update. I do check for window.matchMedia to at least not freak out if an older browser shows up.

if (window.matchMedia) { var match = window.matchMedia('(prefers-color-scheme: dark)') toggleDarkMode(match.matches); match.addEventListener('change', e => { toggleDarkMode(match.matches); }) function toggleDarkMode(state) { let simpleCastPlayer = new URL(document.querySelector("#simpleCastPlayeriFrame").src); simpleCastPlayer.searchParams.set("dark", state); document.querySelector("#simpleCastPlayeriFrame").src= simpleCastPlayer.href; } }

toggleDarkMode is a method so I can use it for the initial state and the 'change' state. It uses the URL object because parsing strings is so 2000-and-late. I set the searchParams rather than .append because I know it's always set. I set it.

As I write this I supposed I could have stored the document.querySelector() like I did the matchMedia, but I just saw it now. Darn. Still, it works! So I #shipit.

I am sure I missed a page or two or a element or three so if you find a white page or a mistake, file it here https://github.com/shanselman/hanselman.com-bugs/issues and I'll take a look when I can.

All in all, a fun lunch hour. Thanks Stevö for the nudge!

Now YOU, Dear Reader can go update YOUR sites for both Light Mode and Dark Mode.

Sponsor:  The No. 1 reason developers choose Couchbase? You can use your existing SQL++ skills to easily query and access JSON. That’s more power and flexibility with less training. Learn more.

© 2021 Scott Hanselman. All rights reserved.

     How to detect if the User's OS prefers dark mode and change your site with CSS and JS published first on https://deskbysnafu.tumblr.com/

[philipholt]

How to detect if the User's OS prefers dark mode and change your site with CSS and JS

I got a tweet from Stevö John who said he found my existing light theme for my blog to be jarring as he lives in Dark Mode. I had never really thought about it before, but once he said it, it was obvious. Not only should I support dark mode, but I should detect the user's preference and switch seamlessly. I should also support changing modes if the browser or OS changes as well. Stevö was kind enough to send some sample CSS and a few links so I started to explore the topic.

There's a few things here to consider when using prefers-color-scheme and detecting dark mode:

Using the existing theme as much as possible.

I don't want to have a style.css and a style-dark.css if I can avoid it. Otherwise it'd be a maintenance nightmare.

Make it work on all my sites

I have three logical sites that look like two to you, Dear Reader. I have hanselman.com, hanselman.com/blog, and hanselminutes.com. They do share some CSS rules but they are written in different sub-flavors of ASP.NET

Consider 3rd party widgets

I use a syntax highlighter (very very old) for my blog, and I use a podcast HTML5 player from Simplecast for my podcast. I'd hate to dark mode it all and then have a big old LIGHT MODE podcast player scaring people away. As such, I need the context to flow all the way through.

Consider the initial state of the page as well as the stage changing.

Sure, I could just have the page look good when you load it and if you change modes (dark to light and back) in the middle of viewing my page, it should also change, right? And also consider all the requirements above.

You can set your Chrome/Edge browser to use System Settings, Light, or Dark. Search for Theme in Settings.

All this, and I can only do it on my lunch hour because this blog isn't my actual day job. Let's go!

The prefers-color-scheme CSS Media Query

I love CSS @media queries and have used them for many years to support mobile and tablet devices. Today they are a staple of responsive design. Turns out you can just use a @media query to see if the user prefers dark mode.

@media (prefers-color-scheme: dark) {

Sweet. Anything inside here (the C in CSS stands for Cascading, remember) will override what comes before. Here's a few starter rules I changed. I was just changing stuff in the F12 tools inspector, and then collecting them back into my main CSS page. You can also use variables if you are an organized CSS person with a design system.

These are just a few, but you get the idea. Note the .line-tan example also where I say 'just put it back to it's initial value.' That's often a lot easier than coming up with "the opposite" value, which in this case would have meant generating some PNGs.

@media (prefers-color-scheme: dark) { body { color: #b0b0b0; background-color: #101010; } .containerOuter { background-color: #000; color: #b0b0b0; } .blogBodyContainer { background-color: #101010; } .line-tan { background: initial; } #mainContent { background-color: #000; } ...snip... }

Sweet. This change to my main css works for the http://hanselman.com main site. Let's do the blog now, which includes the 3rd party syntax highlighter. I use the same basic rules from my main site but then also had to (sorry CSS folks) be aggressive and overly !important with this very old syntax highlighter, like this:

@media (prefers-color-scheme: dark) { .syntaxhighlighter { background-color: #000 !important } .syntaxhighlighter .line.alt1 { background-color: #000 !important } .syntaxhighlighter .line.alt2 { background-color: #000 !important } .syntaxhighlighter .line { background-color: #000 !important } ...snip... }

Your mileage may vary but it all depends on the tools. I wasn't able to get this working without the !important which I'm told is frowned upon. My apologies.

Detecting Dark Mode preferences with JavaScript

The third party control I use for my podcast is a like a lot of controls, it's an iFrame. As such, it takes some parameters as URL querystring parameters.

I generate the iFrame like this:

<iframe id='simpleCastPlayeriFrame' title='Hanselminutes Podcast Player' frameborder='0' height='200px' scrolling='no' seamless src='https://player.simplecast.com/{sharingId}' width='100%'></iframe>

If I add "dark=true" to the querystring, I'll get a different player skin. This is just one example, but it's common that 3rd party integrations will either want a queryString or a variable or custom CSS. You'll want to work with your vendors to make sure they not only care about dark mode (thanks Simplecast!) and that they have a way to easily enable it like this.

But this introduce some interesting issues. I need to detect the preference with JavaScript and make sure the right player gets loaded.

I'd also like to notice if the theme changes (light to dark or back) and dynamically change my CSS (that part happens automatically by the browser) and this player (that's gotta be done manually, because dark mode was invoked via a URL querystring segment.)

Here's my code. Again, not a JavaScript expert but this felt natural to me. If it's not super idiomatic or it just sucks, email me and I'll do an update. I do check for window.matchMedia to at least not freak out if an older browser shows up.

if (window.matchMedia) { var match = window.matchMedia('(prefers-color-scheme: dark)') toggleDarkMode(match.matches); match.addEventListener('change', e => { toggleDarkMode(match.matches); }) function toggleDarkMode(state) { let simpleCastPlayer = new URL(document.querySelector("#simpleCastPlayeriFrame").src); simpleCastPlayer.searchParams.set("dark", state); document.querySelector("#simpleCastPlayeriFrame").src= simpleCastPlayer.href; } }

toggleDarkMode is a method so I can use it for the initial state and the 'change' state. It uses the URL object because parsing strings is so 2000-and-late. I set the searchParams rather than .append because I know it's always set. I set it.

As I write this I supposed I could have stored the document.querySelector() like I did the matchMedia, but I just saw it now. Darn. Still, it works! So I #shipit.

I am sure I missed a page or two or a element or three so if you find a white page or a mistake, file it here https://github.com/shanselman/hanselman.com-bugs/issues and I'll take a look when I can.

All in all, a fun lunch hour. Thanks Stevö for the nudge!

Now YOU, Dear Reader can go update YOUR sites for both Light Mode and Dark Mode.

Sponsor:  The No. 1 reason developers choose Couchbase? You can use your existing SQL++ skills to easily query and access JSON. That’s more power and flexibility with less training. Learn more.

© 2021 Scott Hanselman. All rights reserved.

     How to detect if the User's OS prefers dark mode and change your site with CSS and JS published first on http://7elementswd.tumblr.com/

[kingofthenorth49]

Good Dog-Bad Dog

Holy crap it’s Friday and I’m sitting at home in front of the fire, coffee in hand and psycho dog at feet (Yes Dad, I still have job). Looks like we survived another 1/52th of our orbit around a slightly cooler yellow ball of life in the sky and we’ll get to fight the ‘rona for at least another day.

That is if the four legged spawn of Satan doesn’t try to kill us today.

I figured I might use my words today to give ya’ll an update on the fur monsters progress since the last time there was a trip to the Emergency room for any one of the residents at Furlong HQ.

So Lenz, and we have not started calling him Lennie yet because at this point it’d be like refering to Harvey Weinstien as “my cuddly uncle”, has began his transformation from working animal to pet. He no longer sleeps in a locked crate,  or spends his days in his outdoor kennel. Nope, now he sleeps spread out in the middle of our king sized bed from 9 pm until 4:45 am, regulating Gloria and I to a mere 1.5’ x 6.5’ slice of diametrically opposed real estate on either side of the bed. Every evening it’s a game to see what letter our sleeping pattern will be, H, N, Z, I, etc. as Lenz determines the path forward, because he generally goes to sleep first, and then there’s just no moving him. Not that you’d want to.

Remember how it took 4 months for us to actually see him sleep? When this ct decides its nighty nighty, you let him go. You don’t wake the nuclear reactor if you plan on getting any sleep yourself. We’ve also toyed with the idea of getting rid of our alarm clock radio because Lenz’s internal clock keeps much better time, and at 4:59 am he’s wide awake (but you’d never know because he’s in K9 stealth mode) until the first notes of whatever music 103.9 is playing at the moment. At that exact moment my body has been trained to fly quickly into a fetal position as Lenz leaps from a low sitting position over me to the floor on the other side of the room in one motion, and if there’s a body part under his hind legs when he launches, there will be curse words and A535 in the immediate aftermath. Obviously 8 months out of training hasn’t unconditioned his agility and strength, but more about that later.

So regardless of the day of week we head downstairs and have our coffee, and by our coffee I truly mean our coffee because Lenz has developed a taste for breakfast blend, and every time I forget to hold my cup in my hand when I get up to do something, I come back to find his barkness standing over the cup with his 12 inch tongue rapidly darting in and out of the cup consuming my morning joe, all the while looking at me with those big brown eyes as to say “don’t judge me”. He also has developed a taste for expensive scotch, but I’ve learned to drink the 14-year and older malts out of a sippy cup to avoid any more embossing apologies to the neighbors, and the trauma to their cat.

Speaking of chasing tail, Lenz unlike his predecessor Ozzy, is not a ladies’ man. Lenz refers to terrorize the members of the female persuasion, mostly by going into full K9 mode when they come visit. No before ya’ll start going all #metoo, there’s a theme. It started with a visit by our realtor who was wearing a long puffy coat, and when she came in to get our signatures on some papers one evening, Lenz went full K9 on her. Keep in mind the ‘rona has prevented us from fully socializing him yet, as we have had hardly anyone at our house since our dark overlords imposed dracoian lockdowns in the name of safety on us (idiots). So any time anyone informs us they are coming over, I keep him on a short leash until he gets a chance to get comfortable with a stranger in his home (and believe me, it’s his home now). So back to our poor realtor who is now standing in our kitchen with a 70lb mouth of teeth gnashing at 100 clamps per hour between full barks and lunges, and I can see her eyes (they are the size of dinner plates) darting between the great white shark teeth and the thin nylon fabric of his walking leash, I imagine praying that the leash holds (Note: he’s gone through 3 so far). He doesn’t normally respond that way to visitors, and it wasn’t until our masseuse came over one evening wearing a puffy jacket that I figured it out.

He sees them as bite suits.

I guess you can take the dog out of the RCMP, but you can’t take the RCMP out of the dog. (Ed. Note – that would explain his love of coffee, scotch, and general distrust of people).

He and Gloria seem to be getting along better, the references to “your f-ing dog” have declined, and I’m no longer allowed to lock him in his crate at night, so that means they’ve bonded somewhat, although the cheeky little bastard as smart as he is doesn’t seem to get that if you keep chewing her favorite slippers, your longevity within the circle of trust will always be tenous at best. Yesterday he ate her favorite Roots slippers.

They still aren’t speaking as of this morning.

Actually he’s been getting less destructive as we find ways to engage him to keep his boredom down, but last month there was the pergola incident. In our backyard we had an aluminum pergola over our dining table that over the winter had the screws loosen a bit that gave it a bit of a lean, so much so we tied two ropes to it one night after a wind storm as I wanted to get some plates made to reinforce the attachment points, and had to go to work. I figured I’d fix it that evening when I got home. When I arrived home that evening there was twist aluminum everywhere the pergola used to be.

Apparently Lenz kept untying the ropes for fun, and Gloria kept re-tying them, up until the point Lenz finally got bored with the game and used the two ropes, once he untied them again, to pull the pergola down, and then quartered it. There was aluminum everywhere, it was a scene directly out of Dr. Detroit (you know the one in the junkyard).

So I guess now we need a new pergola built.

Don’t get me wrong, he has his good points. He’s the cuddliest German shepherd of all times, he loves to spoon and will literally pay on top of you and fall asleep. He eats all leftovers, so there’s not much to go in the compost bin, and he’s the best security system in the world, because if you break into our house you will be the one calling 9-1-1, and that’s if you have it on speed dial. He is one protective MF, especially of Gloria.

All kidding aside, he’s turning into an amazing dog, he’s cute and cuddly on the outside and hype vigilant and protective on the inside, and he’s making progress to civilian life after leaving the force last summer, so there’s hope for getting him to a normal life as a pet. Mind you I’ve been out 13 years and I still struggle at times, but at least he and I can relate (usually over a scotch) and he’s a great listener, and as long as I can keep Gloria in slippers I think he’ll be around awhile. At least until the new pergolas built anyway.  

Have Friday folks, be kind to one another, or I’m sending Lenz over for a visit.

Jim out.

[mistas06]

he main reason to watch I Care a Lot The Main Reason to Watch I Care a Lot Is Rosamund Pike

The Main Reason to Watch I Care a Lot Is Rosamund Pike

The main reason to watch I Care a Lot, J Blakeson’s twisty thriller now on Netflix, is Rosamund Pike. The film around her character, Marla Grayson, is a bit of a monster — in the old sense of the word, in that it has the body of one beast and the tail of another. I Care a Lot wants to race along like a caper movie; it wants to sting like a satire. But it often winds up fighting itself, paralyzed by its own toxin.

Marla’s grift is (mostly) legal elder abuse. She bribes a physician to say an elderly patient is mentally unfit, then she persuades a judge to appoint her as the senior’s guardian. In one fell swoop, Marla gets the power to put her wards away in a nursing home, where she can control them totally, from limiting their visitors to liquidating their bank balances. She uses the proceeds to pay herself, and the money rolls in. You might think that Marla, who needs to pull the wool over people’s eyes, would come to court in sheep’s clothing, but no. When we see her twisting the system round her finger, Pike’s hair slices sharply enough across her cheekbones to draw blood. She looks like the dragon-lady boss in a ’90s corporate thriller, a stalking predator in a bloodred dress.

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She and her lover-slash-assistant, Fran (Eiza González), are waiting for a “cherry,” an older person with a fat bank account and no nosy family, someone they can park in a home and suck dry. One day, thanks to corrupt Dr. Amos (Alicia Witt), a sweet little old lady named Jennifer (Diane Wiest) drops into their laps. In a montage, we see how the scam works, how Marla blizzards Jennifer with documentation and official language, how swiftly the older woman’s phone and autonomy are taken away. But Jennifer is less alone — and less sweet — than she seems, and the folks that come to find her include an irritated gangster, played by Peter Dinklage.

This sets up a battle royal that also turns out to be, approximately, a battle of the sexes. Marla refuses to be intimidated by threats or even harm; she sneers at any man who tries it. She and Fran and Dr. Amos (and a few other obliging professional women) are competent in their monstrous efforts, while Dinklage’s gang is populated by nearly all male ding-dongs, bruisers accustomed to winning on the first swing. Unfortunately, Wiest is sidelined by the film, despite being its prize. During a lull in the action, there’s a tremendous scene in which Jennifer, dazed by overmedication, has a tense conversation with Marla, her “guardian-robber.” Jennifer’s gaze wanders, then sharpens. Deep in her eyes, a shark rises up from the dark. We wonder — could it be that it takes an old predator to bring down a young one? But the plot turns instead towards Dinklage and Pike and their increasingly Rube Goldbergian plans, and Wiest slips away again, back to the dramaturgical depths.

Blakeson, who also made The Disappearance of Alice Creed, is interested in the violent Absurd, so here he follows the Coen brothers in their Burn After Reading mode, stylizing for all he’s worth. His heavy hand does sometimes shake. Blakeson is British, and in sending up American evils, he dresses his characters as cartoonishly as panto villains: In order that we understand him to be a baddie, Chris Messina, a mobbed-up lawyer, wears a pinkie ring and a watch chain and a three-piece-suit made from upholstery fabric. Pike’s lipstick is so intensely red, her mouth becomes the focal point of any shot she appears in — not her eyes, which are often hidden behind mirrored sunglasses. And Dinklage and his team owe some of their stylings to other Coen Brothers films and their physical-comedy influences: They bobble weapons, hurl smoothies, and wear costumes so loud I apologized to my downstairs neighbor.

Some will find this cartoon toxicity entertaining, but I couldn’t reconcile the film’s very different registers. Essentially, there are two films here fighting it out. First, there’s a horror film about the way we exploit and ignore the elderly, particularly frightening because it’s true. Blakeson’s script does a good job of demonstrating how Pike’s corporate-speak pseudo-compassion makes the court system comfortable: Her cool professionalism reassures the judge, whereas other, messier interests — like her wards’ families — unnerve him with their emotions. There’s no way to argue once Marla’s got you in her coils, because arguing only makes you seem unstable. All it takes is one overburdened judge (Isiah Whitlock, Jr.), a slimy nursing-home director (Damian Young), and Marla to twist the care industry into a Kafkaesque labyrinth. In this, the movie is grave and real and nauseating. The film has tons of guns and near escapes, but no shot is as frightening as Jennifer’s soft face, crumpling when she realizes her nurse would rather sedate her than listen.

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The second film is a glossy, aerodynamic caper, full of disposable buffoons with pistols and pastries (both equally loved) and a grifter overreaching her con. Clearly, when everybody’s wicked, you can dole out the mayhem with an easy spirit! In early scenes, Blakeson asks Dinklage to play it broad, a direction Dinklage takes perhaps too well, and action scenes turn slapstick. I Care a Lot is concerned with surfaces and style, part of a long tradition of goofball gangster pictures. And Marla’s voice-over at the beginning of the film establishes that she sees herself as a scrappy, up-from-the-bottom antihero. “Playing fair is a joke invented by rich people to keep the rest of us poor,” she says, which would certainly excuse a bit of light drug dealing or an insurance swindle or three. But Marla is assaulting the elderly, isolating them, mass-neglecting them. Whoops! The first film does so well at evoking genuine horror, it fills the second film’s balloon with lead.

Pike is such a good performer that she can actually play in all the movies Blakeson is jamming together here. She’s got the ice she showed in Gone Girl, the battlefield tenderness of Hostiles, and the grit she manifested in A Private War. She and Messina go mano a mano in a nicely charged scene, when Marla keeps flash-freezing the lawyer’s oleaginous attempts at negotiation. He oozes; she zaps him. He oozes a little more, and the room starts to frost. Considering the strength of this scene and the showdown with Wiest, it’s strange that Blakeson so rarely lets his wonderful cast just … sit down and talk. In the end, he has made a film in which plot machinery overwhelms character and meaning — and for that specific kind of narrative engine to work, the audience does need to be invested in whether plans either succeed or fail. We don’t need to like what a movie’s characters do, but our hearts need to beat a little faster when they attempt it. My pulse stayed steady: I Care a Lot made it impossible to care at all.

I Care A Lot will make you worry about your grandparents (and Peter Dinklage) rankly,Frankly, the playbook for success in America sucks. You’ve heard it before: eat or be eaten, hustle hustle hustle, move like a shark, the competition is working while you’re sleeping. This is, to use the term loosely, sociopathic — which is why it’s such fertile territory for cinematic villains like American Psycho’s Patrick Bateman. In the new Netflix thriller I Care A Lot, writer-director J Blakeson introduces us to another: Marla Grayson.

Marla (Rosamund Pike) is a fully-formed monster of a well-mannered and respectable sort. She’s a con artist who specializes in separating the elderly from their wealth. She also has an efficient system: a doctor who will declare targets unfit to manage their own affairs, a practiced courtroom spiel that tells judges what they need to hear so they’ll appoint her as her latest target’s legal guardian, and a favorite retirement home that appreciates all the business she sends their way.

It’s a horrifyingly effective grift that foregrounds the terrible truth of elder abuse, which most Americans are vaguely aware of, but never confront until they have to deal with it themselves. Business is good for Marla, because like any good grifter, she isn’t making any waves of her own, she’s just inserting herself into a systemic injustice the wider culture has decided it’s fine with.

But one day she picks the wrong target. Jennifer Peterson (Dianne Wiest) should be an easy mark: She has a lot of possessions, and no close family. Unfortunately for Marla, Jennifer’s son is crime boss Roman Lunyov (Peter Dinklage, looking a whole lot like Jack Dorsey). Like any good crime lord, Roman loves his mom, and will stop at nothing to extricate her from Marla’s tangled web.

With its central conflict established, I Care A Lot prowls through its two-hour runtime. Mirroring its protagonist’s steady pulse and slick-yet-not-overstated style (consider her trenchcoat: a classic tan affair that hugs her upper torso perfectly, yet falls in loose, flowing folds), it confidently lays out the cat-and-mouse game between its two main characters, their moves and countermoves against each other. It never fully pounces, though — while the conflict between Marla and Roman does come to a head, the stakes remain relatively flat.

This is partly because I Care A Lot ironically doesn’t have much to care about. As Marla, Rosamund Pike is tremendous fun, playing the sort of openly conniving woman that her character in Gone Girl subversively hinted at. And while Dinklage’s Roman Lunyov is a compelling foe, he mostly acts by proxy, preferring to remain out of sight. So while they’re both bad people, only Marla has any sense of interiority. Pike works wonders to make a thin story feel full and satisfying to watch in the moment, but once it’s over, the thinness starts to become bothersome, especially given the arresting subject matter at its core.

There’s a meanness to I Care A Lot’s premise that is arresting and never far from the audience’s mind — in Marla’s spacious office, for example, she sits at a desk across from a wall where she hangs photos of her victims — or as the law now considers them, her wards. For brief moments, usually when Wiest’s character, Jennifer, is on screen, the film seems like it’s going to confront them head-on. But it always stops short. In these moments, however, I Care A Lot, is at its most compelling — when Jennifer looks directly at Marla and recognizes precisely the sort of creature she is.

Not a “fucking lioness,” as Marla calls herself in I Care A Lot’s opening monologue, spinning herself as a woman wise to the fact that people are either predator or prey, and that you can choose to be the former, or consign yourself to the latter. That’s just the great myth of American capitalism, a wonderfully adaptable fable that can gussied up with #girlboss buzzwords to create monsters like Marla in the first place. No, she’s something closer to the truth of how you make it in America, as Jennifer realizes midway through the film, from the nursing home Marla has trapped her in. She’s a goddamned vulture.

[sian22redux]

He followed me home, chap. 4

Title: Hew followed me home,,  

Rating:   T

Summary :  The whole world gets involved when you and your new boyfriend, Chris Evans, adopt a friend for Dodger but then can’t settle on a name.   .

This chapter:  Chris and reader navigate some unexpected twists.  Fluff and some angst, a teensy bit of social anxiety and a little making out. 

Happy Birthday @theycallmebecca!!    We’re finally at the end!    Thanks so much to @arizonapoppy for her awesome and timely help.   Oenethera5 is the one who came up with the winning name.  Hope you all like it.   Because I rushed to get this up for Becca’s big day it is not beta’d.  If y’all spot anything too heinous let me know :)

You can find Chapter 1  etc. here:    He Followed Me Home,   .tags for folks below the cut

-----------------------------------------------  .  

Two weeks after puppy comes home Chris goes back to work.  

 There’s a whirlwind of press to do for Red Sea Diving and Avengers 3, and with the rave reviews for both (and his Broadway debut) your giant, bouncing labrador of a boyfriend is on a high.  

 This night his assignment is Jimmy Kimmel Live.  

The Town car pulls up in front of the old masonic lodge that hosts Kimmel’s studio and  you’re thinking ‘Wow”.   Already the crush of tourists and fans outside the doors snakes past El Capitan’s classic art deco theatre to Ghirardelli’s chocolate shop, held back by a line of security and police.  The walk of fame with its stars outfront has a red carpet laid on top.  The facade looks elegant; all stone columns and ionic capitals, banners and bright lights.  

 Flashbulbs are already popping before Chris finishes his call with Susan, his long time publicist.  

 “Fine. Yeah.  I know. I know. I’m good. Breathe. Yup, I’m breathing.  See you at 10 for dinner.”  He swipes his phone shut and smiles weakly across at you, leg going a million miles an hour.  The nerves never get any easier. They do this before almost every show—Susan, the pro, talking  him down, getting the noisy brain in gear, but this time with the Avengers hype off the dial, they decide it might help if you came along.  

 (Officially you are representing Getaway and reporting back on audience response. Unofficially you are there to stand in the wings and wish calming vibes his way.)  

 The evening mercifully starts out light and easy.  

 Jimmy loves Chris as an interview: they always have fun and joke around, but he knows his subject well enough to go a little slow while his guest gets in the groove.

“What is new with you?” he asks, smiling broadly, clapping Chris on the shoulder as he sits on the soft grey wool of the couch,  bobbing his head at the wild applause and nervously smoothing his tie in place.  

“Not much.  Filming. Hanging out.” Chris huffs a breath and smiles, trying to act nonchalant, adjusting his cuffs and surreptitiously wiping his sweaty palms on his dark suit pants.   “A ten city press tour.”

Jimmy’s eyebrows head for the ceiling.  “Not much?  Other than being everywhere on screen and nearly breaking the internet tweeting about your dog?”

Chris laughs and Jimmy explains whole missing Dodger thing to the audience.   “For the few folks who spent this year underneath a rock—this is Dodger.  And this is where we all thought he died!”  

Pictures of Dodger show up on the big screen backdrop; the pining tweets that were misinterpreted; the amazing video shot by Carly of their reunion.  The audience is oohing and awwing and clapping loudly.

“I know, I know. What can I say?” Chris shrugs.  “Dodger’s a pure soul. It was hard.  It was hard.  I was in South Africa and I missed him.  For months. He took it hard but I wasn’t gonna put him in quarantine.”  

Jimmy smiles.  “Nah. I get it.  It’s rough. But next just time warn us ok?”  He turns to the camera, all mock serious.   “And Twitter? Jack you listening?  Give this guy 280 characters right now—cuz jeez I don’t think our hearts can handle too short Evans tweets.”  

Chris throws back his head and laughs, grabs his pec for a sec, shaking his head, full on going for it as the whole studio cracks up.  “Suuure that’ll work.  I get to word vomit more.”  He mimes grabbing for a barf bag and waves the idea away.  You’re smiling, watching him relax.  Thank heaven.  So far it’s going great.  “No Twitter.. please.  Do not.” He shakes his head and settles back into his seat, beaming a sunshine smile.  “But seriously—it’s all good. When I have to be away, we’ve got a solution for it now.”

Kimmel raises an eyebrow.  “Oh yeah?”

“We adopted a puppy.”

The whole audience in unison goes ‘Awww”  and suddenly Chris is pulling out his phone, flipping through his pictures to show Jimmy one of the two amigos on the lawn,   Dodger sitting tall and puppy flopped at his feet.  

He holds the screen facing out toward the seats.  The camera zooms in and out, trying to focus and Jimmy turns to ask the stage manager:  “Can we get that up?  The little fluffball is pretty cute.”    

Magically, the picture is caught and appears on the backdrop:  puppy and Dodger beyond life size and so adorable the audience is cooing.  Jimmy nods at the screen.  Chris nods, smiling like the proudest papa at the two of them but then suddenly,  laser like, Jimmy turns back to Chris and picks up on what was said.

“We?”  

Chris blushes bright red as a tomato then pales to an unhealthy shade of white.  

Standing in the wings, you think “oh shit.”  He’s probably in panic mode; brain berating him for slipping up, worrying all at once what Susan’ll say, and how to talk his way out, and if he’ll fuck up more.  

You heart goes out to him.  This is exactly the type of nightmare scenario guaranteed to bring out his anxiety.  You watch him awkwardly cross and recross his legs, stroking his tie down again and stalling for more time.  

“A friend”  That’s all he has to say, he doesn’t need to give any more but for some reason he’s biting his lip, fingers tapping on his slacks, agonizing.   This is his least favourite part of the biz but surely Jimmy won’t give him too hard a time?    

The silence is getting a little long.  Come on Chris.  You’re an actor.   Just fudge an answer.  You’re pleading in your head and then it comes.

And you almost drop your notes in shock.  

“My girlfriend and I.”  

An instant giant collective groan emanates from the audience.  Cieto, Jimmy’s band leader, right on cue leads the house band in a mournful dirge. You’re frozen, thinking that at least no one there knows it’s you, as your phone buzzes in your hand.  

It’s Susan.  Of course it is.  She watches all his events and you just know she’s madly texting “wtf???”  

Jimmy can barely speak for chuckling.  

“Folks.  Folks,” he pleads, palms up, getting the hooting of the audience to calm down.  “Oh my god, you heard it here first.  The scoop of the year. Chris Evans is no longer single and the internet is about to break again.”

You’re dying.  Just dying, trying to keep your face straight, head whirling at the implications.  What??!!  Fuck, Chris.   How long before someone finds out it’s you?  Days if you’re lucky and that thought makes your stomach knot.  What will Anthony and Joe say?  How will you handle all the crazies? You’re picturing shit-tons of hate mail, a posse of paparazzi at the gate when you get home and wonder if you can scale the cliff at the bottom of the lawn to drop into Christina Applegate’s backyard next time you have to leave.  

Maybe you should leave right now?  Maybe you should get a taxi to your apartment?   Not be seen going back to Laurel Canyon but then what would puppy and Dodger do?  

You’re just picturing never dining out again, never jogging on Mulholland, when you notice that Chris, the shit, is grinning like a loon.  

What?!

The noise finally subsides.  Jimmy leans over and asks: “How long has it been?”  

Chris takes a breath, licks his lips, slouches a little lower and weirdly almost looks relaxed.   Some colour has come back into his cheeks.   “Four months.”

“Four months?  So new!”

“Yeah.  Yeah.  New but feels so right.  It’s like she’s always been there, you know?”  

Jimmy’s nodding, says something about that was how it was for him and a shy smile creases Chris’s face.   You’re melting; a little dizzy at the heartfelt words.  

It is?   What did he just say?

Your brain has gone from panicked to short circuited: replaying that sentence over and over.  You ignore your phone’s frantic buzzing, miss most of Jimmy’s saying until he asks, curious as a cat.   “How did you keep this secret?”  

Chris grins.  “She’s Anthony Russo’s right hand.  Goes almost everywhere that I do with the Avengers movies being made.”  

Ok that’s good.  Good. He’s brought it back to the reason that he’s there—press for Infinity War—you think that Jimmy will move on to the debut but then Chris does the unthinkable.

Perhaps he’s still a little flustered or maybe his brain invaded for a moment by the God of Mischief.  

He waves his big strong hand toward the right stage wings. “She’s here.”  

Oh my fucking god.  

A studio camera whips right ‘round but you’re in shock.   You can’t believe it.  Your carefully protected secret.  Held for months.  Friends and family have sworn a pact.  Every little move carefully choreographed and this impetuous goofball has just outed you to the world!  

There’s a producer in headset tapping you on the shoulder but you’re shaking your head; turning away and bending over.  Hiding your face in your hands and clutching your clipboard hard, thanking every god you know that you’ve worn a business suit.

(Out of the corner of your eye you can see the feed.  Oh great.  Your ass is on national television.  Hastily you straighten up.)  

Over on set Jimmy’s hand is waving lazily at you to come out. The audience is clapping, louder and louder but still you mutely shake your head.

No.  Way.  This is Chris’s thing.  You are not stepping into his limelight. Marvel’s limelight.  Fuck, Kevin Feige is gonna have an aneurysm.

Jimmy, the heartless bastard, is still laughing.  “She’s kinda shy. 

“Not really…but,” Chris stutters.  He’s wide-eyed and worrying. Trying to apologize.  “I’m sorry. Sorry.  I didn’t mean…”    

He didn’t mean to what?  Implode your world?  Live?  The buzzing in your pocket has gone nuclear.  Your hear Anthony’s dedicated tone and Joe’s.  A few others with no alert and you wonder if it’s his agent Josh and manager Brad, on top of Susan.   Oh god. You’re almost hyperventilating. Will you get fired?  Will you still have a job on Monday morning?  Will your friend Lena who you haven’t told ever speak to you again??

Jimmy looks over anxiously at you and, bless his sensitive soul, gets that this might be a little much.  They cut the feed away and like a pro, he starts to dial it back 

“Ok… What’s her name?”

“Y/N.”  

“And where did you meet?”

“On the set of Avengers 4.”   Suddenly you’re thinking of Frank Grillo.  Another excitable Marvel guy with Italian parents.  Talks with his hands as if he’s conducting an orchestra but that moment he had nothing on Chris.  The hands you love are almost dancing as he relays Bautista’s accident, excitedly talks about your mutual love of baseball.  It’s adorable and overwhelming.  

But still not what Chris is being paid to do.    

You think you are about to be in the clear when Jimmy launches his next question.  

“And what’s the puppy’s name?”

Chris chuckles and shakes his head.   “About that….”

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~****~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two events happen in the immediate aftermath.  

Puppy’s nameless state becomes a thing. And your previously 250 follower-Twitter feed explodes.

By the time you make it back into his dressing room your name is trending.  Chris holds you anxiously in his arms, apologizing over and over until you have to put your hands across his mouth.  

“It’s ok.”

“It’s not.  I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.  I don’t.”  He frowns, runs his hands up and down your arms.  He smells of aftershave and the heavy sweet lilies stuffed into a giant crystal vase.  You normally hate their smell but weirdly not in that moment.

“Well I do, but shit.  Y/N, I love you.  I just couldn’t hold it in.”

A giant bloom of hope and happiness races through your chest.  “And I love you.”  You’re crying and laughing all at once. “Chris Evans, you are such a fucking meatball.”

“Yeah. Well I’m your meatball.”

The searing kiss lasts until a panicked Susan, come down in person, knocks upon the door.  

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

Turns out Chris Evans trending for any reason short of murder is good for Marvel too.  

The next day you a get bazillion texts from friends, get grilled by Susan and Chris’s agent Josh about your past until Chris is forced to growl, and learn all about block chains out of necessity.  While you and Chris were lying in (naked, oblivious and very occupied) that morning some enterprising hack went to work with Getaway’s employee list and guessed your twitter handle.  

Shit.  Lesson learned.  

The afternoon is spent fielding calls and messages.  The most precious text you get is from Tara, Chris’s best best friend.  You’ve only met her once, overwhelmed in the giant Evans-Capuano New Years party where you first met his family.  She was lovely but you haven’t really talked.  

<Welcome to the crazy whirl—we’ve got your back.>  

Wow.   Deep breath.  Guess this means it’s real.  

And kind of overwhelming.  Chris is off again in days for the long-planned European opening of Infinity War and you’re at home, doing your job (the long lead in for Avengers 4 post production) and holding down the fort.  This includes taking Dodger and puppy out, and at first you’re nervous, knowing you will be followed, Josh arranges for guards to enforce a breathable perimeter away from the vile, scum-sucking paps.  It works.  Folks get the hint mostly and eventually leave off.  

But the fuss over puppy’s nameless state?  That keeps on going….  

Chris tweets about the new member family: a hundred thousand responses in the first two minutes. He mentions that puppy has learned to sit and stay and it goes viral.  Your twitter and his are literally inundated with puppy names—yours from friends and his from fans.  Even random peeps on the street get in on the act.  

Instead of Miles’ ‘I don’t wike it” being called out to him, people now shout puppy names.  

He laughs, and like Steve Rogers, pulls out a small notebook and writes them down.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~****~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This state of ridiculousness lasts for the whole time that he is gone.  

Thank heaven you can telework.  Chris’s normally immaculate office is a riot of your stuff but it sure helps.  Puppy is growing so fast, he needs constant supervision.  First he jumps up and gets the car keys off the island; chews them until the car alarm goes off.  Then he slides across the kitchen floor and accidentally knocks the cupboard kick plate out.  A priceless Himalayan poppy is shredded into tiny, forlorn blue bits.  A rather more mundane knitted sock winds up, unraveled, strung between lounging chairs.  

You amuse Chris by texting pictures of the contraband.

Puppy’s personality grows just like his paws.  He’s smart and biddable, if anything almost more of a sap than Dodger.  You work on leash training, and sit and stay, endure the inevitable hilarious tabloid pictures of puppy looking confused at the walking park.  He loves to snuggle at your feet but also is more skittish, less confident than Dodger--   easily spooked-- and you suppose this is because the wide world is so big and new. Dodger was a rescue but grew up in a home.  Puppy has spent all his days inside a cage.  

It comes out, sometimes, in hilarious and unexpected ways.

One day he shies away from, but then furiously demolishes, an ‘indestructable’ Ovis frisbee.   Another he barks manically at barbeque sauce.  Once he cowers at the sigh of just one trash can. (the other is ok??).  The escape artist comes out when one morning he bolts through the closing electric gate.   A startled photog thinks quick grabs him by the collar  (That is a puppy?  What is he?  Cerebus?)  

All this fills your time but still you miss Chris something fierce.  He’s in Rome and Bucharest and Berlin.  Running from event to event. Tired, stressed, and you wish you could be there.  

All throughout the puppy name ideas keep coming in.  After Renner instagrams  ”Evans can’t name a dog”  the suggestions come flying thick and fast and then the sneaky snarky shit goes to town—Jeremy puts it in a poll on his private app.  The one he does for fans to interact with him.  Of course you need to follow just to see what’s trending, to tease Chris with the top rated latest idea, and that is how you wind up in your pj’s, enveloped by twenty pounds of puppy and  more of Dodger in the middle of the day when IW has its London premiere. Chris looks amazing in a silvered, deep indigo and mauve silk suit by Ferragamo.  It’s edgy and fun—Mackie’s teases him about it but clothes horse Sebastian approves.  

After the red carpet and introductions to the Prince and Princess (only you know how many times he’d practised that perfect bow) they take their seats and you shoot him a text with the latest names.  

<How about Cerebus?>

<Thumbs down>

“Bruno?>

<Blah>

<Beethoven>     

<He’s not a St Bernard>

There’s a pause.  You wait patiently until the little dots start up again.

<Sry. Chris put popcorn down my shirt>

They are such kids.  Pratt or Hemsworth.  Either could be the culprit.  

<Those Renner’s top rated stars?>   This is followed by a barfing face.

You laugh.  <Least it’s not doggymcdogface>

<Shut up>

<Make me>

You’re pretty sure his answer counts as sexting.  

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~****~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once Chris gets back he and Susan hatch what they think is a brilliant plan for your proper coming out.  

You hate it.

You are terrified.

Ten of days of complicated, exhausting back and forth between the CGI guys and studio pass in a whirl and before you know it the day arrives.  May 3rd.

Infinity War’s New York Premiere.  

You both fly out, leave Scott to sit at the house and start down the incredible set that lines the huge red carpet.  Photographers, literally a hundred of them, have come from all over the world for this night. You are shaking like a leaf, beyond nervous as you’ve never been before.  Chris’s stylist had picked out a gorgeous gown; ruched and slim, ice lavender, it’s right on with the latest trend and shows off your height.  (The funky diamond and fluorite necklet Chris surprised you with is worth more than your monthly salary but he insisted.)

“You look beautiful.”  Chris whispers in your ear,  surreptitiously brushing his fingers across your ass.  It makes you flush right as you both walk slowly  past the waiting phalanx.  

“Chris! Y/N!  Here. Look here.”

“Chris!  Chris!  Here!”

“How’s puppy?” someone shouts and he answers right away.

“Great! He’s with my little brother.”

“Got a name yet?”

“Nope.”  

There’s a ripple of laughter at that.  You stand a little dazed.  Chris holds your hand and  strokes a warm palm across your lower-back and you aren’t sure which of you it calms the most.  You keep expecting Susan’s assistant Joan to touch your elbow, the pre-approved signal to break away, but Chris keeps you there, shakes his head at her and holds you hard.  

When Elizabeth and Scarlet sweep up and join him you step quickly back; let them flirt and laugh and answer questions; have a great time joking about how weird it was to work with bearded Cap.  They seem lovely; you know them just a little from the set but you don’t ‘know them’ know them.  Maybe at the after party you’ll get that chance.  

Just when you begin frown and wonder if it’s weird you’re just standing there, a hand pulls at your elbow, drags you back to the centre of the throng.  

It’s Robert.  Beaming as he wraps you in a hug and plants the biggest kiss on your cheek.  Tucks you at his side while you blush furiously. You know him a little more because you’d worked the Siberia unit set.  

“Hey,” he smiles.  “You good?”

“Trying,” you admit and he hugs you hard just as an overly made up woman in thigh high slit gown and sky high heels stalks forward and sticks a microphone in his face.  

“Robert!  Robert Downey Junior!  Brooke from E! here.  What do you think about the rave reviews Infinity War is getting?”

He smiles a little wanly, waits for her to acknowledge you and when she doesn’t ignores her question blithely. “Brooke, great to see you.   Have you met Y/N?  One of the best damn producers in the biz.  She’s one of the reasons for those reviews.”  

Oh lord, but RDj is like this. Positive, Lovely. And occasionally full of shit.  

You are not a producer, you are a second assistant producer. You want to die but settle for digging an elbow in his ribs   (He giggles, but of course Robert has the chutzpah to pull it off).

Miss-self-centred-celebrity-interviewer frowns, plucked brows furrowed into a fairly accurate image of permanent confused surprise.  “Great,” she bullshits and gamely ploughs right on.  “Robert any predictions you want to make?”   

She means about fan response.  Folks expect the movie has been hyped but you know,  frame by frame, how great it is.  

You smile a little proudly, and glance up at Robert, wondering what he’ll say.  His eyes are hidden by the trademark coloured glasses but something about the stiff set of his jaw says he’s pissed.   By how rude she is.  

His answer makes your jaw almost hit the floor.

“Predictions?  Sure.” He looks fondly down at you and then over to the big muscled guy to his right.  “Y/N here will be the best damn thing that ever happened to Chris Evans.”

Wha..?   …?”    

Before you can even frame a coherent thought Robert quips “See, look at this. He can’t be away from her for more than a heartbeat.”  

It’s true.  Chris has hoped back to grab your hand again and now you are sandwiched between your gorgeous boyfriend and one of Hollywood’s true legendary stars.  You sneak a peek at them both.  They’re happy and grinning and bantering back and forth.  

The part of you that isn’t terrified wants to pinch yourself at where you are.

Later, in the theatre’s dark with an epic battle raging overhead, you reflect on how freaky your life has become.  Before it was secrecy and haphazard dates; knees touching under table cloths and walking late in the evening with no one about.  Now it’s sitting next to this amazing man, in public in the middle of the afternoon,  while he squeezes your knee and kisses your palm every chance he gets.   Like a pair of giddy teenagers you whisper to each other, touch and flirt, get shushed by a grinning Scarlet.  

It’s amazing and crazy and just like a dream but it gets even crazier the next day when E! magazine runs the  byline “Is this the one?”.  Next to a picture of you, one hand on Chris’s chest, looking up adoringly into his eyes.  He has the softest smile and looks so happy he could burst.

Tara texts  <I sure hope so>

All you can think is when did they take that?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~****~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You fly back to Los Angeles and Chris does Chicago and D.C. but, finally, mid-May he is back home.  Dodger and puppy are overjoyed.  You settle into something of a routine.  Work, workouts, hanging with friends, keeping up on puppy training.  Walking puppy three times a day to keep him happy and just a little less rambunctious.  The world has got used to the idea that you’re a thing so a few less paps haunt the gate.

Puppy by default gets called puppy all the time.  

One Saturday morning you are both huddled on the couch indulging a second cappuccino when Chris’s phone rings.  It’s Susan’s tone.  Reluctantly he puts it on speaker phone so he doesn’t have to hold it to his ear.

His lips are kinda occupied, buzzing along your collarbone.

“Hmmm, Suz?  What’s up?”

“A new invitation came in for an event I think that you should do.”

Chris frowns, wondering why this has to be handled now. “When?”

“End of June.”    

“Kinda busy with Red Sea opening near then.”  

“I know.  But I think you’ll really want to see this one.”  Susan sounds like she is smiling.  Intriguing. Normally she’s so straight-faced, looks more like a poker player with a shitty hand.  

“Ok.”  Chris is shrugging as you mime a question.

“I’ll send the car over with the invite.”

Now?  Wow. It obviously is a major deal.  

Thirty minutes later the doorbell rings, Dodger and puppy race for the door, stand there with tails wagging while Chris accepts the envelope from Susan’s driver.

He flops back beside you on the couch.  You scoop puppy up, give him a scratch behind both silky ears while Chris runs a fingernail under the flap.

“Holy shit!”

You lean over and peer across his muscled shoulder.  “What is it?”

“An invitation from the Bosox’s owner John Henry himself.”

“To what?” you ask, thinking of his beer-drenched, football weekends with the guys.  This would be a perfect opportunity but you’re the Red Sox’s biggest fan.  Maybe Scott could sit again and you both have a weekend to yourselves?

“Their ‘dog day at Fenway’”

“What?!”  You squeal. “Yes!”  You shake puppy’s paw and his kiss his snout.  “Oh my god little guy you get to see the Green Monster for yourself.”

Chris laughs.  The Green Monster is Fenway Park’s fabled left field wall. The highest in the MLB.   “So long as he doesn’t piddle on it. We’re going to do it then?  Says here they need an answer by Monday.”

You shake your head incredulously at Chris.   “Are you kidding?  Our favourite team?  The most famous field in all of baseball!  Of course we’re doing it!  And besides, our first date was there.  It’s awesome.”  

It is.  Dodger, catching some of your excitement, gets all keyed up.  He jumps up and puts his paw on Chris’s knee.  His master gives it a grave shake, purses his lips thoughtfully.  “Hmmm. Maybe we can take a couple days off. Hang with mom and everyone.  Charter a jet to make it easy to fly both these dudes.”

You like that idea.  The only thing dampening your enthusiasm was the thought of putting puppy in an airplane hold.  Chris reaches down and gives Dodger’s head a pat before looking across at you, a slow smile spreading along his lips.  Your soulful boyfriend has saved the best bit for last.

“They want me to throw out the first pitch.  With Dodger and puppy there.”

“Woohoo!!”   That’s it. Pandemonium breaks out.   You’re up and dancing with an excited, yipping ball of fluff in your arms, while Chris grabs Dodger and gets his face washed excitedly.  

“We need red ribbons for their collars,” you exclaim, “and to get them groomed and…”

“Whoa.  First things first.   I need to work on my pitch.”  

“Oh I can help with that.  I’ve got good hands.”  

With a glove you mean, but Chris chuckles mischievously and leans in to catch your lips in his.  “I know. Maybe we should go work on ‘signs’.”

Oh god.  You laugh through the feather softness of his kiss along your jaw, shiver as it presses harder and finds the hollow of your throat.  So good.  Your eyes are starting to glaze over while a perfect liquid heat pools low in your core. Several blissful moments are then lost to making out before the ‘kids’ begin to wriggle.  

Puppy’s whining in that way that says he needs to pull up a tree 

Reluctantly you break apart and make a face. “Parent time.” Chris sets Dodger down and goes over to the French doors, slides them open and lets both dogs out into the yard.  It’s warm and a little hazy.  You grab your half empty mug and the invitation, sit at the outdoor dining table to read it through. 

God this is incredible.  They want Chris to throw out the first pitch and join Mr. Henry in his suite.  Lead the seventh inning stretch and bring you too. You’re named.  Wow.  It’s unbelievable.  You look up at Chris and smile, shielding your eyes from the climbing sun.  

He’s stretching out his shoulders, flexing to get out the kinks.   It makes you want to run your hands up underneath his shirt.  

Focus Y/N, focus.  

You tap your fingernails thoughtfully on the mug.  ‘Fenway.  I still can’t believe it.  Puppy and Dodger going to Fenw…  Wait.  That’s it!”  You sit straight up.  It’s perfect.  How had you never thought of it before?

“What?”   Chris swipes your mug to take a swig, cocks one eyebrow, keeping half an eye on the dogs as they go about their routine.  

“Puppyu needs a name.  Before we get to the park. Look.”  You shake the heavy vellum under Chris’s nose.  The Red Sox’s address is in big green lettering at the top.

“Fenway.  It’s the perfect name.”

Chris looks over at the little guy, chasing after Dodger with his tongue lolling out and ears flapping in the wind.  It’s been two whole months since you brought him home. Two months that feel more like two days and have been an amazing ride. 

“Fenway.  Dodger and Fenway.  I love it. It so works.”  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~****~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Epilogue.

From Boston’s NESN-TV feed.   June 27, 2018.  Jerry Remy and Steve Lyons announcing.

“Well folks look at that.  It’s a high looping curve ball, right over the plate and Vasquez nabs it easily. He jogs out to the mound.  Hands it straight to tonight’s special first pitch guest: Chris Evans.  Captain America himself has just thrown out the ball on tonight’s Sox-Tribe game.  A long anticipated matchup that is sure to be a slug fest.”  

“You’re right about that Jerry.  The fans, and their pooches, are keyed up for this game on ‘dog day at Fenway’, brought to you by Nutrisource and the Sox’s great management.  37,000 here tonight.  Almost capacity.”

“How many dogs?”

“No official stat on that…but the two cutest gotta be out on there right now.  Dodger and Fenway.  Chris Evans’ and his girlfriend Y/N’s pups.”

“No doubt about it Steve.  They’re both being very good dogs there, standing with Miss Y/N.  Now Mr. Henry and tonight’s managers, Alex Cora and Tito Francona, and the plate umpire come forward to shake Mr Evans’ and Miss Y/N’s hands.  Starting pitcher Drew Pomeranz tips his cap.  We’re just waiting for Mr. Henry to say a few words.”  

“Hmm.  There seems to be a bit of a delay.  Can you tell what’s going on?  The big wigs have all stepped back.”

“Not sure. Wait. Oh lordy.  Mr. Evans has gone down on one knee.”

“Yup.  No doubt about it.  Folks we are witnessing history here.  Mr. Evans is holding Miss Y/N’s hand and pulling something out of his pocket.  It’s looks sparkly and suspiciously like a ring. Miss Y/N is nodding her head and those are definitely tears upon her face.”

“What an amazing moment.  The crowd is on its feet.  The whole stadium is pounding from the cheering.  Mr. Evans has now stood up and wow that kiss might just bust our rating.”

“Dang it, Jer, there’s something in my eye.”

“Mine too.  What a phenomenal way to start this series. The organist has struck up ‘It’s a Wonderful World’ and there’s one heck of powerful hug going on down there.”

“Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy. 

“And gal.”  

“Absolutely.  They’re slowly starting to walk off, hand in hand, waving to the crowd and the dogs are trotting along.  A storybook start to a new life.  We wish them every happiness.”    

“We sure do.  Look at that. Both dugouts have emptied to salute them.  Nice touch.  Class acts both teams.”

“For sure.  And while the happy couple take a few last waves the infield has filed back to their spots. Pomeranz is scuffing his cleats on the spike cleaner, getting ready for his set up.”    

“It’s a beautiful and special night Boston.  Let’s play ball.”  

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

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