#also they do knock over that air traffic control tower

[jedi-valjean]

 Have a prequel meme moment with Grim:

“We lost something,” said Anakin.

 “Not to worry. We are still flying half a ship,” replied Obi-Wan.

 “Yeah, no offense Master, BUT I’M STILL GOING TO WORRY!” shouted Grim.

It's either that or quote the line at the exact same time he says it and yell "JINX"

[the-froschamethyst4]

Choking

➤ Day 2

𖤐Pairing: Ghost x Neighbor! F! Reader

𖤐Pronouns: She/Her

𖤐Warnings: Smut, NSFW, Choking, age gap, P in V, language, aggressive behavior, some eating out, some boob grabbing, ass slapping, fingering, kissing, passing out

𖤐Summary: Ghost felt horny after work. He was bored and wanted to have some fun, so he asks his neighbor Y/n to help him just a bit on his situation

——————

———————

5:00PM

Simon Ghost Riley just got off of work. He was bored the entire day working. He only did Traffic Stops at work and everything was boring and earlier today when he checked his phone something had popped up.

He followed his neighbor Y/n's Instagram account and what popped up was her in a red two-piece bikini laying by the pool at their apartment complex.

Her legs looked perfect, they looked smooth and shiny. One photo was then of her chest her bikini top was small and the triangles just barely covered her nipples.

He opened the door to his apartment and rubbed his tired eyes and messed with his crotch as his dick was hardened by his little neighbor.

Now, you're also probably wondering why he follows her on Instagram, well...she gave him her Instagram to get a hold of her.

Ghost didn't have Instagram and barely knew how to use it; he didn't have any sort of social media. He thought that no one should know about his business, not even his own friends from work, and was wondering why she just didn't give him her phone number instead?

He removed his uniform and looked down at his boxers seeing his friend standing up. He grabbed some sweatpants and walked out of his apartment going across the hallway to his little neighbor's door.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

The door opened and he looked down at Y/n who was in black booty shorts, and an over-sized t-shirt that went to her mid-thigh.

Ghost could barely control himself.

Holy fuck

"Oh hi, Simon. What can I do you for?" She asked all innocent and kind to him.

"Hey, Y/n...umm~ I was wondering if you can help me with something?"

"Oh okay, like what?"

"I have some furniture to move, and I was wondering if you could help me?"

"Oh yeah, let me get some socks on and I'll be right over," she gave him a sweet smile, one that makes Ghost melt every time he sees her.

He went back to his apartment and messed with his crotch again, but it was hard and sensitive. He bent over and his arm was against the wall as he moved his hand from his crotch.

"F-Fucking hell," he groaned as there was a small knock at the door, he knew it was Y/n and he opened the door letting her inside.

"Hey, I'm all set," she walks inside.

"Right..." he shut the door. He looked down at her as she really did seem like she wanted to move stuff around but really...that's not what he wants.

Ghost towered over Y/n making her turn when the light was being blocked.

"Oh hi," she said, looking up at Ghost.

"Hi," he picks her up and with instinct her legs wrapped around his waist and her arms went around his neck. Ghost's hands rested on her waist.

"W-What are you d-doing?" She asked.

"You posted a picture of yourself on your Instagram, and I've been wanting to fuck you all day long."

His lips landed on hers. They started to make out and Y/n wanted to push him away but deep down she didn't really want to. Ghost started to walk to his couch and sat down with Y/n now on his lap.

His hands went from her waist to her butt. He started to massage her butt earning a soft moan from her. His hands then went up her shirt removing it over her head and tossing it on the floor at his feet.

He pushed her on her back, he unhooked her bra and removed her shorts tossing them. He looked down at her naked body.

"You don't wear panties under your shorts?"

"I was home. So, there's no point in wearing them..." she looked embarrassed.

"Don't be embarrassed, love," he bent down close to her neck and kissed it also leaving some small purple bruises on her neck.

Her legs wrapped around his waist as she felt cold air hit her body and made the hairs on her arm stand up and her nipples hardened against his chest.

He licked his middle and ring fingers and slowly shoved them inside her lower half. She bucked her hips up and moaned his name, he kissed her lips, and her moans were muffled into the kiss.

He sat up and wrapped his big veiny hand around her neck. Her little hands held his as he was holding her tight but not tight enough to cut off airflow.

"Ah~ S-Si," she moans as he shoved his fingers faster inside of her earning a loud moan from her lips. He smirks as he squeezed around her neck just a bit tighter and his fingers moved faster.

Her lower half sounded wet, she moaned and gripped at his hand that was around her neck and her other hand gripped the one pushing his thick fingers inside of her.

"A-Ah~" she huffed out a moan as she felt herself about to cum on his fingers which she soon did.

He pulled his fingers out and sucked them clean, his hand around her neck stayed there. It was still tight, and she could barely catch her breath now.

He sat up and removed his sweatpants and removed his boxers as well. His dick sprung out and Y/n's eyes widened at his huge dick.

He pushed himself inside of her and she moaned as her walls were being stretched.

"AHH~!" She moans as her hands clawed at the hand around her neck.

"Si-Simon," she moaned. He didn't listen as he thrusted quickly in and out of her. Her legs squeezed around his waist.

She now could barely breath. Ghost kept going and moaned when he could feel her tighten around his dick.

"H-Holy hell," he moans.

"Mmm~" she whines clawing at his hand. "S-Si I-I can't b-breath," she cried. When she talked it felt like her breath was just being taken away and she couldn't catch her breath.

Ghost looked at Y/n's face and saw how red her face was. He quickly removed his hand and he started to cough, it sounded hard, like a flu cough, and she took deep breathes.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he bent down close to her face and kissed her temple. She was still taking deep breaths.

"I-It's okay," she said as she rubbed at her neck, and he was slowly thrusted in her now.

Her arms went around his neck as he held her waist. He put all his weight on her as he was now lazily thrusting inside of her.

He felt himself twitch inside of her and he pulled out watching cum leak from her.

He bent down and licked between her folds. Her thighs tighten around his head moaning and gripping his dirty blonde hair. He smacked her thighs leaving a handprint on her thigh. She moaned when he smacked her.

He moved his mouth and pulled her close to his dick. He brought her leg up and kissed her inner thigh.

"Ah~ S-Simon," his hand went up her stomach and groped her breast. She moaned as he also pinched her nipple. She moaned and grabbed his hand.

He kissed, sucked and bit at her inner thigh and did the same to the other thigh.

"Si-Simon."

Simon then smacked her thighs again and she moaned again, he smirked and started to become a little more aggressive. He turned her over, he sat up on her knees and brought her ass up and her face was pushed into the cushions of the couch.

He pushed her face into the cushions, he smacked her butt and squeezed her butt as well.

He moved down and licked between her wet folds, she moans and gripped the soft couch cushions. He pushed his fingers back inside of her. She moaned into the cushions, and he smacked her ass again.

"Si-oh my god," she let out a breathy moan.

Ghost's eyes were dead as he listened to her moans. He stood back up and pushed his dick back inside of her and gripped the back of her neck and brought her up as her face was against the side of his. His left hand went to her throat and his right hand went to her left boob squeezing her and holding her up.

She was a mess when he started to thrust inside of her. Her hands went to the back of his head and gripped his hair. He pushed her back down on the couch cushions and kept moving in and out of her.

"Ah! Ah! Ah!" She kept moaning as she felt herself about to cum again.

Ghost could feel her about to cum too and moved quicker and watched her squirt onto his dick and on her lower stomach.

"You are such a messy girl," he said, pulling out and running his fingers between her wet folds and licking his fingers and her clean.

She fell flat on the couch and Simon smirked and chuckled at her.

"Come on, love, let's go get you clean," he said, pulling her up and taking her into his bathroom running a bath and placed her into the tub and he got behind her in the hot water.

She was so relaxed and leaned back and hit his chest and let out a satisfied moan.

He rubbed some soap in a loofa and started to rub it on her skin.

"Thank you, Simon."

"Please call me, Ghost if you want."

"Ghost?"

"I'm a LT in the Military and a deputy for the Police and my codename is Ghost in the Military."

"Oh, I understand." She smiled at him.

"That...that smile of yours. I love that smile of yours. Every time you smile at me, it makes me melt. I'm so glad, I was able to..."

"Fuck me?"

"Yeah~ I was trying to find a better way to say it, but you took the words right out of my mouth," he smirks. "Also did I hurt you when I choked you?"

"I mean...I'm okay, it just took my breath away a little, but I'm okay, I promise, I'm okay," she said.

---------

"So, I'm guessing you never had any sort of furniture to move?"

"No, no, I didn't, sorry I trapped you here."

"Don't say that. You didn't trap me," she smiles.

"But I'm sorry that I did that though."

"It's okay," she said as she opened the door. She was ready to go back home.

"Hey...if you want to, later tonight you can come back over, and we can have dinner."

"Yeah...I'll come back...what time?" She asks.

"Umm~ in an hour maybe?"

"An hour?" She questioned.

"Yeah...we can make the food together," he leaned against his doorframe.

"Yeah, I'll come back soon," she smiles.

"Good...ummm~ see ya' later."

"See ya," she smiles.

[broadwayandnetflix]

OMG- BO FIC REQUEST

a fluffy fic where he takes you out to a fancy dinner. picks you up at your house & meets your parents, driving to the place, all that pizazz- and more if you decide to write! Im a big fucking sucker for the romantics as you can see LMFAO.

Meet The Parents - Bo Burnham x Reader

Warnings: Language

Theme: Fluff! Slight bit of Angst.

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: picture this as like his what tour cause it fits up with the college timeline hoes. also, I hope you like that I added an airport, cause rom-com shit amirite? I’ll stop. wooooooo this is so long. I hope y’all like essays cause fuck.

It had been too long since you had last seen your boyfriend, Bo. The two of you had met in college at NYU briefly before he dropped out to pursue his comedy career.

Of course, you have been supportive. Why wouldn’t you be? You just really missed him, especially when he went on long tours, you in school, and him touring the world.

The two of you kept in touch. Bo often taking the time to call you before or after a show to hear your voice and call himself down. You knew what they did to his anxiety, and not being able to hold each other was difficult for the both of you.

He’d do the same for you, without a shadow of a doubt. Especially when school was stressing you out, and exams and essays were becoming a pain in the ass to handle. Even if it was just little funny texts or messages, he helped you.

It’s what you did for each other. You were a team, even if it was states away from each other. Except, luckily for you, his tour was ending soon. Or it should be, judging by the tiny calendar of dates that he gave you.

It was nearing Thanksgiving Break, and it just didn’t seem applicable that you’d be able to meet up in time. Given the short week window and Bo riding down from nearly a year of touring.

So you didn’t say much, as you packed your bags for the week and left for your home state.

The airplane ride wasn’t that bad. You wished that you had Bo beside you, cracking jokes to calm the inevitable way that your heart would jolt when you went up in the air. Unlike Bo, you absolutely hated flying.

Earbuds in, you strolled into the airport a tad bit jet-lagged and went to grab a bite from a small coffee shop. Slipping the cashier a twenty, you walked the airport in search of your luggage.

Through a sea of people, you trudged, already feeling fatigued and just wanting a nap. You didn’t even realize that you were gonna run smack dab into someone. That is until their hand shot up and held you steady.

You laughed pathetically and cringed quickly, going to apologize, hoping that the person who caught you would just keep moving on. Except, they still stood in front of you, silent as ever.

“Hey man look I’m so sorry, I’m just so tired I didn’t even see where I was going.” you mumbled before realizing just who you were speaking to.

Bo.

You froze, staring at the man in pure confusion. How was he here when he was supposed to still be on tour? You rubbed your eyes, wondering if he’d still be there when you reopened them.

News flash, Bo was still there. Fuck.

“Holy shit,” you murmured, realizing your hands were still full with your bag, phone, and lunch.

God, you were gonna cry; this wasn’t happening. He looked so fucking good, the glasses, the hair.

He watched you quietly, a soft smile resting upon his lips. While you clumsily pull on his arm to get out of the ongoing traffic of people around you, preferably a spot with a place to put your stuff.

Your tall boyfriend lumbering after you unbeknownst to you, trying to compose himself. It had practically been months since he had seen you last, and you had never looked more beautiful.

Once you set them down gently, you practically ran into the man’s arms. His bags gently fall to the floor as his arms are securely wrapped around you. Nearly lifting you off the ground.

The two of you rocked gently in the embrace, completely lost in each other. Bo resting his head on top of yours, pressing soft kisses upon your head. Tears softly pour down your cheeks and onto his shirt. Giving him enough time to wipe them away and plant a soft kiss against your lips.

“Bo, what are you doing here? I thought you were still on tour.” you sniffled, still wrapped up in his arms.

“Managed to make things work, I wanted to see you. Or I was gonna try and surprise you at the gate, but you kinda…ran into me.” Bo smirked, looking down at you.

“Well you definitely surprised me, man I really missed you.” you said quietly.

“Honey, you don’t understand how long I’ve waited for this moment. I swear my agents are probably sick and tired of me talking about you.” he exclaimed, causing you to smile.

This long-distance was really starting to get to the two of you; of course, his tour was gonna be over soon. Except, especially two different states away from each other, it made your heart hurt.

Moments like these, you wanted to just pause the time and exist in them forever. It seemed like between the two of you, you were running out of time. Just how much time exactly?

It was almost as if he could sense the hesitation as he swept up his bags and yours in the process.

“Just realized, we’ve got places to be.” he chirped, and you eyed him curiously.

“Like where?” you said, grabbing your coffee and bag from the coffee shop.

“Patience is a virtue my dear.” he tuts and slips his hand between yours. “Now, where’s your luggage terminal?”

-

It was roughly a forty-minute drive from the airport to your place. Bo had rented a car for the next couple of days, so it was smooth sailing from that point on.

Bo behind the wheel, and you are sitting in the passenger trying to figure out what music to play.

It didn’t help that you were in the car with a comedian, as whatever song you picked, Bo would pretend to critique it. Only sending you into a fit of hysterics.

“Oh okay, well you pick the music then!” you cried, pretending to stare daggers at him.

“I’ve got something for you, it’s this brand new artist I found while on tour.” he grinned, looking over at you briefly before focusing back on the road.

“His name is….Bo Burnham I think? I could be wrong? He was good-“ he said nonchalantly before earning a quick swipe to his arm from you.

“God, you look cute when you’re angry. You’re missing out on that Bo Burnham guy, he’s got potential.” he said.

“I hate you.” you giggle before finding a more comfortable position in the car.

“Oh shit you know what I just realized?” Bo yelped, causing you to slightly jolt in your seat.

“What?”

“Isn’t this the first time I’m meeting your parents?” he asked, causing you to slightly stiffen in your seat.

Technically, yes. It wasn’t like your parents didn’t know, it’s more so that there was never really a good time for them to meet. You wondered what they’d think, dating someone who dropped out of college to pursue comedy.

Not that your parents were judgmental. They wanted you to be happy, as any parents would. You just were worried if they wouldn’t respect and love Bo as much as you did. It had been close to two years at this point; what else did you have to lose?

“You are right, oh dear god. I wonder how that’s gonna go, hopefully well, right?” you ask, more so to yourself than Bo.

“Oh please, I’m great with people’s parents. Plus, they raised you, I’m sure they are great people. Babe, you’ve got nothing to worry about.” he reassured before continuing on the route.

-

It wasn’t long before he pulled into your family driveway, pulling the car into park, quickly placing a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“You ready?” he says quietly, looking at you sweetly.

You eyed the front door before looking back and meeting his eyes, nodding, as he leaned in to give you a quick kiss.

God, you missed those.

“Here goes nothing.” you smirk before slipping out of the passenger side and gather your bags.

Bo now follows suit as you knock on the door, his taller frame towering over you. One hand pressed on the small of your back, holding you steady.

The front door opens with a swing, with your mother greeting you at the door. A firm grin upon her lips as she rushes out to hug you, your father appearing behind her.

“Oh I’m so glad you were able to come home! We missed you so much!” she exclaims, squeezing you tighter.

Before giving you a slight nudge and knowing look towards Bo, who had remained oblivious, while he shook hands with your father.

All of you gather inside your house, Bo taking control of the conversation when acceptable.

Sitting down at the kitchen table, your parents are engulfed in his stories and laughing at his jokes. All the while getting to know the man that you loved so much.

Bo was pretty much a natural when it came to impressing others, and you knew it wasn’t gonna be an issue with your parents.

The two of you answering almost any questions, Bo excitingly telling the story of how the two of you met.

-

“Oh I almost forgot, I need you to do me a favor.” Bo murmured when the two of you had a moment to be alone.

You looked up at him in confusion before he mentioned something about dressing up nice. A knowing look upon his lips before giving you a slight wink and walking off towards the guest room.

There you stood, gaping like a fish in wonderment at what he possibly could be planning. Slowly walking into your childhood bedroom, looking for anything that would meet his description of nice.

You settled for something that you wore to a formal gathering that still managed to fit you. Giving yourself a quick look in the mirror, you left your bedroom to find Bo standing there.

You had to hold back a gasp; the man looked rather handsome in a dress shirt and pants. His hair was nicely done, and his hand gestured out for you to take.

“Bo what is all this for?” you exclaim, as he only smirks and leads you towards the front door.

“Shut up, I’ve been wanting to take you out for months.” he says as he opens it and leads you towards his car.

The man practically doing the whole nine yards, all the while you looking at him in pure wonderment. Of course, the two of you had been on dates prior, but never like this.

You had to practically stop yourself from grinning as he suavely got into the driver’s side of the car., Giving a quick glance over at you unbeknownst to you, trying not to melt at how gorgeous you looked.

“Where are we going?” you ask as he starts the car slowly pulling out of the driveway.

“You ask a lot of questions my dear.” he says, keeping his eyes focused on the road.

“Oh shit is this my execution?” you smirk as he dramatically nods.

“Babe, how the hell did you find out? Who told you? Was it my manager? I knew she’d rat me out!” he exclaims.

“You know I had to be certain, you did make me dress up all nice and all.” you play along, grinning ear to ear.

“Oh well, I can’t give away the entire surprise so zip it with the questions sweetie.” he quips as he continues the drive.

-

It’s not long before he pulls into a fancy Italian restaurant, way out of your usual pay range. You could feel your stomach do somersaults, giving the man an incredulous look.

Bo simply grins as he gets out of the car, rushing over to open yours for you. Eyes wide, still staring at him like he was fucking insane. He shakes his head and carefully pulls you out of the car.

“Now no complaints. Or whatever you plan to do. I’m paying, I’ve been wanting to treat you like this for over a year now. I’m doing it, and I’m gonna enjoy doing it.” Bo huffs, all dignified.

You simply nod in disbelief before he slips his hand within yours. While he enters the restaurant, he mentions his reservations to the hostess, and they seat you at a table.

Once the butterflies subsided in your stomach, you took the attention of the man in front of you. Never had anyone done something like this for you. You were trying to not look like a genuine fool with the smile you wanted to express.

You knew he was the one for you, but the way that he had looked at you. The pure adoration in his eyes and how he had planned everything, you were practically melting.

“I love you.” you whisper, wondering if he could hear it.

He did.

Bo looked up from his menu, a blush now practically kissing his cheeks. He dimples, rising at the declaration before reaching across the table since he was large enough to kiss you gently.

He was quick enough as the waitress came over to take your order. That goofy lovesick grin still plastered across his face as he straightened up in his seat.

The two of you ordering whatever looked best on the menu, clinking glasses when they arrived and looking dreamily into each other’s eyes.

“Man, I missed you. Like I know I say it a lot, but I mean I did. Going on tour is….well it’s lonely. I know you’re still in school, but sweetie. When I’m done, you’ll be sick of me. I promise.” Bo said insistently.

“No I won’t, I’m sure it’s gonna be the other way around. I don’t know if I say it enough, but I really am proud of you. I am so proud to call you my boyfriend, to call you mine. I don’t mind waiting.” you say quietly.

“How did I get so lucky?” he paused, eyeing the plates of food that were coming your way.

“Thank NYU, they did all the work.” you joke, thanking the waitress before digging into the meals.

The food was excellent; it was incredibly worth the price. Even if it was steep, the dinner was lovely. Bo is cracking jokes and telling you his favorite fan encounters that have occurred since his tour began.

It was hard to believe that the man who was often so quiet and shy could be so loud and brave enough to yell at hecklers. Except you could believe it, you had obviously been to one of his shows.

It made your heart begin to flutter at the fact that he wasn’t afraid to be himself around you; it made you feel secure.

The way his stage presence dominated the scene, it was practically impossible to keep your eyes off of him. No matter the situation.

Even now, his eyes glimmer while he tells you whatever story he had dug up. This was his passion, and you reveled in it all.

The night went well as the two of you caught up, knowing it would be quite some time before he’d meet up with you again. As he too had Thanksgiving to celebrate with his family in Massachusetts.

You shared a nice dessert, and he left a rather hefty tip simply because he could. Bo never made it necessary to note that he had money, but you knew he was excited to spend it.

All the while, you spent the night in a dizzying smile. Not giving a shit whether anyone knew it or not, even in the parking lot. The two of you waltzing messily towards the car, giggling and sputtering like a bunch of fools.

He was your fool, and you were his, who knew how long you’d have with him for now. You were destined to make the most of it.

Even as the ride home dwindled and you knew he’d have to catch a flight soon. You weren’t surprised or shocked even; days with him tended to be like this.

As the two of you reached your front door, Bo carefully leaned down to a comfortable position and kissed you softly. Not desperately, just tenderly. As if by the time he’d kiss you again, you’d simply wouldn’t be there.

His lips grazing yours, hands pressed carefully against your cheeks. You reciprocating all the while leaning into him in a warm embrace.

When you finally pulled away to catch your breath, he gave you a look that you knew all too well.

“I’m not saying goodbye.” you whisper into his arms.

“I’ll be back soon don’t worry.” he murmurs into your embrace.

With one last kiss on the forehead, you watch as he walks back to his car. Judging by the way his schedule worked, you knew he’d be back sooner than he would in the past.

Yet, with the soft ‘I love you’ said between the two of you couldn’t help but shed a tear and just hope that the next time would last longer.

[newstfionline]

Tuesday, August 31, 2021

Hostile school board meetings have members calling it quits (AP) A Nevada school board member said he had thoughts of suicide before stepping down amid threats and harassment. In Virginia, a board member resigned over what she saw as politics driving decisions on masks. The vitriol at board meetings in Wisconsin had one member fearing he would find his tires slashed. School board members are largely unpaid volunteers, traditionally former educators and parents who step forward to shape school policy, choose a superintendent and review the budget. But a growing number are resigning or questioning their willingness to serve as meetings have devolved into shouting contests between deeply political constituencies over how racial issues are taught, masks in schools, and COVID-19 vaccines and testing requirements. In his letter of resignation from Wisconsin’s Oconomowoc Area School Board, Rick Grothaus said its work had become “toxic and impossible to do.” “When I got on, I knew it would be difficult,” Grothaus, a retired educator, said by phone. “But I wasn’t ready or prepared for the vitriolic response that would occur, especially now that the pandemic seemed to just bring everything out in a very, very harsh way. It made it impossible to really do any kind of meaningful work.”

California fire approaches Lake Tahoe after mass evacuation (AP) A ferocious wildfire swept toward Lake Tahoe on Tuesday just hours after roads were clogged with fleeing cars when the entire California resort city of South Lake Tahoe was ordered to evacuate and communities just across the state line in Nevada were warned to get ready to leave. The popular vacation haven normally filled with tens of thousands of summer tourists emptied out Monday as the massive Caldor Fire rapidly expanded. Vehicles loaded with bikes and camping gear and hauling boats were in gridlock traffic, stalled in hazy, brown air that smelled like a campfire. Police and other emergency vehicles whizzed by. “It’s more out of control than I thought,” evacuee Glen Naasz said of the fire that by late Monday had been pushed by strong winds across California highways 50 and 89, burning mountain cabins as it swept down slopes into the Tahoe Basin.

Hurricane Ida traps Louisianans, shatters the power grid (AP) Rescuers set out in hundreds of boats and helicopters to reach people trapped by floodwaters Monday, and utility repair crews rushed in, after a furious Hurricane Ida swamped the Louisiana coast and ravaged the electrical grid in the sticky, late-summer heat. People living amid the maze of rivers and bayous along the state’s Gulf Coast retreated desperately to their attics or roofs and posted their addresses on social media with instructions for search-and-rescue teams on where to find them. More than 1 million customers in Louisiana and Mississippi—including all of New Orleans—were left without power as Ida, one of the most powerful hurricanes ever to hit the U.S. mainland, pushed through on Sunday and early Monday before weakening into a tropical storm. As it continued to make its way inland with torrential rain and shrieking winds, it was blamed for at least two deaths. But with many roads impassable and cellphone service knocked out in places, the full extent of its fury was still coming into focus. The governor’s office said damage to the power grid appeared “catastrophic.” And local officials warned it could be weeks before power is fully restored, leaving multitudes without refrigeration or air conditioning during the dog days of summer, with highs forecast in the mid-80s to close to 90 by midweek.

Heavily armed criminal group ties hostages to getaway cars after storming Brazilian city (Washington Post) A heavily armed group of bank robbers wreaked havoc across a southeastern Brazilian city early Monday, striking several banks, setting fire to vehicles and tying hostages to their getaway cars, in an assault that left at least three people dead, officials say. Even in a country long accustomed to random spasms of violence, Brazilians reacted with shock and fear. The group stormed Araçatuba, a city of 200,000 in São Paulo state, around midnight to strike several city banking agencies. Gunshots punctured the early-morning quiet. Authorities asked residents to stay inside. Images on social media and local news reports showed at least 10 people clinging to getaway cars, apparently strapped there to deter fire from police. The hostages were reportedly released after the group escaped. The raid bore the characteristics of what criminologists have called a growing pattern: nighttime assaults on midsize Brazilian cities—often elaborate bank heists, intricately planned, well choreographed and executed by well-financed criminal groups equipped with the weaponry and gadgetry of war. The group flew a drone over Araçatuba during the raid, according to local reports, to track movements throughout the city.

EU travel restrictions (AP) The European Union recommended Monday that its 27 nations reinstate restrictions on tourists from the U.S. because of rising coronavirus infections there, but member countries will keep the option of allowing fully vaccinated U.S. travelers in. The EU’s decision reflects growing anxiety that the rampant spread of the virus in the U.S. could jump to Europe at a time when Americans are allowed to travel to the continent. Both the EU and the U.S. have faced rising infections this summer, driven by the more contagious delta variant. The guidance issued Monday is nonbinding, however. American tourists should expect a mishmash of travel rules across the continent since the EU has no unified COVID-19 tourism policy and national EU governments have the authority to decide whether or how they keep their borders open during the pandemic.

Italy’s record droughts (La Stampa) The earth is cracking in Italy’s northwest region of Piedmont: the crops and the animals suffer. Italy has been ravaged by fires and storms, like Greece, Turkey and much of Southern Europe. Italy has recorded 1,200 “extreme” meteorological events—a 56% increase from last year. Wildfires ravaged the southern regions of Sardinia, Calabria and Sicily. The town of Florida, in Sicily, is thought to have recorded the hottest temperature ever recorded in Europe: 48.8 °C. Meanwhile, heavy rainfall devastated other parts of the country. Coldiretti, Italy’s largest agricultural association, has just summed up the bill for this Italian summer: The damages to agriculture, it says, amount to €1 billion. Wheat yields have fallen 10%; cherries 30%, nectarines 40%. Tomato and corn crops have also suffered heavy losses. Giovanni Bedino, a 59-year-old Italian farmer, has been working the land since he was 15. “I love this job, but a year like this takes away your love,” he told Turin daily La Stampa. “We couldn’t water the fields and nothing came down from the sky. I remember, the summer of 2003 was a very difficult one—but it wasn’t even close to this year. I have never seen such a drought.”

In India, a debate over population control turns explosive (Washington Post) Yogi Adityanath, a star of India’s political right wing, stood before television cameras in his trademark saffron tunic and dramatically introduced a bill pushing for smaller families—two children at most. In previous decades, this measure by the leader of the country’s most populous state might have been uncontroversial. Over the past month, it’s been explosive. Critics saw a veiled attempt to mobilize Hindu voters by tapping into an age-old trope about India’s Muslim population ballooning out of control. As India barrels toward a pivotal election in Uttar Pradesh early next year, population bills introduced by the ruling Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) have become a new flash point in the national debate, vividly illustrating how the issues of religion and identity, spoken or implied, form the most powerful undercurrent in the country’s politics. Since 2011, when official census figures emerged showing Hindus dipping to 80 percent of India’s population compared to 84 percent in 1951—Muslims increased from 10 percent to 14.2 percent during that same period—the question of how to maintain “demographic balance” has gained urgency for the Hindu movement’s leaders. A 2016 national survey finding that Indian Muslim women had, on average, 2.6 children compared to 2.1 for Hindus provoked more concern.

North Korea appears to have restarted Yongbyon nuclear reactor, U.N. body says (Washington Post) North Korea appears to have restarted its main nuclear reactor at Yongbyon in July, a “deeply troubling” sign that the country may be on track to expand its nuclear program, according to a new report by the United Nations’ atomic agency. The finding adds another challenge to the Biden administration’s goal of denuclearizing North Korea. Although Yongbyon is not the only site where North Korea has produced highly enriched uranium, its role at the heart of Pyongyang’s nuclear ambitions made the facility a bargaining chip in previous negotiations. In 2008, North Korea ceremoniously blew up the reactor’s cooling tower in a largely made-for-TV event amid nuclear talks between the United States and former leader Kim Jong Il. (A new cooling tower was built after the negotiations fell through.)

Last troops exit Afghanistan, ending America’s longest war (AP) The United States completed its withdrawal from Afghanistan late Monday, ending America’s longest war and closing a chapter in military history likely to be remembered for colossal failures, unfulfilled promises and a frantic final exit that cost the lives of more than 180 Afghans and 13 U.S. service members, some barely older than the war. Hours ahead of President Joe Biden’s Tuesday deadline for shutting down a final airlift, and thus ending the U.S. war, Air Force transport planes carried a remaining contingent of troops from Kabul airport. Thousands of troops had spent a harrowing two weeks protecting a hurried and risky airlift of tens of thousands of Afghans, Americans and others seeking to escape a country once again ruled by Taliban militants. In announcing the completion of the evacuation and war effort. Gen. Frank McKenzie, head of U.S. Central Command, said the last planes took off from Kabul airport at 3:29 p.m. Washington time, or one minute before midnight in Kabul. He said a number of American citizens, likely numbering in “the very low hundreds,” were left behind, and that he believes they will still be able to leave the country. The final pullout fulfilled Biden’s pledge to end what he called a “forever war” that began in response to the attacks of Sept. 11, 2001, that killed nearly 3,000 people in New York, Washington and rural Pennsylvania.

Afghanistan’s ‘Gen Z’ fears for future and hard-won freedoms (Reuters) Almost two third of Afghans are under the age of 25, and an entire generation cannot even remember the Taliban, who ruled Afghanistan from 1996 until it was toppled by Western-backed militia in 2001. During that time they enforced a strict interpretation of Islamic law, banning girls from school, women from work and carrying out public executions. Since 2001, the militants fought an insurgency in which thousands of Afghans died. Since re-taking power, the group has been quick to reassure students that their education would not be disrupted, also saying it would respect the rights of women and urging talented professionals not to leave the country. But used to a life with cellphones, pop music and mixing of genders, Afghanistan’s “Generation Z”—born roughly in the decade around the turn of the millennium—now fears some freedoms will be taken away, according to interviews with half a dozen Afghan students and young professionals. “I made such big plans, I had all these high reaching goals for myself that stretched to the next 10 years,” said Sosan Nabi, a 21-year-old graduate. “We had a hope for life, a hope for change. But in just one week, they took over the country and in 24 hours they took all our hopes, dreams snatched from in front of our eyes. It was all for nothing.”

They made it out of Afghanistan. But their path ahead is uncertain. (Washington Post) As the United States winds down its evacuation operation in Afghanistan, the Biden administration is accelerating efforts to resettle Afghans on U.S. soil, where they will be expected to apply for visas or humanitarian protection that could put them on a path to legal residency and citizenship. But the chaotic nature of the enormous airlift means that much is unknown: Officials have not said precisely how many Afghan evacuees have made it into the United States or whether all will be allowed to stay. More than 117,000 people had been evacuated from Afghanistan on U.S. and other flights as of Saturday, and Pentagon officials said the vast majority are Afghan citizens. Thousands have arrived in the United States, while thousands more are waiting in “transit hubs” in Europe and the Middle East. They are a mix of brand-new refugees and families with existing immigration applications that have been pending for months or years. Where the evacuees will end up is “a hard question to answer,” said Mark Hetfield, president and CEO of HIAS, one of the refugee resettlement agencies operating in the United States. “I don’t really know where they stand,” Hetfield said in an interview. “It’s chaos.”

[george-mackay-macfine]

Dear Diary Prt.10

November 17th, 2011

Dear Diary,

Or rather, future Y/N,

You should remember to be proud of me, I’ve been sticking to my new life rules, as hard as it has been. Especially when it comes to staying away from guys, especially when those guys names start with G… Especially when that one guy is under the impression we are best friends, and only friends, and nothing is wrong, and you don’t have a steaming hot crush on him, and you aren’t actively going out of your way to try and ignore him…

Especially when the boy whose name starts with G joined Henry, Harry and I’s study group, and sat beside me for a full three hours making adorable goofy faces at me every time I uttered a complicated word.

Overall it’s been fucking peachy.

Let’s hope when Henry teaches me to cook I don’t burn down the flat,

Love, Y/N

November 19th, 2011

Dear Diary,

I think my brain is going to overheat from the amount of studying I’ve been doing lately. Every night Harry has been making sure I keep on track and sits with me at the living room coffee table and helps me study, I don’t know how he does it, helps me study and does his course work,

Henry, Harry and I are still doing our group study sessions, Dean sometimes joins, George often joins…

For future reference Y/N, the crush on George… yeah, it hasn’t gone away.

November 21st, 2011

Dear Diary,

A MONUMENTOUS OCCASION,

Dean-Charles Chapman has asked a girl out to dinner… Okay, so he asked Charlotte out to dinner… And, yes okay he asked Harry, Henry, Jordan, George and I… but he still asked a girl out.

I think he wanted to ask her out alone, but he chickened out, for the tough boy whose not scared of anybody, he sure seemed to pale when he stuttered out,

“D-d-d-o you want to go to dinner… with me…”

Harry looked like he was going to pass out from shock, and well I think I did blackout for a minute there.

Either way, I know am being forced to take a night off from the books and enjoy a dinner with my friends.

Do they not know how hard it is to become a doctor?

In case you forget future Y/N,

It’s hard!

November 23rd, 2011

Dear Diary,

I want to mark down a ‘normal’ week in my life for future Y/N, you know when I’ve lost my marbles and think I’m going mental with how busy I am.

Here goes,

Monday

Mondays are rough. I have a lecture from 8 am until 10 am, followed by a lab or small groups (Which some of the guys, like usual don’t help out) from 10 am until 12 pm.

Exams also usually land on a Monday, by God’s punishment - which always makes Monday’s just that tiny bit worse.

On days when the exams are on Monday, our lecture is generally followed by a two hour, yes TWO HOUR lecture of the next block we’re about to study.

Monday’s generally wear both Blake and me out, so Harry bless his soul has taken to cooking dinner every Monday.

Once a month George knocks on my door well past midnight, he pretends to be drunk but I can’t smell any liquor on his breath, and when I turn him away he makes the most irresistible face. The next day he pretends he did nothing… It’s infuriating.

Tuesday

Tuesday is a little more relaxed. A lecture from 8 am - 10 am, followed by problem-based learning (PBL) case - This means attempting to diagnose hypothetical patients based on provided signs, symptoms and labs. PBL concludes with the assignment of look-ups, based on the case.

Tuesday is great, my classes are generally over by 1 pm, which is when I meet Henry and Harry at the library, (sometimes joined by George, sometimes by Jordan or even Dean) and I catch up on the weeks lectures, complete by PBL lookup, and then Henry comes home with me and is teaching me how to cook, I’ve learnt to make lasagna so far, or at least the oven has…

Wednesday

Wednesday’s start the same, morning lecture and small group or lab occupy 8 am - 12 pm.

Every other week we meet for the Practice of Medicine (POM) sessions from 1 pm - 5 pm. Where we’re led by a dynamic psychologist and physician duo, we learn patient interviewing techniques and practice our physical exam skills.

After POM I go to the library, study until 6 pm then it’s time to go meet the guy’s at their flat where they make dinner for us (Yes, George can cook)

Thursday

Thursday’s, the same as the rest of the week, You’ve probably remembered out the morning pattern, but here it goes again. Thursday mornings start with a lecture followed by lab/small groups ending at noon.

During non-POM weeks, I visit my Ambulatory Care Apprenticeship from 1- 6 pm, There, I have a chance to practice my fledgling physical exam skills and work on resecting the awkward from my patient interviews under the guidance of a primary care physician.

Thursday nights are another night where Harry, Henry and I meet at the library, and you guessed it, sometimes the other boys are in tow, sometimes Charlotte is there too, generally, if Charlotte is there it means Dean is normally… Dean has a crush…  

Friday

Friday, 8-10 lecture, followed by day two of PBL where we give short presentations of our lookups, covering topics from disease etiology to physicians’ legal rights and obligations.

If I don’t have a text the next week I’ll usually let the boys talk me into playing at least one round of beer pong, or even going to one of the campus parties… probably not though, most of the time Charlotte comes over and we laugh at the boys,

I also mostly flirt with George.

Saturday

Saturday’s… I’m at the library, nearly all day, sometimes George can pull me out for an hour to have a picnic, which I’d never say no too.

Sunday

I do nothing, expect think about George and how I’m ruined for life, and how stupid I am for allowing him to control so much of my time.  

Y/N, If you do this in the future with other guys. I’m going to make you regret it.

Love,

Y/N (2011) (Still in love with George)

November 25th, 2011

Dear Diary,

I remember when I was fifteen I’d dream about my future and how amazing it’d be when I was in university, spending nights out with friends, drinking and dancing the night away, having breakfast at two in the morning because we could, going to all-night diners and drinking over the top milkshakes, well it finally happened.

“My brain hurts,” I moaned to Harry as I rubbed my temples pencil dropping against my notebook.

“Do you want to get breakfast with me?” I opened one of my eyes and looked at him. “We’re getting breakfast,” He nodded his head packing up both our things. “It’s late, and we’re going to have breakfast together.” Harry grabbed my books and bag motioning for me to get up.

“Harry, it’s like midnight,”

“Perfect time for breakfast then,” He grabbed my hand and pulled me towards the exit. Bursting out the doors. “The very first hour of the morning, nothing says midnight better than pancakes.” I let out a giggle shivering as a gust of wind hit me.

“I’d love to get breakfast with you.” Harry looked both ways down the road, checking for any oncoming traffic grabbing my hand tighter, pulling me so we ran across the road. I shivered again as we walked down the block the wind whipping my hair around my face.

“You’re cold?” I shrugged another shiver hitting me. “Here,” He put our bags on the ground shrugging off his topcoat, leaving him in just his denim jacket. He held it out to me, nodding his head towards it.

“Harry…”

“Take it,” He turned me helping me shrug the coat on. “C’mon,” He held his hand out to me again, a smile on his face. I grabbed his hand and walked with him down the street again until he pulled me to a stop. “Here we are,” Harry smiled pulling the door open ushering me inside. As soon as we entered and the small bell above the door chimed a middle-aged woman appeared. Her blue waitress uniform covered by a white apron.

“Well good morning you two.” She pulled two menus from her apron, handing them out to us, we both took one from her. “How’s your night gone? Good, I hope.” Her smile never left her face as Harry shook his head ‘yes’ smiling back at the lady. “Well, you two take a seat, I’ll be over shortly to take your order.”

“Thank-you.” Harry pulled me away from the woman and up to the far end away from the door. Apart from another group of students we where the only customers in the diner, so it wasn’t a fight to find a private place. “Here’s good, Right under the heater so you won’t be cold.” He smiled pointing above his head to where one of the vents was sending warm streams of air down onto us. I smiled at him before sliding into the booth, watching him as he did the same on the opposite side.

“So.” We said at the same time, stopping and laughing for a second.

“You first,” I insisted.

“I just wanted to check you were warm enough.” I felt a blush come to my cheeks as I looked down at the table. “But your cheeks are giving you away,”

“I’m quite warm thank-you, Harry.” I ignored his comment. “Do you think you’re ready for the exams?”

“Yeah, I think so,” He nodded his head. “But I don’t want to be too cocky, in case I fail…” I couldn’t help but burst out laughing. “Can’t have MacKay beating me again,”

“You two are too competitive.” I smiled picking up the menu and flipping over the pages, looking over the different type of meals. “Hmm bacon and eggs, pancakes, what the hell is a pancake tower,” I spoke aloud reading from the laminated pages. “Is it like the tower of Pisa made from pancakes?” Harry let out a deep chuckle. I put my menu down and looked at him. He was watching me amused. “I’m serious. If I order the tower of pancakes is it going to come out here as a replica of the tower of Pisa or am I going to be very disappointed?” Harry shook his head still watching me, the smile never leaving his face. “What?” I questioned, he shook his head again.

“Nothing, Nothing,” He smiled his eyes going back down to his menu, I smiled and did the same.

Do I really want pancakes?

A milkshake maybe?

Why do I love food so much?

“Are you two ready to order?” I jumped in surprise as the waitress from before snuck upon us. “Oh dear, I didn’t mean to scare you sweet pea.” She chuckled deep in her belly.

“It’s okay.” I brushed off closing my menu. “I’m ready when he is.” I looked across the table to Harry who’d shut his menu and placed it on the table. He nodded his head affirming he was also ready. I turned to the waitress smiling. “Can I please have the scrambled eggs and bacon with a glass of pineapple juice.” The woman nodded scribbling down my order before looking up from her pad to Harry.

“And I’ll have a tower of Pisa.” He cut himself off with a chuckle. “I mean the tower of pancakes.” The waitress chuckled writing down the order. “And a cup of coffee will be fine for me.” He added on. She nodded her head and walked away muttering how it wouldn’t be too long.

“Tower of Pisa huh.” I giggled, Harry shook his head and threw a packet of sugar at me. “How about twenty questions?”

“Isn’t that one of your dreaded party games?”

“Maybe,” I sat up straighter in my chair. “Okay, me first.” I thought about all the things I wanted to ask him. I decided to start small. “Who is your favourite author?”

“Stephen King,” I nodded my head, smiling wider. “IT was the first book that made me scared of the dark for a month straight.” He laughed at himself. “My turn… Are there people you don’t like?”

“Elle… Oliver…” I shrugged my shoulders. “Just to name a few,”

And that girl who George kissed at the first party.

“Why?”

“I believe it’s my turn,” I smirked. “What are the most important things in your life?”

“The truth,” He nodded his head. “I don’t like being lied to.”

“That’s an important thing,” I agreed smiling. “But I did say things.” I wagged a finger in his face.

“Ask me in a couple of months.” He shrugged coyly.

“Here we go, a glass of pineapple juice, and a coffee.” The waitress placed our drinks in front of us. “Food won’t be too long.”

“Thank you,” Harry smiled politely before grabbing his coffee and taking a drink. “Darkest period in your life?” I took a deep breath.

“Right after my boyfriend cheated on me with my best friend” I felt myself slump in my seat. “I was in this dark pit… I’m just glad school was over, I don’t think I could have dealt with that.” I laughed in self-pity.

“Y/N, if you don’t want too,” I shook my head.

“No it’s good to talk about this.” I smiled again. “It wasn’t all bad… I met George,” I cleared my throat. “He helped me,”

“And that’s why you like him?” I nodded my head.

“Pancake tower, and bacon and eggs.” The waitress sat the food in front of us. “Enjoy kids, let me know if you need anything else.” I smiled at the waitress as she walked off.

“Have you considered trying to date anyone else?” Harry asked suddenly from across the table.

“Harry, I am insane.” I picked up my fork. “No one should have to deal with me. I’m a mess I have George showing up to my bedroom door once a month trying to get me to kiss him again, and then the next day he pretends he doesn’t do it…”

“You’ve got to tell him,”

“What,”

“I can’t do that Harry,” I groaned. “You have no idea how much I wish I could because Y/N, She likes her sleep and he is interrupting it… too often.”

“Y/N,”

“What if he doesn’t pay me any attention after that?”

God Harry, if only.

[kk095]

Crash Landing

This story is a little different, but I hope everyone enjoys it! There may be some typos, so I may have to correct them at some point. Anyway, I hope you guys like it!

*****

Matt and Suzie were a happy couple who tied the knot 2 years ago, and have been together for 5 years. Matt was a 30 year old white man with longish brown hair that was neat and well maintained. He stood at 5’10 with a slim build, had blue eyes that were behind a pair of glasses since he didn’t like contact lenses, but it gave him a nerdy look, which Suzie was into. Matt had a decent paying job, but it was the stereotypical bland, corporate type job that was totally unfulfilling. But outside of his monotonous work life, Matt was a pilot and even had his own small plane that he recently fixed up.

Suzie was a 28 year old white woman with wavy brown hair, brown eyes, and olive skinned since she was of Italian descent on her mom’s side of the family. Suzie stood at 5’7 with a slender build, had bright white teeth that always made her smile stand out, didn’t have any tattoos but had piercings in her ears and belly button, and looked a bit young for her age. Suzie worked as a CNA in a nursing home in the next town over and hoped to go back to school to be an RN someday. Suzie was a conventionally attractive woman who many thought was out of Matt's league, but she was surprisingly down to earth and a generally pleasant person to be around.

The couple’s 2nd wedding anniversary came up, and Matt decided to take Suzie out for a ride on the plane, and then go out to a nice dinner afterwards. Suzie always thought Matt’s passion for flying to be interesting, and genuinely enjoyed going on plane rides with him. It’s a great opportunity to have quality 1 on 1 time and see the world from a different angle. Suzie has even tried to convince Matt to apply to be a commercial airline pilot, but Matt was never interested. He always felt that he’d lose his passion for flying if he did it for a living.

It was around 3:45pm when they took off that day. It was a cool, overcast day with a slight breeze, but no rain or fog, which is detrimental to flying- especially in a small plane like Matt’s. It took about 15 to 20 minutes to reach the air traffic controller’s suggested cruising altitude. There were beautiful, unobstructed views from that height, and the only noise was from the small plane’s propellers and the occasional check in from air traffic control. Out the left window, you could see miles and miles of ocean and out the right and front windows, you could see the beach and the town below.

The couple had a nice time together, but things began to change just as Matt headed back towards the airport. “This is tower 1. Check your altimeter reading. Our radar is saying you’re well above your aircraft’s ceiling.” A male voice said over the radio. Matt looked at the altimeter- which was many of the confusing looking meters in the cockpit. This particular device measures the aircraft’s altitude and the angle it’s traveling at, and has to be reset before every takeoff to ensure it’s working properly; it’s arguably one of the most important instruments that a pilot needs. Matt takes a look at the device and says “everything looks good on my end.” There’s a slight pause before the air traffic controller says “could be a radar miscue, but keep us posted the rest of the way.” Matt agrees and continues flying back towards the airport.

About 5 minutes later, the nose of the plane began pointing down slightly. Matt pulls back on the wheel, trying to point the plane back up but instead, the exact opposite starts to happen. The plane continues heading downwards, dropping several hundred feet in a short period. “is everything ok babe? Just a little drop?” Suzie asks, sensing something isn’t quite right. “I dunno. It’s like the plane doesn’t have any lift, but that shouldn’t happen at this altitude.” Matt says, trying to figure out which correction procedure to start. Matt struggled over the ensuing minutes to stabilize the aircraft’s angle, and a nosedive began. “fuck… we’re stalling!” Matt shouts urgently, realizing the problem too late. Suzie buckles up her seatbelt and white knuckles her armrests. She begins breathing heavily as she watches her husband struggle to fix the problem. “Matt…are we gonna be ok?” she asks, scared. Matt says something inaudible under his breath as he continues to frantically ameliorate their nose dive.

When their altitude decreased a bit and lift wasn’t re-established, the aircraft began to spin while continuing its plummet to the earth. Suzie closed her eyes tightly, squeezing the arm rests with all her might. “please don’t crash. Please don’t crash…” she thought to herself. While the aircraft was spinning, Matt’s glasses flew off his head and were tossed elsewhere in the aircraft. Matt began navigating the aircraft towards a vacant lot off in the distance for an emergency landing. “ok hun, this is gonna be a rough landing, but I need you to keep your eyes shut and be strong for me.” Matt says, nervous himself. Suzie nods and tells Matt she loves him, but begins to feel queasy from the aircraft’s erratic spinning.

Matt began to make preparation for a crash landing. This is something he’s trained for, but never in a million years expected to have to perform. During the aircraft’s descent, Matt was able to point the nose of the aircraft up so the bottom side of the plane would make contact with the ground. While Matt achieved the correct angle for an emergency landing and opened landing gear, he had trouble reducing speed.

What felt like seconds later, the bottom of the plane made contact with the ground in the vacant lot mentioned earlier. The plane bounced violently several times while still going forward. Suzie screamed as she was bounced around a little. The plane bounced several times, eventually ending up in a rocky area of the lot. The already violent landing because even more turbulent. Matt was shaken around quite extensively, hitting his head and neck multiple times against his seat and other surfaces. A rock flew up through the front window after being kicked up by the propeller. The rock was hurled right at Matt’s forehead and a tremendous speed, killing him instantly.

Finally, the aircraft came to an abrupt stop about a quarter mile or so after touching down. Suzie awoke minutes later after being knocked out herself. Her eyes opened slowly, and was a but groggy at first, but quickly regained her mental faculties. Her brown eyes scanned the scene out her window. She could see smoldering pieces of metal and fragments of the plane scattered across the dirt and rock covered area. “matt?” she asks before looking over at him. His face was battered and bloody from glass, the rock, and also had bruises from being thrown around. He was hard to recognize at that point, which visibly upset Suzie. “matt? MATT?!” she said, shaking him, to which she received no response. “MATT!” she screamed, realizing he wasn’t breathing- or alive for that matter. “oh my god… oh no… this isn’t happening…” she said to herself out loud, beginning to cry.

Sirens could already be heard off in the distance, with multiple reports of a plane crash being called into 911. Suzie began sobbing, holding her newly deceased husband’s hand, waiting for emergency personnel to arrive. Suzie felt a pain in her lower abdomen from the seatbelt locking up and pressing her abdomen. She also had a slight headache and felt a little nauseous, but had enough adrenaline and endorphins pumping through her to make her injuries feel tolerable.

The police department were first to arrive on scene. A female officer scurries over to the plane. “we have 2 victims- 1 male 1 female. Male is deceased and female is awake and alert.” She’s heard saying into her radio. “HE’S NOT DEAD. HE CAN’T BE! YOU GOTTA HELP HIM!” Suzie cries to the female officer. The cop tries to change the subject and talk about her injuries. “can you tell me where it hurts miss? The ambulance is almost here.” The cop says. “Matt’s dead…” Suzie cries out, not answering the officer’s question.

The fire department and ambulance arrives to the crash site about 2 minutes later. The fire department hooks up their hose to a fire extinguisher nearby and put out the small handful of fires nearby. 2 medics head over towards the plane and manage to open up the side door. “hi ma’am, we’re with Bristol County EMS. Can you tell me your name?” a female medic asks softly. “um…suzie. Suzie Carter. My husband’s Matt. Is he ok?!”suzie replied. The Male medic went to the opposite side and checked on matt. He felt for a carotid pulse, checked for respirations, and checked his pupils with a pen light. Matt was pulseless, not breathing, and had fixed and dilated pupils. The male medic discreetly shook his head at the female one, indicating Matt was a goner. “Matt? Is he ok? Is he dead?!” suzie cried out, panicked. “he’s in rough shape, but we have to focus on you for now, ok?” the male medic said, trying to reason with Suzie. The female medic placed a c-collar on Suzie and snipped the seatbelt with scissors. The medic then cut off Susie’s top, only sparing her black bra. “that’s a nasty looking bruise on your belly. Does it hurt?” the female medic asked. “um… kinda" suzie replied. The medic began palpating Suzie’s abdomen. “AHH!” Suzie yelped, wincing in pain. “abdomen’s stiff and rigid with point tenderness.” The female medic relays to the other. “what does that mean?” suzie asks. “it means you hurt your belly and we need to get you checked out at the hospital, alright?” the male medic said calmly.

Suzie is removed from the destroyed aircraft and placed onto a backboard and stretcher. The medics set up a portable heart monitor, which read unstable vitals: BP 90/55, heart rate 131 BPM, and a pulse ox of 95%. 2 large bore IVs were set up, and fluid resuscitation began. A dose of pain meds and a dose of valium were pushed do calm Suzie down in the ambulance.

In the ambulance, further examination began. Suzie's right forearm was broken, and she had a bump on her head. The female medic shined a pen light into Suzie's eyes to see if there was a head injury, but her pupils were equal and reactive. Suzie’s jeans were snipped off and her shoes were taken off, leaving her barefoot and half naked on the backboard with her bra and matching underwear only being spared. “ok Suzie, can you wiggle your toes for me?” the medic asked. “uh huh.” Suzie responded. Suzie's slender toes which were painted with black nail polish, remained perfectly still. “ok Suzie, let’s do it again.” The medic said. Once again, her toes remained still. “ok, good job.” The medic said, realizing a spinal cord injury was within the realm of possibilities. The medic then placed and o2 mask onto Suzie's face and just monitored her vitals the rest of the way.

Upon arrival to the ER, Suzie was lifted onto the trauma room table under the big overhead light while the medics rattled off information to the trauma team. “Hi Suzie, can you tell me if you passed out during the accident?” a veteran nurse asked softly. “I don’t remember.” Suzie said. “I’ll take that as a yes.” The nurse replied. Trauma labs were drawn and blood transfusions began while the attending called out orders. Chest x-rays and a FAST scan were performed. The x-ray showed a complex fracture of the right ulna, requiring surgical intervention to repair, a vertebra fracture at the L3 level, and a partially collapsed right lung. The FAST scan came back clean for the chest and pelvis, but there was a serious non-specific bleeding in the abdomen. “page ortho and surgery. I want a head, chest, abdomen CT. And let’s do a right chest tube while we’re at it.” The attending barked to his subordinates.

Suzie screamed and yelped in pain during the chest tube insertion since she was wide awake, but her o2 stats went up markedly once the tube’s placement was confirmed. A blanket was placed over her torso and she was wheeled over to radiology for a CT scan. The scan showed a small brain bleed that was thought to dissipate on its own. The spinal cord injury was confirmed, and it didn’t seem very promising since there was damage to the spine itself. In all likelihood, Suzie would be paralyzed from the waist down. The abdominal bleeding source wasn’t able to be located on the CT scan, so it was decided that she would be taken to the operating room for an exploratory laparotomy.

After being whisked upstairs into the OR, Suzie was quickly prepped for surgery. She was sedated and intubated with a 7.5 ET tube, with the tube being secured with a blue tube holder. Her belly was sterilized with betadine, staining it a brownish orange color. A midline incision was made in the attractive brunette's belly. The skin separated with ease from the sharp scalpel blade. The underlying fat, connective tissue, and muscle was cut through to expose the abdomen. A rush of blood came out of the incision upon entrance to the abdominal cavity, but before retractors could be placed. Suction was applied to the area, but it didn’t help. The retractors were placed and the opening was created. The area had to be suctioned, but it became apparent that there was extensive bleeding. The liver, spleen, IVC, and aorta were all intact, so the originally suspected culprits were ruled out. The surgical team then began the tedious task of searching through the bowel loops and mesenchymal area for injuries.

During the tedious search, Suzie's blood pressure began dropping. More blood products were hung and vasopressors were pushed, but that was simply a band aid meant to buy some time. After 2 more minutes of unsuccessful probing and prodding, Suzie’s vitals began to plummet rapidly. Meds were pushed, but she became pulseless. The abdominal surgery was paused temporarily and chest compressions were started. Suzie’s chest caved in repeatedly as it was pounded away by one of the nurses. Her perky, B cup breasts bounced and jiggled in sync with each of the compressions. On the heart monitors, PEA was displayed. Epi and atropine were injected intravenously in an attempt to obtain a shockable rhythm.

After a few cycles of unsuccessful chest compressions, the lead surgeon decided to look for the bleed once again. Suction had to he applied once more, but the doctor found a bleed in one of the mesenteric veins. A vascular clamp was placed in the meantime until the vessel could be ligated. Blood still accumulated in the abdomen, so it appeared another vessel was severed in the vicinity. While going through more bowel loops, there was significant bruising and swelling in the jejunum. Another bleed was located in a deeper mesenteric vein, and that vessel was subsequently clamped off. No additional blood accumulated in the abdomen, so it appeared all bleeding sources have been located. In the meantime, the code ensued. A 2nd round of drugs were pushed and more blood products were hung from the rapid infuser.

Finally, the monitors showed v-fib. The defibrillator paddles were gelled and charged to 200j. The defibs were then pressed up against Suzie's bare chest as everyone stepped away from the table in anticipation of the shock. Suzie’s body jolted abruptly in response to the shock, but she remained in v-fib. Chest compressions were resumed while the paddles were being readied. A moment later, a 300j shock was delivered. Suzie’s lifeless body reacted more noticeably from the stronger shock. Her back arched slightly and thrust her chest upwards, jiggling her b cup breasts. Suzie wasn’t shocked out of v-fib, so life saving efforts resumed. A nurse took over chest compressions, pumping away at the 28 year old's chest while the defibs were being recharged to 360j. The next shock was delivered about 30 seconds later, causing Suzie’s feet to leap up above the table and slam back down a second later, showing off the thick, prominent handful of wrinkles in her size 8.5 soles. Luckily, this shock converted the attractive brunette to sinus bradycardia, and surgery could continue.

The rest of the surgery was touch and go, but the OR team managed to maintain a pulse. The 2 severed mesenteric veins were successfully ligated and proper blood drainage was restored to the intestines, but post operative monitoring for blood clots was important. Next, orthopedics began their end of the surgery. Suzie’s fractured ulna was surgically reduced with a small rod and pins that were inserted directly into the bone. Lumbar fusion surgery of the L3-L4 space was performed to reduce motion in the area and prevent additional damage to the spinal cord itself.

After the surgery, Suzie was transferred to the ICU for careful monitoring. She remained sedated and intubated, but switched over to a ventilator. A catheter and central line were placed, and antibiotics were added to her cocktail of medicines since her abdomen was open for almost 5 hours. Suzie's parents and older sister arrived at the hospital about an hour and a half earlier, and were waiting in a private waiting room together.

“How is she?!” Suzie’s mom asked the trauma surgeon, teary eyed as soon as he entered the room. “she’s in the ICU and in pretty rough shape. She sustained some major internal bleeding during surgery and her heart stopped beating for 6 minutes- we were lucky to get her back. She also sustained a spinal cord injury, and it’s very possible she’ll be paralyzed from the waist down. She has a moderate head injury we're monitoring, and she also suffered a badly broken arm in the crash. I’m very sorry ma’am” the trauma surgeon said. “paralyzed?!” her mom asked, beginning to cry again. The doctor paused, then sighed before continuing. “yes ma’am. The spinal cord injury she sustained is quite serious, so it’s very possible she’ll be paralyzed. Best case scenario, she’ll have major issues with mobility.” The family paused, taking all of the bad news in. “I wanna see her.” The mom demanded. “I can take you up to see her, but I warn you- she’s sedated and hooked up to a breathing ventilator. She’s gonna look pretty beat up, so please keep that in mind, ok?” The surgeon said.

The surgeon escorts the 3 family members up to the ICU. “oh god…my poor baby…” the mom cries out, almost falling to her knees after seeing Suzie hooked up to a ventilator and connected to other equipment. Suzie was covered in abrasions, her chest was bruised from CPR, there was a large bandage on her belly covering up the closed incision, the bump on her head appeared to have gotten a little bigger, her complexion was a ghastly pale, and she was cool to the touch. Suzie’s BP and heart rate were stabilizing, but her chest tube had to be fixed a bit after surgery since it was knocked loose from the resuscitation efforts.

She remained relatively stable for the next handful of hours, but there were some changes that occurred around 3am. Her blood pressure dropped again, and her medication dosage was upped. But at 3:30, Suzie began having a seizure. Her body twitched and thrashed involuntarily on the bed as her family watched in horror. “help! SOMEONE HELP!” Suzie’s sister shouted, attracting a nurse’s attention. A few nurses and the doctor entered the room. Lorazepam was pushed intravenously to control the seizure, but it was discovered that her right pupil was blown and the left pupil was constricted. 2 minutes later, the seizure was controlled and Suzie was taken back down to radiology for a repeat head CT.

The scan showed that her brain was swelling, and that raised a major red flag with the doctors. Since her head injury had a delayed reaction that required additional care, she was taken back up to the OR to have an intracranial pressure monitor placed.

A portion of her head was shaved and the small, hairless patch was sterilized with betadine. Once the area was cleaned, an electric drill was used to create a small opening in the skull. After the opening was made, a small pressure sensitive monitor was calibrated and fed into the hole, and constant intracranial pressure monitoring began. Initially, Suzie’s ICP reading was 12mm/Hg, which is abnormal, but still below the threshold for further intervention. Anything above 0 is abnormal, but 15-20 is considered dangerous, and anything above 20 is typically fatal since the brain herniates at that point. Suzie was taken back to the ICU after the procedure was completed.

Over the next few hours, Suzie’s ICP readings increased 16 mm/Hg. At that point, the ICU team decided to put Suzie into a medically induced coma in an attempt to prevent further brain swelling and give her body a chance to recover.

Throughout the day, Suzie only showed signs of getting worse despite the doctor’s best interventions. Her ICP monitor was displaying 17 mm/Hg, but her pupils were fixed and dilated. After a neurology consult and an eeg, it was determined that Suzie was brain dead. The attending physician delivered the bad news to Suzie’s family, and they decided to remove her from the ventilator. Suzie was surrounded by her family and was pronounced dead at 8:21am.

After the ICU team gave her family a chance to grieve and say goodbye, they went into the room and began removing equipment from her battered, lifeless body. The EKG electrodes were disconnected, the IVs were removed, all monitors were shut off, and her body was covered up, only leaving her feet exposed. A toe tag was filled out and placed. The tag dangled in front of Suzie’s wrinkly soles as she was taken to the hospital morgue.

Suzie’s cause of death was determined to be brain herniation from the head injury she sustained. The brain injury was moderate at first, but had a delayed onset and grew progressively worse. The cause of the plane crash was investigated over the following weeks, and the cause was determined to be calibrating the altimeter wrong, and ended up at a higher altitude than the plane was made to fly in, so the plane stalled. Overall, this was a preventable accident that led to the deaths of 2 young people.

[becausenoothernameisavailable]

The Princes's diaries

Prompt from wefoundwarblerland’s post : Dalton AU where everything about Justin is the same (including the gangs and everything), but he’s also the Prince of Wales. And Charlie is his boyfriend.

A/n : Dalton Big Bang 2020

Prompt: International Travel and Trouble in Paradise

“And to your left, we have Big Ben.” As the tour guide recited information about the Big Ben, Charlie trained his binoculars in delight as he and the other tourists on the Double Decker bus took in the beautiful façade. Their guide supplying information about the clock tower and the bridge they were parked on and the river below. This, however, lasted for a short time as the soon a traffic jam was formed surrounding the bus with loud honking permeating the air

“What’s going on?” Charlie asked the person closest to him who was peering down at the traffic. “No idea mate, there seem to a street fight/ bike gang thing on.”

“Don’t pay them any attention.” Their tour guide said above the din of the noise and continued speaking about Big Ben. While the others slowly started to pay attention to the tour, Justin noticed that gang had reached now reached their bus and a guy on a bike stopped nearby and pulled up his black visor and rubbed his eyes.

He had piercing blue eyes and Charlie thought he looked familiar. Soon the air was filled with the sound of the police approaching and the boy started his bike and turned around watching for his friend as if he was on a lookout. He whistled sharply and a group of guys looked up and immediately drove towards him.

Must be his friends, Charlie thought when the guy turned towards him, finding Charlie looking at him. He studied him sharply with his blue eyes and then winked and pulled his black visor down and drove away.

What was that Charlie thought to himself. Who was that?

“We now are making our way towards the Buckingham Palace which as you know is the London residence and administrative headquarters of the monarchy of the United Kingdom, His Majesty, King Richard and his family, Princess Lindsay - The Duchess of Edinburgh, The Prince of Wales and Heir to the Throne – Prince Justin and the Princess of Wales – Princess Laura.”

*

The tour bus dropped them off at the hotel where they were staying and Charlie got down wearily from the bus. “Bright early tomorrow morning.” The tour guide chirped and smiled and Charlie smiled tiredly and followed the group up the stairs.

He entered his room, thankful that the hotel had allotted them single rooms for their stay and smiled happily at his clean, white, bright room and the perfectly soft, turned down bed waiting for him when there was a knock on the door.

“Hey Mate.” Charlie looked into the familiar face of the tourist from earlier, “A bunch of us are going to the pub down the street for drinks and chips, you in?” Charlie nodded, it would be good to make some friends during the 10 days London Tour. “I need to wash up first and then can join you.”

“Cheers,” the guy smiled, “just ask the front desk for the directions, they have suggested the place.”

*

He was sure he had the directions down correctly, the concierge at the front desk even wrote it down for him but Charlie was sure he was lost. He peered down at the napkin again and looked at the street ahead.

A guy came scurrying out of nowhere and banged into him. “Sorry.” The guy said and looked up righting his clothes, “I’m in a bit of a hurry.”

Charlie turned towards him and he found him looking familiar. The guy had classic English looks with chestnut brown hair and blue eyes.

“You.” The guy said looking at Charlie, he smiled and asked, “Did you enjoy the tour.”

It was the same person from the morning, the guy on the bike with the piercing eyes, the one who winked at him and Charlie smiled a bit, so it wasn’t a coincidence.

“I, yes,” He nodded “It was good till this gang on bikes decide to show up and then it became interesting.” The guy smirked at him and studied his face, smiling gamely. “So your day was interesting.”

“Very.” Charlie flirted, looking into the guy’s face, studying him deeply; at the black fit shirt that emphasised his chest and the rolled-up cuffs that showed the definition of his arms, He looked familiar like as if he knew him from somewhere. The guy also looked at him carefully as if studying him, searching for something.

"They drove by the bus and well the leader, at least I think he was in charge considering how the other treated him, stopped next to the bus, rested, I think and then he winked at me and left. That doesn't happen to me every day," he confessed.

“He must have thought you were cute.” The other guy smirked and reached out to touch Charlie’s finger and Charlie moved close to him when they could hear yelling, “Your Highness, Your highness, stop.”

“Wait, the King is here,” Charlie asked looking around for the King. Surely he would be in a car surrounded by security. The other guy sighed, “Not the King, the Prince, “The King is addressed as Your Majesty.” ” Your highness is meant for Princes and Princesses. “ The guy said looking carefully at Charlie’s face.

“Sorry, still learning.” Charlie smiled and the guy smiled, “Your group went that way, two doors down, that’s the pub you need.” And Charlie beamed and looked at the guy through his eyelashes, “Can you come with?  You can teach me everything British so I don’t make a fool of myself.”

“Would love too,” The guy smiled and a trailed a finger up Charlie’s hand “but I got to be somewhere.”

“Oh,“ Charlie smiled sadly.

“Meet me here tomorrow, same time,” The guy said quickly as the footsteps sounded nearer, the yells of “Your Highness” not far behind and with a quick a kiss to Charlie’s cheek the guy ran down the street.

*

“So the Prince of England was out and about in London and without his usual security.” Charlie winced as girl next to him chattered loudly to her friend, not even paying attention to their tour guide who was reciting the itinerary for the day. “He was incognito.” She read holding the newspaper out in front of her.” He glanced at the paper or the British tabloid - The Sun, which was the correct word to use, he couldn’t wait for the evening where he could tell his admirer about the new words he learnt, and indeed the headlines read The Prince of Wales out and about.

“And he was right there where the pub was, he was right outside. I missed meeting the future king of England.” The girl wailed and her friend rubbed her back consolably.

Wait, it couldn’t be. He did not meet the future king of England!. The future King of England was not in a bike gang. It wasn’t. He glanced at the image of the Prince, while the boy looked eerily similar to the photo on the paper, it just wasn’t him. For one he was dressed differently and he didn’t have the dangerous sexy look in his eye when he studied Charlie and constant smirk on his lips.

The prince on the paper looked sad, even though he was smiling and greetings people. He looked lonely, Charlie thought. It wasn’t him. It couldn’t be.

*

“Hey, Stranger.” Charlie looked up and saw the guy, “If we are continuing to do this, you need to know my name. I’m Charlie, Charlie Amos.”

“So Charles then.” The guy smiled deeply, balancing his bike between his strong, long legs as he removed another helmet from where it was dangling on the handlebars. “Regal, I like it, It will do.” He nodded decidedly.

He handed the helmet to Charlie who took it. “I’m Justin.” He said looking carefully into Charlie’s eyes, “Hop on.” And Charlie secured the helmet on his head and hopped on the bike.

“Let me show you London through the eyes of true Londoner.”

They bypassed all the touristy scenes and Justin took Charlie to the places he would never have visited on his own, the lovely little park hidden amongst a sea of buildings, a quiet spot by the Thames Rivers – no it’s pronounced as Tems River, the place where you get the best fish and chips, the best beer on tap. The best pubs where they don’t card you. “No worries I am over 21.” “It’s 18 years in England,” Justin smirked and Charlie grinned.

It was amazing and Charlie just smiled as Justin shared small anecdotes of his life like; where he went to school and college – Eton and Charlie just held on to him tightly, his arms around Justin’s waist, his legs resting next Justin’s and Justin expertly manoeuvred them through the busy London traffic. He finally stopped outside a beautiful garden, St James’s Park, Charlie read and recognized the Buckingham Palace nearby.

“Are you sure we can be here?” Charlie asked as he looked around the beautiful area and at Justin who was looking at him carefully as if gauging him and Charlie smiled. He looked beautiful in the dusk, the setting sun painting a pretty picture, casting a glow around him and Justin took his hand gently and kissed it. “Come, No one can stop us.”

He led them through the gates into the park and they walked quietly, side by side, hands brushing each other’s until Justin caught his and linked fingers together and then they walked side by side, Justin showing him the views and pointing out specific aspects of the park all while their fingers were gently locked together.

They stayed by the edge of the pond till the sunset, Charlie leaning against Justin as he supported their weight watching the ducks swim past. “It’s late.” Justin sighed as his watch chirped an alarm, “I should probably get you back,”

“Hmm,” Charlie said sleepily and Justin smiled and kissed his nose. “My lips are right there,” Charlie whispered and bit his lips, eyes still closed even though his face betrayed the laughter that he was trying to control. “You don’t say.” smirked Justin kissing him deeply.

*

“I had a lovely time.” Charlie smiled and handed Justin the helmet. He had Justin drop him off in front of his hotel which was actually not far from the park and in fact he had passed by the park on way to the Buckingham Palace. St James’s Park, it now held a special place in his heart.

Justin pushed up his visor but didn’t remove the helmet and he looked exactly how he was when Charlie first laid eye on him. “So tomorrow then. “Charlie asked breathlessly and Justin winked and drove away.

*

Charlie thought about the kiss the entire night and even the next morning, as he was getting ready to visit the high street stores and the Warner Brother Harry Potter Tour.

“Breaking news, this just in, the Prince of Wales was discovered in the midst of a street war.” The news announcer was saying and lo and behold Charlie looked at the face of Justin, his kind, sweet, lovely Justin, who had a big bruise and a split lip, his Justin who was also His Royal Highness, the Prince of Wales.

He thumbed Justin's number immediately.

“Justin.” Charlie called out as he heard his voice through the phone, “Are you alright?”

“Charlie.” Justin said sadly and Charlie frowned was he hurt, “You saw the news. That means you know,”

“That you’re in a gang?” Charlie asked the announcer was telling more about the incident that took place late last night, probably the calls Justin kept getting towards the end of their date, date! “Well yeah, considering that’s how we met.”

“No, no the other thing,” Justin said softly

“I thought it was not true but then again you always looked familiar.” Charlie confessed, “ I just thought that you were cute and smart and kind and funny and,”

“You liked me for me.” Justin whispered and Charlie nodded and then realized that Justin couldn’t see him, “Yes I liked you for you, I didn’t even know about the other thing.

“I like you too.” Justin smiled “A lot.” and Charlie beamed but the call got interrupted, it seemed that someone took Justin’s phone away. “Hey, give me that.” And then the call got cut.

He immediately dialed Justin’s number again but the phone was switched off. Charlie rubbed his face worriedly. Justin was hurt and he didn’t know what to do, short of going to Buckingham Palace and asking to see Justin he had to no other idea unless he was still at the police station. They won’t arrest young princes right? Diplomatic immunity and all that. Charlie didn’t know but he hoped Justin was alright and then his phone rang.

The call came from a blocked number and Charlie answered it carefully. Please hold for His Majesty the King of England and Charlie gulped loudly, OH SHIT.

“Charlie. Charlie” Justin’s voice could be heard but Charlie felt a bit faint because the King of England knew his name and had just asked him to tea but he couldn’t reply and Justin was yelling at the King of England who also turned out to be his father, saying that he scared his boyfriend before they even go to know him and that this is why he doesn’t like them and then Justin’s mom could be heard soothing her son and father and son yelled along about trust issues and images to the public and what would the media say and Charlie laughed because they sounded like just another normal family albeit a royal one.

“Charlie?” Justin asked carefully, sounding calmer, “This is why dad you should have let me call him up.” He hissed, "You should never call anyone from the official line unless you want to actually kill them. “I am here.” Charlie smiled before father and son could go off again.

“Good, I am glad,” Justin said softly into the phone.

“You called me your boyfriend,” Charlie remembered. He could hear Justin’s sheepish laughter, “I meant to ask you today but things changed.

“Yes, they did,” Charlie said and remembered the evening’s invite to tea.

“Don’t worry it’s just tea with my family,” Justin said lazily,” And you can meet Laura, my little sister.”

“Thank you for calling.” Charlie said, “I had plans off marching up to Buckingham Palace and asking them to see you.”

“No worries.” Justin laughed, “You’ll be properly escorted in soon. A car will come for you. See you.”

*

Charlie didn’t know what one did when they met their significant other’s parents especially when your significant other was the heir to the throne and his father was the King.

But they came off looking like a normal family, Justin’s dad was tall and stately and his mom was sweet and kind and his little sister was cute. He fumbled with proper addresses for all of them considering he was in the presence of a King and his wife; a Duchess and a Princess.

“Call me Lindsay.” Justin’s mom corrected when Charlie greeted her, “I know exactly how it feels, I went through this when I met Richard’s parent for the first time, as a couple.” She shuddered, “Let’s just say that you should be glad you don’t get to meet them.”

‘So, you’re an American.” Richard said just as Charlie was about to take a sip of his tea. “Yes, Your Majesty.

He looked at his son, “And you’re planning a long-distance relationship.”

Justin locked his hands with Charlie’s and gave it a squeeze, “ Well he’s here for few more days so we still have time together and then there is always Skype and the internet, plus I can fly there every weekend.”

“You will not play with your studies.” Justin’s dad said sternly and his mom nodded.

“I got into Oxford.” Charlie said softly and Justin smiled and kissed him quickly on the lips, “Why didn’t you tell me.” He exclaimed, “This makes everything easier.”

“I just came to know.” Charlie said, “Got the email in the night, it’s why I came here on this trip in the first place, so I could familiarize myself before I move here.”

“You’re moving here as well.” Justin asked slowly, “Not just for studies.”

“I really like London.” Charlie said softly, looking carefully at Justin, clutching his hands tightly with his, “It’s growing on me.”  

Justin’s dad paled and looked at his wife, “Well, this changes things drastically.” She looked at her baby boy and how happy he was with the boy next to him and how they held hands and just looked at each other. “Well then, we should probably get to know him, properly, this time. Something tells me he’s going to be a permanent fixture in the household.”

[anneapocalypse]

Anne watches MCU: Civil War

Civil War is the logical culmination of the Avengers series thus far and effectively presents the Avengers Initiative as a catastrophic failure.

I like this movie. I like it a lot. I think it does a surprisingly good job with continuity, both logistical and emotional.

I also think that what I took from it is perhaps not what the filmmakers intended, that in fact I probably like it for reasons that were accidental, and that were I deeply invested in these characters and their relationships, I would probably hate it.

I think at this point it works best to look at the Captain America series as a subseries of the Avengers. Both Winter Soldier and Civil War are unavoidably Avengers films as well as Captain America films; they balance an ensemble cast with Steve as the emotional core of the story.

I can see why Thor and Hulk were written out for this film, because the cast is already bursting at the seams and the movie is really long. I do miss Bruce getting to weigh in on the Accords, but Thor didn’t need to be here. Thor is not a citizen of Earth, and this really isn’t his story.

Finally, Bucky Barnes gets some character development. I have wanted to like Bucky up until now but there just hasn’t been much to hold onto; The Winter Soldier is Steve’s story, not Bucky’s, and we get precious little of Steve’s old friend coming through in the present day.

I still hate mind control plots, because you can make a character do absolutely anything and while the character might hold themselves responsible for it, the audience won’t, which makes it great woobie fuel: you get to have the character wrestling with all the guilt and horror of having technically committed terrible acts, but it’s not really their fault, so the audience can feel sorry for them and indulge in all the angst without any of the uncomfortable culpability. Nevertheless, I am happy that Civil War established some parameters around Bucky’s brainwashing and allowed his real self to come through. He’s certainly a more interesting character to me now than he was in Winter Soldier. Had I seen Bucky re-frozen at the end of Winter Soldier, I wouldn’t have felt much about it. Now, I actually kind of care.

But Wanda’s situation, by contrast, is much more grounded and compelling to me than Bucky’s: she actually did do something terrible while trying to do good. Wanda saves Steve, accidentally kills a bunch of civilians in the process… and reacts to that like a normal human being. There is a direct contrast to the way Tony Stark behaves in the first Iron Man movie, and the complete disregard for civilian casualties not just in the character but in the films themselves. This is Marvel’s meta-commentary on its own cinematic history as much as it is establishing continuity for the characters. Wanda reacts with immediate horror and regret, and she doesn’t have to say a word to convey that to us. That is good writing, good acting, and good direction. Now Wanda has to live with what she’s done, and decide who she’s going to be in the world after that, when she can’t change the past or the public’s opinion of her.

Tony and Pepper’s relationship is on the rocks, giving real consequences to the tension we’ve seen in their relationship in the Iron Man trilogy. Whether or not those consequences will stick beyond this movie remains to be seen (assuming I watch further), but it is nonetheless a breath of fresh air to me.

We already know from Iron Man 3 that Tony suffers from PTSD, and in this movie we see him confronted face to face with his responsibility for the events of Ultron. What makes Tony sympathetic in this movie is his very real remorse, and his desire to make amends, expressed in his supporting the Sokovia Accords.

And there are moments when I sympathize with Tony’s perspective, when I don’t find Steve to be in the right. When Steve says that Wanda is “just a kid”—yes, that may technically be true, but you can’t have her fighting in the streets, using her tremendous powers in real battle, and then turn around and say she’s just a kid. You can’t have it both ways. Of course Steve wants to defend Wanda; what happened in Nigeria was an accident. But calling her a kid doesn’t cut it.

Steve is still sympathetic, of course, even when I don’t fully agree with him. This is a Captain America movie and Steve is its emotional core. That he is preoccupied by even the mention of his old friend shows his humanity, as does Peggy Carter’s funeral, which gives an external voice to his convictions—even if it is a bit on the nose.

Who supports the Accords and who refuses makes sense for the most part, though I think this story would be better served by a clearer definition of what constitutes an “enhanced individual.” Steve, Wanda, Bruce, for sure, are enhanced individuals. There’s no question that they possess abilities impossible for most humans. But what about Tony? His powers come from the Iron Man suit—without it, he’s just a guy. Genius billionaire playboy philanthropist—but not superpowered. Then there’s someone like T’Challa, who can be enhanced when he has the powers of the Black Panther, but can also have those powers removed. Clint is just a guy who’s a really good shot—is he an “enhanced individual?” What about Natasha? She’s a highly skilled spy and assassin, sure, but she doesn’t have superpowers. Do the Accords include people with highly specialized training? Do they include anyone who might qualify as a vigilante, powers or no powers?

These questions are never clearly answered in the film. But if we read between the lines, it kind of makes sense that Tony and Rhodey and Natasha would feel less personally threatened by the Accords than Wanda or Steve.

Tony especially feels the least put upon by the Accords, for a few reasons. First, Tony is already a public figure by nature of being a billionaire. He is accustomed to living a very public life, and doesn’t view the Accords as a breach of his privacy. Most importantly, Tony’s wealth has always served as a kind of “do whatever the fuck I want and get away with it badge” (to borrow a line from Transformers). Even with the Accords in place, we still see Tony calling the shots, and when Cap goes rogue, Tony sees it as a “PR nightmare,” an inconvenience, but still a problem he can make go away.

A lot of character beats in this movie really work for me. I love Natasha’s assessment that “We played this wrong,” not necessarily changing her position but admitting to a tactical and interpersonal failure. I love her calling Tony out for putting his ego before everything—and the fact that it actually gets through to him for a bit is gratifying. I even enjoyed T’Challa trying to avenge his father, though I think I appreciated that a lot more for having seen Black Panther first.

There are a couple of character decisions that don’t track for me. I don’t think the film does a good enough job (or like… a job) of establishing why Clint would side against Natasha when she is his closest friend in the Avengers. I also think it’s strange that Natasha thinks Bruce would side against them if he were there. Bruce hates himself. He thinks of himself as a dangerous monster; that’s the whole reason he ran. He would absolutely be on the side of the Accords.

I have no opinions on the way Vision sides because Vision doesn’t feel like a character to me or like he really serves any purpose in these movies beyond being a walking plot device. I know he’s got an Infinity stone powering his brain and that’s going to matter in the next movie, but as a character everything about him smacks of “He’s here because he’s in the comics.”

The scene in which Spider-man is introduced was so out of the blue that I literally checked my phone to make sure I hadn’t accidentally started casting a different movie. I guess he’s mostly here to provide Tony some perspective on being an actually enhanced human: “When you can do the things I do, and you don’t, and the bad things happen, it’s your fault.” Peter Parker is the most innocent vigilante! And now both sides have a teenager. He does have some great dialogue with Tony and I can’t really be unhappy he’s here because he’s just too damn likable.

But nothing tops the Steve/Sharon kiss for being out of the blue. Came from nowhere and went back there fast. I have no idea why that was here, except that Steve is the hero and The Formula demands that he kiss a girl at some point. Peggy’s dead so her niece will do I guess. Anyway, it was bad, but brief enough to ignore.

And nothing drives home that this movie is not in any way a standalone like the appearance of Ant-Man. I actually laughed out loud when he appeared because I was imagining what this random cameo would look like if I hadn’t just watched his origin story and it was hilarious.

The big full-team battle was clearly the scene that was supposed to be the most fun to watch—which in itself is a bit strange. Clint and Natasha, in particular, seem not even to take the fight seriously. And in a story all about the fallout caused by superhero vigilantes, one would think those superheroes fighting each other in a huge group would cause even more damage. But it doesn’t, because they just super conveniently have their big battle on an empty airport tarmac, which was so funny. I assume we’re meant to think the place was evacuated but a part of me just really wants to say there were people in that air traffic control tower they knocked over.

Avengers 2.75: The Avengers vs. Delta Airlines.

The most truly stupid part was the ending. I had to go ask red where the fuck Steve knowing about Tony’s parents was set up, and apparently it was a blink-and-you’ll miss it moment in Winter Soldier. I sure didn’t remember it, so that came way out of left field for me and seemed purely contrived to make sure Tony’s change of heart would be short-lived.

But goofiness aside, there was a lot about this movie that worked for me. The focus on relationships surprised me, frankly. I was expecting a stupid, contrived battle of egos between Tony and Steve, and what i got was actually a fairly nuanced (for Marvel) story that gives real consequences to the actions of the Avengers thus far, brings to a head the tension that has been building between Tony and Steve from the minute go, and very effectively conveys the Avengers Initiative as a failed experiment.

The moral of Civil War, intentional or not, is superheroes can’t work together.

Because the Avengers are not a team. Not really. They're a bunch of lone superheroes trying to work together, succeeding for brief moments, but overall failing to build a team dynamic and Civil War is where it all falls apart.

It really put into perspective a lot of what was bugging me about Age of Ultron, which I couldn’t really put my finger on until I ran across this post and it all fell into place for me. I never bought that they were all friends or had built any deep bonds. Tony going rogue wasn't a betrayal of trust so much as it was just the clearest indicator that there wasn't any to begin with.

This movie raises questions about loyalty... and when it comes to Steve Rogers, the answers are pretty unambiguous. Steve Rogers is a powerfully loyal person who sticks by his people no matter what, and never was it more clear that the Avengers are not his people. Bucky is his people. Sam is his people. Peggy is his people. These are Steve’s friends. Steve Rogers is the first Avenger. He is also the first to jump ship when the Avengers fail to align with his principles. That’s who Steve is, and this movie also serves as a very effective character study. Despite its proximity to Ultron, there’s a reason this is a Captain America movie first.

If we’re supposed to see Civil War as a family torn apart, it fails, because this series never sold us on that family dynamic in the first place. From the start, every Avengers film has been about driving conflict between the characters, especially Steve and Tony. You cannot destroy what was never there, and if Civil War is meant to be that kind of tragedy, it does not succeed.

If I was a real fan of the Marvel cinematic universe, one deeply invested in these characters and in the idea of the Avengers becoming a found family, Civil War would’ve been a massive letdown and I’d probably hate it.

But coming in as a casual tourist in this franchise, a story about the tragic inability of superheroes to work as a team is fascinating to me.

And intentionally or not, that’s what Civil War is.

[secrecykept]

█║❯ @lachalaine || jackie & kyrin!!

Night well and truly surrounded him with its dark, endless blue and guiding, but ever-distant, stars. Wisps of clouds floated in loose groups, scattered and carefree, doing nothing to successfully conceal much of anything, but he had no worry about being seen, given his altitude and the late hour.

The powerful beats of his wings eased as he neared a new area, and he allowed himself to glide with the air current and admire the sight. Exhilaration flowed through him with the refreshing coolness of glacier water, heightening the clarity of the view far below and widening his smile.

Humans made such impressive settlements! The golden lights of the city were uncountable and spread out like a shimmering web against the darkness of the land. And that web expanded greatly as he descended to get a better look, the shapes of the city starting to define themselves in the forms of large blocks of what he knew were buildings. Lights of other colours became more noticeable as he continued to lower himself, and he marvelled at the variety.

How many people inhabited this place? The city was so alive, even at this time! What were they all doing now?

The urge to learn all about them had him considering finding a place to land, so his wings took him further downwards at a smooth angle. The buildings became more distinct, such incredible towers of metal and glass. How many people lived or worked in there?

Ribbons of well-lit roads lay winding and complex between the multitude of structures. How did anyone navigate them?

He puzzled over it as he flew between the top floors of several skyscrapers and over an intersection below. Never mind the navigation, what was more bemusing was the sheer number of vehicles. They moved purposefully on the roads and highways, headlights blaring. Cars were everywhere. What were they like to be in? How did they work?

It seemed like only yesterday that the ‘horseless carriage’ was a thrilling new invention and rare commodity. (He really needed to get out more)

The rise of the television was another expansion of popularity that he had somewhat missed. But oh, it was impossible to miss them now. Was the side of that building one big television? And that one too. How did they get there? How did they work?

He had to wonder how much power it took to keep them going all the time, and to keep the sea of gigantic signs glowing. The brilliant colours and flashing lights delighted his eyes, and he could have easily stayed hovering around the shadows between them, but it wasn’t exactly wise. He needed to keep moving, to keep away from the humans and all their fascinating (and dangerous) technology.

With one last look at a neon sign of a particularly nice shade of purple, he propelled himself through the air and set his destination towards the edge of the city. For a little fun, he attempted to follow one of the wider roads, imagining travelling alongside the humans. What if the sky also had ‘roads’? What if the Angels followed road rules and had traffic jams too?

The wind stole his laugh at the idea. He shook his head and sighed as his smile faded. The Angels would do well to learn from the humans (perhaps not road rules, but many other things), it was too bad they thought themselves too superior.

…but did they still?

It was the thought that niggled at him so very often. There was no way to know if they had changed in his absence or not, unless he dared to go back.

He rubbed a hand over his chest as it started to ache.

Don’t think about them.

Through focusing on his surroundings and the road below, he was able to push the thoughts aside. He catalogued the details of everything around him. The icy touch of the wind gliding over his skin and wings, the sounds of traffic below, a patch of dark forest among the glittering lights, and how the buildings stopped reaching so high into the sky.

And yet he could still feel it.

The weight in his chest.

It began to press more heavily against him, like a giant’s fist wrapping around his torso. His breathing quickened and he adjusted his wings to direct himself towards the park he’d spotted. It would surely be a quiet and private place even at this time, somewhere safe for him to land.

He never made it.

Didn’t even come close.

Pain crashed into him like he’d slammed into an invisible wall. It centred on his chest and stole his breath, halting him mid-air as he tugged at his shirt desperately with one hand and rubbed his neck with his other. The ache in his throat burned him like acid and begged to scream with each jagged breath. His wings spasmed and strained to support him, dropping him lower in jerky motions as his vision blurred.

Was this because he’d thought of the Angels earlier? Could he really not control himself as he used to?

Pathetic. Disgusting. No wonder they wanted him dead. He couldn’t do anything right. He was too selfish to help them. He’d run away from their experiments, the plans they had for him. They wanted him as their puppet. They were the bad ones, not him. They were twisted and cruel and self-serving. It was all their fault. It had to be. It couldn’t be him; it wasn’t his fault they had hurt all those innocent people, was it? Those men and women, the children that had been used…they could have been spared had he just stepped in, if he’d just been stronger…

The memories swirled in his mind, adding further pressure to his chest and dripping more tears down his face. He gasped for air and rubbed at his eyes. Several white feathers tumbled downwards and spiralled slowly along the current. Air rushed around him and he extended his wings to try stop his fall.

Oh no.

His wings were changing, starting to strip themselves of the pure white.

If he didn’t stabilize his emotions now, the darkness would reign, and this bright and colourful city would feel it deeply.

…his emotions?

No, that wasn’t right. They were one’s he certainly related to, one’s he’d had before (which was no doubt partly why they affected him so strongly), but they weren’t his.

But then…who-

A bolt of overwhelming emotion lashed him like a whip as his magic instinctively located the person and tapped into the full heartache of them.

He shook with it and struggled to move his wings. They seemed to want to drag him down, becoming heavy and cumbersome, barely allowing him to avoid collision with a tall apartment. His stomach lurched and his heart felt shredded and raw.

This person…whoever they were, he didn’t know how they could stand to have such feelings. He could only hope they had someone to comfort them…

…Only hope?

No, he could do better than that. He would make sure they had someone.

He scanned the nearby houses, his eyes stinging and still watering. Instinct took him on an unsteady flight towards one building.

He knew it was the right place when the wave of pain knocked into him with the greatest intensity yet.

He hit the top of the tree before he even had a chance to try pulling his wings in. Branches clawed at him, displacing feathers and yanking at limbs. A chorus of snaps and cracks resounded as his body ploughed through the finer aspects of the tree. He scrambled to grab onto one of the larger branches as he fell, but his hands slipped.

His heart jolted at the sudden, unwilling descent and he instinctively spread his wings to halt the drop, only to become tangled like a bird in a trap. He had to get out of there! Panic made him twist to try escape, he wrenched his wing and the momentum flipped him down to a narrowly forked branch. It cracked as his shoulder hit it and bounced him off, but remained strong enough to catch his left wing as he tumbled downward.

Sharp agony knifed down his back. His head bounced hard against the tree trunk as his body swung, stunning him for a moment while he hung from his ensnared wing.

The muscles along his back screamed in protest at the position and threatened to tear from the strain. Gods, it had been such a long time since he had ever experienced so much pain. It was too much. He was going to pass out. It was too much. Especially combined with the emotional pain still emanating so strongly nearby.

He was hurting. But they were hurting too, whoever they were. He’d come to help them, hadn’t he?

There was only one thing he could do, and it took everything he had. He focused on his wings and willed them to return to his body.

He immediately dropped to the grass below with a significant thump and groan.

[artistic-writer]

Fragments of Home :: CS AU :: E :: Chapter 7

Title: Fragments of Home by @artistic-writer

Summary: Emma Swan must return home to her childhood town of Storybrooke when her mother dies and stays in the house left to her and her brother, David Nolan. Emma must juggle a temporary job at the hospital with her loss, something that has made her feel smaller than she ever was. When a tall, dark, handsome stranger comes into her life in the most unexpected way, and she begins to fall in love, will she stay in Storybrooke, or return to her new life back in New York?

Rating: E

Previous: Ch 1 - Ch 2 - Ch 3 - Ch 4 - Ch 5 - Ch 6

Also on: AO3 - FF

A/N: Many thanks to my lovely beta, @kmomof4 who persuaded me that this would work as a CS fic in the first place.  It’s all her fault. And thank you all for your patience - my RL has taken an unexpected turn in illness, so I am posting some things I have finished, or nearly finished while I wait for my muse to get her shit together.

——————————————————————————————

Emma was insanely mad. More than mad, she was downright livid. She cursed to herself as she drove through traffic, honking her horn at a nearby taxi driver who stared at her scowl with surprise. His eyes were wide, his hands were tossed into the air at her, and Emma was sure she could lip read his profanity as she drove past in her beat-up yellow bug. The truth was he wasn’t even in her way. Emma just thought she could vent some of her pent up rage that she had tried to conceal for half of the day. It didn’t work.

The bug pulled to a halt outside of the old, weathered house she had been calling home. She slapped the stick shift into neutral and the engine chugged a few times as if in painful protest before it finally went silent. Emma leaned back in her seat, twisting her body in the weathered leather of the interior with a squeak, and reached over into the back seat awkwardly to retrieve her purse. Yanking it from the seat onto her lap, she bunched the strap in her hand, wrenching the car keys from the ignition and pushed the door open harshly.

She didn’t have to but Emma slammed the door and locked it with her jaw clenched tightly and her cheeks flushed red with anger. She wasn’t mad at Killian for sleeping with Jenny. She had no right because she hadn’t known him back then. She hadn’t even known Jenny at the time and she seemed like a nice enough girl now, always wearing a smile, her lips curled into a pleasing curve, and her dirty blonde hair always sat lazily against the salmon of her scrubs.

Emma wanted to rip out Jenny’s dirty blonde hair, stuff it into her perfectly shaped smile and make her wish she had never told the entire hospital Killian was a dog. But then, Emma wasn’t even sure if he was or not. She had met him at work, known him for less time than she had treated him as a patient and had recently found out that he was her brother’s partner. Surely, if Killian were a decent man, David would have introduced them before now?

Emma shoved her key into the lock of her front door and practically kicked it open. It hit the coat rack behind it and bounced back towards her, rattling on its hinges as it did so. Emma stepped through the doorway, wrenching her coat from her shoulders and hanging it over the end of the stairs. She slammed the front door and the sound echoed through the house, making her jump a little and hide her face in her hands.

What was she becoming? She had never been this sort of woman, jealous and easily provoked into anger because of a man. A man, she reminded herself, that she had barely known five minutes and a man she hated for the mere fact he could send her wild by just looking at her. Killian was like no other man she had ever met. He was smart, well established in a high paid job and he knew it. His confidence made her smile because he reminded her of David. David was a good man and Emma had always wished she could find someone just as kind-hearted and professional as her brother, but she wanted the perfect combination of family man and businessman, and then, as if by magic Killian had found her.

It was no use, she had to know. She hated herself for even thinking of it. She hated herself even more then she hated Jenny. Emma wasn’t one to deceive people for her own personal gain, and the thought that she had been a victim to Killian’s supposed womanizing crushed her heart. But she had to know if he was who Jenny had said he was. When, and if, Killian arrived at eight, she would be ready to question him.

Killian balled his fists in his pants pocket as he walked down the street. March was mild, usually, but this one had been thwart with cold snaps and a light dusting of frost littered the pavement this evening. He only had his shirt on under his khaki green jacket and even that was too thin to stop the cold from invading his bones, warmth fighting off the chill everywhere except his extremities and his spine. The cold had seeped into his supporting vertebrae and made him shiver slightly, exhaling a condensed breath out into the street through chattering teeth.

His feet fell silently on the ground, his rubber-soled shoes offering no grip against the whitened concrete as he carried on. Why he had chosen to walk from the office he didn’t know. Maybe it was something about the way she had smiled, or maybe it was the innuendo in her voice that made his entire skin come alive with a shivering pleasure, but he had left his car in the parking lot in his haste to get to Emma. He turned onto her street, the dull yellow glow from the streetlamps illuminating his hunched figure as he walked through their pools of light, head lowered to the ground.

A small dog yapped at him from across the street, and he lifted his head briefly to receive a stare from an elderly lady attached to the other end of a decrepit black poodle. She gripped at her long, light brown coat and clutched it tighter at the matching leather leash as her dog barked, piercing the night with its high pitched cries. Its feet scraped across the path and she gave it a tug of encouragement, pulling it sideways as they crossed paths and Killian shook his head with a smile. Content he had seen off the potential threat, the dog let out a snort and trotted along side his owner happily.

Killian passed a large, black box type truck parked on the opposite side of the road, identical to David’s. For a second, his heart fluttered and he flushed pink, instantly recalling David’s words to him in the office. He had made it clear his sister was out of bounds, but Emma had given him totally different, undeniable signals. If she wanted him, as much as he was craving her right now, he would soon know. He sighed, relieved when a couple stumbled from their friend’s house and the man beeped his truck, two side lights glowing bright orange as it unlocked electronically and they stepped in. Neither were David, so he felt safer.

David scared him. He was scared of his best friend and because of what? Because the woman he was falling for was his younger sister? Killian wondered if he had known Emma and David for longer, maybe if he’d grown up with them, then David would still feel the same way or he would welcome Killian’s advances on his younger sibling. Maybe he and Emma would be a couple, who knew. The one sure thing Killian knew was he was afraid to tell David he already knew his sister in more ways than one and he could only imagine, only wanted to imagine, David’s reaction if he were to find out.

Finally, Killian reached the towering house at the end of the street that had long since gone to sleep and become enveloped in darkness. There was no streetlamp outside of Emma’s house, just the rickety wooden gate at the end of the footpath and a few half dying shrubs littering the slightly overgrown front yard. Killian had to be honest, if he was buying the house on presentation alone, he would have long passed it by and gone for higher game. Not that he had any experience gardening anyway, because he just designed the attractions, not maintained them. It was much easier to draw a tree here and a rose bush there than it was to actually keep the things alive.

A smile crept across Killian’s lips as he climbed the steps and gave himself one last look over on the top step. He was dressed for work, except his top buttons had been popped open, his tie removed and left in his office and the green khaki jacket he wore was his best attempt at casual. And also his worst. He took a deep breath, smoothing his slightly sweaty palms over his thighs and soothing his nervousness before he tapped gently on the door.

There was no sound from inside the house and he reached out to knock again, this time a little louder, in three distinct thuds. He cupped his hand over his mouth, shifting from one foot to the other in a dance of uneasiness as he tilted his head back and stared up at the sky. It was clear tonight, no clouds smattering the dark blue of the sky and shielding the bright white twinkling stars from his view. He turned around, inspecting the stars that flickered and flashed above his head, so far away and yet still just as beautiful as they were always portrayed in literature. He was so lost in the cool darkness, he almost didn’t hear the front door creak open.

“Killian?” Emma said, a little surprised but her voice laced with excitement. Killian spun to face her with a startled look, his cheeks instantly flushing with pink as he fumbled over his words. His eyes roamed her body, tucked half behind the door, starting at her bare feet, up her thin, grey pyjama pants that were tied in a bow at her waist and finally over her matching grey summer singlet that hugged her skin gracefully. “Killian,” Emma repeated, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear quickly. “What are you doing here?”

Emma had spent the entire evening tucked up on the couch, trying to take out her anger on the remote control as she flicked through the channels on the TV after Killian had not arrived at the time they had arranged over text. It didn’t matter how hard she tried to avoid it, there was always some kind of drama show about a cheating boyfriend glaring back at her from the old fashioned television. She had been so ready for Killian to show up, but now she was just tired.

She had been waiting a long time and when he hadn’t shown up by eight, she figured Jenny was probably right and he had moved on to his next mark. Furious more than hurt, Emma had yelled a little at herself and couldn’t believe how stupid she had been. But now he was here, standing in front of her in the freezing dead of night and her heart involuntarily softened for a second. He was, if at all possible, even more handsome than when she had him pinned against the wall in the on-call room earlier that day, and he looked just as helpless.

“Well,” Killian began, digging his hands into the pockets of his jacket and straightening his arms out as far as they would go. He looked to the floor as he spoke, the word leaving his mouth in a low sultry whisper. He grinned to himself, recalling the warmth of her hands earlier that day, imagining them on his length as she had coaxed him into hardness. He looked up to her and his face broke out in a wider grin. “It’s later,” he told her with a quirk of his eyebrow.

Emma arched her brow at him and relaxed against the door. Her hand gently gripped the edge of the wood, and she pressed her chest into it as she smiled at him. “It is. It's very late,” she mentioned slowly, her eyes flicking over his body, hunched in on itself and his breath hanging visibly in the air as it left his mouth. “You want to come in?” she asked, half concerned that he was freezing on her doorstep and half intrigued as to what he wanted from her so late.

Emma pulled the door open a little wider and without a second thought, Killian walked inside. The warmth of Emma’s house hit him like a tornado, instantly making his cold hands tingle and his cheek flush with red and white splotches as they warmed. He pulled his hands from his pockets and rubbed them together whilst taking in the decoration of her house that he had so hastily forgotten last time he stepped into the building.

It was old. It even smelt old, but it had a few finishing touches of modern scattered here and there. The hall was just a small square space at the bottom of the stairs with a coat rack and a wooden structure full of women's shoes. Emma’s had been tossed next to it, sitting one on top of the other in a messy heap. “Is something different here?” he smirked, following her into the lounge.

“No,” Emma said cheerily, turning to face him as she walked backwards. Her hair bobbed up and down on her shoulders and she brushed it from her brow with a shake of her head. “You just didn’t notice last time,” she added dryly, turning away from him and walking towards the couch. Killian smirked to himself, dragging a finger across his lips to hide his smile. “What’s on your mind, Killian?”

“Okay, so why didn’t you tell me David was your brother?” he blurted out loud, stopping her in her tracks. Emma turned to face him with a narrowed gaze, taking a step towards his stilled body.

“You never asked,” Emma shrugged with a smile, echoing her brother’s earlier words. Killian looked away from her and let out a nervous laugh. “Why?” Emma asked, closing the gap between them and tracing a single finger down his chest over the soft fabric of his shirt. She watched her finger intently, gently gripping at the cardboard texture of his collar when her hand smoothed back up to his neck. “Does it matter?”

Killian squirmed under her delicate touch, letting a nervous laugh escape his mouth as he reached up and gripped her hand in his. “No, it’s just-,” he said quickly. “David will kill me if he knew what I’ve…what we’ve done,” he said firmly. Emma’s skin jolted a little because Killian’s hands were still cold from the outside and she pulled her hands from his and quickly laid her flat palms to his chest.

“Are you scared of my brother?” Emma smiled, genuinely amused by Killian’s sudden shyness. Killian cocked his head at her and scoffed.

“No,” he said weakly, giving her a worried stare. “Should I be?”

Emma shrugged and inhaled deeply. “What he doesn’t know, won’t hurt him, right?” Killian looked at her with a silent, lustful glare. His mouth twisted up into a smile and his heart skipped a beat when Emma dipped her head and her hair fell in front of her face, shielding her brilliantly soft hazel orbs from his view. He couldn’t help himself. He had to touch it. He reached out and Emma lifted her head when he touched her skin with nothing more than a light, feathering tickle of his fingertips and tucked a section of her hair behind her ear.

“You’re very naughty, Dr Swan,” Killian smirked, scanning every perfect detail of her face. “And I know I’ve said this before,” Killian began with a low whisper, repeating the tucking action of his hand. He brought his hand to cup her cheek as he spoke, keeping her eye contact the entire time. “But you are beautiful,” he said softly, giving her a slight nod of validation.

“Killian,” Emma said his name softly but firmly and looked away from him embarrassed by his remark. That was it. His tell. His trademark. Exactly as Jenny had said earlier that day and it had taken him all of about three minutes to actually tell her she was beautiful. Her next words were cut off by the feeling of Killian pressing his lips to hers, erasing all rational thought from her mind temporarily and rendering her helpless.

Killian moved quickly, cupping her face in his warming hands and holding her face against his while he kissed her. He tilted his head sideways, gently easing her bottom lip open with his own and sucking on the slightly swollen flesh softly. Emma let out a moan and arched her body into his, wrapping her arms around his neck and drawing his body even closer to hers. Killian stepped back from her body but did not break his kiss as he roughly tugged on his jacket and let it fall to the end of his arm. He caught it in one hand, tossing it sideways onto the couch.

Emma felt her cheeks begin to burn and she broke the kiss abruptly, gently pushing against Killian’s chest to halt his advances. “This is moving too fast. What are we doing here?” she said with a frustrated growl, reaching up and gripping Killian’s hand that was holding her face. She turned her face and planted a soft kiss to his palm before pulling it from her skin and instantly missing the contact.

“What do you mean, love?” Killian asked her in a dizzy voice, dazed and confused by the sudden loss of contact. His eyes fluttered open and his breath was a little ragged as he watched her remove his hand from her skin. Killian didn’t know what was going on. He thought Emma wanted this, wanted him, as much as he wanted her. “Emma?”

“Killian, what are we doing?” Emma repeated, looking down to her feet that were shuffling together on the floor. Killian wiped his mouth discreetly and let out a frustrated breath, averting his gaze from her to the ceiling.

“I thought we were going to be doing each other,” he laughed, rolling his eyes sideways a little. His remark was met with silence and he swallowed her taste down, the combination of cinnamon-laced hot chocolate and cookies sliding down his throat like thorns. He rested his hands to his belt, pulling at his pants awkwardly and looking to the floor. “Okay, wrong time to joke, Killian,” he said slowly to himself.

“Is that what this is? A joke?” Emma snapped, lifting her gaze to look back at him. Killian frowned as he lifted his eyes to meet hers again and shook his head slowly. “Am I just your newest venture, Killian? Another notch on your bedpost?”

“Not at all. Emma, how could you think-,” he began hurriedly but her angry words cut him off. She turned from him and stalked towards the TV. Bending over slightly she banged her hand against the switch and it whizzed a little as the screen went black.

“So what happens when the sex is boring, Killian?” Emma spat, spinning to face him again, her hair turning a second later than she did and finally bouncing to a stop on her shoulders. “What happens when David finds out and…and,” she stuttered, waving her hands towards the lounge window and pointing out into the darkness as if David was outside.

“Emma, where has this come from?” Killian asked, still very confused by her outburst. “When I walked through that front door, you were practically all over me!” he yelled, turning his body sideways and pointing through the archway at the front door.

“I was all over you?!” Emma quipped with a low laugh. “Tell me, Killian. How many times do you usually sleep with someone before you get bored, huh? How long have I got?”

Killian turned his hands upside down so his palms were facing upwards and he just stared at her. His mouth was open a tad and his brow was furrowed so much his skin around the creases had turned white on his forehead. “Emma,” Killian started, trying to ask her what was wrong but she stormed towards him brandishing a sternly pointed finger that she jabbed into his chest with each word.

“Don’t Emma me! I know what you did to Jenny!” she screeched at him, slapping her two tiny hands to his chest and pushing him backwards. Killian stumbled a little, looking behind him as he tripped over the edge of the rug onto the flatter carpet. He spun his contorted face towards her and shook his head again, shielding himself from her with raised arms.

“Jenny? What? Who’s Jenny?” Killian stuttered, his face prickling with pinkness and his heart breaking in his chest. This was it, he was losing her, the one thing in his life that could soothe his raging mind. Somehow he had managed to upset her, and he had no idea what he had done. Everything he had ever done in his life would come crashing down around him, or come up from the depths of Hell and sink its jaw firmly into his ass and never let go.

Emma crossed her arms and turned away from him, letting out a long sarcastic laugh. She shook her head and bit her bottom lip between her teeth, her shoulders still shaking from her laughter. Killian looked at her questioningly, trying to catch her gaze with his. “You don’t even remember their names, do you?” she said slowly, finally lifting her gaze to look at him again. He looked shocked but Emma figured it was probably part of his act and he was so well practised in the art of deception he could pull it off so convincingly. She had her proof. Killian Jones was indeed a dog, a sexual pirate, pillaging women and leaving them spent and used. Her eyes were dark and she shook her head again. “Unbelievable.”

“Their names?” Killian asked, dumbfounded. “Emma, love, I’m not like that,” Killian began again but Emma exploded. She leaned over and grabbed his jacket from the couch, balling it in her hands and then launching it at his chest with gritted teeth.

“I’m not your love,” she spat. “Get out. Get out!” she screamed at him. Emma took two huge steps towards him, pulling back her hand and slapping him across the face with an open palm. Killian’s face stung instantly and he stumbled back further, tensing under her attack as Emma weakly took out her anger against his chest. He dropped his jacket and his keys in his pocket jingled as they hit the floor, his arms shooting out to grab her wrists.

“Emma, listen to me!” he implored, her skin under his hands turning pink as she struggled from his grasp. “Listen!” he repeated louder and she began to still in his arms. She didn’t want to hear what he had to say. She hated him right now but a part of her, somewhere deep in her subconscious toyed with the idea that Jenny was wrong. Killian wasn’t the guy who had slept with her and then never called her back. She was mistaken and another tall, dark, handsome engineer called Killian was to blame.

“What, Killian? What could you possibly say right now?” Emma coughed out on a sob as her tears began to flow from her eyes. Her words were abruptly cut off by Killian’s lips pressed firmly to hers and his hands wrapping themselves around her shoulders to hold her to him. Emma frowned and pushed against his chest again, breaking the kiss and tearing her quivering lips from his. “What are you doing?” she snapped at him, looking directly into his darkened blue orbs and seeing nothing but remorse.

“Proving you wrong,” he said gently, flickering his gaze back down to her lips and pausing for her reaction. Emma was still for a moment, looking between his lips and his eyes, the sincerity in his words taking her by surprise. Something in his voice told her he was desperate and Emma wanted nothing more than to let him show her, to make love to her as he kissed away her tears. The look in his eyes, the soft blue hues of his circular orbs gave him credibility, and Emma caved, utter confusion clouding her mind. Before she knew what she was doing, she grabbed his face in her hands and crushed his lips back to hers, devouring his mouth hungrily with her own for a few seconds, but when she felt him react, she pulled away.

“Sex isn’t proof, Killian,” she said softly, smoothing her thumb across the corner of his mouth and looking away from him sadly. She stepped away and cleared her throat. “Now, please leave,” she said, crossing an arm across her chest and running a hand through her tousled locks timidly.

Killian bent down and picked his jacket back up off the floor, bunching it in one hand and sighing heavily. “Whatever you think of me, Emma, you’re wrong,” Killian said slowly, turning from her and disappearing through the archway into the lobby. Emma bit down on her thumbnail, staring at the patch of carpet where he had just been. “I’ll prove it.” She heard the door close with a small click and buried her face in her hands, pushing her hair from her face with a heaving sigh.

[starkintrn]

heroes don’t need sick days

ao3 version here

Peter Parker learns two new things in the beginning of January, and it's that teenagers with the powers of a spider can, indeed, get sick, and that Tony Stark should never be allowed in the kitchen ever again. 

This is extremely fluffy and has nothing but good things. 

Peter’s new best friends are a box of tissues and a small bag of cherry-flavored cough drops. He woke up this morning feeling like he got hit by a truck; a runny nose, watery eyes, a headache that felt like there’s a brick strapped to his forehead, and a sore throat were all the causes of this. He barely stumbled out of bed, his senses slightly dulled, and by the time he managed to throw some clothes on, he was almost late to school and Aunt May hurried him outside, shoving an apple into his hands and kissing his forehead. Peter suspected that he didn’t look sick considering the fact that she didn’t ask him if he felt alright so he went to school regardless, the Spider-Man suit stuffed into his backpack as well so he can get started on his afternoon patrol immediately despite his condition.

If there is anything that is certainly true, it’s that getting through the school day was much more difficult than Peter originally thought it would be. By his lunch period, Peter’s headache was pounding and he could barely stand even being in the cafeteria due to all of the noises, scents, and bright lights, which is why he retreated to the bathroom and ate his apple in there. He had the money the buy something else to eat, but Peter didn’t have much of an appetite afterwards.

The rest of the day until last period was just Peter popping cough drops like candy and trying his best to power through his headache, praying that time could go by quicker.

Currently Peter is sitting in his last class, which is an incredibly boring English class that he only ever pays attention in because he’s not very good at it. This time, however, it’s different. He eyes the clock on the wall, watching as the second-hand ticks almost in slow-motion. The drawling voice of his teacher is almost enough to put him to sleep, but Ned comes through and pokes him with his pencil once he catches Peter’s eyelids slowly closing. Peter rubs his forehead against the sleeve of his shirt, trying to put pressure on it to help relieve him of some of the pain. It doesn’t work.

Nausea is what hits him first after a few more minutes of boring lecture. Then all of his senses go back to being dialed to eleven without warning and he can feel everything. His thoughts are too loud. The entire classroom is too loud. Everything is too loud. He needs to get out of here. Peter’s muscles move by instinct and he clumsily stumbles up from his chair, almost knocking his notebooks off the table in the process. He hears his teacher ask him what he needs but he’s out the door before his brain can register the words spoken to him. The last thing he hears is Ned worriedly calling his name.

By the time Peter stumbles into the thankfully empty bathroom, he rushes over to a stall and starts dry-heaving. Nothing comes out and he doubts that anything will, but he does this for about five minutes anyway, his heart pounding against his chest, tears from congestion due to sickness and possibly from feeling so distressed spilling down his cheeks. Finally, after about a few minutes that felt like hours, Peter’s throat has decided it had enough and he leans back, drawing in small, erratic breaths.

“I called Mr. Stark from your phone and also grabbed your backpack,” Peter hears Ned say, his echoing voice shattering the silence that once hung around them, and if he weren’t so exhausted, he would thank him. “He’s on his way here. Maybe we should get to the nurse’s office to wait for him there? Also, is this a spider thing? Do all superheroes go through this?”

“Stay with me.” Peter simply requests. “Quiet, please.”

Ned seems to understand and Peter focuses on keeping all of his stomach contents inside, as well as stopping his head from spinning so much. He is no longer dry-heaving and instead stays slumped against the wall of the stall, his breathing hitching every now and then. He loses track of time and at that point, he isn’t sure if Ned is still with him. Knowing his best friend, though, he probably is. Ned would never abandon him, especially in a time like this.

The silence works wonders. Peter already feels himself beginning to find his senses again, even if he isn’t one hundred percent alright yet. He feels Ned awkwardly shifting from foot to foot by the bathroom door, probably waiting for Tony to show up so he can explain everything first. What a good friend, Peter thinks in satisfaction and adoration before he returns to attempting to regain control of himself.

“I thought you stopped getting sick once you got your freaky spider powers,” A familiar voice behind him quietly remarks after a while, and Peter feels his shoulders sag in relief. He cranes his neck and sees Tony Stark hovering over his shoulder, one strap of Peter’s backpack slung over his shoulder. He is wearing a suit, the sleeves ruffled and creased as if he were in a hurry, which means that he’s been at a meeting. Peter can almost see the concern in his dark eyes, his lips etched into a frown. “You alright, kid? You look like a hot mess.”

“C-Can we just…go? Like, leave? Please? It’s kinda loud.” Peter manages to say, drawing in a shaky breath as he attempts to stand, his hand clutching the wall of the stall. His head is still pounding and protests against the sudden action, and he would have tripped and fallen into the toilet if Tony hadn’t caught his arm, pulling him backwards. Peter’s cheek is now squished against Tony’s chest and he takes another deep breath, trying to ground himself. “Hi,” he says to Tony, whose chest rattles with quiet laughter.

“Hey,” he replies, his hand ruffling Peter’s hair, who closes his eyes in contentment and lets out a small sigh. The two of them remain like that for a few minutes and Peter focuses on the sound of Tony’s heartbeat, his breathing pattern, and the low hum of the Arc Reactor. Eventually, his body starts to feel heavy and apparently Tony notices that, too, since he mentions, “As much as I appreciate you falling asleep on me, we’re both going down if you do and I don’t trust what’s possibly on this school bathroom floor. C’mon, let’s get out of here. I already signed you out and told your aunt.”

Peter nods in understanding, parting from the awkward hug they had and following Tony out the door, making sure to say thank you to Ned before he left, and eventually outside of the school building. He shivers against the brisk January air, his hands traveling up his arms to rub some warmth into them, though he feels much better now that he is outside and not boxed in.

Tony casts him a withering look, “Don’t tell me you showed up to school without a jacket or anything, even when you know damn well that spiders can’t thermoregulate. Please, my heart is weak as it is.”

“Okay, then I won’t tell you.”

Peter hears Tony loudly groan and watches as the man slips the black jacket off of his suit, tossing it to Peter, the fabric landing straight on top of his head. Peter pulls it off his face and begins putting it on, grinning as Tony mutters something about stupid teenagers. Once they get to the parking lot and enter Tony’s expensive car, Peter begins to feel dumb and like a burden.

“Uh, I’m really sorry that I interrupted you in your meeting,” Peter apologizes, his fingers toying with the hem of Tony’s jacket. “I just didn’t know who else to call since May has a busy day at work and you’re the only one who knows I can…get like this. Other than Ned.”

“Don’t sweat it, kid, it was a boring meeting anyway. I was just about to send you some cat memes before your friend called,” Tony reassures as he turns up the heat in the car, making a face at the sound of Peter sniffling. “Wait, are you sick? I thought it was just sensory overload.”

“It was sensory overload. I just have the most wicked headache right now,” Peter complains, leaning his head back against the cushioned seat of the car. His headache is somewhat better now, instead leaving him with a dull ache rather than the sharp, excruciating pain he was experiencing before. Tony seems to understand and does not ask him further questions as he drives out of the parking lot and out into the street.

The trip to the tower is short and Peter doesn’t fall asleep during it, but he does take advantage of the time to try to recover from his earlier overload. Tony drives smoothly despite New York traffic and even has his music turned all the way down, which Peter greatly appreciates. He is in no mood for AC/DC music that is loud enough to destroy his eardrums.

“What’s his temperature, Fri?” Peter hears Tony ask as they walk inside, and Peter takes a seat on the couch while Tony puts his backpack on the floor beside him.

“100.6 degrees Fahrenheit, which is classified as a low-grade fever. He seems to simply have a cold according to my scans. His vitals are all okay for now.”

“Thanks, Fri,” Tony then turns to Peter, who is already helping himself to a few tissues from the tissue box that sits on the coffee table. “Hear that, kiddo? You have a fever. If I see you get up from that couch and avoid resting, I’m gluing you there.”

Peter rolls his eyes at Tony’s threat as he blows his nose, “Look who’s talking. Aren’t you the one who always avoids resting?”

“One more crack like that out of you and I’m putting a bucket of salt into your soup.”

Mr. Stark knows how to cook? That’s a new one, he thinks as he tosses the tissues into the trash can, which is thankfully nearby. “You can make soup? No offense but I didn’t think you knew how to cook.”

Tony grins maniacally and Peter can tell that he made a mistake when he asked. “Yes, I actually have a very special Stark recipe. It’s my original recipe. Oh, you’ll love it, you can even ask Rhodey. I made this for him hundreds of times when he was sick and it works like a charm. It’ll definitely help you feel better.”

Something tells Peter that Rhodey would advise him to run for the hills and avoid the soup at all costs but at this point, Peter is too tired from the day’s events to stop Tony from his desire to cook. “I’m just gonna…close my eyes for a bit.” Peter announces to no one in particular as he curls up on the couch, bringing his knees to his chest, “G’night…”

Sleep takes him easily and the last thing he is aware of is someone tucking a warm blanket around him.

Something or someone is poking him in the cheek. Incessantly.

“Five more minuuuuuuuutes,” Peter groans, turning on his other side as if that would stop the poking. It turns out that it didn’t and Peter grabs the edge of the blanket, pulling it over his head. Since when did he have a blanket this warm and fluffy? “Stooooooooooop. It’s not a school day, Aunt May, I wanna sleep iiiiiiin.”

“Sorry it break it to you, kid, but it’s definitely not your aunt and it definitely is a school day,” A voice responds and Peter immediately recognizes it as Tony’s. Peter cracks his eyes open and turns to lie down on his back, his forearm thrown over his forehead. He feels another poke on his cheek and realizes that Tony has been poking him in the face with a spoon all this time.

Peter feels sleep gradually begin to tug him back and he murmurs lazily, “I’m going back to sleep, Mr. Stark.”

“Oh no, you don’t. I have something for you.”

“Too tired. Don’t make me sneeze on you.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

This continues on for a while before Peter relents and sits up, yawning as he rubs his eyes with a hand. How long was he even asleep? Before Peter can ask, an incredibly warm bowl is place on his lap and he feels like he just got his answer. He was asleep long enough for Tony to fulfill his promise to make the soup.

“It took me a whole two hours. I almost thought I forgot the recipe since it’s been so long since I made it,” Tony explains as he sits down on the couch next to Peter, “but thankfully Rhodey still knows it so I called him and he filled in the blanks. He asked me to give you his condolences, but I think that he’s just messing around. He loves it, too.”

Oh dear God, Peter thinks, completely horrified at the sight of the “soup” in the bowl. The color is a very strange, almost greenish-white color and there is an overabundance of noodles, some of them even poking out of the broth. There are a few soggy carrots floating around in there, as well as small pieces of potatoes. Peter isn’t able to identify anything else that happens to be inside the soup, and he isn’t sure if that is a good or bad thing.

Tony is practically bouncing in his seat and Peter can tell that he’s excited for Peter to take the first bite. Peter is almost tempted to claim that he’s too nauseous to eat it and call it a day, but one look at the ecstatic expression on Tony’s face is enough to chase that thought away. Peter doesn’t have the heart to deny Tony, especially when he worked so hard on making this for him. Plus, he’s also had to deal with a lot of Aunt May’s cooking and believe him, her cooking skills are almost as terrible as Tony’s, so eating this all should be no big deal.

Well, here goes nothing. I hope Aunt May knows that I love her, just in case anything happens to me, Peter thinks before he fills up the spoon with some broth and a few carrots here and there, taking a reluctant sniff before shutting his eyes and shoveling it into his mouth.

To his surprise, it doesn’t taste as bad as it looks, but the texture is awful. Peter’s first instinct is to gag and spit it out, but he suppresses the urge and somehow manages to swallow it. When Peter looks back up, he realizes Tony is looking at him expectantly and he weakly lifts up his hand to give him a thumbs-up sign as he lies right through his teeth, “It’s really good, Mr. Stark. The best soup I’ve had in years.”

Thankfully, Tony accepts that response and puffs out his chest proudly. “I knew it! I knew that you’d love it! Rhodey always says that it’s better if I just keep the soup between us but I can’t wait to see the look on his face when I tell him that you loved it. See? I’m definitely a genius in all areas.”

Was it really worth it? Peter wonders as Tony continues happily rambling about his cooking skills, even asking Friday to save this moment in her files so he can look back at it. He smiles as he answers his own question, Yeah, it totally was.

Peter can barely focus on the movie playing on the T.V. It’s not because he’s not interested in the movie – he actually very much is – it’s just that his symptoms came back with full force. Since Peter has mutated genetics due to the spider bite, regular medicines have zero to no effect on him and he’s had to deal with them without the help of anything other than natural healing things. To put it simply, it sucks.

Tony and Peter had been sitting on the couch – Tony’s arm slung around Peter’s shoulders and Peter’s head resting on his shoulder - for who knows how long, marathoning whatever movies that Peter was in the mood for, which so far included Interstellar and almost all of the Jurassic Park movies.

As the movie continues playing, Peter reaches for another tissue only to come back up empty-handed as the box is surprisingly empty. Tony notices and rolls his eyes, “How could you have gone through an entire box of them in less than one day? Geez, I would have bought more of them if I knew.”

He starts to stand up and Peter has to resist the urge to pathetically whine at the loss of contact. He uselessly slumps down against the couch, in Tony’s spot, murmuring something about it not being his fault that Stark Industries has a shortage of tissues. The lights emanating from the television soon begin to bring Peter’s headache back to full force so he rightfully turns away, nuzzling his head against the cushion in hopes of relieving it. Naturally, that action does absolutely nothing.

“Mr. Stark,” Peter calls as he shifts in position, nearly kicking the blanket off of him. When he gets no response, he whines again, this time much louder, “Mr. Staaaaaaaaaark. I think I’m dying. This may be the end of the line for me. Tell Aunt May that I love her. All of my Spider-Man gear goes to Ned. You can get all of my limited edition Iron Man stuff. It’s like having your own merch but not paying for it. Also, if my English teacher asks about my essay, tell her that it was so good that you buried it with me.”

“Oh, quit it, you drama king,” Peter hears the sarcastic voice of his mentor as he approaches with another box of tissues, setting it down on the coffee table beside him. “And I thought I was a hassle to deal with when sick.”

Peter frowns as he sits up, reaches over, and takes a tissue, a stone of guilt forming in his stomach. Maybe he should have told Tony back at the school that he’d be fine and he can deal with this by himself. It seems as if Tony has a lot to do today, anyway, and Peter didn’t intend on adding his own problems to that list. However, it seems as if Tony read his mind because he felt a gentle hand ruffle his hair, the owner of said hand murmuring something about just messing around, and that is enough to cause Peter’s lips to curl back into a smile.

“You wanna finish up the movie, bud?” Tony offers, and Peter vigorously shakes his head only to stop as his head starts spinning.

“No, head hurts,” Peter answers honestly and even though Tony says nothing, he can feel the worry practically washing over the man in waves.

“Hey, how long have you been sleeping lately? Estimated hours per night for this week.” Tony’s sudden question causes Peter to look up at him in confusion only to realize exactly in which direction this conversation is going to be heading in. Peter may be staying in Tony’s place for now, but he is not going to be lectured by Tony Stark again, even if his sleeping habits have something to do with the severity of his headaches and sensory issues.

“Six,” Peter lies, though a stare of blatant disbelief from Tony causes him to quietly amend, “Okay, maybe more like three. Or less. Listen, Mr. Stark, I just have a lot going on! I have a lot of projects and assignments for school, and I have to keep my grades up otherwise they’ll kick me out of there! Do you think I want to spend all night listening to some required video of a college dude talking about solving integrals?”

Tony is oddly silent for a few moments and Peter begins to think that he’s in the clear, although what the man asks next causes him to tense, “Are you sure it’s just that? There’s nothing else that’s the cause of your piss poor sleeping schedule?”

Nightmares, Peter instantly mentally answers. Ever since The Vulture incident – involving the plane crash and the building collapsing on top of him – Peter has found himself dealing with an abundance of nightmares that leave him waking up in a cold sweat or with a scream trapped in his throat. He’s been terrified of going to sleep and often left projects and essays undone until the last minute just so he can have an excuse to stay up all night doing them rather than sleeping. He just cannot go through another nightmare where he sees the Vulture’s metal wings covered in his blood, or where he’s choking on dust and his own tears as pieces of a broken building are piled on top of him, pressing him against the ground.

Peter feels his own breathing beginning to quicken so he chases those thoughts away, his hand gripping the couch in order to pull himself back into reality. Instead of claiming that nothing else bothers him like he usually would, Peter chooses to remain silent. For a while, neither of them say anything. However, he suddenly feels the couch shift as Tony plops down on it and sits beside him, and the two of them share a glance.

Eventually, Tony – a bit awkwardly - opens his arms and gestures for Peter to close the space between them, and Peter wastes no time in doing so. He immediately sinks into the embrace, warmth seeping through his aching bones.

“One time, a while ago, I had Palladium poisoning,” Tony suddenly speaks, and Peter looks up at him before looking back down at the faint blue light on the man’s chest, the Arc Reactor covered by the cotton of Tony’s white shirt. “The Reactor was saving my life but at the same time, it was killing me. I tried every single thing to make it stop but nothing worked. There was a good chance that I was going to die.”

Tony’s voice was breaking and Peter rubs his hand against his back, his eyes focused on the Arc Reactor. Peter had always admired it, considered it a symbol of strength, courage, and intelligence. However, when he saw the scarring around Tony’s chest, overheard Tony speaking in a hushed voice to Rhodey about how much it hurt sometimes and noticed how tense Tony got whenever someone he didn’t trust touched it, he realized that it also served as a constant reminder of what Tony went through in Afghanistan.

“I didn’t tell anyone. Not Happy, Pepper, or Rhodey. I didn’t want anyone to know. I tried getting through it myself,” Tony quietly admit, “and I didn’t know how I was going to get through it. I mean, I did in the end, but you get the point, kid. Some things you don’t have to go through alone. Some things you shouldn’t go through alone.”

Peter simply nods his head in understanding, resting his forehead on Tony’s shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut. If there’s anyone who understands nightmares more than anyone, it’s Tony Stark, and Peter knows this.

“How come you went to sleep here? I don’t mean to pry, I’m just curious.”

Peter blinks at the question and realizes that he didn’t even think of nightmares when he took his nap on the couch. It barely even crossed his mind. “I, uh…” Peter began, hesitating before softly admitting, “I guess I just feel safer with you. Yeah. I feel safer with you. I didn’t think that I would have any if you were here.”

The two of them share another brief moment of silence together and Peter begins to feel as if he messed up big time by admitting something so personal and emotional to a man who didn’t do well with either things.

“I’m here,” Tony promises, and gently squeezes Peter’s body closer to his. It’s a simple promise of safety and comfort, but it means so much to Peter.

Peter lets out a small laugh in response, full of mirth and gratefulness, before he closes his eyes once again, faintly beginning to feel sleep start to drape over him like a blanket. “I know.”

[hjsnina]

Follower- Jeremiah x Reader (Kidnapped 2)

Kidnapped 1

This is what happens when Jerome steals the one thing that Jeremiah has cared about in a long time. (With a special retelling of 4x18)

Words: 1949

Rating: T

Warnings: Major Character Death (Mentioned), Kidnapping, Stockholm Syndrome, Slight Jerome x Reader but only for this part

Your eyes widened as you stared at the figure sitting in front of your laptop. “Weren't you just out there?” you stammered.

“Little ol’ me? Oh, Darling, I’ve been sitting right here for the longest time,” the man spoke. He stood up and towered over you. His menacing smile forced you to back up and reach behind you for the doorknob. He placed his arm on the door forcing it to stay closed. “I’ve been waiting here so long for you to return and this is how you treat your guest?”

“Jerome,” you whispered the name falling from your lips like a curse.

“So he has told you about me. I thought he might be too ashamed of me to tell his girlfriend,” Jerome cackled. You were leaned against the wall. Jerome’s face was so close to yours you were sure that he could feel your heart pound. “I’ve been watching you for a while now, Dollface.” You pulled your phone out of your pocket.

“Why don’t we just sit down on my bed and talk?” you suggested fear drenching your every word.

“Do you really want to get on a bed with me?” he retorted, an eyebrow raised.

There was a knock at the door, and your eyes widened. “One minute!” you shouted to the other side of the door.

“You left your coat, (Y/N),” Jeremiah spoke loudly in response. You let out a deep breath.

“Fuck, get in the bathroom,” you whispered attempting to push him in that direction. He smirked as he followed your direction closing the door behind him. You took a sigh and adjusted your hair before opening the door.

“(Y/N)! Here’s your coat, Madame,” Jeremiah spoke as he handed you a jacket.

“This isn’t mine,” you spoke, slightly confused as you took it.

“I also really need to use your restroom,” he blushed.

“I think my roommate is taking a number two right now, but I think there’s a bathroom downstairs,” you smiled toward him.

“Well then I’ll just wait,” Jeremiah spoke as he began to enter. “Hey whose coat is that?” he pointed toward Jerome’s coat on the back of my desk chair.

“It’s mine. I just got it,” you spoke as you put it on. His eyes widened as he caught the familiar scent of the jacket.

“Jerome,” he whispered as he looked over to the bathroom. “You lied to me.”

“Jer, he showed up here and threatened me!” you shouted.

“Hey, Babe. Hello, Brother,” Jerome smirked as he exited the bathroom. He walked over to you and put his arm around your shoulder. “I see you’ve met my girlfriend.” You could feel the chill of the gun as its metal pressed against your back.

“(Y/N), is this true?” Jeremiah asked you. “What am I saying? Of course it’s true. Let me guess, Jerome, you’re here to kill me off once and for all?”

“Now, now, Dear Brother. Killing you off now would be too easy. Taking the girl that you love? Now that would be a feat,” Jerome laughed.

“Jeremiah. Please,” you whispered unable to break free from Jerome’s grasp.

“What, (Y/N)? You promised.” You could see the tears fall down his cheeks.

“Let’s go, Dear,” Jerome spoke tugging on your arm. Tears fell down your cheeks as you were forced to leave your dorm room and go with Jerome.

There you sat against the plush leather seat of the car that you were sure that Jerome stole. He was driving 90 in a 55 weaving in and out of traffic. Why? You decided that it was for the hell of it. “Where are we going?” you shouted against the wind flying against your face.

“Gotham, Baby!” Jerome shouted throwing his fist in the air.

Of course you’d heard of the legendary city. There was no way to tell what he was going to do to you in the city of criminals. Would he sell you to a sex trafficker? Would he just kill you? There was no way to tell what was going on in his mind. You knew that it would be something dangerous, however. The mere thought of it got your adrenaline pumping, and no matter how afraid you were in that moment the uncertainty of your future was something that you’d never felt before.

As the hours passed you watched the rural area that you were just in turn into a urban trash can. As you pulled up to the circus, a shiver ran up your spine just looking at the eerie scene of each section. You knew as you stepped out of his stolen convertible that your life would never be the same.

Five Years Later

“Hey, Sugar Plum,” Jerome greeted as he hugged you from behind.

“What are we doing today, Jerome?” you questioned leaning into him. Of course he had changed since you met him. There wasn't a single strand of softness in his body except for when it came to you, his partner in crime.

“We are going to meet up with an old friend of ours,” he smirks.

“Are we dressing to the nines?” you smirked feeling his vibe.

“Oh yes we are. This is a suit and tie occasion, Dear,” Jerome laughed pointing in the direction of the dress that perfectly matched the pale, yellow collared shirt that he had on underneath his white jacket.

“It’s beautiful,” you spoke walking over to it. “How long until we leave?” You picked up the dress and matching white heels.

“Thirty minutes,” he spoke. Your eyes widened as you rushed back into your shared bedroom and began to fix your hair. Twenty-eight minutes later, you walked out of the room wearing the getup that he gave to you along with some minor makeup and hair. “Gorgeous. You might actually upstage me.” He laughed. He extended his hand out to you and you took it. You looked back at the apartment that the two of you shared knowing that this would be the last time that the both of you ever stepped into it.

The music festival was in full swing. The bass rocked through each and every person but especially through your heart. You walked up behind Jerome as he interrupted their performance. You stood alongside Jerome as you obediently agreed to doing all of the things that he asked you to do. You not only did this out of loyalty but fear. Fear that was deeply rooted in your skin since he took you. Your greatest fear whilst in his arms was that he would one day get sick of you and just slice your neck open only to watch in curiosity as the blood dripped from your carotid artery.

You blinked the fear away from your memory as you watched James Gordon push his way through the crowd. Jerome laughs at Gordon’s attempts to get Jerome to stop his plan. It’s too late, however, and Jerome makes his demands. James sighs and agrees to give Bruce Wayne and Jeremiah Valeska.

“Jerome,” you whispered as Gordon walked away.

“Yes, My Sweet?” Jerome smiled.

“What are we going to do to Jeremiah whenever James comes back?” you question as the music begins to play.

“Oh, Darling, we are going to make him as mad as the both of us!” Jerome let out a loud cackle that forced you to wince at the first note. You knew that you were still as sane as the day that you had first been in contact with Jerome, so you shook your head in confusion. Seeing this, Jerome clarified his earlier statement with, “You’ll see soon enough.”

You stood next to Jerome and put back on the insanity act for the public. You slung your arm around Jerome’s shoulders and planted a kiss on his cheek. You reached for the gun that was strapped around your thigh underneath the skirt of your dress and aimed it toward the sky pulling the trigger several times and laughing maniacally. You knew that Jerome could see through your facade, though you knew he was grateful to have someone to ground him through his entire plan. The plan that he had been spilling to you since for years upon years now.

It was only a little while longer when Jerome made the announcement that Jeremiah and Bruce were here. There was a shiver that ran up your spine as you could feel an ominous vibe that filled the area. Jerome, off in his own little parade, continued with his plan as you slowly walked away. You turned around for a second to make sure that none of Jerome’s friends followed you as you ran as fast as you could. Your chest rose and fell as you began to lose your breath as you continued to run toward the only person who you knew could help you.

You zoomed past the trees, making sure to observe your surroundings every few seconds. You held two small gift boxes in your hands with instructions written in sloppy handwriting and a red pen which you still were unsure if the ink was his blood.

“(Y/N), when I die I want you to follow these directions. And whatever you do, don’t get too torn up about it. My mind is already too gone, but Jeremiah’s. Oh My Dear Brother’s, his mind is perfect,” Jerome spoke as he handed you the sheet of paper.

At the time, you were confused, but you agreed to it. And this morning when he gave you the two small gift boxes, you just knew that it was time. You tried not to let the death of the truly broken man that Jerome was get to you. You turned around to see the blimp not in place, and you knew that Jerome’s final plan had failed, but it was your turn to prove his loyalty.

As you arrived at the door of the underground bunker, you knew that there was no other person who could complete the task like you could. This was your test to prove that you were loyal to Jerome and no one else. As you entered the maze that was Jeremiah’s home you felt the tears fall down your cheeks as your heart realized something that it should have already known. You had not feared Jerome himself, but you feared loving him. You feared that when you succumbed to loving the psychotic man that you too would lose your sanity. I truly have lost my mind, you thought as you placed down the two boxes in Jeremiah’s control center.

Step 7: The smaller box is for you. Thank you for everything.

You picked up the smaller box that was specifically addressed to you and pulled open the ribbon. There was a letter and a small perfume bottle.

(Y/N),

When you miss me. Feel free to spray some.

Jerome.

You smiled as you uncapped the small bottle and held the circular bottle spraying a few sprays in the air to get the scent. Your eyes widened as the smell was something that you’d smelled before. “No!” you shouted as you collapsed to the floor. You felt yourself losing grips of everything that you’d ever worked for. As the letter fell back to the floor with the backside up you read the small print on the back.

P.S. You wanted to be with Jeremiah? You can have him.

Your vision was blurry as you attempted to get up and leave the house. You tumbled, but made sure not to knock anything over. You walked back into the woods and collapsed finally giving in to the spray that Jerome had specially made for you.

[atfauomo]

aTFAUomo: Scorponok

Scorponok is a very a terribly naive, childish Titan. Ve always sees the best in people, even if they do ver wrong. So when the Ancient Cybertronians decided that they didn’t want the Titans to live and decided to deactivate them all, Scorponok did not harbor any sense of negative energy toward them. One thing to note was that ve was a very young city, not even old enough to get Compeers (or, in summary, the trio of mature Cybertronians that would be bound into vis service to be with ver for all time) or experience too much of life, so ve did not have any sense of longing or depression or trauma that a lot of the other Titans did when activated. In fact, ve was very open to these new modern Cybertronians, who differed so much from the old. Way too open, as ve in naive baby Titan nature just let the Decepticons run around the place, blabbering on and on. Ve allowed verself to be claimed as a Decepticon city only because ve thought it just meant that ve would have a lot of friends, which wasn’t wrong. A lot of Decepticons like the Titan’s upbeat personality, its endearing, but vis attitude can also very annoying.

Its very childish in Titan culture to claim to be the largest and the most populated. All Titans in their core want to be the biggest, most popular city and loved to be complimented as such. It would go that a Cybertronian would say how big/loved/popular a city is, and that the Titan would just be like “aaaaa no!!! Not me, dont be silly!”, and the conversation would go back and forth until the Titan has their ego stroked to the right amount. Only an absolute child would demand to be called such and agree at first compliment that they are so great. Scorponok tends to do this in vis Cybertronian sized holoform, which ve always makes bigger than the biggest Cybertronian in the room that ve “is in”. In turn, the Decepticons pretty much pretend that the holoform is not there, like as if it was hide and seek asking wheres Scorponok, while the holoform Titan just move around frustrated and how no one sees how big and popular ve is. Rumble and Frenzy introduced ver to the concept of pranking and making snarky comments to others, so that's a mess. Starscream introduced the idea of overthrowing Megatron, so Scorponok is in on that too, tho no one takes it seriously. Ya boi says everyone has to study Cybertronian geology before anything else.

Scorponok geography wise is a highly crystallized city. On Cybertron, landscape and architecture is a lot different than that on Earth. The ground and the buildings are parts of a Titan, and are comprised of metallic component that act almost organic in a way, constantly shifting and moving in accordance to the commands of the people upon it, be it moving away for the path of a guardian bot, or becoming a whole new structure when the next hot and ready architect decides it shall be. One interesting phenomenon is the concept of crystallization.

Crystallization occurs on certain areas of Cybertron, due to Cybertron’s lack of a protective atmosphere in said areas, which allows various minerals in space to land upon the surface of the cities. These minerals are naturally unattracted by Cybertron’s specific mix of metals, and due to the planet’s unique charges, come together. The minerals form many unique structures as gems, arranging from the size of a pebble to massive building size towers. They appear to radiantly glow and give heat, as they reflect the biolights of the cities and citizens of a dark, sunless world. Scorponok verself has the colors of beautiful iridescent pastel colors in Cybertronian vision. To humans and other organics, ve appears to be a very disgusting grape lime highlighter color.

The citizens of these cities tend to have an odd fascination in the gems, and will take the natural gem structures and adorn them on their buildings or on their own vessels. Some of these gem structures contain minerals that Cybertronians can consume to create different effects, such as change biolight color or rejuvenate the spark. Needless to say, these cities get a lot of traffic from other Cybertronians and aliens.

Some bots are low crystallized, such as Metroplex, whose major crystal complex is vis famous crystal labyrinths. But few are the highly crystallized. As shown in vis Titan alt mode, ve is covered in giant crystal shards and towers. These are, keep note, NOT buildings. Buildings on Titans “melt into their skin” and do not stick out in Titan form. The crystals however are not a part of the Titan’s “membrane” so to speak, so they retain their forms.

Scorponok verself loves crystals as well. Ve is a master jeweler and geologist, and knows all kinds of ancient secrets left untapped by the modern Cybertronians.  Ve holds vis own gem club, open to both factions. As with most Titans, he does not give one ounce of respect toward the concept of factions, much less what a grouchy bucket head says about them. But because a majority of vis citizens follow this concept of thought, ve had to compromise and set up “sanctuary” areas in which bots of whatever faction can meet, and ve does vis job of preventing capture or battle in said areas. Such areas are used for various purposes such as jewelry making or making concoctions. Some bots come for fun, such as Beachcomber and Hound, and some come when they have to learn science or make food or gifts for others. The jewelry area is constantly visited bots like Sunstreaker, Knock Out, Starscream, and Tracks. A mess. Not violent fights as the organics do, gRosS, but heavy amounts of snark and competition and petty nonsense. Scorponok is absolutely oblivious to the malicious nature of some of these fights. There are some bots that aren’t petty that go to the meetings every now and then, such as  Ve believes that one day, members of vis gem club will become vis Compeers. Because its always a good idea to have your best friends be trusted leaders, especially such competent members such as they.

Scorponok’s Titan form is inspired by Insecticons. The age of Titans was really ancient, before Insecticons came to Cybertron. So, vis ancient Titan form looked nothing as it does now. Ve changed vis Titan form as such because ve thought Insecticons were really cool. Ve is also a popular areas for Insecticons because they love to consume microscopic gem particles that line vis surface.

As with most Titans, Scorponok never really appears in Titan form. In Titan form, Titans feel pretty much as how humans so, unable to feel the “souls” of vis citizens or the hum and rhythm of the planet. Its incredibly scary and lonely for them, and is only done if some reaction was accidentally set off, or if ve had to protect the planet or something.  This picture in all purposes just for show. Scorponok is actually a very Big Boi, especially in comparison to a lot of Autobot cities such as Metroplex and Iacon.

As a side note on the design of the city. The stacks of rings on some of the shapes indicate that the land is “floating”. This is in fact alien technology, as in, not Cybertronian in nature. Cybertronians thought it was super cool and thus added it to their geography. Scorponok thus did not make the floating islands and is incredibly joyed by the sight of them

There is a specific bridge of floating islands that cross over all of Cybertron called the Round Rail, as shown by the circular floating bits that appear to be connected to another. Cybertronians can be launched to and from cities with a powerful jet of air that is really fun to ride on. The jets of air are from the floating islands and Cybertronians control their destination just by wishing it through their wifi like communication system.

(One thing that I am doing now with format is changing what content is put in the text. Basically, indepth lore text is put here on Tumblr or Deviantart, while personal commentary on making the art will be on IG and Twitter!)

[rylredrants]

20 Years Ago

It’s been 20 years since that day. And just like I wrote in the only ‘memory’ referencing 9/11 on my Facebook, I don’t want to jump on a bandwagon or soapbox. I don’t want to join the throngs of people answering the question that, for those of my generation, needs no explanation… “Where were you when?”

But I can’t not write today.

For me, the where was easy. I was in Colorado Springs.

To say it’s an area with a large military community doesn’t do justice to the sentiment. The Air Force Academy, Cheyenne Mountain Air Force Stations, Fort Carson Army Post, Peterson Air Force Base, and Schriever Air Force Base are all within an hour’s drive, give or take traffic. My new husband was stationed at Fort Carson, a Cavalry Scout.

My mother called me in hysterics- which was not unusual, waking me up earlier than normal. I was working at the Olive Garden as a server. My daughter was 4 years old.

I got up, took her to daycare, and went to work. There was a TV on the same kind of AV cart we got excited about in school sitting inside the server’s station on one side. We didn’t have customer-facing televisions and this was long before smartphones were in everyone’s pockets.

Another military spouse showed up for her shift, unaware of the events. She turned around to go home. She lived on Fort Carson and didn’t get through the gate for several hours.

That evening, I was part of a small sleepover of sorts where a handful of us “Scout Wives” held vigil together- crying and waiting for some kind of news from our husbands. The post was locked down tight. We didn’t get to hold them in our arms until the evening of September 12th.

The “where” is an easy question.

I think the bigger question is “WHO were you when? And who did you become in the aftermath?

Twenty years ago, I was a 22-year-old newlywed. He was my 2ndhusband- a cute boy in a green uniform with bright blue eyes, a grin for miles, and a quirky little gap between his front teeth. He had deployed to Bosnia straight out of basic training. We met in a bar within weeks of his return to the states, around Valentine’s Day of 2001.

The day the towers fell, he still was not old enough to legally buy a beer.

I had already rebuilt my life once when I left California and split up with my daughter’s father. Our new life was just beginning, but when my mother wailed, “You just married a soldier and we’re going to WAR!” I felt it. I felt my entire life unraveling again.

We moved to Germany the following spring where he was almost immediately sent to Kosovo. It was slated to be a 6-month tour. His replacement unit was sent to Iraq as part of OIF 1, so they extended their mission to 9 months. From there, there were moves back to Colorado, a separation, reconciliation, a move to Texas, and 2 more deployments to Iraq.

By the time we separated, I was 30 years old. We owned a home and he was slated for a third deployment to Iraq. The TBI (traumatic brain injury), PTSD, migraines, and back problems were so bad that he did not deploy, and was medically discharged before his 30th birthday.

We stayed on friendly terms for another decade, but every time I saw pictures of his new life and new wife I felt all of it all over again. He still had the big grin, but the sparkle in his eyes was gone.

That man has his name, his fingerprints, and his DNA but little else remained of the boy I married all those years ago. My husband went to war, but despite coming back upright and without a flag draped over his body, he never came back.

This is one of those things that people outside the military community don’t often realize. Whether or not you wear the uniform, war changes you. Military families deal with their own stress, trauma, loneliness, and fear from having loved ones in a warzone for weeks, months, and sometimes years at a time.

Waiting for that telegraph, knock on the door, or news story that mentions their unit… that part has changed over the years but living in that constant state of dread is the same.

It’s a state of anticipatory grief… waiting for the moment when the grief process will begin and be recognized by those around you.

When the same uniform walks through the door, the rest of the world sees the happiness of a homecoming.

But for so many, that happiness is often quickly replaced with learning who the person wearing the uniform has become in their absence.

New kinds of stress, trauma, loneliness, and fear often follow.

The stress of readjusting to sharing your home. The trauma, packed neatly away in their rucksack spills out all over the floor with their gear. Then comes the loneliness when they isolate and disconnect, and fear that you will become the target of their anger.

When my soldier returned, his drug of choice was video games. I called myself a ‘PlayStation Widow’ because he would spend every waking moment outside of work with a controller in hand, often not getting up to eat, drink or even smoke. His anger was most pronounced in his road rage- yelling, swearing, speeding, and tailgating.

I learned to manage his anger with my tears.

The rage would take hold and I would take responsibility for it, trying to figure out how I could have caused it. ‘What did I do? How can I fix this? What does he need?’ Eventually, I realized that he only calmed down once I’d become so spun up into it that I’d broken down in my own panic.

Over a decade later, when my current partner, Pirate, is struggling with his mental health, my first instinct is still to take responsibility.

It’s only because of the therapy, medication, and communication, on both sides, that I’m able to acknowledge and support him without taking it on as my own.

I swore I’d never get involved with military personnel again when that marriage ended.

What I hadn’t considered is that relationships are often brought about by proximity. I’ve lived near military installations for most of my adult life- Forts Carson, Hood, Meade, and Huachuca stateside, plus 2 years in Germany.

Friends, lovers, 2 ex-husbands, and my current partner have all brought their own trauma-filled rucksacks along with them, and into my life.

They each had their own experiences and their own way of handling things.

Dirty D had a picture on his MySpace of himself crouched down, naked, pistol in hand that was taken shortly before he was hospitalized for holding the gun to his head. I was friendly with his wives and girlfriends, including the one he moved to Idaho with to live off the grid on a hand-built homestead.

Taz was working nights as a bouncer when we met. He was sent to Germany only to be medically discharged and returned to Texas because his body was too damaged from previous trips to “the sandbox” to deploy again.

The Postman shared stories he wrote about his time in Mogadishu, Somalia. You probably know that as the place where "Black Hawk Down" happened. We met while he was on leave from Iraq and he later emailed more stories to me from Afghanistan.

The Mad Scientist once talked about being with his unit early on during Operation Iraqi freedom. Food was scarce so they were only getting one MRE a day. He had a stash of candy bars that he broke small pieces off from to share with the guys in his unit that were struggling the most with hunger.

MM also experienced those lean rations and hunger along with going days on end unable to get clean. The bulk of his PTSD revolved around food and cleanliness.

We once drove over 3 hours to go to a ‘Princess Bride’ themed burlesque show. The venue said they had food, and we didn’t have time to get dinner before going to the theater. When he discovered that the concession stand was closed he had a meltdown, leaving me alone to go get a hamburger at a bar down the block.

Pirate has nightmares, crying out in his sleep and trembling so violently that our bed shakes. He was medically discharged from the Army before his unit deployed. He lives with survivor’s guilt on top of the PTSD he developed as a 5-year-old missionary kid in Kenya during a civil uprising.

And none of this takes into account the first responders, civilians, and all of their families who have been impacted by this.

Here we are 20 years later...

I just saw a video where a teacher discussed telling her students about 9/11. She explained that there were 3 targets that symbolized the very idea of America in their own way. The World Trade Center was a representation of the American economic power, the Pentagon is a symbol of military power, and the 3rd target, the Capitol is the seat of our democracy.

20 years later, the 3rd target was attacked again.

This time, the attack did not come from foreign powers but instead from home-grown terrorists, radicalized to believe the blatant lies of a spray-tanned reality TV star who is spending this anniversary as a ringside commentator at a casino boxing match in Florida. I couldn’t make this up if I tried.

We are in a politicized pandemic that quite literally almost killed my own mother last week. I’m living in the hottest city in America where we moved for a job that Pirate was fired from 3 weeks after we signed our year-long lease.

Oh, and the Capitol police have requested the fences be put back up for the “Justice for J6” rally next weekend. These 'very fine people' are gathering to show solidarity for those who literally smeared shit on the halls of our democracy.

Showing support for those arrested for assaults that left several people injured. Five people died shortly before, during, or after the event, and 4 officers who responded to the riot died by suicide in the months since.

Today there are people all over social media posting stories of where they were that day.

But others are the younger people who have been taught to “remember” an event that was little more to their personal history than a scary movie on TV. They were too young or too far removed from it to carry the same scars as those who lived through the events of that day and all that came after.

I’m glad they only have to perform the remembrance rather than experience it. But for the rest of us, I think that it is part of the healing to look back on this anniversary and say,

“I was there. I was present. That day changed my life in ways that still matter to me.”

[crayvexador]

chicago au

chapter one: The End

characters: Vek, Sandor, Crayton, Lex, Six, Marina, Eight, Nine and Ella

word count: 7k

Long ago, there was a planet called Lorien. The people of Lorien, called Lorics, lived in peace inside their perfect planet. The planet provided the Lorics with everything they needed, flowing water, bountiful crops and enough land for all of them for thousands of years.

The Lorics were secluded people but they shared and gave the planets around them their resources and technology and asked nothing in return. They lived in such constant harmony that even among each other they showed no cruelty and war never took place on their ground.

Some of the Lorics had special powers they named "Legacies" and those who were blessed to have them were called Garde. The other half of the planet was called Cepans, in charge of keeping Lorien running and teaching the Grade how to control their unique powers.

Despite the peace, someone needed to look after Lorien and its people. That group was called The Great Elders, nine ancient Garde who wrote the rules Lorien lived by. While most of the planet showed no resistance to those unquestionable rules- where to study, which job they'd be working in the future, what is their role- some Lorics felt like they didn't fit the perfect society of Lorien.

Next to Lorien was another planet, Mogadore. Mogadore was the complete opposite of Lorien, a planet whose people were slowly overusing and destroying. The Lorics used their knowledge and advanced technology to flourish the planet further, while the Mogadorian people drained their own.

One day, the Mogs attacked Lorien. Their attack wasn't a quick, foolish one, born out of jealousy and bad temper. They hit the Loric's space bays, bombed the main cities, destroyed all of their ships and killed every Loric they saw. Their hateful attack was planned to the last detail, starting from at what hour the first missile was launched to bringing down the last house.

In this chaos, nine young Garde and their Cepans boarded a spaceship that hovered over the ground in Lorien's airstrip. Before they left their ruined planet, the nine children were blessed with a charm that would protect them. As long as they stayed apart, any attack that was landed on them would harm the one who sent it. But the charm had one fault: because the children were ordered by number, they could only be hurt in that order. Number One was the first in the Mogs kill list, with Nine being the last.

With that burden to save their planet and avenge the deaths of their people, all while living in fear they might be next, the children and their protectors left Lorien, as its last survivors.

Or so they thought.

Shortly after them, in the outskirts of Lorien's capital, another ship was ready to fly. It burst through the Loric Museum of Exploration, piercing a hole through the glass ceiling of the institute. On that ship screamed their lungs out a Cepan named Crayton holding a baby in his arms, a Garde named Devektra who just lost her career as an international singer and a very troubled pilot named Lexa who was freshly assigned with making a spaceship that was twice her age fly.

After a year and a half of being space-sick and a stack of food that was running out, they landed in the middle of the desert inside a country the humans called Egypt. The air was burning and much heavier than Lorien's, but it was better than recycled spaceship air. They gathered their stuff and their animals and continued forward.

Three weeks into living on Earth they found out the Mogs reached this planet too and were determined to finish their job in wiping out the Loric kind. They decided that chasing the Garde would lead the Mogs to them and that waiting was better for now.

A month ago Crayton insisted they should fly to Spain, believing a Garde lived there and that she was in danger. He was right. That Garde was Marina, a gentle girl with the ability to heal and see in the dark. The Mogs knew her general location for a while and as soon as they realized who Marina was, they attacked.

While fighting, Crayton lost the only Chimaera they still had, Olivia. The fight was bad, the Mogs were closing on them from every side of the lake they were in when another Garde appeared, Number Six.

With Six and Marina they got to India and after some tests in a river, found Number Eight as well. Deep in the mountains where Eight lived there was a cave, its walls covered with paintings that tell the future and show the past. Again, the Mogs found them but they escaped by using Eight's teleportation Legacy and a stone called Loralite.

The stone took them to place in Australia where they got on a plane headed to the United States. Within half a day they arrived in Chicago, Illinois, where another Garde was. Devektra was interested in that Garde and even more in his Cepan because he was with her the night Lorien was attacked.

"We should go now, I'm telling you," she stepped back and forth in the room she shared with Crayton and Lex. Eight and Marina were sitting on the bed, moving their heads from side to side like in a tennis game.

"Vek, I know you want to see him, but think about this," Crayton held her hands until the angry look faded from her face. "What are we going to do? Just knock on his door?"

She didn't answer him, only let out a tired sigh, but he knew she understood his point. "Are you sure that's where he lives?" she leaned over Lexa who had her laptop in front of her in the corner of the room.

"Definitely. The signal leads here." A grey window of code was opened on the screen full of words and functions only Lexa knew how to pass. Another window with a map on it, showing a picture of a great silver tower.

"So what do we do?" she turned around to look at everyone in the room, receiving nothing but blank faces and shrugs.

What they did was mostly sneaking around with improvised undercover outfits and watching the penthouse. Vek first caught a glimpse at Sandor, Nine's Cepan, while she was drinking coffee at a shop from across the street and nearly spit her drink.

He was taller than she remembered and a lot muscular as well, nothing like the boy she met on Lorien. He ditched the green LDA tunic for a suit and grew a beard, but she recognized his face.

She also recognized Nine, who went outside for an afternoon jog. When he was younger, his hair reached the tip of his shoulders and from the ponytail he had now she guessed he hadn't stopped liking his hair long. He towered over almost every person, who would look at him and think: why does this guy need to run?

Two weeks moved on like this until a night she left the hotel for a late walk. Crayton and Lex urged her not to walk alone, but she needed to clear her head and be alone.

She knew her way back, but the city confused her. The streets were nothing like the neighborhoods on Lorien, too dark and twisted. Over the years and the many countries they had lived in, she had gotten used to the way Earth was built, but Chicago was different, she found out now.

On Lorien, every road would lead you to a beautiful park or a well-preserved building like LDA. Cars would hover slowly, without making any sound, as children skipped on the sidewalks. Each traffic light and sign would look like it rained the other night, painted with shine. Not a single flaw could be seen on Lorien.

The condition of the road she was in front of was a lot poorer. Lamp posts blinked with light, serving an electrical sound, while some of them failed to work. Parts of the pavement were broken or misplaced and a few signs were ruined with what appeared to be graffiti. The night dyed everything in black, and she regretted her decision to walk alone.

Her only worry was the Mogadorians. If they would show up, she believed she could take them down on her own, something she had done multiple times in the past. Getting into a battle would cause destruction, and the place would turn into a crime scene. They were already worried about being watched by the Mogs, and attention was the last thing she wanted to draw to herself.

Thinking about the Mogs made her more tired than wary. It has been ten years since they have landed on the Earth, and over eleven since they left Lorien. Each day was filled with anxiety of being captured, confusion caused by the attempts to understand the human society, and aching longing to their home planet. She had felt the war on her skin more than once, memories that sometimes haunted her dreams, faded scars on her body. Running and getting hurt brought weight on her shoulders.

Their last encounter with the Mogs was two years ago. That was also the worst one they have had so far. They were staying in a cheap motel on the side of a long road in the desert when the Mogs ambushed them. They took them by surprise and the fight was bad.

In most times the Mogs started a fight, they didn’t come through the door. Because their little room didn’t have any windows, the door was blown up, and a group of them marched in. When they had just unpacked, they all agreed to have their weapons inside a big drawer facing their beds. During the attack, the Mogs blocked it, and they were left unarmed.

She thought things would get better once she sliced the first line and used her telekinesis to rip the drawer open, giving Crayton and Lexa their guns, but the room was getting cramped and they had no way out. That was when a bullet ripped through her left shoulder. It took two months for the wound to heal, and four until she could fully move her arm again.

From that day, they had trained without using any guns as well. She returned to her days back on LDA- when she saw the fighting lessons as a fun way of meeting new friends and testing out her abilities- and taught them everything she knew. All Garde on Lorien were told they were practicing to protect their planet, but she never imagined she would live to do so.

It was also difficult to realize how close they all were to Sandor now. When she had fought on Lorien, she knew he had gotten on a ship to leave the planet with a Garde that was her nephew. Lexa later informed them that eight other Cepans had been inside the ship and that it was headed towards Earth. Having someone you know on Earth made her feel like Lorien still existed, that their ties with the planet had never been broken. The fact that this person could die every day, that was the side that kept her awake during the night and made her want to find him so much. And there he was.

The conversation she had with Crayton when they had just got here played in her mind again and she grimaced. As preposterous as her idea sounded, she wanted to simply knock on his door because she couldn’t bear to pass another day in his city without him. Crayton suggested they should contact him through his computer and make it clear they were not the enemy before meeting him. Lexa’s plan was to watch the John Hancock skyscraper until Sandor would leave his apartment and follow his tracks, which they have been doing for weeks.

he wondered how it was, to live in a crowded city as Chicago. To hide. They had never lived in a real house, it was always secluded cabins in the middle of what could almost be a forest or side road motels with sketchy residents. When they had just found out where Sandor lived, they looked the address again to be sure. None of them considered using all the jewelry they had to buy a penthouse. Crayton had been in such a state of disbelief that he couldn’t help but laugh, saying Sandor was most likely the only Cepan to come up with this solution.

A drop of rain fell on the back of her neck and rolled down her shirt, cutting her chain of thoughts. Devektra stopped walking and looked up at the sky. Clouds that were just a shade away from reaching the black color of the sky stood in their place, gathered together. She prayed that what she thought of wouldn’t happen, and cursed her bad luck after another drop fell.

Soon enough, the sidewalk was covered with rain, and she began to pick up for speed. Cold wind blew on her body like sharp ice made knives. The fabric of her shirt stuck to the sides of her body and she was thankful she was wearing a leather jacket. Her hair joined into dark locks and a thunder roared above her.

Given of her current place, she still was fifteen minutes away from their house. The amount of rain soaked in her clothes heavied on her, and if the storm would turn harsh, she had a long walk to expect. There was no place she could hide under without exposing herself, no bus station or a store with a roof. Stopping was too dangerous because she would let down her guard and she refused to be caught with her hands tied again.

She continued to walk. A minute passed, then three, then five. At this point, the cold had gotten inside her bones and she hugged herself, shivering. Her first instinct was to surround her body with light and use her telekinesis to shield herself from the rain, to embrace how warm that feeling would be. But she couldn’t use her Legacies on plain sight, even if the odds were that no one was looking.

No person was outside. No car drove by. Fog levitated over the ground like white smoke and the rain dimmed the light coming from the lamps, limiting her sight. The drops didn’t stop coming, they crashed into the floor, filling her ears with the sound of glass being shattered.

In Lorien, during the winter, when her life didn’t include going to war with the neighbor planet, she wished it would finally rain, so she could wear her comfortable sweaters and lay under a warming blanket. Once, while she was performing, a sudden wave of clouds came and washed over every person she was singing to, her included. Now she wished she had Six’s ability to manipulate the weather, so the forecasters would talk tomorrow about how the storm vanished.

She needed to remind herself that it wasn’t that long ago when they had listened to Crayton’s advice and flew to Spain, following his faith that a Garde lived in a town called Avila. For over a month they have to lower their trips out of the house, afraid they’d be discovered. Ella acted as the connecting agent between them and Marina, the girl Crayton had found.

Like any other place, the Mogs reached Marina’s hometown, and there wasn’t time to hide anymore. They planned to fly to India with Marina, searching for another member of the Garde, when Six showed up in the battlefield. Together, the completed the sequence of Six, Seven and Eight and now were about to reunite with Nine as well.

With each Garde they traveled with, the wider the smile that spread across her face, and the stronger the hope she felt in her heart. None of them were Mentor Cepans, but they had agreed a long time ago that the ten Garde children were gifted with something beyond their understanding, beyond anything LDA could evaluate. Judging by the few glimpses she saw of their Legacies- Six’s powerful thunderstorms, Marina’s incredible healing power and Eight’s skill of teleporting they weren’t going to give in without a fight.

Ella savored on every ability her new friends had, asking them to repeat their actions and explain them to her. From the gazes she had switched with Crayton, she understood they were both worried Ella might feel down because her own Legacies hadn’t developed yet, but the little girl was happy and seeing her teammates only made her excited.

Being the tenth in line, Ella reminded her of the one before her, whose name was “Nine” now. She remembered happier times on Lorien with her older brother’s son, babysitting him, running with him to LDA, putting him to sleep in the evening after he spent the afternoon playing in her yard. Even when he was just a child of six years, he had something special in him no one could ignore. He would never sit down, always jumping around and causing his parents to chase him. His sassy remarks were innocent coming from a young kid, making people laugh. He would make a mess in her living room with his dolls, car toys and plastic dinosaurs, but would organize his games twice as fast if he was asked to.

A vivid memory she had was of Nine holding her hands, wrapping his little hands around her fingers, asking her to show him her light. She had pulled her hands away and made little orbs of light appear in the air, flying around the ceiling. Nine had watched in awe, mesmerized, before he leaped down from the couch and jumped high, trying to reach one of the circles of light. After she brought some to his hands, he had announced to her that one day, he would be the strongest Garde on Lorien and that he would make their family proud.

She barely noticed the noise of a car approaching her. She heard the engine working, the wheels against the rain covered road, too many squeaks for driving in a weather like this. At first, she didn’t bother to turn around, it was safer if no one saw her face anyway, and she didn’t think the driver even saw her. The car drove closer to her, she turned her head to take a look at its owner, and their eyes locked.

Black hair, pushed back a little. Clipped close beard that darkened his face even more. Over the safety belt, a two-piece suit above a white buttoned up shirt. Shining, shining green eyes. Just like she saw before.

It was Sandor. And he was facing her.

Time seemed to slow down as they stared into each other’s eyes. The blood ran out of her face, thoughts screaming in her head, frozen underneath the pouring rain as she translated every detail in his face. It was all too much.

He snapped out of the shock faster than her and hit the brakes, clenching the steering wheel tight. A lamp-post stood inches from his car’s front bumper and he was a few seconds away from hitting hit. He kept his eyes on the lamp only for a moment, before he returned to her. His sudden stop made her breathe the freezing air again, but she still couldn’t move. He was so close, all she needed to do was lean over and reach out with her arm.

His eyes were wide, his chest moved up and down beneath his suit. “No.” was all he said.

Her breathing became heavy and slow as he stepped out of the car, not even feeling the coldness of the air or the rain soaking his clothes. Each drop that fell on his suit stained its color, but he didn’t take his eyes off of her. She thought about how her plan was ruined, how this wasn’t what was supposed to happen, and how horrible she must have looked. His old-fashioned shoes clicked on the thoroughfare as he came closer, and he stopped where the road and the sidewalk collided.

She was grateful for the rain, the sight of him after eleven years brought tears to her eyes. She wanted to smile, because this was all she truly wanted since they arrived here, but her feet were solid as stone. Her heart raced in her chest. The only part of Sandor’s body that was moving was his eyes, scanning her head to toe, trying to understand.

A lightning flashed through the heavy clouds, painting them with a white flash, as bright as her light. Blinking the drops away from her eyes, some fell on his face and rolled down his cheeks. He still had a shocked expression that caused her to panic and search for some words. Her mind was screaming at her to do something, say something, anything that wasn’t just standing.

An old memory flashed in her eyes of a younger boy throwing himself on the door of her dressing room, falling through her hangar of clothes. As he kicked off the sequins and glittering fabrics off him, he raised his head, saying only one word. All at once, she felt like she was twenty years old again, except that she didn’t have the upper hand this time. She had survived an unexpected attack on her home planet, fought the invaders who killed her species, got on a falling-apart spaceship that hadn’t been used in years, flew from countless countries to others just for the sake of running and found the last of her people. After eleven years, she was prepared for any scenario, but not for this.

“Devektra?” He finally spoke. Hearing her name on his lips made her feel younger again, a bittersweet sadness that reminded her of how they were brutally separated from each other. His voice was deeper than what she remembered, and she comforted herself with the fact that she had changed as well. Eleven years, she thought. They were gone now.

Gazed lowered, she switched between looking into his eyes and the pavement, before she wore a little smile as she squeezed her hands together.

“Yes.” Nodding, she glanced only into his eyes anymore. Tears filled her vision and turned his figure blurry, as happiness washed over her, assuring her that she did well.

A sigh of relief escaped from his lips and his face lit up, smiling even wider than she was. It hit her all at once that perhaps underneath the suit she didn’t recognize, the slicked hair, and beard she didn’t imagine he would grow, maybe there was a part of him that didn’t change.

Getting up on the pavement, he took only one step and threw himself on her with a hug. His wet hair brushed against the side of her face, arms wrapped around her back. They were both cold because of the rain, but he brought warmth to her.

“You’re alive.” He whispered, the shock in his voice loud and clear. The last time they had hugged was when Lorien was burning, when she found him outside the Chimaera club, his celebration clothes ruined and torn. Being in his arms again brought her a feeling of comfort, and let herself lean on his shoulder. “I-I don’t understand…”

All at once, the rain didn’t bother her any longer. As he pulled away, the drops seemed as nothing but gentle water falling on her skin. The hug didn’t quite stop, he held her arms, her fingers underneath his elbows. He looked into her eyes and like seeing a rainbow after a storm, and he was the sunlight she had been searching for.

He blinked, snapping out of the cloud of bliss that surrounded him. They were still standing under the rain as if it was a cold wind on a sunny day. His car- he had forgotten all about it and turned around.

“Let’s go inside.” He said and released his grip on her. Water splashed around his ankles as he rushed to the driver’s door and took the seat behind the steering wheel.

Her knowledge about the diversity in human automobiles wasn’t as wide as it was in other subjects, but this wasn’t a type of car she had seen a lot over the years. The seats were covered in black leather and the metal floorboard was replaced with crimson colored wool.

None of that seemed to matter to him. He leaned on the seat without a care of what would happen to the fabric and waited for her.

“Uhh,” Sensing his eyes on her, she stumbled on her words. “I’ll get water all over everything.”

“It’s okay, I don’t care.” He shook his head. On other occasions, he would be lying, but for the first time since he and Nine arrived in Chicago, his belongings didn’t mean much to him. All that was on his mind was her and how amazing it was that she was here.

She slipped into the seat beside him and closed the door. The sounds of the storm have been muffled now that they were inside and her heart was beating so fast she was sure he could hear it. Sandor held the steering wheel, unable to let his gaze go off her face. She was right next to him and it felt like a dream no one can wake him up from.

The water soaked the fabric of the seat beneath her. It ran down her legs and dripped on a small plastic carpet she leaned her heels on. Her eyes moved to him and heat raised up her neck.

“We should drive,” she managed to say. “It’s not safe to stay here.”

If her face caught him in a way he couldn’t shake, her voice did it twice as much. He forced himself to come to his senses, because she was clearly uncomfortable, and turned away.

“You’re right, yeah,” he blurted out. Like these functions were delayed until the moment she spoke, he pulled up a switch with a scale that went from blue to red, turned another until it reached the middle and hit the gas.

Within a short time, hot air blew on her feet and dried up her hair. The quick launch pushed her against the seat and the three brought the feeling back to her fingers and the rest of her body.

As much as she wanted to relax, this wasn’t the time yet.

“I don’t understand, how are you here?” Every other second he moved his head from the road to her. There was a tone of relief in his voice.

Past events flashed in her eyes. Escaping from Lorien, the first time the Mogs discovered them, Arizona and the scar on her shoulder. Where to even begin. “Your ship wasn’t the only one that left Lorien,” she began explaining. “There was a second one, and I was on it. I only managed to get on it because I saved the two people who were going to escape in it.”

The endless road continued and with every meter that passed he tried to digest the information she told him. “Well, who are they?”

“I suppose you’ll meet them soon,” a smile of irony cracked on her face. They have only been following him for two weeks. “Their names are Crayton and Lexa. Lexa was able to fly the ship because it belonged to a man Crayton worked for. He insisted on bringing his Garde daughter Ella to Earth and Crayton has been her Cepan ever since.”

“Another Garde. So there’s more of us,” he nodded and the car glided on the road until it came to a stop.

“Yes.” A halo formed around the red traffic light and she noticed fewer raindrops covered the windshield than before.

“Mine has been eager for a real fight. I think he might just get one now that he isn’t alone.” He watched the light and turned to her after it changed to orange.

The thought of her vigorous nephew turning into a battle-thirsty boy didn’t surprise her. Nine has always wanted to prove his worth.

“Oh no, Ella is only eleven years old, and Crayton is very protective of her.” Imagining Ella dueling with Nine was more funny than scary to her. Little Ella, standing broad-shouldered, probably not even reaching Nine’s elbows. Maybe she did have a chance. After all, she brought Eight down, and he was a lion with ten arms. “We picked up some Garde from your ship though.”

“You- Really?” His eyes were wide open.

“Numbers six to eight,” she assured him.

“I can’t believe it. Five Garde members together. We might actually win this war.” A smile sneaked into his face and a wave of confidence suddenly showered on him. For ten years he has been raising Nine, without ever knowing when the war would end. The final battle was finally approaching.

They continued to move in silence. Now that the air had dried most of his body and the pieces of how Vek was in front of him fell into place, he stopped thinking about the Garde and the war. Devektra, still alive, driving in his car. He hasn’t seen in for a whole decade, the girl he kissed the night Lorien burnt. The girl who understood him better than anyone else.

“How have you been doing all those years? How did you three get along?” he asked after a while and wished that thinking and breathing weren't vital to driving, because he wasn't excelling at neither at this point.

In response, she shifted in her seat and spoke only after a few moments. Talking about life in the middle of a war was difficult for all of them. “Same as everyone, I guess. Skipping town every other month, jumping from country to country. Trying not to get killed.” A weight heavied on her left shoulder and she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, shooing a stray thought away.

Her words were all too familiar to him and he understood why she didn’t want to elaborate. Just speaking of the past years was enough to bring old wounds and memories one who rather keep locked chained. Before Nine and he settled down in Chicago, it was always running and being haunted.

“And how long have you been in Chicago?” He glanced in her direction. ”I live in-”

“John Hancock tower, I know,” she cut him off before he could finish. The puzzled look on his face made her snicker and it dawned on her how much she has missed talking with him. After all, he had no reason to suspect she knew where his home was. “When we just arrived here, Lexa saw that the streets were bursting with cameras. Hard to find, but a lot of cameras. She hacked into the system and saw the feed was being sent to another place other than, well, the government. The signal was very difficult to find, you buried it well. It took her a couple of days to find where all the data was sent to. And she found your address.”

The expression on his face changed to a smirk. He remembered the day he redirected the stream feed to the screens in one of his workshops, thinking he was clever for manipulating the system in that way. Turned out, someone was more clever than he was. “I’m looking forward to meeting her.”

“I think you’ll like Crayton as well. He laughed when he realized you live in a penthouse,” he nodded at her words, thinking back to the time when he and Nine had just arrived in the city, about his decision to buy the top apartment and all the other actions that followed it.

“I’m glad you’re here," he said. “It has been too long…”

“It has.” the back of the seat felt rough against her head and another moment of silence passed between them. Sandor smiled at her response and the grip he had around the steering wheel became undone before he clenched it again.

Only now that the warm air had dried her and her thoughts were cohesive, she could finally take him in. The cause of the flutter in her chest wasn't panic anymore, it was hope. It wasn't the air that heated her cheeks, it was the way he looked at her.

Another flashback from Lorien came, this time just before the last time she sang a song of her own. Terrified and alone, she stooped over the stand inside her dressing room. Then he walked in, the only person who could understand her. Even after so many years, she could still feel his hands around her back as he kissed her. The taste of his lips and the destruction she saw in her head.

Now she looked at him and wondered if there was any part of him that still loved her. Any part that shared the hope she felt.

“I’m sorry, I’m driving you nowhere," cutting off her thoughts, he turned his face back to the road. Another minute of looking into her glowing blue eyes and he might as well tell her everything about how much he missed her. "Where do you live?”

Peering out of the window, she caught a passing sign. After they had found a hotel in the city that wouldn't draw a lot of attention, she sat with Crayton and Lexa and memorized different paths back to the area. The park they drove by was a key point in one of the routes.

He waited for her answer and would have sat at the edge of his seat if he could, trying to decide which option is the better: very close or far away. Close meant she lived near him and that the distance between them wouldn't keep him up at night. Far away meant that he could drive her there and spend more time with the nostalgic feeling she brought and the connection that didn't fade away.

Not a connection, he thought it was a spark. One that lighted up every time he managed to make her laugh.

"I'm staying at the Tremont Hotel." A dozen of mirrors broke in his mind. He expected to hear an address or a name of a neighborhood, not a hotel. But getting an apartment in the city was a messy long work, even more for seven people at a day notice. "Do you know where it is? You can take the left turn."

"It's alright, I know," he said after she leaned forward and pointed where the road split in two, aiming to sound more nonchalant than domineering. Then he dropped the act, thinking he wasn't cool at all, especially not with his air-dried hair and creased clothes. Then he remembered he crushed into her dressing room in the night they met and the embarrassment he felt in that moment passed an amazing length of eleven years and somehow managed to become twice as stronger as it was than.

The embarrassment soothed and he returned to the topic at hand. Hotel Tremont wasn't far away from the penthouse, a mere ride that its duration he could measure with his fingers. The so-called hotel seemed from the outside more like an old apartment building that has been going under repairs. It was wide and made out of bricks that changed their color from white to red, which only contributed to the familial look.

He understood why they'd want to stay at a low profile hotel, even though he had given up on that option when he bought the penthouse. Blending in never worked for him and hiding in plain sight proved to be the winning choice.

"What about you, Sandor?" he almost froze when she said his name and with such delicacy as well. "Have the Mogs been bothering you?"

"Not ever since we moved here, no." The green view closed into a grey one and they drove between private houses and small shops. A little more up the road and they would see the hotel. "The last five years have been quiet."

Hearing him made envy roll up her throat but relieve too. While they were moving from small town to another, he had a steady home. Five years without any attacks... she imagined how her life would have looked if those five years were quiet for her as well. At least he was safe, all the times she wondered if he was alive came to her.

"I'm glad you and Nine are alright," she said and he didn't know how much she really meant it. She repeated his words, he realized and admitted to himself that he was head over heels for her.

Breathless, she still managed to catch him off guard. It was comforting for him to see that Vek remained Vek, or that he wasn't immune to her charm all the same.

"Actually, I wanted to-" he began, hesitating.

"You can stop here," at once she said, her gaze directed to the window close to him. He turned his head left and saw they have reached the hotel's humble entrance: two metal poles holding a deep-red awning.

At this hour, no one was at the doors to watch the who comes and who goes. The bottom floors were dark and the higher they got- the more lights began to trickle from the windows. Two consecutive rooms were lit up one floor beneath the top at the corner of the building. He only assumed one of the rooms was hers and the second was where the Garde slept.

Opening the car door, she was already out before he could say "Oh, we're here." He got up on the pavement right when she reached to his side.

"Thank you for the drive," she moved a piece of hair behind her ear. Besides the two of them, the street was empty, on both sides,  and awfully quiet. A gentle gust of wind moved the awning behind them and made the leaves of a few small bushes rustle.

"It's nothing, really." From the way her eyes narrowed along with a little smile, he could tell she was worried this ride might have been a hassle to him and he brushed off her comment with a flick of his wrist. Bumping into mythological crushes and driving them to the nearest hotel was his every night activity.

He put his hands on the pockets of his ruined tailored pants, thinking he could spend the entire night looking into her blue eyes. "I'm sorry, were you going to say something before?" she asked.

"Oh, it was nothing, just..." trailing off, he thought about what he wanted to tell her and figured it would be better to save it for later. "Come visit me at the penthouse, anytime you want."

She would have said she smiled because his grin was contagious, but the truth was she couldn't help herself. "To be honest, we've been wondering how to approach you for a while now. Is it okay if I drop by tomorrow, maybe?"

Heat rose up his cheeks. "Sure, of course." She's been watching him, which meant she still cared about him. "I like your hair, by the way," he said without any connection to what she told him so far. The last time he saw her, on Lorien, her hair was blonde. Now that bright color he remembered was replaced with black.

She moved her fingers along the edge like she had forgotten she dyed it at all and scrunch her nose, shaking her head. "It was necessary."

They stayed in their place for a few more moments, both not wanting to leave but knowing they should. She started walking backward, feeling her friends calling her and the fatigue that slowly took over. "Well, goodnight," she told him, raising her hand, and turned away.

Still, he stared at the door she walked past. Not only that he wasn't immune to her, it, in fact, gotten even worse. "Goodnight," he waved back.

The next minutes flew faster than any other minute of his life. He raced to the penthouse, turned off his car in his separated parking lot, ran towards the elevator where his atoms produced enough heat to nearly causing a chemical explosion alone, barely noticed Nine sitting on the couch and got out the first cleaning spray he found beneath the sink, an impressive achievement to him and every other person in the penthouse because he didn't touch a sponge since they moved in and he certainly had no idea where the cleaning products were.

"Sandor? What's wrong?" Nine asked his Cepan who was aggressively wiping out their white marble counter. He had been through a lot with him so the number of things that could surprise him was close to zero, but this was new and really unlike him.

He stopped his obsessive cleaning that drowned the counter with bubbles and bleach and turned to Nine. "Do you remember Vancouver? Remember that I mentioned a girl named Devektra?" he asked, almost shouting.

It was more than five years ago when Sandor was sweating to death in a tattered bed at the end of some road after getting cut in his chin by a Mogadorian dagger that was dipped in acid. Between going in and out of consciousness and he muttered a name Nine didn't know if he heard before. He didn't elaborate on this girl named Devektra, except that he knew on Lorien and that he kissed her on the Quartermoon night.

Nine nodded right away and thought he could never forget what happened there. But why was he talking about Devektra again? And how was she connected to his midnight cleaning session?

"Well, she's here," he said and grabbed a sponge. "and she's coming."

[shadowmaat]

Workout

Set at some point in the Winged!Maul AU after Maul’s wing has healed.

Obi-Wan ghosted through the night-time corridors of the Temple, following a hunch. He’d awoken to find Maul missing from the quarters they shared with Qui-Gon; a not uncommon occurrence as Maul tried to adjust to his new life. There were several places he was likely to be, but Obi was pretty sure he knew where to look.

His toes curled against the chill stone steps as he made his way upwards. Sure, he could have taken the lifts, but even this late at night- early in the morning?- there was a chance of running into someone and since he’d only thrown his outer robe over his bedclothes, well, it would be highly improper.

A gust of wind ruffled his hair as he neared his destination, a meditation chamber in one of the Temple’s outer towers. It could be opened to the air, as it clearly now was, meaning he’d made the right choice. He slowed his pace, listening, but other than the distant murmur of traffic and myriad city sounds he couldn’t hear the room’s occupant. He edged up to the doorway and peered inside.

Maul was there, limned in the glow of the Coruscanti night. His movements were slow and measured as he moved through the forms of what Obi eventually recognized as Juyo. His teachers called it the Form of Ferocity, but watching Maul all he could think was how beautiful he- it- looked. Light and shadow danced along muscles. His wings, held tight one moment, unfurled with a quiet hush as he leaped. Obi bit his cheek to keep from gasping. Maul rarely extended them to their full reach, partly due to space restrictions, but mostly, Obi thought, from embarrassment. Which was a ridiculous concern since his wings were glorious; ebon darkness fringed with red, almost mirroring his tattoos. Obi leaned against the doorway, drinking in the sight.

He should… he should probably announce himself. And he would, in a minute, but he rarely got to see Juyo in action and if Maul knew he was there he’d probably stop. That was the reason, he told himself. He could almost believe it.

The wings did get in the way of some of the stances, but Maul already had better control over them than he had when he’d arrived and if they might interfere with a saber sweep they also served as an excellent distraction. Maul could- and was- modifying things to compensate, and to take advantage.

“Are you here to join me or drag me back?”

Obi jumped, his heart in his throat as Maul tucked in his wings and turned to face the doorway.

“Uh.” Face burning, he stepped into the room. “Join? I- I mean maybe not for training, I’m not really dressed for it.” He gestured at himself and immediately regretted it. Nothing like drawing attention to the fact that he was running around the Temple in his sleepwear.

“Battle won’t wait for you to get dressed,” Maul said, twisting the training staff into two pieces and tossing one to Obi.

He caught it on reflex and stared as Maul settled into the “ready” stance, wings twitching behind him.

“I don’t really know-”

Maul lunged and Obi brought his saber up, barely blocking him in time. Another strike and block. He managed to throw Maul back long enough to shrug out of his robe so he wouldn’t be tripping over it and then the attack was on in earnest.

“You’ve been practicing without me,” he said, ducking a sweep that would have beheaded him. “I’m hurt!”

“You will be hurt if you don’t move faster, Jedi!”

Obi lost track of time for a while after that, caught up in the exhilaration of practice. He scored a few marks against Maul, who returned the favor. His quips, however, tended to fall on deaf ears. Or if Maul did respond it was to criticize something he was- or wasn’t- doing. Maul spun and Obi found himself knocked sideways by a wing. He stumbled but recovered in time to turn a killing blow into a graze across his chest.

“Playing dirty? I see how it is!” He grinned.

“Whatever it takes to win.” Maul’s teeth gleamed before he struck out again, sending Obi dancing back.

Dawn was just starting to pink the horizon when Maul’s wings flared wide, turning him into an inky silhouette. Obi stared, unaware that his point had dropped until he felt the heat of a saber at his neck.

“Do you yield?”

There was a gleam in Maul’s eyes and a slight curve to his lips that had Obi’s stomach doing flips. Or maybe it was just hunger. Yes, that must be it. He licked his suddenly dry lips and nodded, thumbing off his saber.

“It seems you’re adapting well,” he said, trying to catch his breath. Now that the practice was over he was becoming aware of his own exhaustion and the various stings Maul had inflicted on him during the match.

Maul left the saber at his neck for another heartbeat before disengaging it. “I may never be as good as I was, but yes, I can at least best an unwary opponent.”

He, too, was breathing hard from the exertion and was coated in a light sheen of sweat. Obi resisted the urge to run a hand down his chest.

“Those tricks won’t work on me again,” he warned, stooping to retrieve his robe.

“Are you sure about that?”

A wing brushed against Obi’s back as they headed for the exit, raising goosebumps along his arms.

“I guess we’ll find out next time.” He elbowed Maul in the ribs. “Come on, Qui-Gon will be cross at us for being absent.”

They made their way back down through the Temple and Obi tried not to think about how very, very screwed he was.