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snifflesthemouse · 3 years ago

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Harry’s the Problem. His wife is the symptom. He is the real Diana 2.0 Wannabe...

Since the Oprah interview aired, my whole perspective regarding the spare and his spouse has shifted. It would seem that I’m not alone in my thought process as more and more media outlets start reporting similar stances. Just recently, there was an article suggesting Harry didn’t change; but rather, he is only finally revealing his true self. The more I think about it all, the more I’ve come to the realization #6 is the real culprit behind everything.

I’m not saying that his wife doesn’t have her own agenda or shares responsibility for her part in all this. Her hands are far from clean. What I am saying is it’s finally time for all of us to consider the cold, hard truth. Harry is his mother’s child. Harry is the bad egg, and his wife is only a side effect of the real problem here.

Had it not been for the Oprah interview, I would have never put it all together. The problem with oversharing is too much information gets put out in the public. Most assume PR firms would worry about oversaturation in the press, but the real problem comes from personal interviews they cannot control in real-time. Puff pieces can be edited before publishing so facts and statements align; live interviews cannot. Over time, one of two patterns form from this oversaturation. Consistencies, repetitions, and similarities can be found in oversaturated truth-telling. Inconsistencies, changes, and huge differences result from those like Harry who prefer their trousers scorching hot from bursting into flames from deception. When you consistently lie, the only constant is the inconsistencies.

Now, those of us who have been following these two already know by now inconsistencies and changing stories should be expected. But the Oprah interview really highlighted some interesting things I had previously missed. The interview with Dax Shephard only solidifies my theories. Up until lately, those two have been together through most everything. Very seldom have we seen Harry alone in an interview or speech. There’s never a time where the missus isn’t popping up. James Corden proved that. Then we have the Oprah interview where she was supposed to be the star of the show. But, that was the moment it all changed. That interview was the moment she became the understudy.

Think about it. Who is the one being used in the media lately? Most people would suggest that the impending delivery of child number dos is why the missus is absent. One would then argue the Apple + special with Oprah started production well before the second child was a topic for discussion. The missus is being used less and less on camera or in the media. Everything is all about Harry. Forget about when Harry met Sally; Harry Met Hollywood!

Harry is the one doing the interviews, dropping projects, and talking with big Hollywood names. Even their announced Netflix projects are focused on one of Harry’s pre-married concepts. All the wife has going for her is a book that’s only number one in the “Books written by ex-Royals who couldn’t hack it” category. Seriously though, as of this posting the Bench is #2130 on the Amazon Books list, #12 in Children’s Black and African American Story Books, #73 in Children’s Emotions Books, and #167 in Children’s Family Life Books. Being pregnant isn’t a disqualifier for being interviewed. But, apparently being just the wife is.

So, if it was his wife’s plan from the beginning to marry Harry, get him to abandon his family, move to California, and become a big star with a Prince for a husband, her plans have been ruined. And if you think about what she said in the interview with Oprah, you can actually see the moments she told us all exactly that. She clearly tells Oprah Harry was her direct link and source to the Royal Family and everything she needed to know. She didn’t misspeak or misunderstand a thing; she was telling us that Harry’s next to be markled. In every weird answer or revelation where she gave her versions for why their child(ren) were without title, saying they wed three days before the chapel, or having to cry out to HR since Harry failed to help her while she was so depressed she wanted to kill herself and her unborn child... all of it. It was all just the beginning. It may seem like she is attacking her husband’s family, but Harry’s the real target now.

In just a couple sentences, she managed to reveal who Harry really was. Harry, of all people, should (and does) know how to navigate the press. Clearly, he failed to not only help her acclimate to Royal life, but it could also even be argued he set her up for failure for the get go. Let me give you an example. When my husband introduced me to his family for the first time, he told me little tidbits of information he found important for me to know. He essentially prepped me for the meeting so things went well. He wanted his family to like me because he loved me. I wanted them to like me because I loved him, too. So, I took to heart everything he told me. Yet, Harry’s wife shared with the world how little Harry cared about that. She credits Fergie with teaching her to curtsey, google for teaching her the National Anthem, and even said Her Majesty made her feel especially welcomed. So how did Harry not do more? If they started seeing one another in the early Summer of 2016, how is it Harry failed to teach or explain anything to her prior to meeting his grandmother, the Queen, when he had months and months of time to do so? How is it he failed his wife so miserably, she didn’t even understand basic UK custom, laws, or protocols? Why might you ask?

Simply put, Harry is so much like his mother, all he knows is how to play the victim narrative while using the link to the Royal family as a nonstop ATM machine. Many people aren’t honest with themselves when it comes to Diana. She wasn’t the Mother Theresa everyone makes her out to be. Mother Theresa wasn’t a Mother Theresa either, though. Did Diana do some great things? Absolutely. Did she do them only because they were nice or great? Absolutely… not. Diana’s PR team would even have her switch up her charity causes whenever they felt it was getting to martyrdom level. They’d refer to her PR stunts as flavors. Does that sound like an innocent woman?

Not to me. This whole time we all have seen his wife as the root of all issues, but she’s the side effect. It’s becoming more clear by the day that Harry searched out her. He wanted someone with the basic Hollywood connections that he could capitalize. Someone that seemed so controlling and ambitious it would be easy to believe they were controlling him, too. Of course he knew she would invite all the celebs she did. He probably inspired that guest list. Instead of guiding her in the press and in British society, he leads her to slaughter. He hides behind her repeated gaffes and wokeness to keep on his own mission.

You see, Harry is obsessed with his brother eventually becoming king, being the “Second Son of Diana” and being the misfit. He is obsessed with his brother and father. They are all he talks about. When you obsess on something like that, it is more revealing than anything you say. Harry’s true motives aren’t protecting his wife and children. His real motive is making a name for himself like his mother did. If he can manage to get some revenge by making the Firm feel some backlash, hey that’s a bonus.

While his wife may think in her mind she will be the next Diana 2.0, the truth is we all missed who really will be. Harry is the one wanting to be Diana 2.0. If that’s the case, then that means the much older spouse for whom there are two children with, aka the wife, would be his Charles. Remember, Diana lost her HRH and titles. And we have Harry being very aggressive and pushy, to the point it seems he is trying to get ahead of a Palace announcement of them losing their titles. But it makes sense now.

They aren’t trying to lose anything, but instead Harry keeps opening his mouth to create pressure in the media. He knows his wife does not want to give those titles back. But if he himself keeps saying outrageous things, then it would put everyone in ultimatum mode. Either Harry will push hard enough that Parliament and the Queen will have enough, or the press will get so critical of the two, Harry will push his wife to agree to returning the titles.

Harry is following the Diana business model. While in the Royal Family, they both were seen as rock stars who had more star power the the Sovereign, which was an issue. Then, they couldn’t take all the abuse, coldness, and inhumanity, so they bolted for freedom. Instead of putting the past behind them, they use the past to monetize grief and trauma in such a way, they become their own brand. Right now, the trauma being monetized comes from the past, but the problem will soon come when that trauma is tapped out. He will need a source of new pain or victimhood. Enters the wife stage left.

The wife is a tool. She of course has her own plans and thinks she is the one in control or the genius. She thinks she is the one everyone wants to work with. But it’s becoming clear to her that isn’t the case and she’s been played by her elite buddies. They all want him, not her. They all duped her for him. If I can see it, and I can see her already finger pointing that Harry is the failure here, then she can see it. And that means paradise will soon be lost in those Montecito hills. His wife won’t go down without a serious fight here. I wouldn’t even be surprised if she eventually causes him to lose his special visa.

Overall, Harry hides behind his wife like a beard or shield protecting him from the press’s glaring lens. He lets her do and say whatever she thinks is great so he can keep plotting his own plans. He allows her to take the fall, look stupid, pull stunts people can see through, etc. for a reason. He isn’t completely sure he can make it in his new California life. He knows he can’t if he keeps her for too long, but he also knows he needs an exit strategy in case it blows up. So, he pins the press to attack her as the true culprit. If they split and he has to, he can return home and play the victim of her. If they split and he is doing okay in Hollywood, she can be the reason he plays victim to big named people like Oprah and Gayle.

I can see it now. An Oprah Special with Harry tonight on Apple +. Something cheesy or corny that is almost plagiarism. Like Narcissus and the Prince or something. Watch. Mark my words. Oprah talking to Harry about surviving the marriage while trying to rescue two small kids, being in the spotlight as a Royal while being gaslit by a narcissistic wife… yes I can see the green screen set up now.

I know this is difficult to digest, but I do ask you to try. While his wife is not innocent, she clearly is guilty for her own part indeed, his wife isn’t the true problem. The true problem here is a man who has a serious issue with living in the shadow of his future-King father and future-King brother, and his future-King nephew, that he has chosen to use the same exact attack model his own mother used to merch and marginally disrupt the institution that made her a star. Harry and his mother both wanted the entire spotlight, but both knew they could never have it the way they wanted it. So, they wrote their own victimhood narrative.

And here we are now. Mark my words. Harry will keep pushing until those remaining titles are removed by them forcing the hands of Parliament and the Queen. Or, they’ll push and push in the press so much the outrage and hypocrisy will leave them no other option but to renounce and re-gift those titles and rights to the line of succession. That is what he wants, even if his missus doesn’t. Also make no mistake about it. Harry is the real Diana 2.0 wannabe, not his wife. Keep an eye out. I have this gnawing feeling that soon enough, there will be plenty leaks from the wife about the husband. She won’t go quietly into the Beverly Hills… but neither will he.

#megxit #6 #harryswife #yankeewally #murky meg #diana2.0

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reidingmelodies · 4 years ago

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Sugar Rush

Summary: Who knew finding the perfect wedding day dessert was so much work? Pairing: Spencer Reid x gn!Reader Category: Fluff Includes: Food consumption, light kissing Word Count: 2.4K

“Did you know the first wedding cake was most likely served in Ancient Greece?” Spencer began, looking down to where you were laying with your head snuggled against his chest. You hummed in interest, moving your hand to meet his where it rested on his lower stomach, intertwining your fingers together. Spencer smiled at the gesture before continuing his spiel, “But one of the earliest mentions of wedding cake originates from Ancient Rome where the cake was actually broken over the bride’s head in the hopes of bringing them good fortune in their life together”.

Your brows furrowed at that, and Spencer couldn’t help but laugh at your reaction. “Well, we certainly won’t be doing that at our wedding,” you giggled, giving his hand a light squeeze.

Flipping your hands over, he brought your hand to his line of sight and admired the engagement ring resting on your ring finger. “Do you want to smash cake in my face after we cut it?”

You thought for a second before shaking your head. “I don’t think so- unless that’s something you want to do? I don’t even get why that’s a thing in the first place, it seems kind of gross”.

Spencer sighed in relief, beyond grateful that wasn’t something you wanted to do. He loved you, and he was more than happy to exchange germs with you in other ways- but throwing cake at each other definitely wasn’t his style. “I’m glad you don’t because I feel the same way. Cutting the wedding cake is traditionally seen as a symbol of a couple’s commitment to each other, and I don’t want to ruin that by throwing cake in your face”.

You smiled, rolling over slightly until your stomach laid against his and propping your head up to look down at him. Spencer hummed in approval at the new position, moving his hand from yours and resting it on your lower waist. “Plus,” you added, “we’re paying way too much for the cake to waste a single drop of it”.

Spencer laughed in agreement, pushing himself up lightly to give you a soft kiss on your lips. “So no cake smash- there’s one part of the great cake debate settled”. You groaned at his words, dropping your head and burrowing your face in the space between his shoulder and neck.

“I don’t understand why there’s so many cake flavors to choose from! Honestly, do we even need a cake?” you groaned, voice coming out as no more than a mumble against your fiancé’s neck. Spencer rubbed your back soothingly, before humming in acknowledgement.

“We’ll figure it out, babe,” he reassured you, giving your forehead a quick kiss. “On the bright side, regardless of whether we pick one or not we’ll get to try at least twenty different types of cakes for lunch tomorrow”.

“I’m still not sure if that’s a good thing or not,” you laughed, pushing your upper half up to once again look at his face. “But as long as you’re with me I’m sure it won’t be too bad,” you finished, leaning down to lay a sweet kiss on his lips.

“What a sap,” Spencer jokingly mumbled against your lips, causing you to pull away and playfully roll your eyes at him.

“A sap you decided to spend the rest of your life with,” you countered with a smirk, eyes softening in admiration at the grin that spread across Spencer’s face with your words.

“Best decision I ever made,” Spencer claimed softly, sealing his declaration with a concession of kisses against your lips.

You smiled, threading your fingers through his hair and continuing what you started- leaving the discussion of cakes and all things wedding behind, choosing instead to spend the night entangled with your fiancé, trading kisses and whispered declarations of love well into the evening.

***

The next morning, you sat in the kitchen nursing your cup of coffee while Spencer took a shower before you headed to the bakery. It had been six months of engagement bliss for you and Spencer, and you both found yourself on an impenetrable high for the first three months with no qualms. As far as the two of you were concerned, you were irrevocably in love with each other, full stop. You didn’t know when you wanted to get married, or where, but you knew that you wanted him by your side for the rest of your personal slice of eternity.

Eventually, that answer stopped being met with aw’s from your friends, and instead had been met with playful eyerolls followed by logistical questions regarding the wedding. It became apparent pretty quickly that there wasn’t a where or when anywhere in your plan, but the who, what, and why were pretty clear. And when it came to wedding planning, the last three took the back burner. Who would have thought?

Weekends cuddled up with your fiancé turned into Friday nights spent researching, Saturday afternoons filled with venue tours, and Sunday mornings comparing notes (and somehow, that was always the part that lasted the longest when it came to you and Spencer).

Once the venue was secured, you both became invested in the rest of the details that made your special day unique to the two of you, settling on a lilac color scheme and Save the Dates in the form of bookmarks. Everything settled into place pretty quickly after that, except for the dreaded cake.

There was just too much to it. Between the design, number of layers, and flavors there statistically wasn’t a high probability of pleasing all of your guests much to Spencer’s dismay. And as much as everyone said that the most important thing was that you and Spencer were happy with the cake, the two of you were more than happy with each other, and that’s all you really cared about.

“Ready, Y/N?” Spencer broke you from your train of thought and drew your attention towards him. He smiled, holding a travel mug of coffee in one hand and your car keys in the other, motioning towards the door with his head.

You nodded, taking the keys and heading towards the door with the love of your life in tow, internally cursing yourself for stressing out half as much as you have about a silly cake.

***

Two hours later, and one thing was for sure- you were right to be stressed. The owner of the bakery was one of the sweetest women you’ve ever met (the title of sweetest belonged to Penelope Garcia, hands down), but as welcoming and supportive as she was you still felt like a fish out of water.

You and Spencer were ushered into a room with exactly twenty-three cake samples laid out on tables, accompanied by open portfolios and photos of some of the bakery’s most renowned creations. In the time since your arrival you’ve tasted flavors ranging from lemon raspberry to mocha chocolate and you were exhausted.

You couldn’t help but feel like the universe was punishing you and Spencer for joking around the previous night about how great it would be to eat cake for lunch. You leaned over to tell Spencer just as much, and the exhaustion was almost worth it when you saw his smile illuminate the entirety of his face.

“What happened to ‘as long as you’re with me I’m sure it won’t be too bad’?” he jokingly questioned, booping your nose and giving you a quick kiss on the cheek when he saw the joking glare beginning to form on your face.

“Changed my mind when you called me a sap,” you retorted with a smirk followed by a quick squeeze of his hand so he knew you weren’t serious. Your comment made him laugh, and soon enough you were both in a fit of giggles surrounded by mountains of cake and half looked through portfolios.

As your laughter died down the reality of the situation you were in began to set it. You loved all of the cake you tried, but everything about what you were doing just didn’t feel right. The more you envisioned your cake, the cloudier the picture became. All you knew was that you wanted something that screamed you and Spence, but none of the flavors you tried did that. You sighed, and Spencer immediately perked up, forever in tune to you and your needs.

“What’s going on up there, love?” Spencer tapped the side of your head lightly with his pointer finger, causing the right side of your lip to slightly curl up.

“If I ask you something will you be honest?” you asked, putting your hand on top of his.

Spencer immediately nodded, grasping his fingers with yours and bringing your hand to his lips. “Always”.

“Do you picture any of these cakes at our wedding?” You questioned, bringing the closest portfolio towards you with your free hand and flipping through the first few pages. “They’re all so pretty, but I just don’t think they’re us, ya know?”

It was quiet for a beat longer than you expected, and for a second you were nervous you had somehow offended Spencer. But when you looked up and met his eyes, all you found was his understanding gaze looking back at you.

“I completely get what you mean,” he began, squeezing your hand before continuing his thought, “but Y/N.. do you really think that we’ll ever find a dessert that’s more us than donuts?”

You knew right away that he was joking, but you also couldn’t help but smile at the flood of memories that overtook you once he said it.

As Penelope liked to call your relationship, “the greatest love story of this generation” began just a block south of the bakery you were at over chocolate sprinkled donuts and coffee. It was a Tuesday morning, and you were running a few minutes late in your morning routine. You usually got to the cafe around 8:15, just before the majority of the 9-5 workforce showed up for their morning coffee fix.

That day though, you had missed your usual metro and walked in the door of the café at 8:27 AM. It was overly crowded, and you were already dreading waiting in the overpopulated line for your coffee, but as luck would have it Dr. Spencer Reid had picked that exact morning to treat the BAU to coffee and donuts.

He had walked in the door behind you, smiling in recognition at the book he saw peeking out of your bag. Before he could stop himself, he tapped you on your shoulder, reciting a fact about the author of the book. Almost immediately, his face dropped, worried that you were going to tell him off for being nosy.

To his relief though, you smiled and asked him for his opinion on the book- before you knew it, you both made it to the front of the line, and you found yourself longing for more time with the stranger who seemed to know an infinite amount of fun facts.

As you both waited for your coffee and donuts, you took a leap of faith and asked Spencer if he’d want to meet up for breakfast the next morning. To your delight he agreed, and the rest was history. After three months of sporadic breakfast dates whenever Spencer wasn’t away on a case (mainly consisting of you trying all of the donuts on the café menu and Spencer sticking to chocolate frosted with sprinkles), he took his own leap of faith and asked you out on a date beyond the comforting walls of the café.

As far as you were concerned, donuts were a fundamental part of your love story, and Spencer was a genius.

You smiled at the memory, turning to Spencer and giving him a quick kiss on the lips. He gave you a lovesick grin in response- “what was that for?”

“Have I ever told you you’re the smartest man I know?”

Immediately, Spencer nodded. “Just last week when I told you how many books have been published by Penguin Random House. You also said it the week before when we were talking about polar bears and I-” your laugh caused him to lose focus, all of his attention instead focused on the way your smile lit up your whole face.

“Okay, okay so I call you a genius a lot- sue me,” you countered, giggling with every word that came out of your mouth. “I think you’re onto something with donuts though”.

“Wait, really? I was just kidding,” the confusion was obvious on Spencer’s face, but it was laced with excitement as well and you knew right then and there that he was as hooked on the idea as you were.

“I know you were, but that doesn’t make it any less genius! It’s just so us. And not only that, but think of all the different flavors we can get! That way everyone has a choice over what dessert they have and we don’t need to stress over finding one most people will like. Oh my gosh babe, and Penelope can definitely help us think of a cute way to set them up! Maybe we can do a cake stand or put them out in a buffet style?” You made eye contact with Spencer, eyes widening as you realized you haven’t even asked for his opinion yet. Softly, you brought your ramble to a close, doubt slowly kicking in, “Unless you don’t think it’s a good idea?”

Smiling, Spencer stood from his chair and motioned for you to do the same. Considering the fact that you would do anything he asked you to, you followed suit and he pulled you into his side, planting a kiss to the top of your head. “I think you’re the real genius in this relationship, Y/N”. You giggled at that, and Spencer continued, “it’s an amazing idea. And you and I both know Penelope is gonna love that you thought of her to help us put it together. How about we go to the café and see if they’d be able to help us out, hm? Maybe grab some donuts while we’re there too?”

You nodded enthusiastically, before grimacing at the idea of having another sweet, “We’re gonna have a sugar rush for the next week, Spence”.

“Every day with you is a sugar rush, Y/N,” he quipped, trying to hold back his laughter at the disbelieving look on your face.

You chuckled, leaning in for one of many sugary sweet kisses awaiting you that afternoon before playfully retorting, “And you have the audacity to call me the sap in this relationship.”

***

Link to join my taglist ♡

Tagging: @calm-and-doctor

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid self insert #criminal minds self insert #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds imagine #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #ash writes

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juniorgman187 · 4 years ago

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Serendipity (Reid Fic) Part 1

A/N: If you’re wondering if this is at all based on Rosie and Marco’s storyline in “What to Expect When You’re Expecting,” then you should know - it totally is.

Summary: An FBI gathering brings Reader and Spencer together after years of distance. This one night changes not only their future, but their perspective on the past. Category: Angst, Smut, *NSFW content Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid Content Warning: Mentions of traumatic childhood, child neglect, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, menstruation, pregnancy Word Count: 10.2k

I originally thought I would be able to fit everything into 1 part, but after further reconsideration, this will be a two part series.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　

Serendipity: (n). Finding something good without looking for it.

A word I would only come to truly understand many months from now on a warm Thursday morning in May at St. Mary’s Hospital.

But whenever my thoughts drifted back towards the past, I would always remember that this was how it all began - on a chilly Saturday night in the heart of D.C.

Not more than four hours ago, Emilia and I drove down here for an F.B.I function that hired us. Under normal circumstances, we wouldn’t have agreed to be the caterers for an event so far away, but we eventually signed on after learning that there were at least 600 people attending. That meant a considerable amount of customers and an exorbitant amount of money. Saying yes was clearly a no brainer.

Just to put it into perspective of how big this event would be, Emilia and I got lucky if we could park somewhere with 80 customers. 80. So this event would be colossal for us.

But who would have guessed that in a crowd of 600, I would run into the one and only - Spencer Reid.

To preface, this wasn’t just any old birthday party, parade, or festival. It was a celebration and a grand one at that. Considering it was a private event at the Washington Monument, we were given special instructions to abide by the black-tie formal dress code that guests had to follow, too. I guess the caterers can’t look like slobs in the United States’ Capitol, now can they?

I definitely spent more time than I should have deciding on what outfit to wear, but my conscientiousness, or rather indecisiveness, did pay off in the end. For I would run into someone worth the trouble of impressing.

My hair, unlike Emilia’s, was down and curled in big waves, and on one side, some of my hair was tucked behind my ear and designed to stay that way thanks to copious amounts of hairspray and an ungodly total of bobby pins. Emilia lent me a black, floor-length dress that had a plunging v-neck that didn’t fit her anymore, but luckily, fit perfectly on me. Although I would have to remember not to lean over too far tonight, otherwise, the customers might get a show they didn’t pay for. I, however, didn’t look half so good as my business partner.

Emilia was clad in a navy blue silk dress with puffy sleeves and a high collar; the dress clung to her every curve, including her newly protruding belly bump. She looked regal and pregnant all at the same time, qualities I hadn’t seen coexist in anyone but the Queens and Duchesses in England.

“Well, don’t you look hot?” Emilia purred, running her fingers through my curls, then letting them fall and sway back into place.

“Are you kidding? You are quite literally a sexy mama.” I gushed to her, receiving a light chuckle in return.

“Yeah, well, when you’re five months pregnant, tell me how sexy you feel in a tight dress.” She remarked, turning her back to me while she arranged all the supplies in the kitchenette behind me. But even as she faced away from me, she still managed to recognize the effect her words had. Maybe it was something in my silence, or our sister-telepathy, but Emilia immediately felt the room depress. In an effort to take back the remark that turned the room cold, she sweetly added while hugging me from behind, “You’re gonna be a mom one day, too. I promise.”

I leaned into her embrace, feeling guilty for ruining the moment while also feeling burdened by the reminder of the terrible reality I had to face every day.

Ever since I could remember, I thought I was destined to be a mother, but that destiny had yet to be fulfilled.

Emilia was born only three years after me, and though that age gap isn’t big enough for me to be mistaken for her mother, I, she, and our younger brother Saul would all agree that in many ways I was their mom. I was the parent our parents never were. I was there for everything - soccer games, dance recitals, winter musicals - never getting the chance to participate in my own, but always attending their’s.

I had to admit sometimes it was a burden, having to grow up so fast and help raise my siblings while still trying to navigate through my own struggles of adolescence, but I saw it as something I was meant to do.

See, I wouldn’t have minded all the responsibilities of being a parent so much when it’d be my own kids that I’d be fulfilling them for - when it would be by my choice to fulfill those responsibilities and not by unfortunate birth order.

However, as the years have gone by, my calling to be a mother has gotten quieter and quieter and quieter until eventually, I don’t think I’ll be able to hear it anymore.

It’s not that I can’t have kids, but the fear of rushing into having one is what’s stopped me from pursuing that dream.

As someone who grew up with divorced parents and practically became my siblings only reliable caregiver, I knew what having a baby too soon could do to a family. So rather than repeating history, I chose to wait to have kids. I didn’t want to make the same mistakes my parents did, and so I lived my life. I traveled all across the globe, I met new people, tried new things, I even started this taco truck business with Emilia.

But still that gaping hole in my chest remained. A hole that nothing could ever fill the way that a child would.

No amount of living could make up for the emptiness of a life with no family.

I could pretend all I wanted that I was happy living out my twenties, but the truth was I didn’t want to spend the rest of my years working in a food truck, amounting to nothing more than a mediocre cook and middling entrepreneur. That was never my dream - as exciting as it was.

My real dream was to have a good life. The kind my parents never had thanks to the unplanned arrival of me. The kind my baby sister was already living out.

“You know what? It’s a really nice night out. I think I might go for a walk. Do you wanna come?” Was this my blatant avoidance of breaching the subject of pregnancy? Yes, but it was also my escape from this food truck that felt like it was getting smaller and smaller and smaller by the second.

“No, I’m okay. I’ll just get everything ready.” Emilia resigned.

She knew why I was really leaving - sister-telepathy, I’m telling you - but she didn’t feel the need to acknowledge it. For that, I was thankful. Maybe we were better at communicating with no words at all.

I carefully stepped off the back of the truck, making sure to hike up my dress high enough so I wouldn’t trip over the mess of fabric when my feet hit the floor. The nippy December air felt like a cool balm on my hot skin. I was burning up in that truck, and maybe it was nerves or something else, but I just had this weird feeling in the pit of my stomach. There was no explanation for it, but I realize now that the pit in my stomach was caused by something my intuition could sense but something my mind couldn’t understand.

Someone important from my past was here tonight.

As I sauntered around the monument, I took in the breathtaking view of the structure’s silhouette against the blazing orange sky that melted into an ocean blue. I regretted not bringing my phone to take a picture of it so I could show Emilia when I got back, but that one regret quickly turned into another when the night sky’s breeze brought a rude awakening. My body shivered at the frigid gust of wind that blew through and I suddenly started to regret not bringing a jacket.

“Are you cold?” A gentle voice asked me from behind.

I slightly recoiled out of shock of someone being there. When I turned around though, I couldn’t quite make out any distinguishable features. All I knew for sure was that this was certainly a man, and a tall one, too.

“Um, just a little.” I bashfully admitted, crossing my arms to hug myself and maintain some warmth. I hadn’t even thought about my dress’s plunging v-neck or the fact that I was practically squeezing my breasts together, accentuating them even further, but by the time, I realized, it was too late. He was already looking. But not at my chest. Somewhere far more invasive.

My eyes.

“Here, take my jacket.”

My small protests did nothing to stop him as he inevitably slipped the coat around my shoulders anyway. He’d come so close that I could finally see him and smell him. And let me tell you, if the sight of him wasn’t enough to break an overflowing dam of memories, then his smell certainly sent a flood that would.

“Oh my god,” I quietly gasped, my hand flying to my mouth to cover its un-ladylike gaping.

“Spencer Reid?”

I squinted my eyes and cocked my head even further to find evidence to support my assumption, and sure enough, I found exactly what I was looking for.

I was frozen in place as I deeply examined his face. My God! I mean, in many ways, he hadn’t changed a bit since the last time I saw him. Same dazzling hazel eyes. Same uniquely adorable nose. Same over-stimulated pink lips. I wonder if he still bit them as much as he did back then?

But at the same time, he was so different. Of course, I could still discern the same features I used to study endlessly back then, but his face had transformed into a man’s. He lost the glasses for one thing, but he also had a softer jawline, longer hair, and for lack of a better term, a beefier build.

He was all grown up now, and yet, I could still identify the same boyishly handsome charm that made me fall in love with him more than a decade ago.

“I knew it was you, (y/n).” He chuckled, sounding half proud of himself. My heart fluttered at the sound of my name on his tongue and the action that followed. With his eyes locked on mine, he tucked strands of my hair back behind my ears; it’s as if he were saying, “Let me get a good look at you.”

“How? It’s almost completely dark outside. You could barely even see me.” Certainly, you can understand why I was skeptical. Sounded too good to be true, if you ask me.

He shook his head lightly with a smile, seemingly questioning how I couldn’t possibly know the answer to that question. “No one else looks like you. Not even in the dark.”

His words spoke to a part of my soul specifically reserved for him. They were so genuine that I almost didn’t want to believe them because how could someone speak such lovely things and truly mean them? The world wasn’t that good a place. Certainly not good enough for Spencer Reid.

In that moment, I flew out of my own body and watched this entire scene unfold from up above. I could see the version of a girl I hadn’t seen in years, not since that last interaction with Spencer. She had these big lovesick eyes as she swooned over a man with just the same lovesick look.

The excessive upward tilt of my head and the way his neck craning down must’ve made it seem like we were about to kiss, but I knew better than to expect such a thing from Spencer Reid. And if anything, what we were doing right now was much more intimate than kissing.

“Wow, you ... you really grew up. You look great.” My own voice sounded unfamiliar to me after the words slipped from my mouth without even registering in my brain first.

“Are you kidding? Look at you! I mean, you are just ...” He paused for a moment to look me up and down, and I nearly shivered at the thought that he was practically undressing me with his eyes. “You’re absolutely beautiful. But you always were.”

I was almost completely in a daze when I heard a hideous squawk of a bird flying overhead. This wouldn’t make sense, but it nearly felt like a sign. Like the bird knew I wasn’t supposed to be there, reminding me of where I belonged - reality - not in this fantasy with Spencer.

“Um,” My head spun as I drew back from him. “I should probably get back. I’ll see you later.” I touched his upper arm gently as I passed by him, and it stunned me how warmth just radiated off of his body.

To my all too quick goodbye, he simply waved and watched me walk past him with a pursed-lip smile. And just before I got too far, I thought I heard him say, “I hope so.”

Though my feet were carrying me away from Spencer, my thoughts were only drifting closer to the memory of him, and we did have so many memories.

11 Years Ago ...

I was at the ripe age of 16 when I got my driver’s license. And to anyone else, this would seem like a given milestone, but to me - it was so much more. With the obtainment of my license, I also gained access to a whole new world. Opportunities poured at the seams. I could drive anyone and anywhere I wanted to and though it wasn’t true, it felt like I could do anything, too. But like all things good in my life, it fell apart in the face of responsibilities.

My newly obtained license was just another way for my parents to exploit me. Now, they didn’t have to drive Emilia and Saul since I could. Looking back, I have to wonder if the only reason they funded my driver’s ed classes were for the exact reason that if I took them, I’d sooner be able to take on yet another helping of duties they were too lazy to fulfill.

There’s one particular moment I can remember from this age and that same moment could also be regarded as the catalyst that would set off a series of events for the next 11 years to come.

It was the end of the school year and summer vacation was right around the corner. I was a sophomore at the time, and the prospect of being a junior the next year excited me.

To kick off the start of summer, Melody Hanes was throwing a pool party at her house. Everyone knew she was filthy rich because of a dead grandpa or some other, not to mention, she was also in student government so she had just as big of a role in school as her grandpa’s death did in making the Hanes family wealthy.

Though I never knew her personally, I did have third period chemistry with her for the entire year, and I sat right in front of her for pretty much the entirety of second semester. She must’ve only addressed me a handful of times, but she still invited me to her party anyway. Proximity, I had to admit, did play a part in that though because if I sat just a seat farther away, then I wouldn’t have been.

I came home that day, thrilled to tell my mother about my invitation. It would’ve been my first party that wasn’t a distant relative’s birthday celebration or a childish sleepover in elementary. It was my first real high school party, and for once, I thought - maybe I’d finally get the quintessential ‘high school experience.’

But of course, I never did.

As soon as I got home, I parked my car in the driveway, got the mail, and came inside the house to see my mother sitting on the couch watching TV, as per usual. While I was telling her about my invitation, she didn’t bother to lower the volume or even look away from the screen to give me her undivided attention, and when she did look away, it was only to take the mail from my hands.

“Your sister’s science fair is on that day, and you have to take her because I’ll be working from 1 to 7.” My mother never once looked up from the mail she was sorting through to address me. And her words, while incredibly monotone, were also spoken with such finality, like what she said was the last she ever wanted to speak on the topic. No room for discussion.

I’m not still losing sleep over it, but at the time, it felt like for once, I could actually just be a teenager and be young and reckless like everyone else, but that it was just taken from me. I never got the chance to be a kid again.

With the exception of Emilia’s science fair.

I knew my father wouldn’t be there, and obviously my mother wouldn’t, so I stayed to watch her presentation and to walk around the rest of the time. She deserved someone in her corner, and that someone was me. Even if no one was in mine.

As I serpentined through the cafeteria, a bittersweet feeling came upon me. From paper mâché volcanoes to potato batteries, I observed a childlike sense of wonder that I hadn’t felt for years.

Here, I was surrounded by children who got to be just children. They got to occupy themselves with trivial matters, like how gardens grow or if video games actually do rot your brain.

Their problems had solutions and their questions had answers, and it almost made me wish that I could revert back to a time where life was that easy, but I couldn’t because it never was … not for me.

So to sum it up, it was precious and heartbreaking all at the same time.

While browsing the fair, I stumbled upon a man that didn’t quite seem to fit in, and maybe it was my own unfitting appearance that made me recognize his. He could’ve very well been the brother of one of these children, but something about the way he was dressed and the way he carried himself made me highly doubt that.

He couldn’t have been a parent either, for he was not too far off from my own age, and if he was a parent of one of these eighth graders, that would have to mean that he had a kid when he was in kindergarten. So for all intents and purposes, he wasn’t someone’s brother or someone’s father. Who he actually was - I didn’t know, but I was determined to find out.

After that first observance, I spotted him a couple more times, but it wasn’t until we were looking at the same project that we actually spoke.

“Fascinating, isn’t it?”

The sudden sound of his voice alarmed me, but only because it seemingly came out of nowhere. Generally, before someone speaks to you, you notice signals that they’re about to, which helps you prepare for conversation. Whether it’s nervous twitches, a look in your direction, maybe even a small acknowledging smile, you’ll recognize they want to or plan to talk to you, but none of those signs were given to me. Even when I turned my head to give him my attention, he was still fixated on the project in front of us.

“Yeah, it really is,” I politely agreed. I awkwardly looked around the room as if I’d find an answer as to what to say next because I did want to keep talking to him, but the longer I stayed silent, the more I fear he’d begin to think I didn’t want to. With nothing else to ask but the question that had been bothering me since I first laid eyes on him, I simply went for it.

“So, who are you here for?”

For the first time, he turned his head to the side to look right at me. With a quizzical expression, he responded. “Oh, no one. I’m just a judge here.”

It was my turn to possess a quizzical expression. His statement wouldn’t have been weird, except for the part where any judge I’d seen or talked to were all well into their forties or fifties.

“Aren’t you kinda young to be a judge? You’re, like, what? Seventeen, eighteen?

“Nineteen actually. But I regularly come to judge the Summer Science Fairs here since I went to this middle school eleven years ago.”

Again, I would’ve taken his word for it, but the math didn’t make sense. “You were in middle school at eight years old?”

“Mhm. I ended up graduating high school at twelve.” He said it so nonchalantly, but for how big of a feat it was, I thought it would’ve deserved a more prideful tone, yet he still maintained such a cavalier one. Did he not think himself to be impressive?

“Jeez, you must be really smart.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets, which made me notice that he wasn’t carrying a clipboard like the other judges, which was probably another reason why I didn’t take him for one. How would he be able to remember the projects that he was considering for awards? He’d have to have some magical memory for that.

Before answering, he began to walk away, but nonetheless he continued addressing me, so I followed him where he went.

“Mmm not necessarily. My IQ isn’t high enough to suggest I’m a provable genius yet, but I do have an eidetic memory and I can currently read 16,000 words per minute, which definitely helps. I hope to be able to read 20,000 words per minute in the future.”

Despite answering my question, he only left me with many more.

“What is your IQ right now?”

“131.”

My eyes widened. Even I, with my limited knowledge on intelligence quotients knew that was high, especially for someone as young as he was.

“So what IQ score do you have to have in order to be considered a genius?”

I couldn’t help but notice how he barely took anytime to think before answering me. It’s like his brain just knew everything, right then and there.

“A score of over 140 is considered a genius or near genius.”

“Wow, so you’re almost a genius then?”

“Almost, but not quite. If I receive diverse stimulation at a consistent rate for the next few years, I predict that I’ll have an IQ of 180 or higher by the time I’m in my early twenties.”

You would think he would leave me speechless, but I still went on to ask him about what an eidetic memory was, and he explained to me that he could remember things exceedingly well, but that it was not the same thing as a photographic memory. He made that distinction very clear to me.

Our conversation droned on for the rest of the fair as we continued to circle the cafeteria. I can’t count how many times we lapped around the same projects, but we never seemed to run out of things to talk about. Once those first few seconds after meeting him, when I didn’t know what to say, passed, I never again felt a sense of not knowing. We could talk for hours and hours, and it wouldn’t matter. I would never get bored.

How could I? When I was with him, it felt like the rest of the world just faded away. Our discourse flowed so easily, no pressure, no awkward silence. It was just me and him, and if you ask me, that’s quite the opposite of boring.

That was the first and final time I ever truly felt like a kid. Just like the ones in the science fair. Not a care in the world except for my morbid curiosity of the marvel that was him.

Alas, all good things must come to an end, and I inevitably found myself being ripped out of my trance when I felt an aggressive tug on my sweater.

“We can go now.” Emilia interrupted.

I hadn’t even noticed that a majority of the poster boards were taken down and that an even larger majority of the people were long gone, too. I got so lost in the conversation that I didn’t realize we were one of the last people still there.

Emilia’s eagerness to leave was apparent as she pulled me away from my interesting conversationalist.

“I had a nice time talking to you!” I called out to him, walking backwards to lengthen the period of time I could keep looking at him.

“Likewise.”

I turned around fully just before I finally realized something. “Hey!” I yelled across the distance. “I never got your name!”

He bashfully smiled and looked down at his feet briefly. “It’s Spencer! Spencer Reid!”

I stood there for a moment, silently processing his name.

“What’s yours?” He yelled back.

I chuckled mischievously. “I guess you’ll have to find out next time.” My ambiguity puzzled him and intrigued him all at the same time.

“Next time?”

With the intentions of leaving him without a true answer, I simply turned on my heels and started walking away.

“Bye, Spencer!”

Even if he didn’t have an eidetic memory, I knew after that first day, he could never forget me.

- Present Time -

By the time I made it back to the truck, people were already lining up to order.

“Get over here!” Emilia squealed excitedly from the window, her hand rapidly waving me over as if it’d suddenly increase my speed. I ran back as fast as I could in a dress and heels and climbed into the truck, mirroring my sister’s zeal.

When I stepped in, Emilia took one glance at me and furrowed her brows. “Where’d you get the jacket?”

Had she not mentioned it, I would not have remembered the foreign fabric that wrapped around my shoulders.

“Oh, shoot!” I palmed my forehead after the realization dawned on me. I should’ve noticed sooner that I still had it on, but honestly, it didn’t feel unusual or out of place. It was comfortable and familiar, like it was meant to be there that entire time.

“I’m so sorry to do this to you, but do you think you can handle this alone for just a second? I have to return this to a friend.” I asked while slipping off the coat to ready myself to leave, even in the event that Emilia said she wouldn’t let me go. Luckily though, she understood it was urgent.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be fine. Just hurry back.”

I extended my head to look out just past the side of the truck to look for Spencer while still being concealed within the vehicle. Now that there were more people here, I wasn’t exactly sure I should be caught mingling with the attendees, so instead, I decided to search for him from the truck, rather than wandering around the party, giving the impression to the people that hired us that I wasn’t doing my job and was just here to socialize.

Luckily, there was something about my attachment to Spencer that was supernatural. I had this metaphysical ability to spot him even in a crowded place. I could find him anywhere. But whether that was a blessing or a curse was to be determined because right as my paranormal power kicked in, I found him. And there he was - standing next to another girl, a proximity much too close and a smile much too big to be anything less than flirtatious.

I paused to recall the image I had of myself earlier, when I floated up and out of my own body. I looked just like her - an oversized grin combined with lovesick eyes.

But that’s not the worst part.

The worst part was he was returning just the same look of attraction to her.

“Um, actually,” I re-entered the truck completely, tossing the jacket aside haphazardly. “I’ll just return it later.”

“You sure? You can go. I’ve got things covered right now.” She said between multitasking at a rate that even I, a very-much-not-pregnant-woman, could manage.

All I could mutter back without giving away the sharp ache in my heart was, “Yeah, I’m sure.”

_ _ _

After hours and hours of non-stop working, the night, at last, was coming to a close. The large crowd had sized down considerably, until I could no longer hear the sound of a thousand voices meshing. All the decorations were already coming down by the time Emilia and I finished packing up the truck. Without the hectic energy to cause adrenaline to course through my veins, it should’ve been peaceful, yet my heart was not at peace.

I couldn’t shake the gut-wrenching feeling of seeing Spencer with that girl, but that wasn’t really why I was upset. It was more about the fact that I’d actually believed for a second that I had any chance with him. I should’ve known he wasn’t single, and the fact that I let myself swoon over him again angered me all the more. If I ever had a chance with Spencer, the time to act on it was long gone.

Now, I had to live with that.

“You sure you wanna stay here alone? I’ll come with you if you want me to.”

Emilia’s question was referring to my proposal to stay in D.C for the night while she drove home. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision, but I realized I couldn’t handle being in another suffocating car ride with Emilia. It had nothing to do with her - just that I needed alone time to process everything by myself. If I knew my sister as well as I thought I did, I knew she would’ve sensed something was wrong and tried to coax me into talking about it, which I was not in the mood to do. Plus, traveling for so long made me nauseous just thinking about it. Although, I didn’t have a plan, I knew that I just wanted to hail a cab and find a hotel somewhere here for the night.

“Yeah, I’ll be okay. Don’t worry about me. Call me when you get home.” I tapped on the back of the truck twice to let her know she was good to drive away, and I felt the car lurch forward per my request. When the truck finally did move, out from behind it appeared the tall figure of none other than Spencer.

I was surprised, but only for a second, when that surprise turned into pain once more. Playing it cool so my afflictions wouldn’t be suspected, I nonchalantly stated, “Here’s your jacket, by the way. Sorry, I forgot to give it back to you earlier.”

I extended my arm far enough so that we’d still have a great distance between us when he went to grab it, but sure enough, my actions were all for naught when he not only refused to remove his hands from his pockets to take it but also walked two steps closer to me than he needed to be. I looked like an idiot just standing there with my arm so outstretched, only for him to not grab it and to let it simply press against his stomach as a complete avoidance of getting it back.

“You were supposed to keep it. That’s why I didn’t ask for it back.” He curtly replied, finishing his statements with a cheeky grin. However, I wasn’t in the mood to return it. I simply stood there and shook the jacket in my hand to emphasize its presence.

“Take it. Please.” My voice was full of contradictions. I tried to be assertive with my command, and yet my plead only softened the order and showed a defeat I wasn’t even aware of until I heard how sad it sounded. “I don’t want it, Spencer.”

He no doubt saw the shift in my demeanor but still wouldn’t pacify me by taking the jacket. “What’s wrong? What did I do?” His voice got quieter, as if speaking any louder would shatter me in this fragile state of being.

“Nothing, I’m just tired and I want to go home.” This wasn’t a complete lie. I was exhausted from working for hours and hours on my feet with no breaks in between, but it wasn’t exactly the full truth either. He could tell.

“Just tell me what’s wrong.” He persisted. “Please.”

The only way I could describe what I happened next was like the vision of a boiling pot. Gradually, I was heating up until I finally got so overheated that I just boiled over and exploded.

“What don’t you get, Spencer? I don’t want your jacket!” Fury consumed my tone. “And I don’t think your girlfriend would want that either.”

“Girlfriend? What girlfriend? What are you talking about? I don’t have a girlfriend!” His words were flying out of his mouth at 100 mph as he desperately trying to mend what couldn’t be fixed.

“Don’t play dumb. I saw you with that blonde girl. How close you two were standing, the way you were looking at each other.” Just having to recount the interaction made the horrid memory come back vividly into the forefront of my thoughts, and it broke my heart all over again. I shut my eyes painfully as though it would turn off the image of them together, but this only allowed for Spencer to wrap his warm hands around my upper arms and pull me closer to him without my knowing. I flinched unconsciously at the sudden feeling of his touch, to which he instantly let go.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” His hands shook with remorse for letting them touch my body in a way that elicited that reaction. They hovered in the space between us, not knowing where to go that would suddenly make things okay. “But she’s no one, okay? She’s just a coworker.”

I wanted to believe him. I quite possibly did believe him, but there was still a sharp pain in my chest. Call it intuition.

“No, she’s not,” I shook my head. “She’s not ‘no one’... you love her.”

Spencer came closer but still didn’t let himself touch me again out of fear that I might draw back even further.

“Listen to me - whatever feelings I used to have for her are long gone. She’s married, (y/n). She has a kid. And none of that even matters because the way that I used to love her is nothing compared to the way that I-”

“Don’t.” I held my hand up in protest. “Don’t say you love me.”

His eyebrows knit together with dismay. “Why? Why not? It’s true. I love you. I always have.”

With one big sigh, I finally resigned to my emotions. “Then why didn’t you ever do something about it?”

Judging by the deflation of his shoulders and the far off look he got in his eyes, he knew exactly the moment I was talking about.

Two days after Emilia’s science fair, I drove to the library to pick up books I needed for my summer homework. I was already on my way out when I just happened to glance to my side, noticing a lone figure sitting at the bus stop. I didn’t think anything of it, but when I looked back, I partially recognized him. I shaded my eyes from the sun and squinted harder to confirm my suspicions.

“Spencer?” I wondered out loud.

The figure’s head turned around, narrowed their eyes, and waved. He stood up from his seat and made his way over to me with a precious little jog-walk. Although we had only met once before, we still embraced each other like lifelong friends.

“Do I finally get to know your name now?” He jokingly inquired after pulling away.

It completely slipped my mind that I’d denied him the knowledge of my name, but for my own satisfaction, I wouldn’t let him get off that easily.

“Do you have any guesses of it could be?”

He pouted childishly. “Are you kidding? In a population of 350 million people, there would be about 4.4 million names. But if every country on Earth had the same nominative diversity we in the US have, that would suggest about 750 million unique names exist.”

I must admit it was fun watching him melt into a flustered mess of facts, but I was growing just as impatient as him. “Come on, just guess. You might be right.”

He rolled his eyes but indulged me willingly anyway. “Okay ... um ... Catherine.”

“Nope.”

“Nicole.”

“Nope.”

“Gertrude.”

“Seriously?” I raised my eyebrows. He shrugged. “Nope.”

“Olive.”

“Pretty,” I smiled, making his face light up, too. “But no.” His smile fell.

“This is nearly impossible.” He sighed.

“Nothing’s impossible.” My delivery wasn’t as cheesy as the line itself, so it touched us both in a way that made that silly phrase feel like it’d never been said before. With a visible passion reignited in him, he continued.

“Francis.”

“Okay, maybe this is impossible.”

My blunt joke brought us closer together, our heads almost knocking into one another’s as we clutched our stomachs and leaned forward to support our all-consuming laughter. When we finally calmed down, I finally confessed.

“Okay, okay - it’s (y/n).”

He stood there completely silent. There was no expression of his face that indicated he planned on speaking, so I elaborated. “It’s not as good as the name Spencer, I know I know -”

“I’ve never known anyone with that name before.” His hushed voice cut into mine so innocently.

My cheeks heated from the slight compliment. “Well, now you do. And don’t you forget it.” I teased. With nothing further to say, I brushed past him to start walking away, when unconsciously, I spun my keys around my index finger and heard the familiar jingle of the metal, reminding me of something.

“Hey, Spencer?” I turned on my heels. “Can I give you a ride home?”

And so began our routine for the entire summer. I would bring my summer homework to the library, and Spencer would help me understand it, or even complete it, and then I’d give him a ride home. We’d go to the park and read, or we’d go to the movies, or we’d hang out at a diner. And each time, I’d drop him off.

The more time we spent together, the more I learned about him and his life. He told me about his mom, his dad - everything. I did just the same. I told him about my mom, my dad, my siblings - everything.

Perhaps we enjoyed spending so much time together because it was a sweet escape from our houses that weren’t homes. But every time we did hang out, we just got closer and closer, and by the end of the summer, I knew my feelings perfectly clear.

I love Spencer.

If missing that pool party at Melody Hanes was what it took to find the absolute love of my life, then what a small price to pay it was. I wouldn’t have traded a million pool parties for that one chance encounter with Spencer at the science fair.

One day, we were pulling into his driveway after having a picnic at the country club, and I’d just let him out of the car, when unconsciously, I said, “Bye, Spence! Love you!”

He caught the words faster than I did. He looked like a deer in headlights, and it took me at least two seconds more to figure out why. That entire day I’d been thinking about saying it, but by the end, I decided it’d be better not to, and yet, it just came out anyway.

“You love me?”

There were two ways I could’ve answered. The first was to deny it and say that I only meant that I loved him like a friend. The second was to be brave and validate my unintentional confession.

In the heat of the moment, I chose the latter.

“Yes.” I nodded, smiling from my own courage. You only live once right?

In a cruel twist of fate, Spencer never tried to speak, and instead, ran to his front door.

“Spencer!” I yelled. “What are you-”

He gave me one last look over his shoulder before he opened the door and closed it right behind him. That was the last I ever saw him.

I learned, that day, that you do only live once.

But you can die over and over again.

From that point on, he’s lived in my mind as the one that never was.

Regret and shame manifested on Spencer’s face. “I never wanted to hurt you.” He dejectedly began. “But I was young and-and dumb and just ... so scared. God, I was so scared.” He finally looked up, if for no other reason than to gauge my reaction. “I liked you so much, but I, I just couldn’t open myself up to the possibility of being hurt by another person I loved.”

Much like my own life, Spencer’s was riddled with traumatic experiences. Except rather than being expected to take care of younger siblings, he had to take care of his mom. And having to be a parent to your own parent? That’s something I would never wish upon anyone else.

“I ... I get it.” It was a sweet surrender, my words. After years of pent-up aggression borne from humiliation, rejection, and deep sadness, I could finally understand. “But as selfish as it sounds, I wish your past hurt hadn’t gotten in the way of our potential happiness.”

He took each of my hands in his, encasing them with palms of warmth. “Then don’t let the same thing happen right now. Don’t let the stupid, broken teenager I was cloud your judgement of the man I am now. Let me prove to you that I’ve changed.”

I stood there silently, an eerie parallel to how Spencer reacted to my confession eleven years ago.

“When I saw you, it felt like a second chance. A second chance to do what I was too afraid to do back then. And I couldn’t let myself make the same mistake twice.” His eyes were piercing through my soul. Every word plucked at my heartstrings, until I could no longer keep up with the symphony they were playing.

There was the slightest hesitation behind it, but I did inch forward. And in no time at all, Spencer saw the movement and made his own.

His hands released mine and shot straight for my cheeks to cup them gently, while kissing me firmly. He wasn’t the same shy boy he was, and this kiss was only proof of that. The way his lips were moving so fervently made me weak at the knees. He was so desperate and needy, like even with our lips touching, he still wasn’t close enough to me. Unleashed upon me was years of yearning wrapped in prominent lust.

“I love you.” He blurted clumsily on my lips. I didn’t return the sentiment, but that wasn’t why he said it. He wanted to say it so I’d know, not so that I’d say it back.

“You should know,” I muttered between kisses. “I’m not leaving D.C. until tomorrow morning.”

The biggest smirk creeped onto his face. Bastard.

Once we’d exhausted all the things we could possibly do in public, we ran to the nearest cab we could find and exhausted all the things we could do in that, too.

It was already past midnight when we arrived at Spencer’s apartment, and though we should’ve been quiet so as not to disturb the neighbors, we were still breaking out into a fit of giggles like a bunch of teenagers sneaking around as we ran up the stairs. We hadn’t even made it past the doormat, before he seized my hips in his hands and spun me back towards him. Forcefully, he pressed me against the door while simultaneously unlocking it. That shut me up real good, lemme tell you.

As soon as we crossed the threshold, he gave me a reprieve when he held me closer so as to stop pinning me against the door. In an effort to do the impossible, we stumbled through his apartment in a frenzy trying to undress each other while maintaining our bodily contact. With one giant tug of the zipper on my back, my dress fell to the ground. To his atonement, he left me in just a thong. Whereas he was much too overdressed in my opinion.

No sooner did I gracelessly unbutton his shirt than we ran into a plant against the wall. Our smiles practically ruined the kiss at the sound of the crash, but it remained nonetheless. I knew I was in for something, when Spencer paused to wait for me to unbuckle his belt. That was the first time we ever really stopped in place, but just as I anticipated, I was in for it.

When I finally freed his waist of the garment, he just as quickly placed his hand on the back of my thigh, and in one swift motion, hoisted me into the air high enough to allow my legs to wrap around his waist. My arms were loose around his neck and the feeling of his warm hands touching my bare skin sent a chill down my spine.

Due to Spencer’s essential hand placement on my body, I had to be the one to fumble with his bedroom’s doorknob until it finally gave way. Once more, we staggered through his room before he let our lips break apart to lightly toss me onto the bed. I giggled at the squeak of the bed, driving him visibly crazy.

He hastily unzipped his own dress pants, while I propped myself up on my elbows. When he met me on the bed, he hovered over me to the point of having to lay back down again just to see him clearly. He felt too far away so I drew him nearer by lacing my hand through his soft curls. I twirled one around my finger, which must’ve been too merciful for him to handle.

He placed his hand on the back of mine and slid it down to his cheek. He held my hand there for a moment, leaning into the skin of my palm prior to placing a chaste kiss on it.

He didn’t need to say it again for me to know what he was thinking.

I love you.

The anticipation was killing me and in the most impatient manner, I pulled him down to my level, mimicking his similar habit of face-grabbing during a kiss. I knew his hands would’ve flown to my face the way they did just minutes ago, but one was too preoccupied keeping himself up and the other was busy toying with the band of my thong. I shivered at the sensation of him slipping one finger under the material and letting it glide over my tender skin right above my heat.

“Spencer,” I mumbled in a kiss to bring his attention back to me. Although I was certainly interested to know the hidden talents of Spencer Reid and his fingers, I was restless. I’d been waiting years for this moment, and unlike most people, I didn’t want to wait another second. “I need you now.”

He pulled his head back so he could get a full view of my face to examine my sincerity. He wanted to know if I was sure, and my eyes told him such. He nodded in acknowledgement with such speed that I was sure he was craving this as much as I was.

Rather than looking at where our bodies were about to meet, I had to close my eyes so I could fully feel everything without any other sense taking that away from me. In a painfully slow manner, he lined himself up at my entrance. At first, he only lightly pushed in, and it was this slacken movement that made me cry out and grip his shoulders for stability.

He pushed further in until he was fully sheathed inside of me. There was a slight moment of regret for not letting him engage in foreplay before, but that quickly went away when the pain turned to pleasure. He gained more confidence in himself with each stroke, and I could feel it. The more powerfully he thrust, the more I felt myself tightening around him. The over simulation was a stark contrast from the stimulation I denied and so the sensation I was feeling was only heightened by the absence of it before. For that very reason, I knew I was already close. And maybe he knew it, too and just as sweet revenge, he decided to send me over the edge by pulling my leg over his shoulder to thrust into me a new angle. As I’m sure he predicted, I threw my head back as tears began to prick the corners of my eyes. He rode the ever exquisite border between pain and pleasure, and my tears were a manifestation of that. Not even a minute passed, before I tried to moan but pathetically failed, not even being able finish the pitiful wail without the both of us finishing together.

Our heavy panting synchronized and reverberated back to us while he slowed down his pace and pulled out.

Perhaps in the heat of the moment, we lost all logic and reason, considering that even up till now, neither of us had realized that he didn’t use a condom.

But what would eventually happen in the future as a result of this action, or inaction, would surely make us remember.

Spencer lowered himself down to kiss me breathlessly; strands of his hair clung to his forehead as sweat glimmered on both of us. Not until we were ready did we make our way to the bathroom so he could help clean me up. Once we returned, I gathered my clothes, but he made sure to grab my panties before I could even notice.

“Have you seen -“ I cut myself off when I saw what was dangling in his hands.

“Looking for this?” He teased.

All my energy had been spent on him that I couldn’t be bothered to fight for them back.

“Keep ‘em.” I smirked, my hand reaching down to pick up his jacket off the floor and hold it up. “Consider it a fair trade.”

No arguments from him.

Needless to say, I did end up finding a place to stay the night. Where and with whom you might ask?

Well, you can probably figure that one out for yourself.

_ _ _

I wish I could tell you I got a good night’s rest, and I could - it just wouldn’t be the truth.

Spencer and I spent the rest of the night just talking. We filled each other in on nearly ever second of the past 11 years, and once again, I found myself reverting back to the teenager I was at the science fair. The entire world revolved around us as we spoke to each other effortlessly, like no time had passed. Even in the periods of silence, I felt comfortable.

Spencer and I were lying on our sides facing one another when I felt compelled to profess that “I can’t talk this way with anyone. It’s just you.”

He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear with a small smile on his lips. He didn’t need to say that he felt the same way because I already knew. His hand never left my face but instead made its descent down my jawline and stopped at my chin. He raised his thumb to reach my lower lip, letting the pad of his finger graze over the soft skin of my lip.

It felt like he was tracing every detail of my body, running his eyes over every inch at least twice so as to fully commit everything to his memory.

At last, the tension broke when he positioned his hand comfortably at the back of my neck, bowing his head forward to kiss me. This one was quite different than our first, for it was gentler and warmer. We weren’t forcing ourselves to make up for lost time. In fact, this kiss was saying, “We’ve got plenty of time.”

Plenty of time indeed. Which we were happy to spend making love again.

And I will be the first to admit that if our first round of unprotected sex didn’t solidify our future predicament, this time certainly did.

Six Weeks Later ...

“Hello?” Clearly frustrated, Emilia waved her hand in front of my face to harness me back to earth. I hadn’t realized I zoned out until she scoffed at me. “Did you hear anything I just said?”

“No, sorry. Could you repeat it one more time?”

She set down the papers in front of her and sighed unhappily. “What’s going on with you? You’ve been so distant lately.”

It hurt to hear, even though it was the truth. I wasn’t intentionally being despondent, but it’s hard to be present when there’s so much occupying your mind, and there was one thing in particular that was keeping me up late at night recently.

My period has always been irregular. For as long as I’ve had it, I’ve always missed a few weeks, then it would become consistent, then it would be sporadic again. In fact, there was one year where I only had four periods total. So it didn’t strike me as odd when I realized three days ago that my last period was about seven weeks ago.

What did strike me as odd was the other symptoms I was experiencing. Menstruation cycles are known to closely mimic the symptoms of pregnancy, but with the knowledge that my period wasn’t coming, it was disconcerting to me that I was suffering the discomforts without the actual period itself.

To me, there was only one clear explanation for this anomaly.

I was pregnant.

Earlier in the day, I bought a pregnancy test and was late to work because of it. If Emilia hadn’t been suspicious of my behavior before, showing up late only made her suspicion greater.

I didn’t know when I’d take it, probably at home after work, but the anticipation was eating away at me. I would pace around the truck until Emilia finally told me to stop because the vehicle wouldn’t stop swaying with my every movement. I was biting my nails and chewing on each little piece that grew back just to bite it back down to the nub. My hands couldn’t stop shaking, my breathing wouldn’t slow down. I was a hysterical mess.

I didn’t tell Spencer any of my concerns, of course, but being as perceptive as he is, he noticed my strange mannerisms despite my best efforts to hide them.

“Your breathing just got faster. Are you feeling okay?” He paused the movie we were watching to check in on me one time. It should be known that the scene that caused my heavier breathing was a scene of a woman finding out she was pregnant and being absolutely devastated. I quickly brushed it off as just being too warm, to which he turned on his air conditioning. Luckily for me, he didn’t make the connection.

And it’s not that I didn’t want to tell Spencer - I really did - but why should I make a fuss about something if there ended up being nothing to worry about? That would just be extra stress, and the last thing a new, blossoming relationship needs is additional strain.

So without Spencer, I had to opt for the next best thing - my sister.

I’d reached my wits end, and I couldn’t keep up the act any longer. I was walking on eggshells with practically everyone I knew, and I’d sooner go crazy if I didn’t tell someone what I was really feeling. So in response to her question, I finally told the truth.

“I think I might be pregnant.”

You can imagine the shock on my sister’s face. Emilia’s jaw became one with the floor as her eyes widened so big I thought they would pop out of her head.

“You’re pregnant?” Already her eyes were welling up with tears of joy.

“I don’t know yet.” I put my arms around her to keep her calm and stable while the emotions began overpowering her. I wanted it to serve as a reminder to not get her hopes up, otherwise she’d get mine up, too.

“Well, have you taken a test?”

I reached for my purse behind her and rummaged through it until I finally retrieved the box. Holding it up, I reluctantly suggested, “I thought maybe you could be there for me when I did?”

She squealed with joyful elation, practically shattering the window pane with the high pitch of her voice. On top of that, she was jumping up and down with elegant grace that I had to wonder how her pregnant body could even manage to do such a thing.

“Of course, I will! Come, come, let’s go.”

We hopped off the truck and to the nearest restroom, which admittedly wasn’t the nicest of places, nor was the place I ever imagined as a child that I’d be finding out I was pregnant in, but it had to do for now.

When I first came out of the stall, I set the test face down on the sink, so that we wouldn’t see it until it was ready. Emilia set a timer for 10 minutes, but in the meantime, all we could do was wait. Neither of us could stay still; Emilia bounced up and down, rubbing her belly while facilitating some sort of breathing exercise. Meanwhile, I kept tapping my foot impatiently.

Ding! Ding! Ding!

Emilia’s alarm scared the shit out of me, and we both were startled by the blaring sound. It was so jarring, but even that wouldn’t compare to the fear I felt when I realized it was finally time.

“Do you wanna look or should I?” She asked.

“You look.” I said at first. But when she lunged forward to take it, I did, too. “No wait, I should.” Then another moment of hesitation. “No, you do it. I can’t.”

I held my hands over my mouth while I watched her carefully lift the test off the sink, maneuvering it in such a way that only she would see the results. I watched her expression closely for any sign of a reaction, but she was stoic as can be. I couldn’t tell if she was disappointed, happy - nothing. Complete and total poker face.

“Come on, Emilia! What does it say?” I blurted anxiously.

“Well, first, what do you want it to say?”

That was a question I hadn’t considered. I was so busy worrying about what I didn’t know, to pause and think about what I wanted to find out. On the one hand, I’d be ecstatic if the test confirmed that I was pregnant. I’d jump for joy because that was what I always wanted, right? But on the other hand, if it said I wasn’t pregnant, then I’d be sort of sad because I got so close to that lifelong dream. But after that, I’d probably just be relieved to have dodged a bullet.

“I don’t know,” I confessed. “I don’t know-”

“Don’t think. Just tell me. What do you want it to say?”

Without missing a beat, I replied, “Positive.” My sister and I alike were stunned by my answer. “Yeah,” I nodded slowly. “Positive. I want it to say positive.” I repeated, to cement my earnest desire.

Emilia’s facade melted away as she began to shake her head. “I’m sorry, (y/n). There’s only one line.”

We both knew what that meant, even if she didn’t explicitly say it. I sighed dejectedly, which was a surprise to even myself. I didn’t expect to be this disappointed, and yet I was. The knot it my stomach worked itself free, and where that pit used to be was just emptiness. My heart sunk and steadied itself, and my breathing resumed its normal pace.

“Well,” I bit my lip. “I guess that’s that.”

Emilia instantly drew nearer to pull me in for a hug, one I was not ready to accept but welcomed anyway. “I’m sorry, (y/n). But I mean, sometimes tests just come out with false negatives.” With her face still buried in the crook of my neck in our hug, she mumbled, “Not this one, though. This one’s positive.”

Immediately, I retreated from our hug and pulled her in front of my view. The sneaky girl had a huge grin that took up 99% of her face.

“You’re pregnant!” She screamed at the top of her lungs, shaking my body violently. We embraced each other in another hug while simultaneously jumping up and down. “I just wanted to trick you so you would know how you really feel. Now you know!”

And I did know. I did know that I wanted this baby and that I was glad it even existed.

Not long after our mini-celebration did I start to come down from the high of my euphoria. A certain realization dawned on me like a cloud of gray hanging above my head to rain on my parade.

What about Spencer?

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　

PART 2 HERE!

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celestialmark · 5 years ago

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Lacuna - Prologue

- Characters: Johnny Suh x reader, members of nct - Category: single parent au, fluff, angst - Word count: 2.1k - Warnings: none - Navigation: prologue | part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | epilogue - Author’s notes: I am so excited to share what’s been sitting in my drafts since last year sksksjdjjd I hope you enjoy this <3 - Special thanks to: @/chicagoletters for the insurmountable love and support. this one’s for you. ily.

“Wow.”

Doyoung is three metres away but you faintly hear his statement the moment you reveal yourself through your front door. He dresses up well, a dark navy tux that hugs his body perfectly, complimenting his long lean figure, shiny black shoes, with his hair styled back, his forehead coming to full view. Doyoung has always been dashing, the main reason why all the girls around him literally fawn with even just a glance towards their direction. But tonight, Doyoung looked exceptional, his already good looks accentuated under the lights of your lamp posts that line your driveway.

Suddenly you’re cowering under his gaze, tugging at the red satin dress that reaches the ground, a dangerous slit stretching up your right thigh, and thin shoulder straps that’s barely enough to hold the dress onto your body. You felt unsure of the dress at first, but now you feel worse when Doyoung doesn’t speak. You pick at your curled locks swept to one side, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other, unsure whether to speak first.

Doyoung clears his throat before he’s jogging up the few stairs that lead to your front door. “Y/n, good evening,” he breathes when he reaches the last step. He smiles and gazes at you from head to toe again, “You look amazing.”

You know Doyoung meant it because Doyoung never lies and the gummy smile that comes after makes his statement all the more valid. “Thanks, you look dashing yourself,” you gesture at him with your hands and he unconsciously looks down at himself, pretending to dust away at his shoulder.

Doyoung shrugs, his smile never leaving his lips, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his slacks. “Well, I had to look good. I knew you would, so I needed to try and match up.”

You roll your eyes but chuckle anyway just as he extends a hand to you, “Shall we?” You smile and take his hand and it’s not long before he’s leading you down the stairs and opening the car door for you, his black car just as shiny as his shoes.

It’s comfortable in the car with Doyoung. You converse about a lot of different things as he keeps his eyes not the road, mostly about work and mostly about the gala that’s happening tonight. He sounds excited while your anxiety soars. You’re not exactly the type to be involved in such elegant gatherings, never mind the socialising part and the more Doyoung talks about what would be happening tonight, the more nervous you get. But you try to console yourself with the reassurance that at least, Doyoung would be there, there’d be at least one person you would know in the middle of a crowd full of strangers all dolled up and flashing how expensive their lives are worth.

You’re so caught up in your nerves and thoughts that you don't realise Doyoung pulling the breaks in front of a bright entrance of a prestigious hotel. You look out the window, and sure enough, people dressed in various luxurious dresses and tuxedos are coming from different directions and entering the venue. When you take a closer look, you see security scattered here and there, all dressed up also and that’s when you think that this place and these people were definitely no joke.

You flinch in your seat when Doyoung comes into view and you quickly look to your side to see that the driver’s seat is already empty. He opens the door for you and leans inside to unbuckle your seatbelt as you watch him silently, the pounding of your heart caused by your nerves too loud in your ears. Doyoung offers you his hand for a second time and he reassures you with a smile and a nod of his head.

“I’m not going anywhere I promise. You have me the whole night,” he murmurs gently, knowing all too well how hesitant you were in coming in the first place.

You blow air out of your cheeks, your nerves ceasing a little as you take his hand and exit his car. You watch when he hands his keys to someone who comes up to him shortly and it doesn’t take long before his car is driven off somewhere to be parked. Doyoung straightens himself, tugging at his clothes as a last minute check. He turns to you, “How do I look?”

You don’t hesitate to reach out for his bowtie, pulling at it gently so that it held itself straight. “Better.”

He smiles gratefully and faces forward, offering his arm to you. “You look the best out of everyone here tonight. So don’t be too nervous okay? If anything, they should be the ones nervous of you.”

You smile to yourself, mentally thanking Doyoung for going to such lengths just to calm you down, even if he had to come up with a lie. Nonetheless you loop your arm in his and you follow him as he leads you both inside.

As expected Doyoung is swarmed by a lot of people on arrival. Many of them, shaking his hand and complimenting him not only of his looks but of what he’s accomplished in life. After all, this was Kim Doyoung you were talking about, the man of the night, CEO and founder of the Kim interiors, a now multi million company well recognised in the country. But even as a crowd gathers around him, even as a crazy amount of people come to have even a two second conversation with him, he never forgets you, always taking care to introduce you to all that he meets, introducing you as his date. And Doyoung handles the situation very well because he’s quick to cut conversations short just before questions arise about what's up with you two.

Doyoung leads you to the main hall where there’s tables clad in white sheets, arrangements of flowers filling up the centres, huge chandeliers hanging on the ceiling illuminating the whole room in a dim manner and a raised platform to one side with a podium on the corner. The hall is decorated well, the minimalistic interiors screaming elegance and eons of preparation. And as the venue continues to get filled with guests, people begin to take their seat, Doyoung pulling you to the table that’s right in front of the stage. Your eyes widen because this was probably the table where the most important people of the night stood, Doyoung being one of them, you... maybe not so much.

You’re surprised to see your name by your seat, the card with your name labelled on it a testament of your wanted presence. You glance to your left, where Doyoung sat and he nods at you again, one of his many ways to reassure you silently. “I hope you’re having fun.”

You lean towards him. “And what if I'm not?” you whisper amusingly, leaning back in your seat.

It’s Doyoung’s turn to lean inwards, “Then I’ll do better at entertaining you.”

The evening begins like that and you find yourself having fun but mostly because Doyoung is there with you, cracking jokes and talking about all sorts of things over dinner. Two hours in the evening, you’ve finished your second glass of wine. As you look around, you notice all the guests talking amongst themselves, jazz music playing in the background by a live band situated in the far corner of the hall. And you realise there isn’t much to be nervous about. So you loosen up with the realisation or maybe because of the aftereffects of the wine.

Your eyes fall onto the empty seat opposite you in the round table. Surely no one would have wanted to miss this night, especially if invitations were exclusively sent by Doyoung himself. All the other tables were filled too. You raise a brow but then shrug to yourself when you come to a conclusion that it isn’t any of your business to be nosy. Doyoung is talking to someone beside him when you excuse yourself briefly to the bathroom to freshen up.

You take a good look at your reflection in the mirror, touching up where needs be and tugging at your hair slightly to put in back in place. You exit the bathroom, leaving the corridor to find yourself back in the lobby with an impressive fountain in the middle, a statue of what appears to be a figure from the ancient Greek times, holding up a vase that’s spewing water. Your heart almost drops when you see someone walk past hurriedly on the other side of the fountain, the splashes of water obscuring your vision slightly, someone awfully familiar you shiver where you stand. You blink hard and let your eyes follow the man’s figure walking away until he disappears into the hall.

It probably isn’t. It can’t be. It’s probably the wine.

When you return to the hall, you stop just by the entrance when you see Doyoung up on the podium, already in the middle of speaking to his guests, the spotlight now directed to him. He’s in the middle of his speech when he raises the wine glass that’s in his hand.

“It is with great pleasure to be announcing to everyone here tonight the exclusive partnership between Kim Interiors and Suh Industries,” Doyoung finishes off with a wide grin on his face. “I would like to make a toast to a successful partnership in the future.”

And as soon as the toast is made, the hall erupts in applause.

“I’d like to invite the very man, who made this possible, up on the stage please,” Doyoung continues when the claps die down momentarily.

“Mr. Johnny Suh, come and join me.”

You flinch for the second time at the mention of the name and your eyes widen when the said man joins Doyoung onstage. The hairs on your skin stand immediately, chills spreading throughout your whole body at the sight of the man who’s now smiling and waving at the audience, shutters of cameras lightening up the entire stage. Chest feeling tight and knees growing weak at the absurdity of it all, you exit the hall, your heels suddenly making walking very painful.

So it really was him.

You’re not sure how long you’ve been spacing out nor how long you’ve been sitting by the fountain but when you reach into your clutch, you find six missed calls from Doyoung and your dazed self on the screen of your phone when you lock it. You exhale a heavy sigh, wanting nothing more but to go home at this stage.

“Y/n!”

You see Doyoung jogging up to you and as soon as he reaches you, he crouches down, putting his palms on his knees, searching your face, “Are you okay? Where did you go?” He’s genuinely concerned and it must be because of how stunned you look.

“Oh, I went to bathroom for a sec,” you reply mindlessly.

Doyoung contemplates but nods after and doesn’t press on the matter further. “Let’s go back in? They’ve cleared the hall to make space for people to dance.” He offers you his hand for the third time and you take it again. No matter how much you wanted to go home, you weren’t going to ruin this night for Doyoung.

When you re-enter, sure enough, the middle of the room was cleared for the dance floor. There’s slow music playing in the background and from the corner of your eye, there's already couples swaying to it, the lights dimmed even more to suit the atmosphere. Doyoung is about to offer you to dance with him when someone calls him in the distance before he could even grab the chance.

“Save me a dance?” Doyoung mumbles in your ear. You nod with a smile before he disappears.

So you stand there for the meantime, watching the dance floor fill up with more couples, temporarily distracted from your distraught earlier. You busy yourself by swaying your body lightly to the rhythm of the violin playing, your eyes now trained on the floor. You’re already thinking of what needed to be done in the coming week, of work, of all the errands you had to run and you huff to yourself when the list in your head becomes endless. You begin to wonder how longer it’d take Doyoung before he’d be back to you and you contemplate leaving your spot to grab another glass of wine.

When you finally decide on it, you don’t quite get to act on it.

“May I please have the pleasure of sharing a dance with you?”

And when you turn around after much contemplation, he’s there. You’re sure the question is directed at you because he has his eyes set on you, a small smile grazing his all too familiar face. Black tuxedo tailored to his proportions to match his black hair that’s styled back, highlighting his facial features well. He looked the exact same to when you remember him last, yet different at the same time.

But nonetheless you’re sure it’s the same person.

Johnny Suh.

Your first love.

The first man to ever break your heart.

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dddainuhsoar · 4 years ago

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witch guanshan x warrior hetian

a fic au inspired by a movie that came out recently. you have 3 guesses to guess which movie it is. anyway, incomplete so read at your own risk... ^^

~2k words

traditionally, witches have been women. witches are beautiful women who ensnare their prey, and transform into docile, innocent animals - a fox, a snake, a bird - to escape in times of trouble. rather than being feared for their prowess, witches were revered. their spells brought rain for crops, their charms brought luck (or disaster; it depends which you are looking for) and their ability to convene with creatures proved more useful than horrific.

schools were set up and young girls with talent in magic were sent there to become enchantresses, sorceresses or fairies. after their studies, they were either sent to the imperial city to be part of the emperor’s court or army, or, if they chose, continue their studies to become deities. boys with talent in magic do not exist… unless they do and are incredibly apt at disguisement.

illusion spells, in fact, were the only kind of spells guanshan was any good at. he managed to trick everyone at school that he was a girl, but for what? he was failing at every other category. his parents sent him to study despite their fears that he would be discovered because they believed it would be a waste of his talent if he hadn’t gone. at first, he had thought he had talent in it too. he thought he was special, then he started studying at a school and realised he had overestimated himself.

girls were natural spell-casters. he, even though able to use magic, struggled to conjure even a single droplet of water. some of the instructors were appalled at his lack of ability, even suspected he was not truly a witch, but none ever saw through his illusion. no matter how much he sweated under their watchful gaze, trembled under their inspecting spells, or stuttered under the pressure of their inquisition, they simply never found out. sometimes, guanshan wished they would hurry and expose him already so he could quit this and go home.

after the instructors gave up trying to figure out what was wrong with guanshan, they stopped caring about him. he was too weak to teach, but too unique to be thrown out. some of the girls took pity on him and tried to help, but most just sneered at him. they weren’t too fond of people who were different. the crueller girls would play pranks, casting hexes on him that took him ages to learn how to remove.

i deserve a worse punishment, guanshan thought. he was a boy who studied, ate and slept with girls. it was immoral and lecherous. it was blasphemous, because witches were gods-to-be. he had no dishonourable thoughts about his schoolmates (he swore his right hand to it), but he was sure to punish himself at least once a day. many times, he would not be able to bear the guilt of lying next to the girls, who were flowering into women day-by-day, that he would sleep outside in the courtyard, on the stone floor, unsheltered by a roof or walls.

when one has to often sleep in such conditions, it is no surprise that they are in no shape to be practising spells in the day. it was self-sabotage, guanshan knew, and sooner or later, the instructors would throw him out. it was on one of his poorer-faring days, when he was forced to crouch till dinner as punishment for setting a tortoise’s shell on fire while the tortoise was still in there, that he met hetian, the second son of the chief of the he tribe.

guanshan’s tribe was known to produce the most fearsome witches. most of them carry on to lead battalions in the imperial army. and if there were a warrior-parallel for guanshan’s tribe, that would be the he tribe. the men from the he tribe were the most brutal and cunning warriors. they were not averse to using underhanded strategies to win a war, which made them incredibly useful to the imperial army but also risky. they were loyal to a fault to the chief of their tribe, and even the emperor was careful when it came to dealing with him.

a few members of the he tribe were visiting to train with the witches. since many witches would end up serving in the imperial army along with the warriors of the he tribe, it was a natural idea to have the two groups get used to each other as part of their training. together, they were invincible.

initially, guanshan was determined to ignore the boy and focus on building a shelter for the tortoise he was tasked to protect from the blazing sun he himself was being scorched by. he was given a large wooden bucket to fill with water by his teachers. once he had it filled, he could then put his tortoise in so it would stay hydrated. they wanted him to practise his water conjuration spells, he understood that, but he couldn’t understand why at the expense of an innocent tortoise. when his fingers ached from snapping and his throat parched from muttering the spell, he finally looked up at hetian, who had been staring at him the entire time from under his paper umbrella.

it was nice of hetian to shade guanshan from the sun (even though guanshan desperately wished he would go away before his teachers came to check on him) so he decided it was possible the young visitor would be willing to help him get water from the well in the neighbouring courtyard.

“you’ll have to show me,” hetian said. “this place is huge, i think i’ll get lost.”

guanshan glared at him. “just take that path to the left. it’s in that courtyard. i cannot leave this spot.”

“why not?”

“what do you mean ‘why not’? i’m being punished!”

“you’ll suffer a worse punishment if you let me get lost in this maze of an institution,” hetian said. “as it is, i’m already lost. i can’t find my way back to my hall.”

for a moment, guanshan wanted to throw the bucket at him. but they were too close to each other and guanshan was crouching so if he wanted to throw it, he had to throw upwards, which meant when it dropped back down, it might hit him in its trajectory. with a growl, he got to his feet. he carefully placed the tortoise in the bucket. it was barely moving, and he wondered if it was dead already.

“i’ll lead you back to your rooms after i fetch water for my tortoise,” guanshan offered, proud of his valiance. he could use the guest as an excuse if he bumped into one of his instructors.

the young man was handsome. unlike his tribe, hetian had pale skin and a lean build. he was taller than guanshan but he didn’t look much bigger, and guanshan was supposed to be a girl. hetian had his long raven hair half-up, tied with a red cloth ribbon. his cheeks were pink from walking under the heat of the sun, and his face glistened with a thin sheen of sweat. when he smiled, his gratefulness reached his eyes. it was the first time anyone had given guanshan a genuine smile since he stepped into this school. maybe that fact, coupled with the angry rays of the sun cooking his brain and that he hadn’t slept a wink last night, caused the skip in guanshan’s heartbeat.

“my name is hetian,” the young man introduced himself as they made their way to the well. “second son of the chief of the he tribe.”

“i know who you are,” guanshan said, grimacing. “you are our esteemed guest.”

“so you knew that and yet you made me wait to have your attention,” hetian mock-scolded. “is your tortoise an esteemed guest as well, then?”

guanshan nearly smiled at the quip. “this tortoise is hundreds and hundreds of years old, it is our senior in many ways.”

hetian gave him a studying look. “i have heard that witches feel an affinity to creatures, but i imagined more glamorous animals.”

“well, even though i cannot conjure up a lick of water and i have red hair,” guanshan said, gesturing airily to his head, “i have always communicated better with aquatic animals.”

the young chief-son laughed. “what does the colour of your hair have to do with the animals you commune with?”

“red,” guanshan shrugged. “it is the colour of flames, the opposite of water.”

“much of you is the opposite,” hetian said, helping guanshan lift the bucket onto the lip of the well.

“of what?” guanshan asked as he tied a secure knot to the handle of the bucket with the rope.

at the exact same time hetian answered, “of a witch,” guanshan yelped, “wait, my tortoise!” as hetian had already begun to lower the bucket into the well.

guanshan stretched into the well to reach for the bucket, which was ridiculously thoughtless because hetian could have simply pulled the bucket up again. doubtlessly, he lost his balance, was lifted off the ground by the off-balance and started a nosedive into the well. at least his desperation to save the tortoise forced a spell that levitated the tortoise safely into his arms out of him. mid-way in his descent, he felt two arms envelope him and immediately after, they plunged into the icy water.

water was coming out of his nose, eyes and mouth when guanshan resurfaced. he coughed and sputtered and hugged the struggling tortoise tightly to his chest with one arm. when he kicked his legs, he hit hetian who was behind him.

“are you all right?” he demanded. his voice bounced off the walls of the well as he finally let go of the tortoise to spin around in the water and face his unfortunate companion.

much to guanshan’s surprise, hetian laughed. it, too, bounced off the walls of the well. it sounded like magic. guanshan could feel the tortoise swim out from between them to scrabble at the opposite wall.

“well, seducer,” hetian proclaimed in between laughter, “you better get us out of this well.”

it was dark all the way down here and guanshan could barely see the face he desperately wished to see. he wanted to see what hetian looked like when he laughed till he could not speak, wanted to see how his long dark hair must be plastered to his face like seaweed, wanted to see the look on his face to know what he meant by putting his hands on guanshan’s waist. guanshan murmured a spell and despite there being too much moisture in the air to summon a flame, a ball of fire burst into existence above their heads. guanshan could see now. hetian could see now. or at least guanshan hoped he could.

“this is inappropriate,” guanshan muttered. “i mean,” he gulped as he studied hetian’s face. “a girl and a boy, who are almost of age, alone in a tight space together… it’s… scandalous…” even as he said it, he could feel the thin material of his clothes cling to the straight lines of his body, he could feel how his chest was flat against hetian’s own.

“we’re not alone,” hetian whispered. the fire above them casted the structure of hetian’s sharp features in stark relief. “we have an esteemed guest in our midst. right behind you. trying to climb the walls.” the scratching of the tortoise’s claws against stone suddenly became louder to guanshan, who laughed in response.

hetian still believed he was a girl. that meant even though he was caught off-guard by the fall and drenched to the bone, his illusion hadn’t wavered. his disguise was more powerful than he could ever imagine, and yet he half-wished it wasn’t.

guanshan pushed away from hetian and waded to his tortoise. he held the reptile gently, whispering something to it. it soon calmed down and waded closer to guanshan’s chest.

“i don’t have magic that can get us out of here,” guanshan explained sheepishly. “but i can send my flame up and hopefully someone will pass by and see it.”

“you mean you cannot turn into a bird or something that can fly?” hetian asked.

“no,” guanshan blushed, ashamed of his lacking abilities. “i have never been successful at full transfiguration.” even his disguise as a woman was enabled by a spell of illusion, not transfiguration.

hetian didn’t say anything. and later guanshan would wonder what he did or said to trigger it, but now hetian floated over, took guanshan’s face in his hands and kissed him deeply. it took the person outside the well above them three tries to get their attention. when they were finally lifted out of the well by levitation spells casted by two separate instructors, hetian was immediately herded away to dry off in his rooms, and guanshan was ordered to return to the students’ quarters and stay there for the rest of the day without food.

with the hefty tortoise resting on his chest, and his clothes drying off by his trusty fire-light, guanshan lay on his bed and replayed the kiss over and over again in his mind.

#19 days #tianshan #mo guanshan #hetian #fic #tianshan fic

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emiisanxious · 4 years ago

Text

A Weird Kidnap - Chapter 2

Archive of Our Own Link

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category: Gen

Fandom: Sanders Sides (Web Series)

Characters:

Anxiety | Virgil Sanders

Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders

Deceit | Janus Sanders

Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders

Morality | Patton Sanders

Logic | Logan Sanders

Thomas Sanders (Video Blogging RPF)

Additional Tags:

Angst

Past Abuse

Alternate Universe - Medieval

Swearing

Sympathetic Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders

Sympathetic Deceit | Janus Sanders

Kidnapping

but for a good reason

Cursed Character

Panic Attacks

Comfort/Angst

Please read chapter 3 notes for this mentions:

Eating Disorders

Slavery

Implied/Referenced Torture

Blood

Degradation

Taggin as the chapters goes...

Summary: “…”

Note: Thanks to both comments from Tired_Writer and What_am_I_doing_rn, I got motivated enough to write a few chapters of this. I'm not sure if it will be good or not, but here we are.

A few things to mention that are important: I jumped the travel time, mostly because I found it would be boring? And I didn't include Remus, Virgil, and Janus's appearance. Which kinda upset me a little so! Here they are. Also since I'm doing this I will just sum up Roman, Patton, and Logan as well.

- Janus has red hair and amber eyes, his skin tone is golden. - Remus has black hair with a stripe of white, he asked for Janus to make it permanent. Nope, don't exist dye hair, but it does exist magic hair. His eyes are brown and his skin is almond, his skin tone is darker than Roman's. - Virgil is albino, based on a colleague I met in high school, his skin is white-pale, he has white hair with a bit of purple in light and purple eyes. - Roman has brown hair and eyes, his skin is bronze, he is lighter than Remus. Because he cares a bit more than his brother. - Patton's skin is caramel, he has blonde hair and blue eyes, he does have freckles on his face. - Logan is saddle brown, has navy [dark blue] hair, and black eyes.

The skin colors won't be referred to too much as I'm bad with that, but it is somewhat important to me. Also because I'm not sure if the colors are right, because I got it from a site xD.

Welp, this got long sorry. But enjoy the chapter!

TW: Cursed character and a small panic attack

The travel was not a good one, Virgil was restless, for more than Janus was trying to convince the ex-Prince that it was everything fine and he didn't need to worry about punishment or something it was obvious he was way too conditioned to understand that. In the middle of the travel, Remus had got a horse to himself.

It was finally near Roman and Remus realm, more two days and they could rest in a bed and relax finally. The oldest was clearly upset about the travel.

"Come on, we passed by it like 50 times already. Can you eat?" It was always a fight, a struggle to make Virgil eat anything and for once Janus wasn't feeling that up to find an excuse.

He shook his head in a no. Lately, he wasn't feeling that well to talk, with so many thoughts passing on his mind he was barely able to keep himself in his surroundings. Something was odd and that probably got Remus's attention.

"Vee, look at me." Remus says in concern as the albino does so. "I'm going to touch you okay?" A nod and the mercenary was cupping Virgil's cheeks, he looked more worried now. "Dee, we have a big problem." He finally says as he pulls the mute one to lay down closer to the campfire.

"Hm?" Janus lost his previous demeanor as he looks at Remus.

"I think he is sick." The kidnaper said as he keeps his eyes on the ex-Prince who was now shivering slightly that he is closer to the campfire. "The shivering and the lack of hungry isn't him been... Well himself."

"I could use magic?" Deceit tried to get closer to Virgil who just flinched and pulled away.

"Yeah... You could. Vee?" Remus tried but the sick man was already shocking his head in no. "Potion?" He shook his head far harder in no, as he gets dizzy and falling back on the ground. "Shit." The mercenary cursed.

Janus sighs as he looks at them. "It's two days and one night, till we are at your realm. Vee, do you think you can travel?" A nod, although Remus was looking concerned over Janus, the latest one kept talking. "Right, we will try to travel as quickly as possible, now. So we won't stop that often I recommend you to sleep as much as possible today okay?" Another nod as Virgil just lays down to sleep.

When they knew that he was sleeping Janus sighed. "They fucked up so much..."

"They did. Can't you just do it while he is sleeping?" Remus tried as he looks at how shivering Virgil was.

The mage rolled his eyes to him. "Can and want to are two different things. He barely trusts us, if I do that, I bet he won't trust me anymore. And I don't think that is what we should do. I want him to trust us, to know that he is safe and will be taken care of as a prince should. To regain or learn, what a Prince should be. If I do something against his will, I will lose any chance of it."

The youngest was pouting, but he understood what Janus wanted and he does think that was probably for the best. "So the idea is to travel without stopping for lunch?"

"Yes and late-night dinner. We need to shorten the two days." Deceit says as he looks at Virgil. "I wanted to make it more comfortable for him..."

"When we get there I will talk with Father. Not that I want to be a Prince again, but I can't let Virgil stay there alone with my brother." Remus sighs at that, he truly wasn't up to have his title back.

"Yeah... Me neither. Not that Roman is bad, but I have a feeling that we should stay around him, at least till he finds someone else to trust." Janus smiles gently. "Now let's sleep, tomorrow will be a long day."

"Right..." Remus was still not sure about Virgil's well-being, but they could only hurry.

The next two days went worse than they expected. Virgil wasn't eating anything, he wasn't speaking, and honestly, he was threatened to drink water. But they were finally able to get into the realm, going directly to the castle. Remus went ahead, to get everything ready as Janus and Virgil went more slowly since the ex-Prince got worse and was nearly throwing up.

Where he was greeted with a few servants, and Roman on his all glory. A long white and red cape and as well a small golden with rubies crown on his head.

"Oh, you were finally here! I thought you failed and died." The younger twin prince says as he looks at his brother.

Remus was filled with disgust, not because he didn't care about his brother or didn't like him. He just had way too urgent things to think about right now. "Yeah yeah, like I would. But now it's not the time for this. I need a meeting with you and Father, now." The servants brought the cape and crow for him, he dismissed the crow but took the cape that different from his brother it was black and green, as he fixes it on his back.

"What is so urgent to?" Roman asked but soon he could see Virgil and Janus passing the gates when the horse stopped, the mage was helping the ex-Prince to get out of the animal and holding him closer. "Oh..." Roman was in shock as he turns his eyes to his brother.

"Yeah. That is the urgency. Listen to me!" Remus said as he calls the servant's attention. "Until my Father says something, I want defensive measures. So call the guards! Also, the castle has a special guest now, if the guest needs something you all will provide it. You all will make sure he is comfortable around the castle. Do you got it?!"

"YES!" It was loud enough as the servants started to walk.

"You." Remus pointed to a woman. "I need you to find Logan and Patton. I need both in my bedroom. As quickly as possible." The woman bowed and was soon to do what was ordered. "Now brother of mine. Can you say for Father that I need to talk with him and you? I will catch you soon, I just need to help Janus to bring Virgil to my room."

Roman was a bit confused but as the younger twin, he thought for a second. "Fine. But you better explain all this."

"No worries, I will." The older twin uses his elbow to jab the side of his younger twin. Bring a smile at both of them. "I'm back." Roman smirks but soon was leaving as well.

Janus who was quiet was holding the oldest, one of Virgil's arm over his shoulder. For more, the ex-Prince wasn't heavy or tall he just didn't want to drag him like that. Remus was quickly at his side, pulling the albino on his arm in bridal style, starting to walk towards his room. The mage went ahead clearing the way and obvious opening the door.

Soon they arrived at their destination, Remus placed Virgil gently on the bed. The older was having a hard time breathing and from how shivering the other was, he could see the fever went higher in the travel. Janus was quick to pick up blankets to throw over the other.

"I need to go." Remus said as he looks the mage.

"Yeah, I know." Deceit didn't like it, but sure Remus had a lot of explanation to give his twin and father.

The twin prince was out, letting Janus sitting on the bed looking at Virgil, a small wet cloth over his forehead. Watching the older open his eyes. "Hey there..." He tried to sound calm.

Virgil was startled and scared as he tries to sit on the bed, but his body denied moving that quick and he whined. His breath starting to uneven and he was shivering not only by the fever but as well because of his panic.

"Hey, calm down. Deep breathes okay?" A nod, as the ex-prince tries to follow Janus's exaggerated breathes. "Right... We are at Remus's room, he went to talk with his father and brother. We also called Logan and Patton. Logan is the medic who takes care of the Princes and King, and Patton is the alchemist."

He wasn't sure at all what Virgil was thinking but he could see the terror and horror in his eyes. "I won't leave you alone okay? I won't let them do anything bad to you." A small nod as the ex-Prince tries to relax again, he was still not sure if he should be on the Prince's bed or not. But it was so... Comfortable that for once, his mind was foggy, the thoughts disappearing and he could just... Rest.

When he woke up again he could see two men, both using glasses. The first one to talk was around 1.60m with 24 years old, he had a baby blue shirt and white pants, he also had a baby blue cape with white patterns to match, blonde hair and baby blue eyes it really did him appear so calm and serene. "That is not good. Probably is his body not accepting so much food."

The other one was high than any of them in the room with his 1.84m and as well older with his 35 years old. He had navy pants and a black shirt, but he was using a white overcoat, his hair was a dark shade of blue and he had black eyes. "I will need to do exams but Patton is pretty right. The dry food normally is done for healthy people who can digest it, if he didn't have that much food his body is probably causing all this indisposition."

Janus probably had time to change because now he was using black pants and a shirt, his cape was black with yellow patterns, he also could notice red hair and amber eyes somewhat finding that it fit his clothes. "Yeah... But you probably will find another difficult..." He looked back at Virgil who wasn't on the bed.

The blankets were been pulled under the bed when they turned around, the mage let a small sigh as he turns his eyes for both men again. "Please stand still okay?" They both nodded and then Deceit was already under the bed, meeting with a cacoon of blankets. "Vee? It's me. Deceit."

Soon the ex-Prince was moving a bit to just look at Janus's golden eyes, he found it more attractive with the low light. "It's okay. It's just Logan and Patton, remember what I told you?" It broke his heart to see how scared Virgil seemed, but he got a nod anyway. "Can you get up back to bed?" A shake of his head in a no. "Is it because you think you don't deserve it?" A nod from the mute man, as the mage sighs slightly. "How about it, if you get out of here. I will let you sit on the bed? Since you comply with what I asked."

Virgil thought about it as he nods, and with that, they were both out of there, sitting on the bed, Janus was glad to see that he was able to convince the other, pretty easy. "Right, Vee. The taller one is Logan, and the smallest one is Patton." He points to them. "Logan, Patton, this is Virgil. I will drop the titles from us because this is a friendly meeting okay?."

They all nodded.

"Virgil?" Janus brought attention to him. "Are you okay with me talking for you?" A nod, although the ex-Prince wasn't sure at all what he was agreeing with. "If I'm wrong please tap my hand okay?" Another nod as Janus got near him and held his hand. "Now, Logan and Patton, you can sit down on the bed. But try keeping the distance okay?"

They both set on the other end of the bed as they are still unsure about it. But it was Logan who broke the ice. "You said we would find another difficult?"

The mage took a deep breath as he speaks again. "From where I start... His father messed up a lot. I mean every word. He told Virgil that a Prince was the King's slave and he was treated like one. All the travel I had to do bargains, like if you answer a set of questions truthfully I would give him food. Or if he went to do something like picking up small dry branches to do the campfire I would let him travel in the horse with me. Otherwise, he won't accept it."

Logan and Patton frown at that but was Patton who vocalized. "That is... Way too messed up." The alchemist gasped at that as he was trying to hold the tears, he felt bad now that he knows it.

Logan still had questions. "Why he isn't talking? And why can't you just cast a healing spell to heal him?"

"He fell silently 3 or 4 days ago. I'm not sure why. And... He won't let me. He also won't let me use any potions." Janus rolls his eyes at that. "And since he isn't talking I don't know why as well."

Both looked at each other a bit puzzled. But was the alchemist to ask. "Virgil? Did you have a bad reaction to spells and potions?"

The one in question stayed still, squeezing Deceit's hand. Where the Mage tilted his head in confusion. "Vee, we need you to talk... I promise you I won't let them do anything bad to you. They are just trying to help you."

Virgil was biting his lips looking down on the blankets. "I... Feel pain..." He coughs as his voice is hoarse and broken from not using.

The three frown at that. The medic was the first one to ask. "You feel pain with healing potions and healing magic?" He was met with a nod.

"Maybe a curse?" The alchemist says as he looks at the mage.

"That is possible." Janus says frowning more. "But if it's true, then we can't do anything right now. To break a curse we need to know what is the curse and how it works."

"Do you... Have some... thing to write?" Virgil's voice was way too broken right now, and it was barely a whisper. Janus looks around the room, pointing to a table, where the ex-Prince tried to get up and go there, but before he was able to stand to leave the bed he was soon falling on the ground.

The mage didn't like it, but he helped the albino goes to the table, Logan and Patton went behind them. Where the second-oldest picked up a scroll and feather that was laying on the table and starting to draw something.

Soon the three were surprised, obviously, Virgil was swinging slightly by the fact he is still with a fever and sick. But he was trying to keep his hand steady as he draws the enchantment. When he was done, he was falling to one side, where Logan was quick to pick him up. The ex-Prince shivered but couldn't resist long as he passes out, the medic then put him on the bed again pulling the blankets over.

When he was back to the table and over the scroll, the three were silent for a few minutes.

"Okay, I rarely say anything bad... But oh fuck, his father is just... That is not something you should do with your son!" Patton was shaking in horror.

"We can't break it." Janus was studying the scroll as he sighs. "Not careless at least. If we do it wrong he will die, even if we do it right he can die! What the fuck!"

"You two, lower your tone." Logan said as calmly as possible. "At least it's half of the work. We can study it with time, for now, we should try to focus on how we can help him get healed."

"Right..." They both said.

"Oh, I will do some soup and bring some water. I promise I will be the one doing the soup." Patton said looking at Janus who nods and then leaves.

"I need to bring this to Remus... He is better in curses than we." Deceit says rolling his eyes. "Maybe he can find a way to break?"

"I don't think is a good idea to let me alone with him. He might wake up scared." Logan points out.

"True..."

"But I can go. The King, Remus, and Roman won't mind if I disturb them."

"Would you?" He gives the scroll to him.

"Of course!" With that Logan picks the scroll. "I promise I won't give this to anyone else other than Remus." Janus nods as he watches the medic goes out of the room, soon he was back at the bed sitting at Virgil's side. "Oh, dear Prince... What they did to you?" Gently the mage moves the white with a tint of purple hair from the other's closed eyes. "You're so exotic, so beautiful and yet someone messed you up so much... I can only hope. I can only wish that someday... Someday you will be fine. Stronger and confident. I wish that someday, your purple and beautiful eyes will shining not with fear, but with pure happiness. Oh, Virgil. How I wished I could heal you... And help you."

Deceit was sad, he never thought he could get attached to someone so... Quickly. But the few days they were traveling he learned so much, the little that Virgil did talk, he was sweet, he was gentle, he tried his best to help. It was so... Innocent. He got himself wondering how he could protect the Ex-Prince, he noticed so many things in those two months. That now he could only wish the best for the other and try to figure out what is those feelings.

#Virgil Sanders #Logan Sanders #Roman Sanders #Patton Sanders #Remus Sanders #Janus Sanders #C!Thomas Sanders #fanfic

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aurora-daily · 5 years ago

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A free bird

Interview: AURORA for Dagbladet Magazine (June 25th, 2019). Translated by fromthespaceamundo.

Anyone who loves Aurora Aksnes (23) will always come in second place.

THE FREEDOM OF FREEDOM: As a child, the record-breaking Aurora Aksnes (23) felt differently from other children. As an adult, she experiences the differentness as her greatest strength.

«It's art that keeps me up. And hunger. It's an eternal hunger.» says Aurora Aksnes.

From a red velvet sofa in a secluded corner of the Hotel Bristol, the pop artist has an overview of the buzzing room. Her third album A Different Kind of Human (Step 2) came on June 7, which got a 5 stars rating on Dagbladet and by Aftenposten was characterized as Aurora's most complete release so far. After the tour in South America, she is ready for festival summer and Norwegian tour. On June 28, she played at the Glastonbury Festival for her warriors & weirdos, the nickname she has given to her fans.

Since her artistic debut in 2014 and international breakthrough with a cover version of the Oasis song «Half the World Away», the 23-year-old has marked herself with self-written pop and distinctive talent for creating her own universe. She is acclaimed by artists like Katy Perry and has 570,000 followers on Instagram. The music press often portrays her as a kind of eccentric child, which is supported by the fact that Aurora appears barefoot in TV interviews, and privately has a fascination for moths and algae balls.

But she does not drink more than one beer, the concentration and strength of her blue gaze in combination with a low-pitched, clear voice, is more striking than her narrow sense of interest. Ever since she, as a 9-year-old, discovered the magic sounds that could be created with an old electronic keyboard she found on her parents' attic, Aurora has known the meaning of life:

«I could sacrifice all contact with others if I had to. I could sacrifice everything. I don't need anything else but to make music. Then I understand why I'm here.»

Aurora's lyrical universe is a lot about exclusion, but even though she writes about everything, from loneliness to suicide, outsiders are made into insiders in her songs, while the insiders appear as outsiders. On the title song, «A Different Kind of Human», she sings:

«We have come here for you, and we're coming in peace Mothership will take you higher, higher»

Is your own mothership hungry?

«In a way. Because hunger takes me where I am going to be.»

A different kind of human, what is that?

«Many people think that it is me because I have often felt different, but the lyrics have nothing to do with that. I ask people to make a choice and remind them that they can choose to be a different kind of human. If everybody had chosen it, the world would be a good place to live in.»

Have you chosen it yourself?

«Long ago.» Aurora responds calmly.

When did you choose it?

«When I realized I had a choice. I was a smart kid, so I noticed quickly that I am in place with people similar to me, but different. I had other dreams, interests and questions compared to the other kids. I remember thinking, ‘I don't belong here.’ At that time it felt negative, but I made a choice not to suppress it. I quickly removed the need to be understood and found the peace of mind that being alone is okay.»

At home, in the small town of Drange in the municipality of Os, the parents gave the youngest daughter room to be herself. Older sisters Miranda (32) and Viktoria Aksnes (29) were for some time afraid that the individualistic little sister, who used cut socks as arm warmers and make her own outfits, would be bullied. The problem was rather that the friends wanted more time with Aurora than she managed to give. After school, she was often out in the woods until her parents called her home for dinner with a bell.

«Mom and dad helped me be free. I was introverted as a kid, I was not so interested in people. I could sit alone for hours and thought it was great. I often chose to be alone rather than being with friends.»

When the family was to adopt a kitten from the Animal Protection Agency, Aurora had to choose. High up on a refrigerator, meowing alone, lay an old, a big and gray cat.

«I remember the first day of school. The kittens were like the other kids in the schoolyard with a lot of noise and nonsense. I recognized myself in Tulla.»

For the rest of her cat life, Tulla went to school bus stop daily to wait for Aurora and follow her through the forest towards home. It seemed that cats knew when she would show up, even though the schedule varied. Tulla never missed the moment.

«She didn't really like to be a tamed cat, but we had a strong connection.»

WAR OF WOMEN: Aurora Aksnes will give her fans, all the «warriors & weirdos», strength and acceptance to be themselves. Photo: Agnete Brun.

CURRENTLY:

• Known under the artist name AURORA. • Newcomer of the year during the Spellemann Prize of 2015. Won the Spellemann Prize of 2016 in the best pop soloist category and also took the prize for best music video. • Currently with the album «A Different Kind of Human (Step 2)». Sings on the Frozen 2 trailer. The film will premiere this fall.

One morning the Easter Bunny glowed from the couch in the living room, the next day it had found its way to the top of the roof. But when the rabbit joined Aurora Aksnes to the school and she entertained her classmates with colorful stories, a sudden sense of concern emerged in the classroom.

«The teachers thought I didn't understand the difference between reality and imagination,» recalls Aurora.

«They were worried about me. Then mom said, ’No, that's how she should be. And it's going to be her strength.’» The sense of alienation was lifted by her.

«It was very defining. It was the first time anyone was really up to me. I stood up for myself a lot, I never asked for help either. But at that time my mother stood up for me, and I have never forgotten that.»

To date, her mother's words work like a compass. Aurora stretches her flimsy arms out in front of her and slightly twists her wrists. Her glance glides at a beautiful, solid chandelier before returning.

«I knew there was a reason why I should cultivate a friendship with myself. I was going to need it. It is important that anyone who feels out of place gets a chance to see what understanding is for them in the world.»

She is most frightened to find that people do not understand what she means. She often meets a lack of understanding in depth. For Aurora, whose name means «the goddess of dawn», sunset and sunrise are not only a «a nice thing.» They are nature's short-lived works of art. Beautiful, but perishable, they give her both intense joy and sorrow.

«I think it is scary to perhaps never be fully understood. But maybe there is no real insider. Everyone experiences being an outsider, some just more than others. Acceptance is important in my world. And music... music is a healing instrument.»

CHILD PICTURE: A young Aurora Aksnes. Photo: Private.

NEWBORN: Dad Jan Øystein Aksnes with baby Aurora. Photo: Private.

REMEMBER THE TIME: Mom May Britt Aksnes works as a midwife and has encouraged her daughters to choose what feels right for themselves, rather than listening to others. Aurora herself feels like an alternative health worker: «Music is a healing instrument.» Photo: Private.

Ideally, she would have started rolling over the vacant floor space of the Bristol Library Bar, or asked someone to lift her up to be able to touch the crystals of the huge chandelier, but such impulses Aurora has learned to suppress. Guests are not allowed to put their feet on the tables.

«I have learned that the impulses can be unpleasant for people, but I have also learned when to give in to them. They can escalate if I feel insecure, but if it happens I consciously use them when there is something I do not want to talk about, or when I want to divert.»

FESTIVAL: A graduation-dressed mom May Britt, sisters Miranda, Aurora and Viktoria, as well as dad Jan Øystein Aksnes. Photo: Private.

This is how the 23-year-old makes twice as old music professionals listen. However, the leap from a natural western upbringing to the demands of an international artist was the toughest part. The NRK documentary Once Aurora (2018) reveals how Aurora has previously felt pressured to release music she does not care for and struggles to find the balance between closeness and distance to fans. She was discovered by chance when a friend posted a school video of a singing Aurora on Facebook.

«I never really wanted to become an artist. It just happened. There was a lot of pressure, a lot of sounds, a lot of work and a too much people for someone like me, who really likes the opposite. Then it helps if I have a meaning greater than myself, to see that I can help others. Making good music gives me a very special feeling. I get a sense of security in myself. I know why I'm here, what to fill the time with, and I have something to run after all the time. Something to look for that is inside me.»

Aurora puts a narrow hand on her chest and pauses a little before she continues with diligence:

«It is absolutely magical to have such a meaning in life. I never get completely unhappy when I have it. Suddenly I have people who listen, and I have a meaning in my lyrics, in who I am on stage, in that I suddenly want to write political stuff, not only emotional stuff.»

Aurora's message is: Help yourself before helping others. Stand on your own power. Be yourself.

«I learned this the hard way in a period when I was having a hard time. I struggled with panic anxiety when I was like 18-19 years old and saw how little functional I was, how little I was able to create, how little I could help others.»

The fact that she comes from a family where mental illness appears in several parts of the father's family, while artistic talent exists on both sides of the family, Aurora regards it as a strength. Her sister, Viktoria Aksnes, was diagnosed with bipolarity type 2 in the summer of 2016, and describes Aurora as one of the strongest people she knows and a great supporter.

«I learned early to be strong for others. And then I've learned a lot from my own journey in the world. I have traveled alone since I was 16. I have known grief and need, and the importance of being true to yourself,» says Aurora.

How did you get on your feet when you had panic anxiety?

«By giving myself time, not putting pressure on myself. Being kind to myself, I made sure I got what I needed to work on. You can't do anything for others until you are your perfect self. And this is not when you have many shadows.»

What were your shadows?

«They have been different things. But the biggest shadow was probably the shadow of my own success in 2016, which I didn't understand and didn't quite accept. I felt trapped in the reality that this is now a job. You're not your own secret anymore, you have to share yourself with the world, and that's the way it is.»

She stretches her arms, which are slightly clad in a cropped top under a mesh top that matches the tulle skirt over green harem pants. Aurora has mastered the art of looking simple and intricate at the same time. All her styling is done in collaboration with her older sisters: Miranda Aksnes — who she lives with in Bergen and who is often on tour with her — takes care of her makeup, while designer-educated Viktoria sews the stage attire.

«I'm stubborn and always making my own things. Magazines will often try to style me, but then I just say that I want what I like. I don't like people touching my face, only Miranda is allowed to. I do my hair myself, I do not like when people touch my hair either.»

What happens then?

«I can get really hot and then I get angry. I don't like being caught on that much. Hugging is hard. I need freedom and space. But I love people holding my hands, or taking my arm.»

Was that why you studied sign language as an elective?

Aurora, who dreamed of being a researcher in molecular biology, but dropped out from high school to spend full time on making music after the second grade, bursts into a vibrant laugh.

«Yes. I also liked the sign language because I stuttered a little. When I'm excited and girded, I still stutter, but the worst was when I had German, which is a choppy language.»

The stuttering started when Joop, a Dutch family friend and Aurora's confidant, died on Christmas Eve. During the Christmas service, the Aksnes family found out that he had died, and the funeral was held in the Christmas room. 11-year-old Aurora felt both her own sadness and the sadness of everyone around. It became so overwhelming and intense that she threw up afterwards.

«It was when I learned that funerals are not for me. It was absolutely awful Singing is easier than sitting on the benches and feeling your own and everyone else's pain. No, I do not like funerals, I get nothing out of them. Especially if the dead are young.»

They are many. When Aurora went to junior high school, her sister Viktoria lost a close friend. He was a 18 years old and died in bed by an undetected heart defect. At high school, Aurora's friend from the sign language class died in a traffic accident.

«I sang at my friend's funeral. She was kind, it was heavy.»

There was someone who committed suicide too?

«Yes, a friend of ours from Os. He was good, very good. And then I had one tho whom I was very close who died in Utøya. A boy I was in love with. He was lovely.»

Was he your boyfriend?

«We probably were, even though I was very young back then. I was 15 when he passed away. He was 17.»

The buzz in the room is increasing, but in Aurora's corner it is quiet. Suddenly she says:

«Eight days after someone I had been fond of passed away, I felt a presence. On every eight day it is if they were still here, and then no more. That's why track eight is always the title track on my albums. There is something magical about the number eight.»

You said you'd like to release eight albums?

«Yes. Even numbers are special to me: Eight is sad, eleven gives me more hope. My first album came out on the 11th. I can only have eleven songs on the album. And then track number eight is the most important one, always. I can't explain why, it's just like that and must be that way. You can find out a lot about me if you know that I love even numbers.»

She is also a warrior of love. Songs like «Queendom» have caused the LGBT community to embrace her music. The love society, Aurora calls it, who is open about her relationship with both men and women. The freedom to not define sexuality she feels is greater in her generation than among the elderly.

«I am very proud of that, because we put a label on everything. I think it is so lovely that we let love be love. Sometimes you need labels because you belong to a place, but I don't need it myself. I just feel that I am one of the many endorsers of love.»

Have you always known that you could fall for women?

«No, but I noticed that I could be captivated by them. Falling for a woman is different than falling in love with a man. A kind of mutual admiration. Something more intellectual.»

A sort of recognition?

«Yes, some kind of strength and admiration. I want to learn something from the women I fall for. With men it is perhaps a little more sexual. It is interesting to note that there is a difference.»

AURORA AKSNES

• Born: June 15, 1996. • Family: Mother, father and two sisters. I don't want to say I'm single, but I don't have a boyfriend. I'm in love. • Best feature: Independence. • Worst feature: I can be stubborn. But the best and the worst is that I am very emotional. • Reads: Only fantasy. • Listens to: Enya and heavy metal. I often fall asleep to heavy metal. It's heavy and delicious to listen to. • Watching: Ghibli films, from Japan. Spirited Away. If I need to cry, I watch The Grave of the Fireflies. It's sad. • Being provoked by: Injustice. • Admires: People's ability to cope with the invisible obstacles. • Afraid of: Dying before I have made eight albums. I'm very afraid of that, because I have to do that. • Dream destination: Moon. • To do in ten years: Maybe album number eight.

«I sang at my friend's funeral. It was heavy.»

- Aurora Aksnes (23), artist.

How are those you fall for? Do they also have algae in the fridge?

Aurora laughs at the hint of the algae ball Igor Septimus, who recently passed away in a glass of water because she had forgotten to place him in the cool and the apartment became too hot and dry for five weeks of absence.

«No, but there are often people who are free too. I like strong, stubborn ladies. I love the world to have such ladies, and I treat myself to have such a lady in my life. It is an extra spiritual thing with women that creates curiosity.

That you are hungry and can do without anything other than art? How are you at loving others?

«I think I'm hard to love. It must be difficult learning to be loved a little less than to be hungry. You always come in second place.»

Are you honest about this with those you have been with?

«I have been.»

How have they taken it?

«I haven't had so many lovers in my life so far. I love a lot and can fall fast. But then it fades over quickly because nothing can match what I feel when I make music.»

Aurora is looking for the words that can describe the indescribable.

«It is the closest thing I have to anything divine, I think. I can only find a lover who understands it. One who has passion. One who also knows what it means to create something. One with the same hunger. That can be the weird art of appreciating oneself. And they must know that music is under number one. Everything else comes afterwards. Even if I had children.»

Then the children would be...

«...number two. I know that. I have a lot of love in me, and I think I could be a good mother. I want a child who can inherit the house at Drange, which my father has built, and we, the daughters, will surely take over. That's what I'm thinking of. I don't know if that is good enough reason», she comments.

«But I had probably struggled with the conscience because I haven't managed to take a break from the studio during the whole day. It's a nice feeling that I want to give my mom and dad a grandchild, but for the time being I have no room for anything but music.»

To keep control, Aurora has learned to play various instruments and started producing her own music. The toughest thing she has had to realize is that she can not totally reproduce her own visions.

«I hear sounds that do not exist yet. So it is not entirely possible to reproduce what I have inside me, and I have accepted that. But I'm going to work a whole life to make it happen.»

FUTURE DREAM: «I dream of buying and living on my own island in Hordaland. There I will have cats, chickens and wild sheep and make music.» says Aurora. Photo: Agnete Bun.

«Falling for a woman is different than falling in love with a man.» «I'm hard to love. You always come in second place»

- Aurora Aksnes

Translator's Note: special credits for agenahadar from the Warriors and Weirdos forum for sharing the original article in Norwegian language.

#aurora #aurora aksnes #interviews #step 2

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lachanterelle-endicott · 5 years ago

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Contained Chaos

It was a night that I will never forget at La Chanterelle. It was one filled with an aroma of French cuisine, flying food, and hot plates. For three and a half hours La Chanterelle was a world filled with organized chaos, but every time someone stepped through the left door to exit the kitchen and serve while returning through the right door into the kitchen, another guest was made happy. Many people think that a great restaurant is successful because of its order and decadent food; however, La Chanterelle is proof that chaos and teachable moments are what makes a great restaurant.

It was a brisk night in the middle of March and the class had just shifted from two options for each course to three. This meant that dishes would have to be washed and reused twice instead of once, students would have to create three different entrees, and dessert would need to be prepared by the time the entrees were sent out. 60 people were coming, and timing was everything.

5:00 p.m. - It is an hour before I have to go across the street to La Chanterelle. Half of my classmates have already been at the restaurant setting up for the night: baking bread, chopping vegetables, and setting up each dish to be cooked for when we were to arrive. I put on my white chef coat, black and white checkered pants, white chef hat, and tied my blue chef’s tie around my neck. I was ready. My stomach was in knots because I knew tonight would be different. It was the first night with three choices for each appetizer, entree, and dessert. No matter what position I was assigned, tonight would be a whirlwind. We had been practicing for four weeks without customers, and then two weeks with customers and two options for each course. We have always been able to ask our professors questions, but tonight we had six weeks of practice under our belt so it was time to start becoming more independent.

6:00 p.m. - When I walked up the unloading dock and into the back of the kitchen, I was greeted by 20 classmates. I made sure to go upstairs and drop off my books in the locker room. We all stood upstairs looking at each other and mentally prepared for the night. We made sure to go over which departments of the kitchen each group was going to be responsible for, and we went downstairs.

6:15 p.m. - The first half of students that worked prep, met with us and presented us with their aprons and towels that we wrapped around our waists. Chef Cronin and Chef Rebecca came to the kitchen and discussed what would be prepared tonight, how many people were coming (usually between 50 and 60 people), and what was left to be done before the first orders started to come in. The last question was “who is going to expedite the orders?” The expeditor works with the front of the house servers by making sure they get the correct dish and everything is on time. They are the mediator between the front and the back of the house. Everyone was very quiet, but I eventually raised my hand. I knew I was up for the challenge. I would make sure at most each server had four plates to carry, and they were in the correct positioning for synchronized service.

6:30 p.m. - I took the checklist of everything that needed to be done, and made sure that the first dishes were ready to go - the amuse bouche (a small cracker served with hummus). I communicated with the front of the house teaching assistant, Kayla, and another student from the service class about the 60 patrons coming, and how to make sure each count of plates was the same with the others. The plates would need to be washed in between service cycles, but we had to be proactive and make sure our numbers lined up. Kayla taught me how to document the orders coming in on each electronic ticket, and how to relay that information to my culinary classmates. I made sure before the first ticket came in, to go around and make sure all the culinary students were ready and excited like I was. Chef Cronin pulled me aside and reminded me that this is a learning process, and communication is our best tool. I do not remember his exact words, but I remember his expression on his face - he gave me a cheerful smile and high five. He had confidence in me, and I was ready to make this the best night yet. Soon, the first ticket came in, and it was show time.

6:45-7:15 p.m. - I had tickets coming in within seconds of each other, and I needed to make sure I was getting the right count of appetizers, entrees, and desserts for my culinary classmates to prepare. It was overwhelming at first, because I did not want to have excess food, or a shortage. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking and my eyes couldn’t focus on the paper. I was standing right in the front of the kitchen at the divider between the front and back of the house. The pass acted as a gateway where I crossed off tickets from my spreadsheet and placed plates down for servers to pick up. Once I received a ticket, I would contact the corresponding person working on that dish and update them that I would need their finished product soon. I quickly picked it up, and created my own system. It would take a few tickets to gain my confidence in asking my classmates for food, but soon I didn’t have to say anything - the food would just appear. I would take each ticket that came in, match it to the table, and tally how many of each dish people wanted. I had to make sure people knew the special requests made from guests such as allergies and vegetarian options. I would then tell the leader of each section the updated numbers, and once tickets were fired (sent through the electronic system to me), I would send out the meals. Soon, I realized my hands were steady and my head was completely focused.

7:30-8:15 p.m. - The next section of the night was the entrees. Appetizers went out easily because many people ordered salad and escargots, so the soup number was low. Guests could choose between fish, pork, and chicken as their entree. I had about 20 in each category, and I told my classmates to start plating. With 20 of us in the kitchen, my classmates were separated into groups of three or four, each with a specific task focused on one of the appetizers, entrees, and desserts. They worked hand in hand to make each plate unique and perfect in flavor and presentation. I could hear them behind me asking what the updated plate count was, and handing me their hot plates saying which table they were going to. Everyone was sweating.

These next 45 minutes went extremely fast and it was filled with crossing off tickets of tables that had gotten their food, while also making sure the special orders were taken care of. The Dean of Hospitality Management came for dinner that night, and he needed vegetarian options for him and his family, so we had to prepare his own dinner. This mounted some added pressure because we had to prepare a dish that was not on our menu. Chef Cronin helped take the reins and made sure to tell me that once this dish was in the pass, it should go out immediately. Entrees were tricky because the plates were usually extra hot due to sitting at the pass, so I had to make sure that service students knew and could put a towel down on their arms for protection. Once the last dish was put up at the pass and taken into the dining room, we only had one more course before the night would be over. Chef Cronin checked on me towards the end of entrees, and he told me that he thought things were running very smoothly. Chef Rebecca came up right behind him and asked for the dessert numbers so the students could start plating.

8:30-9:00 p.m. - Expediting the dessert went very smoothly because the students quickly had them plated, so they just had to bring them to me when tickets were fired. The Dean sometimes asks for a tasting of each dessert, so we made him his own platter to serve. Another person was celebrating their birthday that night and I decorated a plate in cursive saying “Happy Birthday.” After dessert, checks are printed and it is my job to pass out the final bite of the night - mignardises. Tonight, it was chocolate truffles. Chef Rebecca asked me how I was feeling after the night, and I told her that I would sleep well. A huge weight was lifted off my shoulders, and I felt accomplished. She told me that being an expeditor is one of the most important jobs in the kitchen because they are the communication between the servers and the chefs. She expressed that the class worked extremely well together and that I helped make it run smoothly. “Maybe this could be part of your future,” she said.

9:00-9:30 p.m. - After my job as expeditor was finished for the night and the last guest received their check, I helped clean the kitchen with my peers, and after, we all stood around the table and debriefed the night. They asked me specifically how expediting felt, and I told them that it was hectic at first, but by calming down and taking it one ticket at a time, the night flew by with fun. I also said that I couldn’t have done it without my classmates. Their seamless execution of each dish was impeccable and made my job very easy. We were told by our professors this was one of the first nights that everything ran so smoothly, and we were free to go. We each returned our aprons, and took some of the extra food leftover from the night.

I walked out of La Chanterelle that night feeling extremely accomplished. I also had a newfound respect for people working in restaurants. It takes a lot of communication and focus to make sure each guest receives the right plate of food. I am honored I got the opportunity, and I look forward to what the future holds. While that night at La Chanterelle was filled with chaos, it was also filled with teaching. Every time my professors or classmates came up to me to ask a question or check up on me, I learned more and more about teamwork. No longer will I go into a restaurant thinking the food makes it successful. No. The people make it successful.

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itsbuckysworld · 5 years ago

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HELLO SPRING DAY 9

Pairing: Bucky x reader basically. Category: College-ish!AU Warnings: SO FLUFFY! Word Count: 1.6K Guest Appearance: Steve, mentions of Sam, a lot of made up names.

Summary: Bucky will never forget his first kiss and his first crush. Specially not now.

Day 9: First Kiss/ Last Kiss , for my Spring Short Story Writing Event

His hands are sweaty, he’s ran them over his jeans what feels over a hundred times by now. He’d told Steve time and time again that they should have stayed home playing Doom, he even promised he’d tell Steve how he always beat him at Mario if they had just stayed home, being the nerds they were, but no. Steve was too excited to have been invited to Stephanie Johnson’s party and he refused to believe it was because Steve had definitely grown taller and leaner over the summer, lost the braces too, and now every girl seemed to have a slight crush on him. It was like he was the new kid all over again.

Stephanie’s house was nice, and way too big for such a crowd. Plus they weren’t even supposed to be there. Everything felt like out of those movies his older sister watched. Steve had abandoned him some time ago, when Lillian Clark had pulled on his hand to go to the back where the 8th grade basketball team was, and Bucky found himself copying a decorative plant.

It’s not like Bucky didn’t like parties, what he didn’t like were the crowds of people he didn’t know and had no idea how to even begin to talk to. There was a reason he was considered a nerd, and so far he liked that. Again his palms felt sweaty. Him being a nerd didn’t exempt him from having crushes and wanting this: maybe a semblance of popularity and a good social life. But his awkward stance, lack of involvement in athletics and chubbier cheeks didn’t exactly make a good combination for ‘king of the prom’. He was okay with that, he had his own interests and talents and skills that didn’t make him shine like a supernova in the hallways of school, but maybe some other places.

His hands were sweaty because he’d been beckoned over to a game of 7 minutes in heaven mixed with spin the bottle, and the whole scenario played like slow motion in his eyes, him taking the tentative steps to join the circle sat on the living room floor, almost directly in front of Y/N Y/L/N, better known as the girl of his 12 year old dreams and fantasies.

Rounds came and went, most of the girls exploding in giggles when Aaron Carter and Leonard McGuire got paired to go in the closet together, but Bucky wasn’t paying much attention, all his little boy eyes could focus on was Y/N. Her plaid skirt and cute half up-do, a hint of glitter on her cheeks, laugh bright like the sun. He wiped his palms on his jeans one last time before reaching out and spinning the bottle when his turn came around. He didn’t know what to wish for; for the bottle to land on Y/N or someone else so he’d be spared the embarrassment of having to talk to her or worse: her being his first kiss? She’d probably had tons of kisses by now, and he’d be so inexperienced in comparison!

Whatever, he didn’t get enough time to even decide what to wish for, when the bottle came to a stop right in front of her. Giggles, ooh’s and aah’s erupted, along with surely come sour comment about Y/N having to go to the closet with a nerd, but all Bucky saw was the pep in her walk as she got up and extended her hand for him to take as he got up and followed her to the closet.

He turned the light on, hearing the laughter on the other side that indicated people were right outside, keeping the door closed until the 7 minute mark, no more, no less.

He stuttered, where to even begin? Did he have anything in common with her? Maybe telling her he sat right behind her in both Chemistry and Math would sound too creppy, right? So he did the most rational thing: outstretched his hand for her to shake and introduce himself. “Hi. I-I’m Bucky” her giggle was out of this world cute, and her hand really soft in his. “I know. I’m Y/N” of course she knew. Y/N was nice, nicer than anyone he’d ever met in school – well Steve was nice too, but that was different. Y/N was nice and pretty and smelled good and always gave him a soft smile on her way to her seat in Chemistry and Math –

The silence ate up around 2 minutes of their time in the closet. Two minutes Bucky spent silently stressing over how red his cheeks must be and how he’s so far only introduced himself unnecessarily and complimented her outfit. Her skirt swished along with her as she took in her surroundings, clearly not wanting to continue this awkward encounter, he thought.

And then the silence was broken. By her. With a shocking question “A-are you... Do you want to kiss me?” all Bucky could do was nod stupidly, because of course words would betray him now. He wanted to kiss her, really really badly. Her smile was tender and sweet as she leaned in a little, closing her eyes and softly puckering her lips, awaiting for him to meet her in the middle.

It took him a total of 5 seconds to tell himself it was now or never, and then his blue eyes were closed and he pressed his lips to her incredibly supple ones, the array of butterflies that ate him whole, something he could never explain.

The peck lasted about 10 seconds, and separating from her was so nerve wracking, he doesn’t know how he didn’t begin shaking like an earthquake right then. “I’m sorry” he felt compelled to say “I’ve… I’ve never… Uh” Why was he outing himself like this? Setting himself up for mockery and embarrassment? “Me too” she said with a blush to her cheeks he knows he will never forget, as well as the shock of the revelation. He was her first kiss too? No way, he quickly decides she’s just trying to be nice. Right?

She’s his first and second and third and fourth kiss, if you’re counting, as they had 3 minutes left that were spent kissing every way two naive 12 year olds knew how to. Sweet, short pecks, with varying head angles and varying lengths, and a riskier one with mouths half open, initiated by her because she’d seen her older brother kiss his girlfriend like that once.

By the time the door was opened they were just standing there, mute and blushy, and the swarm of giggling teen girls took Y/N away from him like a lightning bolt, Bucky knew that the events of that night would be in his memories forever and ever. His crush on her only growing from that moment on.

・‥…━━━━━━━ o ━━━━━━━…‥・

He’s snapped back from the shock-induced flashback when a body bumps into his in the middle of the frat house kitchen he was currently standing in. His mouth, that had dropped open in surprise at what his eyes were seeing, clamped back shut, the drink in his hand almost slipping and clattering to the floor.

My god, it was Y/N Y/L/N in the flesh.

Still fucking gorgeous, maybe even more so – impossible! Fucking impossible, yet so possible because it was right there in front of him – His biggest crush, his first kiss, the girl he pined after for years and years and years, even when she had moved towns and obviously switched schools in 8th grade, Bucky had promised himself that he would never love anyone like that – and proceeded to get himself his first girlfriend mid freshman year of high school despite still slightly crushing on the distant memory of Y/N. Steve always joked Y/N could have been his first girlfriend if he’d only had the balls to do something about it, to which Bucky agreed when it was too late –

“Bucky?” she said when she spotted him. “Bucky Barnes?” “Oh, god” He said, both faces splitting into laughter as her arms swung around his shoulders, enveloping him in a hug he returned, swaying back and forth with her. “Y/N it’s been… wow” “So long! You go to MIT too?” “Yeah, you go here!?” “I do! Art and design, sophomore year” she points to herself with the same red cup that is holding her drink. “Civil Engineering major, sophomore year!” each sentence brought in more and more shock. She was there all along? And he’d never seen her? Until a random party at Sam’s – Steve’s new addition to the gang which had always consisted of just him and Bucky – frat house? “What? Oh my god! It’s so nice to see you! You look great” And he did. Joining football and gaining some social skills did that to you. Also growing somewhat of a beard and keeping his hair just the right length. The truth was Bucky didn’t have trouble with girls anymore. “You too!” and god did she look amazing. The skirt, plaid like back then and almost out of his deepest dreams, with stockings and boots and a crop top, could she be anymore the girl of his dreams? “Steve is here too?” She looks around, probably remembering that the two are a package deal ever since diapers. “He’s… around, lost him long ago” he chuckles and some girl tugs at her arm from behind. She sends her away with a promise that ‘i’m going i’m going! Chill’ and turns back to him, giving him all her attention in the middle of the loud and crowded kitchen, making his heartbeat race. “Hey, tell him I said hi, and, here” she’s fishing the pocket of her skirt for her phone which prompts him to do the same. Oh god he’s going to have Y/N Y/L/N’s phone number? 12 year old him is s h a k i n g. “We have to meet and catch up” “Definitely” after contacts are exchanged, she’s pressing a loud kiss to his cheek as a goodbye and disappearing into the party, leaving him stunned into place, a goofy smile slowly growing on his face

God damn, it’s been 7 years and he’s right back to square one, back to being a twelve year old nerd, at a party, with sweaty palms at the thought that he’s definitely crushing on her once again, if he ever even stopped.

・‥…━━━━━━━ o ━━━━━━━…‥・

feedback is greatly appreciated and encouraged!!

how cute is this reencounter?!?!?!? Also, let me know if you want to know her POV of this whole thing because I was thinking that’d be a nice little take for me to write, to see how much seeing Bucky Barnes again affects her. Hint: a lot, she wasn’t lying, he was her first kiss too.

#IBW: Hello Spring 2019 #ibwhellospringday9 #bucky barnes x reader #college!au #first kiss #fluff #bucky barnes fluff #fanfiction #au

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treatyourhammywell · 6 years ago

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Emmy 'Homeland' Hero Rupert Friend Revisits Quinn's Sacrifice - 13 June 2017

As we enter Emmy season — nomination voting runs June 12 to June 26 — Yahoo TV will be spotlighting performances and other contributions that we feel deserve recognition.

He belongs in the Jack Bauer category of TV hero: Peter Quinn, the Homeland paramilitary officer who — spoiler alert, if you’re not caught up! — died in the Season 6 finale, sacrificing himself to save the President of the United States and his colleague/love interest, Carrie.

Joining the show as a guest star in Season 2, actor Rupert Friend quickly turned Quinn into a fan favorite. Viewers were crushed when he seemed almost certainly dead at the end of Season 5, after a sarin gas poisoning while on assignment. And while it was great news that he was alive when Season 6 premiered, he was a very different Quinn, his body and mind badly damaged by the gas, his spirit low, and drugs and alcohol his method of choice to deal with the devastation.

Yahoo TV talked with the Emmy-worthy British actor about his final season as Quinn, including his thrill to have the chance to show what a wounded warrior can do after suffering injuries, what he thinks ultimately severed the bond between Quinn and Carrie, and the story of how he wrote one of the series’ most memorable and beloved segments with Quinn’s Season 5 letter to Carrie.

I’m sure you’ve become very aware of how beloved Peter Quinn is to viewers, especially after the Season 6 finale.

Yeah, I’ve been overwhelmed by the fans’ response. I’m not a big social media, or frankly even Internet, guy, but we just couldn’t help but be exposed to the outpourings of love and remembrance for this character. Sometimes anger. Very, very strong emotions from people, and I guess I realized just how loyal both Quinn’s fans and also mine are, and that was a very wonderful thing to experience. I was very grateful for that.

What do you think it is about him — why did we become so invested in this character?

Can I ask you? Presumably, you follow the show. What is it about this guy?

I think it’s that he made so many sacrifices, and that we wanted so desperately for him to find some… I guess happiness was too optimistic for him, after everything he had been through… but I think we certainly hoped he would find some peace. I think the audience, to the very end, hoped that would be true. He was a funny guy a lot of the time, as well. There was really just a lot to love about him. He was smart and no-nonsense, loyal, and, as you said in another interview, he was more self-aware than any of the other characters.

Yes, I think he came to be. When we first met him back in Season 2, he was kind of a wisea**, kind of cocky, and I think he just knew he was good at his job, but couldn’t talk about his job and didn’t care. He had almost like a kind of frat boy quality about him, in a way. He just behaved as if there were no consequences. What I loved following him through the seasons was seeing his conscience and his soul and his moral code develop, to the point where he questioned his position in the black ops society, what he was being asked to do for money, his relationships, both professional and personal. Toward the end of Season 6, he was really questioning the morality of somebody who would risk his life, awake him from a coma, and [doing] so cause these injuries to his body and mind. Carrie doesn’t seem to understand why that’s morally bankrupt. That, to me, is a big flag of how Carrie and Quinn have really grown apart morally by the end of Season 6. I think one of the things that I loved about him is he wasn’t — we have this expression in the U.K. — a “goody two-shoes.” I don’t know if that exists in America. Do you have that here?

We do.

Yeah, so he wasn’t a goody two-shoes. He wasn’t just an amazing guy who was saving kittens from trees every weekend. He was a cold-blooded killer for money, and he was at times cruel and at times incredibly efficient and effectual in his work. Yet, you always sensed underneath all that, that he had this heart of gold, that he’d be an amazing friend, if only he could learn to trust somebody. My heart broke for him when I realized that he died not ever having found that person. Dar Adal betrayed him, Carrie betrayed him. He had a few one-night stands, and they’re not worth the paper they’re written on. He didn’t really have a friend. He didn’t know his child. It made me realize how lucky I am to have relationships that I trust, because this guy didn’t even get close to that.

His story is very tragic. Do you see him as a hero, though?

Absolutely; he’s absolutely a hero. He’s my hero, and he is someone who pays heroically, in the Greek sense of the word. Especially at the end there, he could perform the ultimate selfless act. I think heroes understand that there is a greater moral code than just putting the self first. There is a sense of, whether it’s your country or peace or just what’s right, they put what’s right before their own interests.

Is it true that you wrote Quinn’s goodbye letterto Carrie at the end of Season 5?

That is true, yes. I’ll never forget… I was actually in Paris. [Showrunner Alex Gansa] had phoned me and said, “Listen, I’ll be honest with you. I’m so slammed here, and I have to write this letter, and I don’t know what to do. I’m running out of time, and I have to write another episode. Do you think you could have a crack at it?” I said, “Sure.” I wrote the letter, sent it off, and kind of thought, “I’ve never been asked to contribute before, and they’ll just say, ‘Thanks a lot, but no thanks.’”

I was in Paris when the episode came in. I was sitting in the Jardin des Tuileries. I remember it very clearly, reading the new episode, and I got to the end and my heart just skipped a beat, because they’d printed the whole thing, word for word. And they called the episode “A False Glimmer,” which is a direct quote from the letter. I was like, “Wow, this episode is titled [with] my words, and it ends with my letter.” It was an incredible moment.

I think a lot of fans felt very angry that we didn’t get to see Quinn’s memorial service. That letter is the only thing that really gives us a bit of what that would have been like, a bit of closure.

I haven’t watched Homeland at all, but we watched the finale, like a respectful thing to do for Quinn, actually. [My wife] Aimee and I watched it as sort of a sendoff, and it was a bit jarring that nobody showed us how anyone celebrated this guy, the few people that knew him. As he says in the letter, “Don’t put a star on the wall for me, don’t say some dumb speech.” Then I think, “Okay, so how did these few people, who are not allowed to publicly celebrate him, remember him privately? What did they do? Did they go somewhere magical and special and sacred to him, and did they say some words? Did they pour a little whiskey on the ground? What happened?”

I missed that, and then afterwards, no one spoke about him. Carrie didn’t speak, Saul didn’t speak, Dar didn’t speak. Then I started thinking, “Hang on a second. If we didn’t see his body, no one checked his pulse…” Do you know what I mean? I’m like, “Maybe they dragged the President out of the car, took her to a safe place, and then what we don’t see is that they pulled Quinn out of the car and rushed him away.” He was only shot in the shoulders. Do you know what I mean? I was like, “Oh, I don’t know. Now, I’m going to feel really stupid giving all these death interviews.”

Is that really a possibility? Are you going to get another call from Alex, do you think?

On this show, everything is possible. The end of Season 5, I was taken aside and given a few thoughts by Alex. Then, I came back in Season 6, and it was very different, but I came back. I’ve been told it’s absolutely the end, but yeah, I agree with the fans. It’s funny, though, I also feel like maybe the fans remembering this guy in their own way is the best memorial that he could have had.

Quinn was going to die at the end of Season 5, came back in Season 6, in such a huge way. Do you think he should have died at the end of Season 5, or are you glad for all of the things that you did get to do with the character in Season 6? That he got to do even more heroic things, and portraying those injuries in such a realistic and respectful way — veterans and their loved ones have reached out to you about how much that meant to them, the way that you portrayed that.

First of all, thank you, because portraying a modern returning veteran, with modern injuries, truthfully was the top of my agenda. It’s something I will never understand, sacrifice in a way that veterans sacrifice. The only thing I can do is to try to pay tribute honestly, and that was a hugely important thing for me. I’m so grateful that we got a chance to tell the end of Quinn’s journey in this completely different way, to take this beloved action hero guy and make some realistic, circumstantial changes to his life. As you mentioned, I was in touch with veterans, with PTSD survivors and sufferers, with people who had strokes, with specialists in aphasia, with doctors from Veterans Administrative hospitals, doctors who specialize in chemical warfare. I also put on 20 pounds — I wanted [to show] that idea that if you sat in an institution, eating crappy food, you don’t exercise, you’ve just given up on life, and you’re just this kind of lump, you’re not the fit soldier that you used to be. There was a lot of stuff that I did to help that. It didn’t take any effort — wearing the hair, and not washing it, and just kind of being really quite gross, horribly scraggly beard and all of that stuff, just to really show that feeling of giving up that he had at the beginning of Season 6, that he has to overcome.

The response has been amazing, as you said, from the people that matter the most, which are the people that feel represented by this character. I’m very proud that we’ve had a hero in television — a major character in a big, popular TV show — who has basically been an action hero, while he’s semi-paralyzed, struggling with linguistic programming, and perhaps is unable to really formulate language he needs, and he can’t use both hands. We haven’t seen that before, and yet there are soldiers out there who are being wounded and continuing to fight. We know that happens, we just don’t get to see it. Whether that’s fighting in a battle, or coming home and fighting against prejudice or social exclusion or the inability to get work, or, how are you going to work if you’ve only got the use of one hand? That’s a fight that soldiers face. For soldiers, the fight doesn’t stop when they come home. The fight just changes, because we’re not really ready, as a society, to welcome soldiers in an effective way.

One of the best things about Quinn’s story in Season 6 is that the focus really became about what he could do, that he was still Quinn. He still had all of Quinn’s capabilities, and he found a way to be able to utilize all his skills.

Yeah, and I’m glad that that came across, because Quinn’s always been a man with great agency. He’s someone who can do. If you’re in trouble, if you need something, he’s someone I would want to call. That never went anywhere, and watching him go from giving up, and smoking crack with hookers in slum dens, to going, “No, I am the guy that can load and level a gun with one hand. I am the guy that can engineer a hostage scenario with trained military operatives, with one arm and one leg working” — all of that was real. There are no tricks. Everything that happened, one-sided as it were, happened with just one arm and one leg.

Just thinking about where the character started, you were a guest actor, and now to all the things that we got to learn about him, and all the things we’ve seen him do and go through… the series has been his story as much as anybody’s. I would guess that it’s tough to let go of him.

Yeah, I don’t think I’ll ever fully let go of him, just because there’s something pure at the heart of Quinn, which I love. I think when you’re lucky enough to play somebody who has that effect on you, my privilege is I get to choose to take that with me. If I was to play somebody horrific, and I’ve certainly done that, I get to choose to say, “I don’t want any part of this. I’m washing my hands of this. This was a character that served a story, and that’s the end of that.” With this guy, there is so much strength and agency and goodness underneath, that I guess I feel it’s my job to carry that forward a little bit.

Having played this character who was so layered, and really has become a Jack Bauer-level hero, is it tougher to think about your next role? Do you find yourself comparing other roles to Quinn? And do you now maybe want to go do a comedy, or something just very different from Quinn, from Homeland?

Yeah, it’s a good question, and yeah, the answer is it’s a tough benchmark to follow. I think the mistake would be to compare roles to this one. To start, I got to play this guy for five years, in real time, which I think was about seven years in TV land time. That’s a privilege that you never get in the movies. You might play someone over the course of their life, but you’re going to do it in three or four months. There’s a depth there that is exciting in and of itself.

And yes, I would say to do something completely different — I think most actors are looking for that. I was lucky enough, before Season 6 began, I played a role in Armando Iannucci’s dark comedy The Death of Stalin, with Steve Buscemi, Jeffrey Tambor, and Michael Palin, who are all heroes of mine. I’m effectively the clown in the movie. I’m the ineffectual, drunk, spoiled son of Joseph Stalin. It’s ridiculous, I make a complete fool of myself every time I’m in the movie. And it was joyous. That was before Season 6, and now I’m looking at what to do next, and looking for something that is, yeah, either layered and wonderful and interesting, and/or completely different.

What if you did get a call from Alex Gansa this summer saying, “False alarm there, we do want to bring Quinn back again in some way.” Would you consider it, or would it depend on what they wanted to do?

I think the fans would riot. I would not be responsible for their actions. Yeah, I would want to know in what capacity. I would expect it was realistic, because we stuck to that all the way through. If you’re talking about a zombie Quinn, it’s not really a good thing; an angel, a ghost Quinn, all of that stuff is a little soap opera, but the writers are too good on Homeland to ever do that, so I wouldn’t worry about that

#rupert friend #homeland #season 6 #finale #peter quinn #yahoo #interview

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 6 years ago

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Wrought Iron Machine (Final Part)

It hasn’t taken long at all for the headlines to announce her vocal struggles and declining health, to have them plastered for everyone to see. Even if she wants to she can’t say anything on her own behalf. She reads another headline; ‘Has the Fire Been Put Out: Fire Of Agni Frontwoman Loses Voice.’

Azula sits in an emergency room back in the Fire Nation, they still don’t have the equipment to correct the worsened cyst. For the time they only monitor her vitals and pain-levels. She doesn’t think much about the pain though. Her head is preoccupied by the image of her father’s complacent look of satisfaction. By the realization that she had made a fool of herself at the world’s most extravagant and esteemed music competition. By the thought that she will never talk, much less, sing again.

She doesn’t know which matter concerns her the most, she supposes that they are all interconnected. Even if she does recover, after unleashing such an Agni-awful, ear-piercing sound on stage she can’t imagine that she’ll be getting another invite to Southern Air Sounds. Her musical career is over. Her only option is to wander back to her father and hope that she can win him over with her firebending talents. She can’t beg him for another chance if she can’t speak.

There is a pressure behind her eyes and she wants to let it out. But crying will only do more damage to her delicate vocal cords. The doctor warns as much. So she tries her best to choke back her embarrassment and grief.

She truly hopes that she won’t hear from her father anytime soon, she can’t take it. Zuko takes a seat next to her and squeezes her hand. She appreciates his company and the gesture, but it is little condolences. Just as little as TyLee’s tight hugs and loving kisses. Mai tries to assure her that the crowd was kind. “They weren’t saying anything bad about you, you know? After the show everyone was just asking if you were okay.”

“They were really worried.” Zuko adds.

“Someone told me to give this to you!” TyLee smiles. She hands her a stuffed fire ferret and a get well soon card. Azula takes them without a sound, she barely looks up. She isn’t sure who is rubbing her back but she thinks that it is either Zuko or TyLee.

“Do you…” she rasps but it is broken and painful so she ceases trying to vocalize her question.

“Here.” Mai pushes her a pad of papers. She pushes it back, opting to spell her question in the air with fire. If she can’t speak she may as well make it look cool. With her fire she asks if they’ve been barred from attending S.A.S in the future. It is easier to simply use the acronym so that is what she does.

“I don’t think so. We were doing amazing up until…” Mai trails off.

“They said that they admired our creativity and ability to improvise.” Zuko points out.

‘No thanks to me.’ She spells out.

“Creativity!” TyLee points out. “They liked your idea to have an instrumental number. None of the other bands did that.”

It is only a sliver of reassurance. At least she hasn’t completely messed up. She stares at her hands. She just wants her voice back.

The pain finally begins setting in, it rips at her throat bringing tears to her eyes.

Zuko’s back rubs increase.

“Are you alright, Azula?” TyLee asks, her eyes sympathetic.

She only has it in her to spell out, “hurts.” She curls herself up

.oOo.

The temples are stunning, more stunning than Kuvira remembers. They have added some decorative chandeliers. She feels blessed that they have invited her to stay. She and the rest of her band have been invited to a dinner with the three bands that performed after hers. An unexpected but every bit as welcomed victory surprise.

She triple checks her hair and attire. She has her hair in another neat and tight braided bun and has applied a touch of makeup to her face. “How is this, Baatar?”

“I already told you that you look amazing.” He replies, “can we just have dinner?”

“Yeah, I’m getting hungry and I hear that the wine is fantastic.” Ghazan remarks, putting his arm around Ming.

“You’re always hungry.” P’Li remarks.

“Correct.” He winks.

Kuvira adds a comb hair clip to her outfit and checks the mirror for a fourth time. She wants to leave a good impression if she is going to be dining with musical legends. Baatar takes her hand and pulls her away from the mirror. “I think that that’s perfect.”

“You say that about everything I wear.” Kuvira points out.

“Because everything you wear is perfect.”

“Ugg.” P’Li grumbles. “Definitely didn’t miss that.”

Kuvira unfolds a cloth map and leads her band down the hall. Baatar links his arm with hers. They wander for some time, stopping on one occasion to see the Southern Air hall of fame. It is organized by category from jazz to pop and folk to metal. Kuvira scans the category reserved for the musical legends, it is surreal to see an image of their band among them. It is from their performance three days prior.

“Now Ming, don’t touch anything.” Ghazan says.

“Ha. Funny man.” She mutters.

As they chatter, Kuvira wanders further down the hall viewing the metal category and finding a second image of Wrought Iron Machine. Still it is dream-like to see it hanging there in a frame of swirling gold. The rest of her band comes to catch up with her. She comes to the last category, a seemingly new sub category. There is only a single photograph in the section for bands with the most unique concepts.

She wonders if they are even aware being as they were forced to depart so soon.

Baatar nudges her, “we’re going to be late.”

Kuvira picks up her pace and soon she is standing before a set of almost absurdly long double doors. The insignia of the air nomads is carved at the center of both of them. Kuvira takes a breath and smooths a few wrinkles out of her outfit. Baatar rubs her shoulders encouragingly.

She heaves the doors open and makes her way to the empty chairs reserved for she and her band. “Welcome.” Greets Karou. The frontman of Wan Shi Tong’s Waltz sits at the head of the table, their dinner and competition host.

It is somewhat hard to maintain composure, the result of some residual teenage crush that never had a chance to fully extinguish.

“Thank you.” Baatar fills in for her. “We’re honored to be guests here.”

Karou shakes their hands each in turn. “And I’d like to personally congratulate you for joining us in the hall of fame and for the baby. Perhapst the child will share your musical talents.”

Kuvira smiles. “Thank you. I hope the same.” Even if the child has other interests she makes a very special point to let them flourish. “Though she may take up Baatar’s fascination with machines.”

Another woman speaks, Xing-Bora from Tears of Yue. “I think we should also congratulate the two of you for saving your marriage and the band.”

“It’s a wonder you all pulled through so close to the competition.” Remarks Chong. “What was that about anyways?”

His own wife nudges him. “Apologies, he still has is countryside manners.”

P’Li scoffs, “we’ll forgive him if you all forgive Ghazan for being a human disaster.”

“It’s a long story.” Kuvira cuts in before they can start a secondhand embarrassment inducing round of bickering. “To put it simply, even though I let him name the band,” Kuvira sneaks in, “he felt as though he didn’t get enough creative freedom.”

Baatar rubs the back of his head. “A man needs to show his brilliance every now and again.”

Conversation breaks off momentarily as appetizers are passed around. Kuvira resumes the chatter with a simple. “It was a pleasure to see you perform.” An understatement.

“And a pleasure to listen to your band as well.” Karou returns cheerfully. “I was hoping that you would be willing to perform during our next competition.” He pauses. “Of course, you won’t be able to perform as a contestant. Instead you will be performing with us during the esteemed after-competition show.”

“We certainly plan on it.” Kuvira replies. Though she isn’t entirely certain what ten years will bring. How their child will impact their band. She decides to take things as they come and hope for the best.

“It will be hard to top this decade’s contest.” Chong notes.

“It was certainly eventful.” Xing-Bora remarks. “It’s a shame about Fire of Agni…”

“How is the girl?” Chong’s wife asks.

“If the headlines are to be trusted, she’s due for surgery sometime within the month.” Karou replies.

“I hope that it works.” Chong’s wife says softly.

“Yes,” Kuvira adds. “She…” she isn’t sure if she should use past or present tense. She feels optimistic. “She has a very unique talent, I don’t think that I’ve heard a voice like hers.” Again, her heart pangs for the girl.

“I thought that your band didn’t like theirs.”

“It was a phase.” P’Li waves her hand dismissively. “We needed someone to shit talk so we wouldn’t shit talk each other.”

“We did it anyways.” Ghazan shrugged.

“No less, the kids have talent.” Karou speaks. “I would love to see them back next time around. They have it in them to win if Azula makes a full recovery. They have it in them to win even if she only recovers partially.”

Their discussion dies down again as the main course is set before them. Kuvira takes the opportunity to gaze at the other tables; like their own two others are lined with golden tablecloths. They host other past winners of Southern Air Sounds. The ones lined in silver host the second placers and the honorable mentions. And a bunch of others tables a reserved for audience members and bands that had paid to have seating. She sees four empty spots at the silver tables. Karou follows her gaze. “We figured that it would be respectful to have a spot open for them even if they can’t fill them.”

Kuvira nods.

The rest of their dinner is mundane. She inquires some about the bands and styles that have influenced Wan Shi Tong’s Waltz and Ghazan makes a few off-color remarks as the beer gets to him. Ming really only speaks to ask why her ice cream is topped with two cherries while everyone else only has one. It is more laid back than she has anticipated. And it goes by much faster. It seems as though they have barely finished desert when guests start heading for the door.

Karou turns to her and hands her an envelope. “Your prize money and an invite to our next competition.”

Kuvira will have to split the prize money when she gets a chance.

“If you run into Fire of Agni before they receive their letter, do tell them that they have been invited.”

“I can hand them their letter personally.”

.oOo.

The surgery leaves her terribly anxious. They say that it can ruin her voice. All the same she wonders if it even matters, she has already done that herself. She does wish, though, that they hadn’t told her of the possibility of something going wrong enough to kill her. On the other hand, she no longer knows if she is entirely opposed to that.

She faintly thinks that she is being overly dramatic. If nothing else she still has TyLee. She still has Zuko and Mai.

The three have worked so hard to uplift her spirits. To remind her not to bother with her father. To remind her that she still has a spot in the band. They don’t tell her how, they leave her to remind herself that she can still play the guitar. That she can still organize the band and design their sets and write their lyrics.

She repeats the reminders to herself as TyLee pulls her into her arms. She doesn’t particularly want to be held at the moment, she has received enough pity and babying, but she doesn’t resist either. TyLee holds her tightly, it is almost too brief because a nurse comes to beckon her forward.

Azula listens to them explain the procedure to her, cringing inwardly at some of the descriptors. After a certain point she wonders if she even wants to know. She decides that she does, she wants to know exactly what to expect.

Not long after, she finds herself drifting into a drug induced sleep.

She wakes up groggy. She opens her mouth to speak but is immediately scolded. It takes her mind a moment to catch back up with her. The words die on her lips. She sits herself upright, they let her do so but it leaves her feeling dizzy so she goes to lay back down. Zuko holds her up as TyLee props a pillow up for her. She scans the room for Mai and finds the girl leaning against the wall as quietly as ever.

Doctor Fing-Sho reappears, taking a seat next to her bed. “I have a few instructions for you.”

Azula nods.

“Obviously I advise that you talk as little as possible for the first two weeks, perhaps three. When you do speak, be brief. Don’t yell or try to sing.” He pauses and she nods her understanding again. “Your voice will sound very hoarse. This can last up to eight weeks. We can start vocal therapy during week three. I know I said you can begin talking more after two weeks, but I would like to play on the safe side. You are very lucky that we were able to fix the damage you’ve done.”

Azula subtly gnaws the inside of her cheek.

“With that said, I recommend that you find yourself a vocal trainer who specializes in musical techniques.”

Azula nods once more.

“Finally, you have a visitor.” Fing-Sho smiles.

Azula knits her brows and then the panic sets in. Rather quickly she spells with fire, that she doesn’t want to see her father.

“It’s not your father.” The doctor replies.

Using her fire she vocalizes her approval and Fing-Sho beckons her visitor into the room. Azula tries to hide a scowl when she sees the face of the woman who she’d handed her victory over to. Kuvira makes herself as comfortable as she can in a hospital chair. She rests one hand on the arm rest and her other on her belly. “I hope you don’t mind me coming by.”

Azula absolutely does, but she doesn’t use her fire to depict as much.

“I actually came by to give you something.” She holds an envelope out.

Azula reaches for it and her brows knit again at the sight of the seal.

“There was an after party of sorts. I spoke to Karou, he says that he hopes to see you at the next competition.

Azula’s face softens, the woman is doing a good job of breaking the ice whether she wants to admit it or not.

“He believes that you will do well even if you don’t make a full recovery, I don’t know if that makes things any better.”

This time she does let the woman know that it does not.

Kuvira gives a small laugh. “I didn’t think so. Not much made me feel better when Fing-Sho worked with me…”

Azula tilts her head so Kuvira elaborates.

“Awhile back...a long while, Wrought Iron Machine tried to do something like your first album. I don’t have the vocal type you do. I messed my voice up rather quickly trying to force something that I wasn’t good at.” She shrugs.

“Why are you here?” Zuko asks. “Your band hates ours.”

Kuvira shrugs a second time. “We don’t hate your band. We just...got a little competitive.”

How diplomatic, Azula thinks to herself.

“We were falling out of the limelight and you were in it.”

She is the jealous type.

“You’ve created a sound that no one has heard before and...we wanted to do that for ourselves.” She pauses. “A success by the way.”

“Well congratulations.” Mai grumbles, “it’s our turn to be on the bottom.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Kuvira replies. “I meant that your creation was a success. You have a spot in the Southern Air Sounds hall of fame for it.”

“We do?” TyLee smiles.

“Yes, you do.” She turns back to Zuko. “To answer your question; I’m here to make amends.”

Azula frowns. She has very little interest in the woman, she is condescending and self-righteous. She folds her arms over her chest and glowers at Kuvira. The woman looks terribly unfazed. Azula supposes that she isn’t all that intimidating in a hospital gown and without her voice.

“You remind me of myself. You have reckless ambition. A drive to make it to the top.” She pauses again. “I’ve only ever seen that kind of determination when it’s all or nothing.” Again she halts. “Mine comes from spite I suppose. My parents thought that my dreams were foolish so they dumped me on the side of the road for trying to pursue them. I was hoping that my appearance in Southern Air Sounds...” She breaks off. “I just thought that they would show up. For some reason I expected them to. I don’t think that they even know who I am anymore.”

Azula wishes that the woman hadn’t shared because now there is a sort of connection, now she feels inclined to hear the woman out. Zuko speaks first. “I don’t know if you heard about it but Azula and I didn’t leave home willingly either.

Kuvira nods empathetically. “I had a feeling. I know what an abandoned child looks like…”

She remains quiet in thought for a long while. “That’s also why I’m here. I have another offer for you.”

.oOo.

The house is quiet. Quiet and empty. She and Baatar haven’t quite gotten around to moving all of their furniture in. P’Li, Ghazan, and Ming-Hua have taken to exploring their new neighborhood. Kuvira herself decides to stay home and try to tidy the place up a bit, plan out how she’d like to lay out their furniture. She looks over Baatar’s ideas, deciding that they are probably good enough. The man in question is away as well, somewhere between his childhood home and their new one, driving a large satomobile full of their possessions. She would love to help but they are down to the heaviest of their belongings and she has already received a good scolding from her doctor against heavy lifting.

Eventually she resigns to that she is six months along and needs to take it easy. She supposes it isn’t so bad, she hasn’t left him totally alone. He has help from his brothers and from Zuko. Most comfortingly, he has Lin’s assistance. Kuvira is half convinced that the very reason so much progress has been made in their move because of Lin alone.

Azula wanders into the nearly barren room, Kuvira didn’t hear her come in and wonders how long she has been there. She doesn’t talk much and Kuvira, at first, assumed that the girl was still weary of hurting her voice further. But she has come to find that the firebender is simply a quieter person. When she does speak it is typically soft-spoken. The kind of soothing timbre Kuvira had been expecting and not expecting all at once. Looking at her, it makes perfect sense but after hearing only her music for so long it is hard to imagine her speaking so softly.

“How was therapy.”

“It was…” she thinks for a moment, “it went better than last time.” There is still a hoarser undertone to her voice, but the raspiness is becoming less pronounced as the healing process continues.

Kuvira has cup of tea ready. It is still steaming when she pours it for the girl. “Here, drink.”

Azula takes the cup in her hands. “Uncle makes better tea.”

The girl has a bit of a difficult temperament, Kuvira has learned to brush off her more prickly moods. She no longer takes the more off-handed commentary to heart.

“It’s not the taste that matters, it’s the effect.” Raava knows that the girl has fought her on this many a times. Kuvira stands by her opinion; as long as the tea can help soothe the girl’s throat, it is serving its purpose.

Azula routinely argues that Kuvira should learn to make better tea if she is going to make her drink it every other day.

“Have a seat.” Kuvira offers only to have the firebender decline.

“I like standing.” She sips at the tea, just once before holding it over a small fire in her palm.

“I’ve never seen firebending like that.”

“It’s actually quite common for firebenders to heat their tea like this.”

Kuvira rolls her eyes, feeling a faint hint of amusement. “I’ve never seen someone use blue fire.”

Azula gives a prideful smile. “Good. I like to think that it is something only I can do.”

The remark is the loudest Kuvira has heard from the girl since adopting her. She wonders if the firebender’s voice had always been this soft or if it is the product of her injury. She tries to recall one of Fire Of Agni’s interviews. Before she can truly reach a decision her thoughts are cut off by a very loud and very cheerful, “Oh Azula! You’re home!” Kuvira watches the other girl throw her arms around Azula who returns the gesture by awkwardly patting her girlfriend’s head.

“It’s good to see you too, Ty.”

Kuvira finds it hard to resist making an inquiry. “Was her voice always this quiet?”

TyLee thinks for a moment. “Hmmm. Sort of. She used to talk a little louder, but not that much.”

“You need more tea.” Kuvira declares, needing an excuse to be on her feet.

“You need to get out of the house.” Azula shoots back.

The girl isn’t entirely wrong. But her tone of voice comes with a touch of sass. Kuvira supposes that it will do her well to get used to it. Her baby will be a teen eventually. Raising--though she uses the term loosely--the former princess, her brother, and friends has been an interesting feat to say the least. She doesn’t know how Suyin has managed to raise all of her children and Kuvira herself.

“I suppose that I will when Baatar gets home.” Kuvira says at last.

“What are you going to name it?” TyLee changes the subject.

Before she can give her answer Azula grumbles, “you better not name it after Karou.”

“We had two names in mind.” Kuvira replies. “Setsuko and Kotone.”

“Setsuko.” Azula casts her vote and TyLee nods in agreement.

Azula hands Kuvira her cup. “I don’t know what you want me to do with this.”

“Whatever my servants used to do with them.” Azula shrugs.

“I’m not your servant. I’m your mother.” It is still somewhat strange to say.

Frowning, Azula hands the cup to TyLee who flounces over to the sink and washes it. Kuvira rolls her eyes. One of these days she will have to get the girl to do her own dishes.

It would seem as though TyLee doesn’t share any of the awkward feelings. “Are you coming to or show tonight, mom? It’s our first one since S.A.S.”

“I’ll be there.” She replies.

“Good because it’s going to be my first time singing that many songs. And Azula has been really working hard on learning to play the guitar.”

“I thought that you already knew how to play it.”

“I put more focus into singing.” Azula shrugs. “But if I can’t do that, I might as well make myself known for play the guitar better than everyone else.”

So that is why Ghazan has been strumming his bass so intensely. She wonders if it is truly possible that her fiance is in an unspoken competition with a teenager. It begins to dawn on Kuivra that she has created a very bizzare family for herself. She supposes that she likes it this way, it keeps her occupied.

.oOo.

The past few months leave the former princess wondering why she had gone out of her way to create scandals and article material. Headlines seem to be coming left and right these days. The headlines have long since made note of Kuvira adopting four fire children with speculations ranging from simple observations to theories that they are about to form one large band.

The chatter of that had only just died down when Azula’s former rival found herself to be the subject of a new brand of talk with a slew of invasive journalists trying to get the first shot of the woman’s newborn. A seperate news article reported P’Li landing a good punch on one of the particularly eager ones.

For herself, Azula’s voice and the state of it are in constant discussion. The latest article unveils her plans to begin singing again. For the time it will be reserved for the recording studio only and depending on how that goes, she will be singing on stage when they tour alongside Wrought Iron Machine.

She is reluctant to thank Kuvira. Albeit a bit overbearing, the woman has gone out of her way to pass down a few of the vocal technique and warm ups she has learned. With the woman occupied by her baby girl, Azula almost misses having her lingering in the studio with her. But she has TyLee for company. Soon she will have Zuko and Mai as well. They are late again because Zuko refuses to leave without his beanie. Maybe if her brother kept his room more organized, he wouldn’t run into such a struggle. Perhaps she can get Kuvira to nag the boy. Such is another area of common ground; they both wish that one of their bandmates could tidy up a bit.

All in all, she is growing used to and fond of referring to the metalbender as her mother. She is closer to her than she had been with her real mother. And the woman, though prone to being somewhat of a hardass is kinder than her own father ever was. She is nearly at a point where she doesn’t miss her real parents at all. But if Kuvira is anything to go by, the disappointment never truly leaves.

Azula uses the spare time to get her new lyrics in order and her equipment adjusted. Her line of thinking switches. She is somewhat nervous to be back in the studio. Doctor Fing-Sho insists that her vocal cords are mostly healed, that the therapy is doing them very well. Yet there is still a faint tingle at the back of her mind that she can tear them apart again.

Screaming is still off of the table, at least for the time being. She is allowed a line or two of harsh vocals but it is advised that she doesn’t perform a set with them every single night. For now she will leave Zuko with that job and take up the gentler vocals.

No matter how solid her plan is she still feels vaguely insecure. The change is so subtle but she still finds that she can’t speak as loudly as before and there is still a very slight rasp to her voice that is going to take some getting used to.

Perhaps it will make her stand out. It isn’t a vocal quality many others have. TyLee speculates as much anyhow.

Finally the door opens. But it is not Zuko who enters.

Kuvira leans in the doorway Setsuko in one arm and a tea set in the other. Azula admires the woman’s creativity, she uses a metal platter, bending it to keep the porcelain on it from falling.

“I wrote a letter to the Jasmine Dragon a while back.” She says as she sets the tea set down. She brushes her fingers over the baby’s cheek. “You better like it this time.”

“Thank you.” Azula picks up the cup. It is heated to a satisfactory degree, things are off to a good start.

Baatar appears in the doorway. “Suyin says that she can watch Setsuko while we reccord tomorrow.”

“Thank Raava.” Kuvira mutters. She hands the baby over to the man.

Azula notes that the woman definitely looks worn. Her hair is some straggly and she is still wearing pajama bottoms. Baatar slips his free arm around the woman’s waist.

“What are you going to do today?” Azula asks.

“While Baatar watches Setsuko, I was going to take P’Li to visit Zaheer in prison.”

Azula krinkles her brows. “Seriously.”

Kuvira nods.

“Have a grand time.”

Kuvira laughs. “If you need anything just call Baatar.”

Azula nods. As Kuvira and Baatar leave, Mai, TyLee, and Zuko make their appearance. “It’s about time. I was about to start on my solo album.”

Zuko bumps her shoulder. “Good to have you back, Azula.”

It is nice to be in the studio again.

#Avatar #Legend Of Korra #Kuvira #Azula #Baatar Jr #Zuko #P'Li #TyLee #Ming-Hua #Mai #Ghazan #Fanfiction

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onett199x · 6 years ago

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Top 10 Albums of 2018 So Far

Halfway through 2018. Time for a Top 10. As usual for my midyear ones, it’s not ranked, just in alphabetical order. Like last year, I picked 5 jazz and 5 that aren’t jazz.

Beach House | 7

The 7th album by Beach House features their signature dream pop sound refined to its most hazy, hypnotic elements, with classic California imagery, fuzzy guitar loops, and repetitive drums, all of which Victoria Legrand’s voice soars over like the best of the 90s trip-hop vocalists. Albums like this are made for driving around with the windows rolled down.

Czarface & MF Doom | Czarface Meets Metal Face

I’ve listened to a number of MF Doom albums before this, but this is the first I’ve listened to by Czarface, which is a collaboration between underground battle rappers 7L & Esoteric and Wu-Tang member Inspectah Deck. Their comic book superhero aesthetic combines so perfectly with MF Doom’s very direct take of Marvel’s Dr. Doom that it’s surprising it took them this long to get around to it. Between the cartoonish beats, humorous skits, and excellent verses from four fantastic MCs, this is definitely my favorite hip-hop album of the year so far.

Kurt Elling | The Questions

Sometimes Kurt Elling’s shtick as a jazz poet works really well, and sometimes it doesn’t. For a while, his most recent offerings hadn’t done a lot for me, but starting with last year’s collaboration with Branford Marsalis on Upward Spiral, I think he’s entered a strong new phase of his career. This album is an excellent follow-up, maybe even better than that one, with a fantastic Bob Dylan cover, a fantastic Paul Simon cover, and even more by the likes of Peter Gabriel, Carla Bley, and Jaco Pastorius. I don’t know if it’s the best album Elling has ever done but it’s definitely the best he’s done in recent memory.

Brad Mehldau | Seymour Reads The Constitution!

Brad Mehldau is absolutely a machine when it comes to recording, touring, and putting out new albums and creative projects. His second album of the year came out before the year even reached its halfway point! Of course, some of Mehldau’s different sounds work better for me than others - I liked his duo album with Joshua Redman a lot, but last year’s trio album and this year’s After Bach weren’t quite as much up my alley. This album, though, takes all of the things that I like about Mehldau’s sound with his trio and distills them, presenting a great set list where I like the originals even more than the covers without making each song like, 15+ minutes.

MGMT | Little Dark Age

I was fairly ready to write off MGMT after their self-titled album, which I always forgot about the moment I finished listening to it, but this new album has reinvigorated my appreciation for the band, even if I don’t think it’s quite their best album (that would still be Congratulations). I’m not sure this one will still be on my list at the end of the year, but it made it to my midyear list on the strength of singles like TSLAMP and Hand It Over, as well as Me And Michael. TSLAMP in particular is a favorite single of the year for me so far, even if it is ‘What If Phones But Too Much’ in song form.

Kacey Musgraves | Golden Hour

The latest from Texas country singer Kacey Musgraves feels like a breath of fresh air, bursting with the sincerity and straightforwardness of, say, The Avett Brothers. There are a lot of great songs about relationships (both the beginning and the end) - Space Cowboy and Wonder Woman are two standouts in that category, and High Horse is frank and amusing in Musgraves’ politely snide way. Beyond its wry social observations, the album also gives us two beautiful, heartfelt ballads in Mother and in Rainbow. I don’t pretend to be an expert on country music, but I do like Kacey.

Natalie Prass | The Future And The Past

Natalie Prass’s second album is awash in the sounds of 80s funk and 90s r&b, including the treasured ‘ooh’ sound effect from songs like Dido’s Thank You on Short Court Style. Prass comes to this album with an obvious chip on her shoulder, an attitude that says “I can’t see the injustices happening in the world right now and be complicit”, so many of her songs have a strong political or social bent to them, like Sisters, which actually calls to Nasty Women by name, and the closer, Ain’t Nobody, which is one of the better ‘Viva La Resistance’ songs I’ve heard this year.

Dafnis Prieto Big Band | Back To The Sunset

MacArthur Scholar Dafnis Prieto has been making music for a while now, but this is the first I’ve listened to of his (and his first outing with a big band). For his debut big band recording, Prieto brought together an all-star group of musicians, including Alex Sipiagin, the Rodriguez brothers, Alan Ferber, Chris Cheek, Joel Frahm, and Jacob Garchik, for a set of all Prieto originals that also features some special guests (Henry Threadgill, Brian Lynch, and Steve Coleman). There aren’t a ton of big bands out there putting out new music in the Afro-Cuban style, but this one has a very, very promising debut.

Antonio Sanchez | Channels Of Energy

Antonio Sanchez is another artist who puts out new albums with a restless energy, jumping constantly between formats. In the last few years, he has made an album with a piano trio, a guitar trio, and a saxophone trio; he made a fusion album with his Migration band; and, last year, he made a solo drums/electronics album in honor of a controversial comment from the president entitled Bad Hombre. This year finds him with Europe’s WDR Big Band and a series of arrangements of Sanchez’s own originals by in-demand arranger Vince Mendoza, and the results are nothing short of stellar. I would have never thought of Sanchez’s music as the sort of thing that would translate well to big band, but Mendoza’s arrangements make them sound like they were made for that context, and the WDR big band swings their asses off throughout this recording. Highly recommended.

Walter Smith III | Twio

Saxophonist Walter Smith III’s fifth album pairs him with bassist Harish Raghavan and drummer Eric Harland for a raucous, spirited set of originals that swing with an infectious energy. Christian McBride guest-stars on bass for four tines, and Joshua Redman joins on saxophone on two. Smith’s elegant, efficient arrangements cut to the very most important part of each tune with the kind of ease that makes it sound like they were written to be played that way. Monk’s Ask Me Now, Grofe’s On The Trail, and plenty of great standards all sound memorable on this album that is, in my view, an instant classic.

#top 10 albums #music #beach house #czarface #mf doom #kurt elling #brad mehldau #natalie prass #kacey musgraves #mgmt #antonio sanchez #walter smith iii #dafnis prieto

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sydbond-blog · 7 years ago

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One Good Thing- Chapter 1

It’s now up on AO3 (along with chapter and all future chapters!) : https://archiveofourown.org/works/14337678/chapters/33088791

The hospital room is cold. Jaz wraps her arms around herself, trying not to concentrate too much on everything at stake. She has never liked hospitals. The machines, the smells- they are all part of something she saw too much of as a child.

Broken bones, deep dark bruises and lengthy burns- She saw way too much of those beeping machines.

Preach is still breathing, with the help of those very machines and she knows she should be grateful, but she really can’t be. Not after the way Preach’s wife cried over the phone. Jaz had swallowed back tears; she had to be strong for Preach’s wife, but right there, sitting next to him without anyone to see her, she knows she is fighting a lost cause.

Amir is asleep on a plastic chair and there is drool falling on the side of his cheek. On an ordinary day, she would have taken a picture and revelled in the blackmail possibilities it would bring, but now all she can do is worry.

Because Preach is still on life support, their whole team got shaken up due to this son of a bitch and Top. Top is his very own category of worries.

He’d left them without a single word, simply disappearing without a trace. As if they weren’t his team. As if all those times she’d had his back meant nothing.

She knows that he has probably justified this decision with a need to protect them. Jaz goes back to their conversation after the guys came back from Colombia. How he’d told her that he had this darkness inside of him that he feared could not be controlled.

Jaz lets out a sigh, massaging her temple, trying to top the rising anxiety. Hoffman has Preach’s gun. Top, he has nothing. No element of surprise, no carefully detailed plan. Nothing. Not even them.

She’s not sure she can lose someone again.

The machines beep steadily and, for a moment, she tries to concentrate on the easy rhythm. Her breaths coordinate with the sounds and she feels herself getting calmer. Like she does when she’s in the field.

She’s worried sick, but mostly she is hurt. More than she wants to admit.

The two of them usually pair up on missions. His eyes are on hers first when things go south. She’s the one he spills his guts to when they get back from a rough job. She’d thought that she was special. That what they had was special.

But he’d cut her off just as easily as the rest of them, leaving her with nothing but worries and a slow boiling anger. It hurts.

Jaz pushes herself off the wall, heading down the hallway to Director Campbell’s room. Her watch tells her it’s been over five hours since Top has deserted them. Slowly, hurt turns into more worry.

McG is there, eyes glued to his closed phone. Campbell is sleeping on her bed. McG raises his eyes to hers, and she tears up like a five year old.

‘‘Joe, ‘‘ she whispers, feeling like all the weight of the world is on her shoulders.

He swiftly gets up, phone forgotten, wrapping her up in his arms. It doesn’t take her long before she is wetting his shirt, silent tears streaming down her face. His huge frame engulfs hers and she feels ridiculous, head barely reaching his chest. But his hands at warm against the cotton of her shirt and his arms are strong and steady and she clings to him like a lifeline.

The first night after Elijah died, she had wandered aimlessly down the hallway until she’d landed in his bed. It wasn’t the first time, and she knew it wouldn’t be the last. Sometimes all you needed were strong arms holding you, and McG didn’t seem to recoil from her touch like Dalton did.

They stay like that for a long moment, her face pressed up on his shirt, his hands smoothing down her hair. Neither of them speaks for some time. When her breathing evens out, McG glances at Campbell and tugs Jaz out of the room. Her eyes are puffy and his are rimmed with red and she doesn’t let go of his hand.

‘‘Where is he? ‘‘ she asks in a small voice. McG runs a hand through his hair, eyes softening as they set on her. She must look pitiful, but all she can think about is that Adam is out there somewhere, needing them, probably hurt. Adam. She only lets herself call him that in her head. It seems too special, too intimate.

Her heart contracts painfully in her chest.

‘‘I don’t know Jazzy, ‘‘ answers McG and he pulls at their interlocked fingers, bringing her back to his chest.

This time, she glances up at him instead of hiding in his chest. He’s already seen the tears.

A shiver goes through her, and she’s not sure if it’s from the cold hospital air, or the panic rising to the surface. McG shrugs off his hoodie and wraps it around her, zipping it to her neck.

‘‘Come on, let’s go grab a coffee, ‘‘ he says, hand still firmly grasping hers. It’s like he’s afraid she might bolt if he lets her go.

Jaz presses her nose into the soft, worn fabric. It smells like McG, but there is this light hint of laundry detergent that she usually associates with Top.

xxxxx

They end up at an old formica table, glancing down at their steaming mugs of bad coffee and day-old doughnuts. Jaz stomach growls loudly and she knows she should eat something, but she also knows it will come back up the second it passes her lips.

For an hour, McG does his best to keep her mind away from Top, recalling old missions and making fun of their teammates. She laughs, not too loud, not too hard, but she still laughs and he seems satisfied with it.

‘‘Don’t worry, he’ll come through,” he says and she gazes at him, tired and worried. ‘‘In a few hours you’ll be back to doing your Dalton eyes.”

‘‘My what?” she asks sharply, not unlike the way she’d replied to Hoffman’s boyfriend comment 48 hours ago. She hadn’t missed the way Adam stepped right in front of her after that, as if trying to shield her from their radioactive guest.

‘‘You know, those eyes you make at him, like he’s the center of the universe.”

He is the center of her universe. But Jaz didn’t think she was that obvious. Elijah used to tease her about her Dalton eyes too.

Jaz doesn’t answer. This is a touchy subject. There are careers on the line, emotions on the line, her team on the line. She isn’t sure she wants to risk losing so much.

‘‘Your secret’s safe with me,”‘ he says and she casts him a grateful look. His fingers squeeze hers.

‘‘I need some air,” she replies and he seems to catch on she wants some time by herself. He nods and she leaves, heading to the front doors of the hospital.

xxxxx

There are benches and trees, smiling people and a light wind. The sun is slowly sinking into the color-splattered sky. It would be a beautiful night if she wasn’t torn apart with grief and worry.

Jaz shivers in McG’s hoodie and buries her fists in her pockets. She takes them out and wrings her hands together before putting them back inside. She can’t seem to stay in place, not when Top- Adam- is in danger. Jaz needs to know his six is being watched. She needs to know he’s safe.

Adam.

She falls back on a bench, letting out yet another sigh. Another hour passes by and she toys with her emotions, an unhealthy game they’ve all been guilty of playing.

Jaz feels his presence before he’s even on hospital grounds, ninja skills coming in handy. He sees her immediately and she feels like a thousand bricks have been lifted from her shoulders. Her breaths come more easily, and all she wants to do is to keep him next to her, safe.

Top walks up to her, hands in his pockets, a haunted look in his eyes. He casts her an easy grin and that grin goes straight through her. It changes something, like a light switch and suddenly all worry is replaced with something bigger, stronger that bubbles up to the surface.

She punches him. Hard.

‘‘What the hell Jaz?” he asks, and she is torn between the urge to kiss him and the one to hit him again.

The latter one wins. ‘‘You don’t get to do this,” she says, punching him again, straight in the chest. ‘‘Disappearing, not a single word.” She sticks an accusing finger into his muscles with every word. ‘‘Do you have any idea how worried I was?”

He catches her hand and folds it to his chest, over the skin she’s just bruised.

‘‘I didn’t want you to be there when the darkness came,” he replies and she bites down on her lip, willing away the tears.

Her eyes are glassy and she’s failing miserably at this not crying thing. Inside of her, relief wins over anger and she holds his gaze. Her other hand goes to his beard, fingers ghosting over it in a tender gesture.

Adam closes his eyes as she does so. They both know they are toeing the line, but neither of them move.

‘‘I don’t care,” she whispers and he pulls her to his chest. He wraps his arms around her waist, holding her like he’s afraid she might break. She’s not sure exactly what she doesn’t care about; his stupid reasoning or the darkness that resides inside of him. Right now, she has him back and it’s all that matters.

xxxx

Jaz wakes up in the middle of the night, throat drier than the desert.

Hannah and Noah found them a suite in a nearby hotel so they could be close to the hospital while the Quonset hunt was taken care of. There are two bedrooms. Amir and McG share one while Top had insisted on taking the couch. She’d protested, telling him the queen bed was plenty big for the two of them, but something in his eyes had her relenting. Seeing Preach like that seemed to have taken a number on him. Maybe he needed the alone time.

She silently sneaks into the kitchen, surprised to find Top awake. He is facing away from her, his shoulders shaking under the weight of his sobs. For a moment she considers retreating back to her room and leaving him some privacy, but the sight of crumpled Adam has her aching.

Jaz moves in front of him and it’s either a testament to her ninja skills or his state of mind that he doesn’t notice she’s there until she is crouching in front of him, putting a hand to his knee.

His eyes are red-rimmed as they rise, landing on Jaz. She reaches for him and lets her thumb wipe out tears from his cheek. He leans into her touch.

‘‘Top,” she whispers, but the rest of her words get stuck in her throat.

‘‘What if he doesn’t make it,” he says.

She watches him carefully. Somehow, she knows he killed Hoffman. A piece of his soul has probably been chipped off from that act alone. Preach being in a coma might just be the last straw.

Jaz’s heart aches for him, and for a moment all she wants to do is kiss him until this world makes sense again. She settles for sinking to her knees in front of him. Her hands settle on both sides of his face, forcing him to look at her.

‘‘He will,” she says in a firm voice.

He sighs loudly, hurt coming off of him in waves.

‘‘You’re a good man,” she says because it’s the thing he needs to hear. He doesn’t answer and she traces small circles over his skin.

It’s her turn to be strong.

Jaz wraps her arms around him, ignoring the awkward angle. He tugs her closer and she falls on his lap, straddling him. He buries his head in her chest and nothing about this feels physical. It feels intimate, and it’s both heart-wrenching and comforting.

After a few minutes Jaz glances at the clock and scrapes her nails over his scalp.

‘‘Come to bed,” she urges, because she knows there is no way Adam will be able to get through tomorrow without sleeping for the second night in a row. He nods and lets her guide them to their feet. She pushes the cover open and helps him lay down.

Jaz moves to the other side of the bed and closes her eyes. It’s not long before she feels Adam reaching out for her.

His hands snake around her waist bringing her to him. His knees curl under hers as his grip tightens. She sinks into his embrace, heart fluttering even when it shouldn’t. Adam falls asleep behind her, his breath ghosting over her exposed shoulder. She smiles through the pain.

She’ll worry about it tomorrow.

#the brave #jaz x adam #jaz x dalton #renewthebrave #adam dalton #jaz khan #adam x jaz #jalton #dalton x jaz #One Good Thing

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