#music work has been coming slow and we’ve had some emergency’s lately

[amazingdigitalbossfight]

The design for the player model for Boss fight!

I liked the idea of Caine making a little npc to fight the characters so they don’t hurt each other. Since it’s just an npc to throw attacks at he didn’t think it would matter if it was a very interesting model.

[goldentournesol]

Unwanted Matchmaker

(Spencer Reid x Reader)

The one where Spencer and Y/N get kidnapped by an unsub who wants to set them up.

Length: 2.5k

Read Part 2!

masterlist

   It was no exaggeration to call Spencer a coffee addict. He, like the rest of his team, needed it so he could function properly. Imagine his disappointment when his favorite coffee shop closed temporarily for remodeling. He compromised and visited a different coffee shop, one that he had never been to before seeing as Spencer was very much a creature of habit. He entered the small shop, the aroma of the sweet beans stimulating all of his senses. He took in the rustic design of the shop and decided that he liked the vaguely familiar homey vibe he got from it. He strolled up to the counter and ordered his coffee the way he liked it: way too sweet. A few minutes later,  he got his coffee and took a seat in the corner of the shop, just beside a window. There he was, sipping his coffee, unsurprisingly nose-deep in a book about quantum physics when he heard the soft bell of the door sounding, his eyes landing on her. 

You know how in the movies, time slows for a second? That was what it felt like the second she walked in. It was exceedingly rare for Spencer to lose focus of whatever he was doing, but he couldn’t help it. Her gravitational pull was much too strong. He immediately soaked her in, from her bright eyes to her bright smile to...everything! Everything was bright about her. Spencer’s brain had never in his life stopped whirring like it did in that moment. She carried herself with such grace as she approached the counter and gleefully greeted the woman who took her order. He couldn’t hear her voice but he knew if he did, he would never want to forget it, not that he could anyway. The woman on the other side of the counter reacted with warmth, he realized that she was a regular at the shop. Spencer was not one to stare, but he found it to be a real challenge to take his eyes off of her. She had on a flowy patterned dress with short sleeves, one that Spencer could not have imagined on anyone else. She had music on in her earbuds and he could tell because she was tapping her foot along to the beat that only she heard. Her hair flowed effortlessly behind her shoulders in a way that seemed eerily perfect. He watched as she absentmindedly toyed with her phone as she waited for her coffee.

A noise from his phone ripped him out of his reverie as he realized he was going to be late for work, he had relished in his reverie longer than he had intended to. He hurriedly closed his book and packed it away. He picked up his coffee and made a quick turn to exit. He passed by her quickly, she hadn’t even looked up from her phone which somewhat put Spencer at ease, because there was no way of knowing just how late he would have been if she happened to actually look at him. 

An entire month had gone by and his old favorite coffee shop hadn’t even crossed his mind. He made a habit of waking up a half hour early to make sure he had enough time to see her in the shop. His nervousness was growing each and every day, hoping that one day it wouldn’t grow past the previous day’s. He wished he had an ounce of Morgan’s courage just so he could talk to her. Spencer learned her name from hearing it being called out to her order every day. He couldn’t think of a name that could have suited her more. 

It was strange when one day he received an envelope with his name on it at work. There was no return address and inside it contained a threatening letter written by what seemed to be someone’s wrong hand as a forensic countermeasure and a photo of him on his way to work from last week. An unsettling realization hit him and he felt his blood run cold.

 Someone was stalking him.

He received a different letter every day with a new photo of him for a week. He had no idea how long this person had been watching him. Hotch and the team had been informed of all the ominous letters and photos he had been receiving and the reaction was just as he had expected it to be. 

“Can you think of anyone who might want to hurt you?” Emily asked as soon as she found out, seated at the conference room table with the entire team.

Spencer gave her a look as he reminded her, “We put away criminals for a living, Emily.” She sighed and nodded, accepting his answer.

“Okay, we need to retrace your steps as well as a detailed description of what you do from the second you wake up to the second you step foot into the office.” Hotch reasoned.

“Alright, I wake up and get ready for work. I leave my house and head to the coffee shop three streets down. I get my coffee, sit down and read for a bit, then walk to the Metro to get to work.” Spencer recites.

“Do you interact with anyone on the way?” Morgan inquires. Spencer shakes his head.

JJ sighs, “Well at least his threats have all been non-violent thus far.” She hoped she wasn’t speaking too soon.

That night, after work, he took his usual route back home. As he was unlocking his door, a man came up from behind him and stuffed a rag drenched with chloroform up to his nose and mouth. Spencer was out like a light before he could even react.

------

Spencer awoke later to the smell of smoke coming from a lit cigarette. He immediately coughed and looked around. He was sitting at a metal table in a dimly lit room with concrete walls. Anger overtook him as he realized he was handcuffed to a metal bar on the table much like a police precinct’s interrogation table, with another chair on the other side. He saw cigarette smoke out of the corner of his eye and realized that there was someone behind him standing in the dark.

“Ah, finally. Good morning, Dr. Reid.” A man’s voice echoed both in the room and in Spencer’s bones.

“Come out of the shadows, you coward.” Spencer found himself uttering before he had the chance to think about it.

A short, stocky man emerged and Spencer immediately recognized him from the coffee shop. He would sit at the opposite side of the shop, with his cup of tea, surveying everyone. Now that he thought about it, Spencer should have been suspicious of his actions, but it was safe to say that Spencer’s mind was always on something else when he was there. Suddenly, he froze, silently hoping and praying that this unsub would leave her out of this.

“I’ve been watching you for a long time, Dr. Reid.” he said, “You know who else I’ve been watching? Hm?” He egged him on, “oh-I’m sorry, maybe I should say we’ve been watching.” He let out a chuckle. The man placed an old laptop in front of Spencer with photos of her on it and stood behind him as he shuffled through them.

Spencer felt his heart literally shatter at the sight of the various photos. She had no idea someone was following her, and it was all his fault.

“Quite gorgeous if I do say so myself.” The man mumbled into Spencer’s ear.

“She has nothing to do with this. Leave her out of it.” Spencer stated with an exasperation he’d come to know too well.

The man let out a hot, foul smelling breath on Spencer’s neck, “I guess they’re calling just anyone geniuses these days...you’re wrong, Dr., she has everything to do with this.” He straightened his back and Spencer’s eyes followed him as he left the room. 

Spencer knew his team would get this guy as soon as they’d realized he’d gone missing. 

Spencer heard a soft whimpering noise and a few yells from the man down what seemed like a hallway.

“Please, please don’t hurt me!” The desperate voice of a woman called. He wished he hadn’t recognized it the way that he did. Spencer saw two figures appear in the doorway. The man reappeared and he was holding a trembling woman by her hair. He recognized the flowy patterned dress immediately.

“Sit down, princess.” He shoved her into the seat on the opposite side of Spencer. His calm eyes met with her teary wide ones. He saw a flash of recognition in them. He knew she recognized him from the coffee shop. Her cuffed hands flew to his in a desperate search for comfort. Spencer squeezed her trembling hands gently, hoping to ease her nerves. Her ragged breathing was interrupted as she tried to speak.

“Help me, please.” She whispered, barely audible, but Spencer heard her.

“My name is Dr. Spencer Reid, I’m with the FBI. Don’t worry, we’re going to get out of here.” He said hurriedly to her, squeezing her hands again to reassure her. She breathed a sigh of relief, “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” She shook her head, but the tears never stopped spilling out.

The unsub laughed, “Ugh, how romantic!”

Spencer was unsure of what the unsub’s true intentions were and found that his brows knitted together in confusion as he lit two candles and placed them onto the table between Spencer and Y/N. Spencer’s heart sank to his stomach as he came to the realization that this was his sick, twisted way of setting them up. She mirrored his confusion as the unsub poured some wine in two glasses.

“I’m sure you’re both wondering what the hell is going on. Welcome to your first date.” He smiled with an evil glint. He was an organized psycho-pathological unsub with a fantasy that Spencer was sure would end distastefully. Y/N began to tremble again as the man inched towards her. He placed his hands on her shoulders and they roamed around in a hungry fashion. She whimpered softly, terrified and quite honestly disgusted.

“Don’t touch her!” Spencer croaked, hopefully more menacingly than he heard it. He held a strong facade in order to calm her.

“Hm, oh, why not? You were too slow...you see, my beautiful Y/N, Dr. Reid here has had his eye on you for a while. But he was too much of a coward to do anything about it.” Spencer looked away momentarily, he knew he shouldn’t let the unsub’s words get to him but he knew he was right. 

Spencer found himself rolling his eyes and scoffing, allowing his facade to return and not falter any longer, “You’re quite the matchmaker, aren’t you, then?”

“The longer you speak to me, the faster she dies.” The man’s hands quickly moved around her neck and squeezed tightly at Spencer’s challenge. She panicked, her breath escaping her, nails digging into Spencer’s hands.

“Stop! Don’t hurt her!” 

“That’s what I thought.” The man’s grip loosened but instead caressed her face and hair.

Spencer’s eyes looked into hers apologetically. Her tears resumed. He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles and cleared his throat, going along with the unsub’s plan. He tried to stall as much as he could so that his team would get there before it was too late.

“So, Y/N, what do you do?” Spencer asked her, glancing at the unsub as he nodded in approval. He ignored the nod. Spencer squeezed her sweaty hand to encourage her to play along with him.

A sob left her lips and she took another ragged breath, “I-I’m an art teacher at the um...elementary s-school down the street.” She said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. The man pushed her chair in an explosive manner, “Louder!” he demanded. She winced at his voice and cried.

“I’m an art teacher!” She sniffled. Spencer couldn’t understand how she managed to still look so beautiful while crying. Spencer smiled a little and nodded encouragingly. Her expression softened.

“That’s really neat. How long have you been teaching?”

“Almost 4 years.” She couldn’t understand how he remained calm.

“This is so boring! Get into the good stuff!” The unsub exclaimed with a maniacal look in his eye.

Spencer glared at him behind her, “What else do you want?”

The unsub didn’t like his challenging tone, so he grabbed a handful of hair and yanked it as hard as he could, until he pulled her out of the chair and onto the floor forcefully. She screamed in pain and Spencer stood up in anger, wanting to charge towards him but he was chained to the table.

“I told you to leave her alone! If you’re going to hurt anyone, hurt me, not her.” He yelled.

The unsub laughed, “Sit down, Dr.” 

When Spencer refused, he felt the man’s fist collide with the left side of his face. Although it hurt like a bitch, he was glad he punched him and not her.

Just as the man was about to swing again, the door was kicked down by none other than Derek Morgan.

“FBI! Freeze!” Spencer was so happy to see his teammates rush in to their aid. 

“Jack Johnson, you’re under arrest. Anything you say can and will be held against you in the court of law.” Spencer heard Hotch recite the Miranda rights to him. JJ rushed to Y/N’s aid on the floor. Before he knew it, they were being led out of the place they were being kept at. Spencer didn’t get the chance to talk to Y/N again until all the commotion died down with the paramedics and cop cars. He approached her as she was seated at the back of an ambulance. She had a blanket wrapped around herself and seemed to have calmed down quite a bit. The paramedic tended to a cut she must have gotten when she hit the floor. She spotted him and smiled. Even in that moment, her smile made him weak at the knees despite the adrenaline rushing through his brain.

“Hey.” She said.

“Hi, are you alright?”

“I will be,” she nodded, “listen, I really want to thank you for keeping me sane in there.” She looked at him with an endearing shyness.

Spencer smiled, “You can thank me by letting me take you out on a date. A proper date, not--whatever the hell that was in there.” he laughed slightly. She found herself laughing as well.

“Honestly, I thought you’d never ask.” she replied, “If I had known I had to get kidnapped for you to finally ask me out, I would’ve just asked you a long time ago!” She laughed and the sound literally made his heart flutter.

He felt a blush creep up to his ears and smiled sheepishly, “I’m so sorry, really. Next Friday, I’ll take you out.”

She smiled and they exchanged information, “Next Friday.” She repeated in confirmation.

Spencer grinned and hoped more than anything that Friday came around as fast as it could.

Part 2!

[svnflowervol666]

Game Night (Harry Styles x fem!Reader)

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: use of alcohol, obnoxious fluff, mentions of smut

Author’s Note: Just some tooth-rotting dad!Harry drunkenly loving on his wife and his bubby in front of his friends for you all! This was based on an ask I received after bringing back this video of Harry. I hope you all enjoy and that everyone is doing well and doing their best to stay positive as of late. Take care and tpwk!

Game nights at Harry’s had been a longstanding tradition for a while now. At least once a month, with everyone’s schedules permitting, the gang would gather over for drinks and some form of a party game. They’d all get obnoxiously drunk, shouting at the top of their lungs and no doubt annoying the piss out of Harry’s neighbors. It was a time they all considered near and dear to their hearts, even if it was getting rowdy over a game of charades and glasses of whiskey.

Harry actually met Y/N at one of these sacred game nights. Sarah had dragged her along, claiming that she needed to get out of the house more and that she felt like her friend Harry might be someone she could hit it off with. She was right; she always is. From the second Harry first saw her in his kitchen, nervously leaning against the cabinets with her arms crossed over her chest while Sarah poured her a drink from the assortment of liquor he had laid out on the counter, he knew that she was going to be someone special in his life. The way he caught her stealing glances at him from across the table while they played a shit game of poker was not lost on him either. Her nose scrunched up when she snickered at him each time he drew a card that didn’t help his hand one bit, the way she tensed up when he put his hand on her back to get up from the table to refill his glass, the way she heat noticeably climbed up her neck and onto her cheeks when he called her love before she went home for the night. She wanted to get to know him, he knew that. And he wanted to know her too. And so they did. 

It’s been nearly nine years since her first game night, and so much has changed since then. Game night doesn’t take place in Harry’s bachelor pad in London, it takes place in the home he owns with Y/N, the love of his life and after months of pleading on his part, his wife of five years. He wanted to marry her after knowing her for nearly a year and even though she knew that they were end game for each other, she still made him wait it out for a few more years before finally giving him a, “yes.” It’s not just the two of them in the house, either. They’ve got a four-year-old son, whom Harry and anyone that’s met him claims he is the sweetest little bub that he’s ever laid eyes on. His heart is as pure as the sky is blue, and his smile can light up even the darkest of places and people. Harry wouldn’t even hesitate to tell anyone that regardless of how many arenas he’s sold out or how many plaques he has in his music room that represents how influential his music has become, his child will always be the thing he is the proudest of. 

While everyone’s lives have changed over the years, most getting married, some having children, some having moved away and some new faces added to the mix, game night is still a tradition to Harry and his close-knit group of friends. Sure, they can’t get too plastered because there are small children in the upstairs playroom that need to be driven home safely and their knees and back aren’t what they used to be so they can’t rough house or else they’ll end up with aching muscles in the morning, but the quality time that they spend together is still just as important. Harry’s finally gotten to a point where he can just slow down and breathe and be the man that his friends and family need him to be, so he still invites everyone over from time to time to keep in touch and reinforce the relationships he has with his loved ones.

 //

No one had noticed when Harry’s son had slipped away from his friends in his playroom and snuck downstairs for another cookie that Gemma had brought over. They were his favorite, which is why she baked them for tonight’s occasion and exactly why he loved his Aunt Gemma so much. He wasn’t being as sneaky as he’d thought, however, because Harry had heard the foil that covered the platter rustling behind him and craned his neck to decipher which one of the handful of kids that had come over tonight were helping themselves to another sweet. He had a pretty good idea exactly who it was, but he just needed confirmation.

“Bubby, is that you?” Harry called over his shoulder over the chatter of his family and friends playing an intense game of Uno.

Like clockwork, his little boy emerged from behind the counter with an already half-eaten cookie nestled in his pudgy hands. He looked like he was going to burst into tears for getting caught by his father. He knew that Harry didn’t like it when he ate too many sweets before bed, therefore he’d assumed his papa was going to scold him.

“‘s alright, bubby. ‘m not upset with ye’,” Harry softened his voice immediately upon seeing the expression on his son’s face, “Come over here and sit wi’ me. And bring me another one of those while you’re at it.”

The corners of the toddler’s mouth turned up when he realized that he wasn’t in trouble, and he quickly darted back behind the counter to grab an extra cookie for his dad before making his way into the dining room where the real party was.

Harry wasn’t drunk. He couldn’t do that anymore without waking up with a raging hangover that took nearly all day to recover from, but he was definitely buzzed. The alcohol warmed his belly in the best way, turning him into the Harry that was incredibly touchy and clingy towards whoever was around him. Y/N was across the table gossiping with Sarah, her arm draped over her perfectly round belly. They were due for another baby in just a few month’s time, so she was nursing on a mug of decaf tea rather than the chilled bottles of beer that everyone else had been sipping on. He couldn’t help but admire the way she quite literally glowed in the dimmed, amber-colored lights that decorated their dining room. She hadn’t been feeling her best lately, unexplainably due to the nature of being so far along in a pregnancy, but Harry swore she had never looked more beautiful.

He was pulled from his daze of staring at Y/N when he felt a tug at his pant leg, a signal from his son that he wanted to be picked up and placed in Harry’s lap. Harry happily obliged, scooping up the toddler in one hand whilst holding his deck of Uno cards in the other. His son snuggled up to Harry’s chest, seeking comfort in the feverish heat that radiated from Harry due to having one too many beers than he should have.

“What’s goin’ on upstairs?” Harry asked the boy, “You lot staying out of trouble?”

Harry realized it was his turn, so he threw down the first card he saw without looking at the deck and kept his attention on his son.

“They wanted to watch The Little Mermaid, but I’ve already seen it,” his son spoke lowly in Harry’s ear so that only he could hear.

It wasn’t perfect English by any means because his bub was only four, but Harry knew exactly what he was saying.

This made Harry chuckle. Of course, he’d seen it before. He’s seen it probably a hundred times and so has Harry by force. Harry couldn’t even count the number of times he’d had the songs from the film lodged in his brain and unable to get them out no matter how hard he tried. 

“Do ye’ want to stay down here then?” Harry asked as he placed his free hand on his son’s belly, “Help me beat Mitch and mummy?”

The dimples in the boy’s cheeks reared their head at the mention of giving Mitch and his mum a hard time, so he eagerly nodded and situated himself so that he could pay attention to the card game happening in front of him rather than looking up at his dad’s face.

“I heard my name!” Y/N called from across the large, wooden table they were gathered around, “You two talking bad about me?”

“Of course not, lovie!” Harry responded, “Just talkin’ about how pretty you are. Isn’t that right, bubs?” 

“Yeah,” their son was able to squeeze out in between giggles.

Everyone at the table mockingly gagged at their interaction and Y/N squinted her eyes at her boys in disbelief, raising her deck of cards over her mouth before going back to playing the game. She let out a particularly hard cackle after using her wild card and screwing Jeff over.

“So, bubby,” Harry began to explain the way the game worked to his little boy, “when it’s our turn, we’ve got to put down a card that’s either the same number or the same color as the one on the table. Can ye’ help me pick em out?”

The boy nodded in understanding and looked around the room at everyone else playing their cards. When it got to be Harry’s turn, the card at the top of the deck was a red five. He fanned his deck of cards out so that his son could see them clearly.

“Alright, it’s our turn. Remember, we practiced our colors and numbers this morning. Do ye’ see any red cards or cards with the number five on them?” Harry enunciated slowly so that his bub could understand him clearly.

“Yeah! I see three red ones and one five! What’s that black one, though?” the four-year-old exclaimed a bit too loudly.

The entire table erupted into laughter at Harry’s son exposing practically his entire hand. Y/N kept her lips pulled tight between her teeth, trying her hardest not to let a smile poke through. 

“That’s right, bubby,” Harry said through gritted teeth, “But ye’ not supposed to tell everyone the cards you’ve got. Alright? ‘S a secret.”

“Okay, daddy!” his son promised, still completely oblivious that he’d more or less ruined Harry’s chances of winning.

A few turns later, when the opportunity presented itself for Harry to wreak havoc in the game, he gave his bubby the option.

“Should we skip Mitch or should we reverse back to mummy?” Harry whispered into the small boy’s ear, darting his eyes between Mitch and Y/N.

Harry could see the cogs in his son’s brain turning; he was really contemplating who to punish. The boy looked over to his mother, who was already eyeing the two of them in suspicion.

“Harry,” she commanded him calmly with her free hand still resting on her bump, “Whatever it is that you’re thinking of doing, don’t do it. I swear if you do it, you’re taking care of yourself for the rest of the week.”

The party broke into hysterics again, and Harry feigned shock and covered the sides of their son’s face with his hands.

“We’ve got little ears in the room, Y/N!” he said dramatically.

She merely rolled her eyes in response. Gemma pretended to gag at her brother and sister-in-law but was still chuckling nonetheless.

“Seems like we better skip Mitch then, mate. Can’t have mummy that upset w’ me,” Harry told his son through broken laughter as he made the choice himself and leaned over to lay down his skip card.

They carried on playing this way, with Harry and Y/N’s son at the table, occasionally saying things that typical four-year-olds say that weren’t funny to him but made everyone else laugh. He was just happy to be there with his parents and his Uncle Mitch and Aunt Gemma and Sarah, even if they weren’t paying much attention to him besides Harry. Harry wanted to make sure he was included and didn’t feel like he was being neglected for drinks and card games, so he’d prompt him to choose his cards for him when he was able to do so.

When it was getting down to the nitty-gritty, everyone down to about three cards or so, that was when everyone got rowdy. Harry’s bub began to vibrate with energy, just as excited as everyone else to possibly win and hold the conquer over everyone’s head until the next time they gathered for game night. He was sitting at the edge of Harry’s lap at this point, just waiting for when it would circle back around to them so that they could lay another card down.

“Alright, bubs. This is it,” Harry prepped his son for the home stretch, “If we get t’ lay this next card down, you have to yell, ‘Uno!’ to let everyone know that you’ve only got one card left. Can ye’ do that f’ me?”

“Yeah, daddy! I can!”

“Let’s see how this goes then.”

It had been going good so far. Harry was smart enough to save his wild card for the end, that way he was certain to win no matter what card was on the top of the deck. The last card he needed to get rid of was a green one, which was conveniently the color that everyone was playing. It had bub bouncing with anticipation because Harry had been whispering to him over and over again that they were going to win if Gemma kept the deck on the color that they needed. 

And she did. Harry’s baby laid his entire body over the giant table to happily slap down their next to last card down in the discard pile. He almost knocked over Mitch’s beer in the process, but Harry was quick to snatch it and hand it off the Mitch before any disaster could occur. 

“What do you say, bubby?” Y/N asked the boy with an excited expression on her face.

He seemed to stall, not knowing what his mother was talking about. The boy scrunched his eyebrows together, sincerely trying to recall what he was supposed to say when he only had one card left. Harry had to whisper the word into his ear once more to jog his memory. Harry swore that he could see his eyes visibly light up when he remembered what his dad had told him earlier.

“Uno!” he shouted proudly, making everyone in the room cheer in unison.

This next round was crucial. All they had to do was hope and pray that Gemma, who was sat beside them, didn’t have any tricks up her sleeve that would land Harry and his bub having to draw more cards for forfeit their impending win. Harry could see very clearly because his sister had never been good at hiding her deck that she had a Draw Two in the right color resting neatly in between her fingers amongst her other remaining cards. She could destroy their chances of winning, she really could; or, she could let her brother and nephew have their victory and call it a night. But Harry didn’t say anything, leaving it all up to Gem as to whether or not the game would continue.

Gemma seemed to be contemplating heavily on her next move. Did she give her brother bragging rights in exchange for seeing the overly joyous look on her sweet nephew’s face when they won? Or did she force the gang to continue playing for who knows how long. They’d once played the same game for nearly two hours, but as much fun as that was at the time, she took in the social cues around her and realized that it was probably best to just let them win. Y/N and Sarah had been yawning for the past ten minutes, and Jeff looked like he was one more beer away from having to crash at Harry and Y/N’s place. As much as she despised her pesky younger brother and would have loved to see him grovel over being so close to winning but falling short, she granted him the wish she knew he was holding onto and didn’t play her Draw Two, instead laying down a random card that she had left in her stack. 

Harry winked at Gemma when she settled back into her seat after not giving Harry the axe, then turned to look down at his son.

“Bubby, ye’ know what that means right?” Harry bounced him on his lap, waiting for him to realize what just happened.

His son’s eyes grew wider and wider, and so did his dimples. 

“Lay down ye’ card,” Harry said softly, the same dimples shining back at him.

The boy slid his black wild card forwards into the discard pile, signifying their victory.

The group erupted into a fit of “dammit”s and “bloody hell”s, but it was all overpowered by Harry jolting from his seat with his son squeezed tightly in his arms.

“Yeahhhh! We wooooooon!” Harry repeated over and over at the top of his lungs, sending his son into the most contagious giggle fit anyone had ever seen. 

Harry ran a lap around the table, still holding his and Y/N’s boy by his waist and shaking him all around. He attacked his son with kisses all over his face, smothering him to the point that the boy pushed Harry away from his body and escaped his old man’s grip. Everyone couldn’t help but smile at the two of them and think about how happy Harry truly was. No one decided to bring it up, but it certainly occurred to them either right then or in the car on the way home that Harry had been thriving since having a child, and there’s no doubt in anyone’s mind that he could possibly regret settling down and more or less retiring from touring and the spotlight.

Everyone soon said their goodbyes, slowly trickling out one by one with either a child asleep on their shoulder or an empty food container in their arms. They promised to meet up again in a few weeks, though they all knew it would likely be a bit longer because no one’s schedules were ever clear enough to permit everyone to come back on the same night. There wasn’t any malice, however; they were always able to pick up right where they left off even if it was six months before they saw each other again.

“That was nice,” Harry mumbled into his pillow to Y/N after tucking in a tired out four-year-old into bed when both the sugar high from all of the sweets and the high from winning game night cleared his system.

“It was,” Y/N sighed as she rubbed moisturizing cream into the tight skin on her stomach.

Harry watched her work the product in with her fingers, entranced by the way her body had changed so much in just these past few months. He’d already seen it before when she was carrying their son, but it never failed to amaze Harry each and every time he thought about how their children were growing inside of Y/N. 

“Gimme tha’,” Harry sat up and held his hand out for the tube of lotion when he saw her struggling to reach the bottoms of her legs due to her protruding belly. 

She passed it off to him without a second thought, slowly but surely swinging her legs over to Harry’s side of the bed so he could help her apply the product to the remainder of her body.

“Ye’ remember when ye’ first came to game night?” he asked softly as his hands kneaded circles into the bottoms of her feet.

“Mhmm,” Y/N responded, sighing heavily at the way Harry was rubbing her and relieving some of the built-up pressure in her heels.

“Nearly creamed my panties when you asked for my number.”

A chuckle came from deep within Harry’s chest and he shook his head at her answer.

“Did ye’ think we’d end up here back then? Like, married with babies n’ stuff?”

“Not at all,” Y/N scoffed, “I thought you were ready to drop me off on the side of the road after I cried on our third date.”

“I’d never!” Harry shouted a bit too loud for how late it was.

He peeked over his shoulder at their closed bedroom door, hoping he wasn’t loud enough to stir their son from his sleep.

“It was cute,” Harry spoke quieter, “Ye’ look pretty when ye’ cry.”

“So you only like me because I’m pretty?” Y/N put her hand over her heart in fake-shock.

Harry rolled his eyes and pressed his knuckle a bit too hard into Y/N’s arches in retaliation, making her jerk her foot out of his grip.

“Oh, totally. That’s why I’ve put up with ye’ for nearly ten bloody years.”

“I’m just giving you shit, Harold,” she reassured him and pet the spot beside her on the bed, signaling to Harry that she wanted him to cuddle with her.

He happily crawled in next to Y/N, pressing his front against her back and cupping his hand around her swollen stomach. His bones relaxed into the mattress and his eyes grew heavy after he settled down into the sheets. Right when he pressed a kiss to Y/N’s bare shoulder, he felt a prodding at his palm that was resting on the swell of her tummy, a kick from their unborn child.

“I love you,” Harry smiled into her skin, “So much.”

“I love you too, Harry,” Y/N was sleepily grinning just as wide.

Right when she felt her eyes start to weld shut, right when she began to slip from consciousness and drift away to the sound of Harry’s gentle breathing close to her ear, Harry spoke up again.

“Remember earlier during Uno when I skipped Mitch instead of reversing back to you?”

“Yeah?” Y/N groaned, confused and slightly irritated as to why he’d decided to bring it up now.

“Ye’ told me I’d have to take care of myself if I did,” he began sponging soft but strategic open-mouthed kisses to the sensitive spots on her neck, “But I didn’t.”

His hand drifted from her belly down to her bare thighs, where he began stroking the skin in an attempt to rile her up. She felt the beginnings of a bulge nudging her bum. Leave it to Harry to get worked up at nearly two in the morning at their progressingly old age.

She sighed, lacing Harry’s fingers that were tracing patterns on her thighs into her own and moving them back up to the top of her belly where they would certainly stay out of trouble.

“Go to sleep, you nob head,” Y/N called over her shoulder before finally falling asleep.

Maybe Harry had won game night, but Y/N had certainly had the last laugh.

[estellaelysian]

Out on the Ranch

7:00

The sparkle of lights seemed to fade in the background as the wind blew, rustling the leaves and blowing like musical notes through the deep grove of trees. The lake glistened under the pure white moon, the water shifting, rippling against the silver sparkle of light. They crossed the pasture toward the fence line in a comfortable silence. Alishka studied the gentle rolling landscape, the undulations of the fence line as it rode the contours of the land and Ethan marveled at how different this place was from where he’d grown up. It occurred to him that he’d just come to appreciate the quiet, almost austere beauty of this landscape. In the distance, the pines and oaks scrabbled together, forming an impenetrable scrim of blackness. Behind them, the chatter of crickets emerged slowly into the night. Despite the darkness, she knew Ethan was stealing glances at her, and he was not being subtle about it.

She smiled. This side of him had been coming out more often, and it seemed to make him an entirely different person in itself. She wondered if he noticed it.

‘So how long has your cousin been married to John?’

‘Six. Seven this year.’

He nodded.

At first when Alaya had invited them over for the weekend, Alishka was sure how it’d go. She wasn’t even sure how Alaya had gotten Ethan to come along, because this was clearly planned in her absence, she had no hint of it until that morning, when they were leaving for the ranch.

‘Do you come here a lot?’ he asked her, pulling her out of her reverie.

‘No, not a lot these days,’ she answered. ‘Everything’s been too busy lately, and she is also settling in…’she trailed off, unsure what to say next.

As the trees densely crowded on his side, he moved closer, and she felt her stomach flutter. He, although, seemed visibly unfazed.

There’s a shortcut from the next fence,’ she said, barely even noticing the words falling from her lips. ‘Then we can get to the river and round from there to the main house.’

He nodded again, not knowing what else to say or do.

The faint murmur of the river was becoming more perceptible as they transversed the pasture in silence. He observed the dark trees huddled together in the distance, looking quite like a very still crowd observing them.

Soon, they had reached the next fence she had mentioned earlier.

‘Okay, so…’

‘We gotta jump over it,’ she said.

If he was surprised by that, he didn’t show. Instead he just nodded, and putting both hands on the top railing, gracefully hoped over.

‘Show off,’ she teased.

Then considered her options.

The slats were too narrowly placed for her to squeeze through, so she climbed up, perching at the top before swinging her legs over. She took his hands as she jumped down, liking their calloused warmth.

They came to a halt on the high bank. The river wasn’t wide, but he had the sense that the slow moving water was deeper than it appeared. Dragonflies flitted over the surface, breaking the stillness, causing tiny ripples that radiated to the edge. Beyond the river, in the dark shade of a gnarled oak tree, he noticed the remains of an old camp and an abandoned fire pit.

After they left the clearing by the river, they started back to the house, dried leaves crunching beneath their feet. The walk itself was leisurely, and none of them needing to talk.

As they neared the house, he noticed Cooper, Alaya and John’s Scottish terrier darting ahead toward the water bowl on the porch; he lapped at it between pants, then collapsed onto his belly.

‘He’s tired,’ he said, a smile escaping him unknowingly.

‘He’ll be fine. He follows John when he rides out every morning.’ She tucked loose strands of hair behind her ear. ‘Would you like something to drink? I don’t know about you, but I could really use a beer. Unless you’d have some scotch with John- I don’t kn–’

‘Sounds great,’ he said, chuckling heartily at her confusion

‘Okay, I’ll be back in a minute.’

As she walked away, he studied her receding form. Who could’ve thought he’d be doing any of this? Who could make sense of it? He was still wondering about it when she emerged outside a minute later, a pair of ice cold bottles in her hands.

She handed him a bottle and they took a seat on the porch chairs. He leaned back and let out a long sigh before turning to face her.

‘What?’ she asked. ‘What is it?’

‘I don’t know… you make all this seem interesting. A lot more interesting than it actually is.’

She tried her best to resist the smile that was forming but failed. ‘What are you talking about?’

He just kept looking at her intently before smiling. ‘Nothing.’

8:00

‘Come on, Ethan, I am starting up the grill. Wanna join me outside and let the ladies hang out?’

Ethan laughed. ‘Ofcourse.’

‘Honey, can you hand me the steaks? They are marinating in the fridge.’

‘Yeah,’ Alaya said. ‘Ethan, would you like some sun tea? I made it this afternoon.’

He smiled. It was hard to keep track of things in this confusion. Alaya and John were chaotic. Very friendly, welcoming and nice, but chaotic.

‘Yes to the sun tea, and I’ll wait outside for you, John,’ Ethan said finally. That way, it’d be easier for him too.

‘Okay, go on, I’ll join you in a minute,’ John said, moving around him toward the fridge.

Alishka flashed him a good luck sign before he stepped outside the door. Alaya poured in the tea in four cups as John pulled out the steaks. She moved back to the stove nd opened a jar of peas which Alishka guessed had come from the garden.

‘Can’t believe you have been hiding such a fine man, Alishka,’ she said, not even bothering to hide the smirk on her face.

‘Alaya!’ she hissed, but she either missed it, or ignored it completely.

‘He is so in love with you! Have you seen it?’

Alishka pretended to focus on her cup of tea.

‘Oh come on! Drop the act Alishka.’

‘Alaya, stop, will you?’

‘No, I won’t. I haven’t spoken for enough time as it is,’ she said with a wink.

Alishka shook her head. She had no idea how she was going to keep up with her cousin’s excited hosting.

8:30

Whatever the two women inside were talking about, Ethan was grateful he had excused himself from it, for it contained too many giggles, unexpected bursts of laughter, and a certain few hushed whispers as well. He took a sip of the sun tea as John prepared the grill.

‘Late dinners are usually Alaya’s thing,’ John said. ‘She loves them.’

Ethan chuckled. ‘It’s the same with Alishka.’

They fell into easy conversation. Ethan responded to most of the questions and filled in the whos, whats, whens and wheres in his life, though only in broad strokes. John did the same, and at the same time, shared some details about his life on the ranch. From what John had said, it was pretty clear that he and Alaya were interchangeable when it came to the tasks, though she mostly preferred to handle the indoors and book keeping while he did the outdoor works.

By that time, their mugs were almost empty. Ethan strode inside to get them refilled and found Alishka and Alaya talking at the table. It seemed they had finished cooking.

As they talked, John held up the grill top. Although it was charred black in places, it looked ready to go. he reached for a bag of charcoal and dumped some into a grill that looked way too old, using his hands to spread them out evenly. Then he added some lighter fluid, soaking each briquette for just a moment.

‘This grill looks … rather old,’ Ethan said uncertainly.

‘Yeah, it is here from my grandfathers time.’ Then, as if he had noticed Ethan’s skeptical expression, he went on: ‘I know there are better grills now, but I like to do it the way we did growing up. Besides, it tastes better this way. Cooking on those modern day grills is like cooking inside.’

Ethan nodded, although he couldn’t relate. ‘And you have promised us the best steaks we’ve ever had.’

‘That I have,’ he said with a hearty laugh.

They let the coals soak for a couple of minutes before he pulled out a box of matches from his pocket and lit the charcoals, stepping back when the flames shot up. The light breeze made the fire dance in circles.

John reached for the thick steak fillets which had been soaking in the brandy. He had already seasoned them with some salt, pepper and garlic powder.

‘Okay, this will be ready soon,’ he announced as the coals slowly turned white under the flames.

9:00

Alishka retrieved the plates and utensils and finished setting the table. Alaya diced tomatoes, cucumber and shredded the lettuce before tossing everything together in a brightly colored bowl just as Ethan and John returned with the steaks.

‘We need to let these sit for a couple of minutes,’ John said, taking off his hat, putting the platter of steaks on the table.

‘Perfect timing,’ Alaya said. ‘Let me just get the peas and potatoes in a bowl and dinner will be ready.’

‘So what were both of you talking about?’ John asked taking a seat. ‘It seemed pretty funny, for starters, amongst other things.’

‘It was nothing,’ Alishka said with a dismissive wave. ‘It was just Alaya being nosy about my life.’

‘Or, it was me being the cousin you always loved and told everything to.’

‘Oh you are not that fascinating,’ Alishka countered.

‘There’s always hope,’ John quipped, making everyone laugh.

Dinner passed easily, punctuated by laughter and stories. Outside, the moon rose even higher in the sky, making it blush with a lovely mix of light clouds and stars.

10:00

Once they were done with the dishes, Alaya nudged Alishka in the ribs by her elbow.

‘What?’ she asked, setting aside the cloth she had been using to wipe the dishes dry.

‘Both of you should go riding tomorrow.’

For a moment, she just stared at her cousin, stunned. ‘You are kidding,’ she finally said.

‘I am not. Come on, you don’t come down here a lot these days, do you? So maybe you could just go riding tomorrow, have some fun and everything. We’ve got three horses, so it won’t even be a problem.’

‘What about John? What about all the chores – I-’

‘You don’t worry about that. He’ll finish work by one, then you both can go riding. It’ll be fun, trust me.’

‘Uh…’

Before she could stop her, she marched past her into the living room where John and Ethan sat talking.

‘Dr. Ramsey,’ Alaya said brightly.

Behind her, Alishka tensed visibly.

‘I was just telling Alishka about how beautiful the weather is these days, and how amazing it would be to ride in such fine weather.’

No.

‘I think you both should do it tomorrow.’

*********

This is me ignoring canon and creating worlds of my own while I am gone. Part two coming soon.

Thank you all for your lovely support and for reading, love you.

Taglist: Let me know if you want to be added or removed

[heliads]

The Artist

After a less-than-perfect meeting with controlling S.H.I.E.L.D. higher-ups, Steve Rogers discovers a small art studio just down the block from the Avengers Tower. He meets a woman inside who may come to mean more to him than he first realizes.

masterlist

Steve Rogers is frustrated. He joined the Avengers, fought alongside S.H.I.E.L.D., made a hundred hard choices and maybe dozens more all so he could protect those he cared about. Those who couldn’t throw up a fist against their enemies. 

Yet now, he’s not entirely sure that what he’s doing is considered good. S.H.I.E.L.D. and the government are fiercely restrictive over what he and the Avengers do, and Steve is sick of it. Steve used to be able to pride himself on his gut reflex, on being able to always do the right thing. Is it bad that he’s not sure he can do that anymore? That when his fists come up bloody, he may be looking into the eyes of an innocent instead of a twisted soldier?

Steve supposes that’s why he snapped today. It was just another mandatory meeting, imposing yet another set of rules on what Steve is or is not allowed to do as Captain America. Steve’s usually controlled calm had cracked, and he had unleashed an incensed rant upon the S.H.I.E.L.D. higher-ups sent to speak to him.

To cool down, Steve had headed out of the Avengers tower, dressed in the ordinary clothes of a civilian so he could blend in. He’s not quite sure where his feet are taking him- down a few streets, turning a few corners. He glances at the shops he passes, not paying much attention to them, until one in particular catches his eye and he stops in his tracks.

It’s a small store, not displaying neon lights or garish decorations. There’s a slightly faded banner hanging in a window, and a larger sign propped up above the door. It’s an art studio, tucked away within the hustle and bustle of New York. Steve knows at once that he has to go in.

The studio itself is like a breath of fresh air after spending years trapped inside. The windows are open, letting in a breeze every now and then. The walls are covered floor to ceiling in the art of its students, with self-portraits and still lives peering out at him from every possible inch of space. As Steve walks past the front desk into the main room, he smiles at the sound of music piping from a stereo in the corner. Jazz, a nice slow song. Maybe Chet Baker.

There are only a few people in the room, working dutifully on their canvases and papers. The room has tables scattered around it, spread over with objects of every size and shape for use in a still life. There are fake fruits and flowers, dusty glass bottles and compact wooden boxes. It feels like home.

Across the room, a woman leans over the shoulder of someone seated at a computer, pointing out different aspects of possible reference images. When she sees Steve approach, she says one last sentence to the searcher before walking over to him, head swaying gently to the beat of the music.

“Hi, welcome to the studio! The name’s Y/N. Y/N L/N.” She looks to Steve expectantly, and he glances back before coming to his senses. “Steve. You’ve got a nice place here.” He gestures around the studio, and the woman smiles. “Thank you. It’s come together from bits and pieces, started a while ago by a friend and I.” The two of them look back at the gathered artists before Y/N turns back to Steve.

“You know, we’ve got an open hour every night from 7 to 8 if you want to drop by. You don’t have to pay or anything, just bring your art and be prepared to work.” Steve smiles at her. “That sounds pretty good. I might have to take you up on that.” Y/N flashes him a grin. “I hope to see you there, Steve.”

After Steve makes it back home, he finds himself still thinking about the woman from the studio. Steve had always enjoyed art, and something about that place makes him want to try again. So, it’s not exactly a surprise that he finds himself standing before the studio door the next day.

He ends up staying the entire hour, and then again the next day. He’s not sure why, but he feels drawn to the studio. The art, Y/N’s company, it all is a happy respite from the responsibilities that threaten to crush him on a day-to-day basis.

A month or two goes by before he realizes he loves Y/N. It’s a slow understanding, but something about her gentle smile and flashing eyes makes him want to spend the entire day with her. Steve hasn’t had the luxury of falling in love in a long time, but he thinks it would be more than alright to fall in love with her.

They’re walking home one night after a date when Steve’s good spell finally ends. It was an otherwise perfect night, the moon and stars casting a net of light across the city. Y/N’s hand is clasped in his, and they’re strolling down the streets peacefully. 

Steve has always taken satisfaction in his good instincts, but the two have been walking for a while before he realizes that the streets are oddly empty for a New York night. The main street is just a block or so ahead, and he starts to pick up his pace a little bit. 

However, it’s too late for this. A man dressed in black steps from the shadows to halt in front of Steve and Y/N, stopping them in their tracks. “Apologies, Rogers. You won’t be going anywhere tonight.” Steve’s jaw clenches, but then he looks to Y/N. “Let her leave. She hasn’t done anything to you.”

The man shakes his head in mock sorrow. “I’m afraid not. She might know something.” The man makes a slight gesture with his hand, and more men emerge from the shadows. Steve curses silently. This is not how he wanted the night to go.

The man extends his hands. “If you come quietly, I can promise you that she won’t get hurt.” Steve just shakes his head. “I know how these promises turn out. We aren’t going anywhere with you.” The man sighs. “I had hoped this would end more easily. Well, have it your way.” With that, the fight begins.

After a while of throwing punches and dodging bullets, Steve begins to wish he had brought his shield with him. Tony always had some way to summon his suit from a wristwatch or phone, why couldn’t Steve have done the same? With a panicked jolt, he realizes he hasn’t heard anything from Y/N. Quickly, Steve throws the man in front of him to the ground and spins around to face his girlfriend. What he sees makes him freeze in place.

Y/N apparently does not need any help, because she’s just finishing off another soldier. Four more lie unconscious at her feet. Steve looks around and realizes that all of the enemy soldiers are taken care of, and he fixes Y/N with a cold glare as he finally understands why she was able to fight off all of the guards.

“You’re a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, aren’t you.” Y/N looks away from him, but mutters one word under Steve’s bitter gaze. “Yes.” Steve shakes his head, feeling anger rush into him. “You’re just like Sharon. Another person S.H.I.E.L.D. planted in my life to keep me docile. Did you ever love me, or was that just another order?”

Y/N’s head flies up. “No, never. I promise you, Steve, I haven’t done anything that wasn’t what I wanted to do. What I feel for you is real.” Steve just scoffs disgustedly. “How am I supposed to believe that? We’re done. I don’t want to see you again. Tell your supervisors that they’ll need another guard.” With that, he walks away, trying not to react to Y/N’s brokenhearted calls.

The next day, Steve stalks up to Fury with the simmering rage of a lion. He doesn’t let the director speak, just confronts him with hushed and furious tones. “How long has Y/N L/N been posted to keep sight of me?” Fury sighs. “I see you’ve found out. She’s already told me about what happened. To be honest, I think you should be thanking her. If it was anyone else, they probably would have been kidnapped or killed by those HYDRA agents.”

Steve doesn’t want to hear it. “That’s not the point, Fury. You can’t keep forcing people into my life and expecting me to be fine with it.” Fury raises an eyebrow. “That’s a strong way to put it. She was just there across the street.” Steve takes a step back, confused. “What do you mean, only there?” Fury looks at him questioningly. “Her only assignment was to keep an eye on you, and be a distant acquaintance that you could trust if necessary. I wouldn’t exactly call that forcing someone into your life.”

Steve nods slowly, then turns to leave. His thoughts are a jumbled mess in his head, but he’s still thinking clearly enough to remember the way back to Y/N’s apartment.

It takes her a moment to respond when he knocks. When she opens the door, she looks more than a little surprised to see him. “I thought we were done.” Steve sighs. “I want to apologize. You weren’t faking it. I talked to Fury, and he said that your assignment never involved getting close to me.”

Y/N nods. “I love you, Steve. I promise. I know the circumstances aren’t exactly great, but I never meant to hurt you.” Steve smiles. “I know. I think the main question is this- will you forgive me for storming out of walking you home and accusing you of being a sleeper agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.?” Y/N laughs. “Only if you forgive me for keeping my status as an agent a secret.” Steve nods, grinning. He has Y/N back, and everything is just as it should be.

[drprettyboyspence]

Prom, BAU-style

Dr. Spencer Reid/reader 

Summary: This is a part two for Promposal, so read that if you haven't!! Y/n and Spencer go to the prom that Y/n and Garcia have planned for the BAU team. 

words: 1.4k 

warnings: none to my knowledge, super cute and fluffy! 

a/n: sorry this took a while, i’m getting ready to move in to college so i’ll probably be updating a little less frequently. let me know if you enjoy this though!! 

tagging @malfoys-demigod​ as requested :)))

Y/n feels Spencer’s strong hand holding hers as the two of them walk with Garcia to the Quantico parking lot. They made a quick pit stop in order for Spencer to change into the beautiful suit that the girls had picked out for him, and now they were on their way to Garcia’s, excitement thrumming under Y/n’s skin. Spencer doesn’t drive to work, so he and Y/n decide to drive together in Y/n’s car while Garcia drives her own. They wave to each other before getting into said respected cars. There’s a comfortable silence present within the small confines of Y/n’s car as she follows Garcia out of the parking lot, only broken when Spencer speaks for the first time since he had emerged out of the bathroom upstairs.

“Is it ridiculous that I’m really nervous for some reason? It’s like I’m the scared high schooler that I would have been had I gone to prom when I was younger, which is so silly.” Spencer turns his head to gaze out the window after admitting this. 

“Oh Spence, it’s not silly. To be honest, I’m a little bit nervous as well. It’s not as much about the prom though, but the person…” Y/n blushes furiously, she hadn’t really meant to confess her feelings to Spencer, especially not so early in the evening, but it had kind of slipped out and well, now it was out there. Y/n focuses on the road in front of her, anxiously awaiting Spencer’s response which never seems to come, the comfortable silence now filled with tension that Y/n has no idea what to do with. 

“You mean, you’re nervous about…me? Y/n, why would you ever be nervous about me! If anything, I should be nervous to spend time with you. I mean, you’re like the most gorgeous person…ever.” Spencer says softly, Y/n can feel his eyes on her even without turning her face away from the road. 

“Spencer…I like you…a lot. That’s why I’m nervous for the prom. I’ll admit though, I’m a lot less nervous now that I’ve told you that.” The silence in the car once again changes, going from tense to filled with excitement. 

“Y/n, I like you too! That’s why I’m so excited but also nervous for this evening. We are going to have such a good time though.” Spencer says and Y/n feels the rest of her nerves dissolve, immediately being replaced with extreme excitement as she pulls into Garcia’s driveway, seeing Garcia waving from outside of her own car. 

“Well Spencer, welcome to prom.” Y/n says as Spencer gets out of the car and walks around to Y/n’s door to open it for her, what a gentleman. 

“Welcome to your prom as well my dear.” Spencer says, Y/n notices the deeper tone his voice takes on and it sends a shiver up her spine, is this a hidden side to Spencer Reid? Y/n thinks she wants to find out. She exits the car and takes Spencer’s hand being offered to her, them making their way into the house, Garcia following practically squealing in delight at the sight of her two friends finally admitting their feelings for each other. They enter through the door and are immediately greeting with the other members of team all yelling 

“Welcome to prom!”

Spencer looks around in bewilderment at the decorations that Y/n and Garcia had worked hard to put up in order to transform the room. Derek walks forward and places his hand on Spencer’s shoulder. 

“Well pretty boy, you finally made it, and you’re a lucky man.” He says glancing at Y/n, she knows he’s just teasing Spencer, her and Derek are extremely close and they’re always taking shots at each other. 

“Leave him alone Morgan.” Y/n responds casually, laughing with her friend. 

“Alright my crime-solving friends of the BAU, we gather here tonight to celebrate prom, something our good doctor here was not able to experience because he’s smarter than all of us combined.” The team laughs, Y/n knew having Garcia be the DJ would be a good idea. “We’re going to play a slow song first, because that’s what it’s all about isn’t it, romanceeeeeee.” Y/n and Spencer glance at each other with light blushes on their faces as Garcia exaggerates the word romance, a word that has been on both of their minds all night. Slow music starts playing over the speakers and the team members begin to pair off to dance. Garcia and JJ begin to dance, as well as Morgan and Emily, while Hotch opts to stand to the side and drink a cup of punch, often choosing to be the stoic team leader even when he’s allowing himself to have fun. 

“Will you dance with me Spencer?” Y/n says and Spencer automatically nods, following her to the middle of the floor where their friends are. Spencer places his hand around Y/n’s waist and they place their hands on each other’s shoulders, beginning to sway to the music. They’re looking into each others eyes and their friends seem to disappear. “I didn’t know you were such a dancer Spencer.” Y/n says teasingly, but Spencer really is quite a bit more graceful than she had expected. 

“Only because I’m dancing with the most beautiful girl in the room.” He says, smiling shyly. Way too early, the slow song ends and more upbeat music begins, the team dancing and having fun for a prolonged period of time, getting lost in the nostalgic joy of being in high school, enjoying their time with their friends and forgetting about the horrid scenes they are accustomed to seeing on a daily basis. After a while, Garcia makes her way back up to the DJ booth

“Alright you kids, it’s the moment we’ve all been waiting for, it’s time to see who our prom king and queen are!” Spencer looks at Y/n in surprise, not expecting this. “Drum roll everyone…our prom king is our very own Dr. Spencer Reid!! And our prom queen is Agent Y/n Y/l/n!” The team members all clap as Spencer and Y/n walk up to Garcia to get their totally real crowns that Y/n and Garcia totally didn’t buy at party city. “Now the king and queen will have their first dance, clear the floor for the happy couple please.” Spencer and Y/n make their way to the center of the room once again and they begin to sway to the music as they had done earlier in the evening. Spencer leans forward to whisper in Y/n’s ear. 

“You look so beautiful Y/n, I can not say it enough, thank you so much for putting this all together, I’m the luckiest man in the world.” Y/n smiles, she usually gets embarrassed rather quickly, but dancing here with Spencer in front of all their friends, she feels extremely safe. 

“It was my pleasure Spencer, getting to spend an entire night with you, how could I turn that down, I’m so glad you had fun.” Before long the dance is over and it’s sadly time for the BAU team to call it a night as it’s getting late. They say their goodbyes and thank yous to Garcia for hosting the party, making their way out to their cars. Y/n and Spencer begin their short drive to Spencer’s apartment, they don’t speak on the way there, but it’s that comfortable silence once again, comfortable like a warm blanket that Y/n wants to wrap around herself and sink into. When they arrive Y/n gets out of the car to walk with Spencer up to his door. 

“Thank you again Y/n, it was a perfect night but uh, there is one thing that would make it more perfect, can I kiss you?” Y/n smiles, leaning forward and gently placing her lips on Spencer’s. He gives a small noise of surprise but then sinks into the kiss, placing his hand on Y/n’s shoulders as they continue kissing. They pull away reluctantly, as they are standing outside of Spencer’s apartment in formal wear kissing at 11 pm on a Friday, it’s probably a strange look to anybody passing by. 

“Goodnight Spencer, have an amazing night.” Y/n says before turning to return to her car. 

“Text me when you get home sweetheart.” Spencer says, watching the beautiful woman in front of him as she retreats away from his building. Y/n is driving home lost in her thoughts. She was right, this definitely is the start of something absolutely magical. 

[tamorapierce]

Spring 2020 sunshine, snow, and showers

Greetings from the land of it’s spring—no--it’s winter—it was spring yesterday—it’s snowing today.

Hello, all, and greetings from my haunts, where I have been holed up for some months prior to coronavirus and will be here for the duration Many of you have been wondering what’s been with me for the last couple of years even before our global emergency.  Very briefly, my health started to slide downhill toward the end of my last big tour, and zipped on through smaller problems until I ended up briefly in the hospital and served notice that I had to Slow Down and Change My Ways and Figure Out What Was Going On.  Or in other words, I’m turnin’ into an ooooold fart.  

So now I’m home, feeding back yard critters and trying to pull the last two books of Numair’s youthful adventures together.  (And I do some online chats.)  The problem is that after so many months away from the story, my brain has had too long to re-think it, which means I’m on the fourth or fifth draft of a book that normally takes two.  I’m chewing on the edge of my desk.  

I also required a new space to work in, and an entirely new system, because there were so many changes in my software I could no longer find my manuscript.  Now I’m moving along on a computer for the book only, and I have to spend time each day with my poor office cat so she gets her required amount of pets.  (Beyond that I seem to be needless to her.)  I will say she is a lot happier to see me and will now actually climb into my lab, instead of waiting for me to lift her there.

As a side note, part of the renovations was that I would get a new chair so that I could work the cramps out of my back while letting PowderPuff have complete use of my old chair.  Which worked for a time.  I had my own, brand new chair with no scratches or cat hair.  Once a day she would come over and sit in my lap and I would cuddle her until she declared my audience at an end, and return to her chair.  Then she decided she would tuck herself behind my back as the weather got colder and warm herself before retiring to her chair.  (You know where this is going, don’t you?)  Then she got more reluctant to go to her chair, with the fuzzy towel, pulled up right next to mine, and her stays (and size of area she occupied) on my chair lengthened.

Yep.  I was occupying the edge of the new chair, and she had the rest of the seat.  Now that I’m in a separate room it’s all good, but doing non-book work, I go back to my office, and cuddle her, and sit on the edge of the chair.  She only wants me around briefly anyway.  She’s an older cat and sleeps a lot.

We spent the holidays with our adopted “family” in Manhattan, leaving the cats and the parakeets with a sitter (in addition to our in-house crew my spouse-creature has two cats at his office and my assistant Julie has four at her place, plus the creatures I feed in the back yard).  We all got Tim a super-sized TV and have been exploring the mysteries of that entertainment area.  To be fair, I didn’t want one, while my husband the technogeek had been talking about one for years.  Tim’s friends and family banded together, and Tim got the Monster Device in 2019.  

Now I am so very, very glad we have it.  Before Virus we had company over for dinner and a movie once or twice a week, expanding our knowledge of Indian cinema and Tim’s knowledge of cookery (I’m no fool—I married a man who cooks).  We were starting to broaden our scope with Chinese cinema, animated movies, and musicals when 2020 rolled in.  

And then Corona knocked on China’s door. 

I’ve read a lot about epidemics and epidemic diseases over the years (you may have figured that out from some of my books).  As the disease spread in China I could see we were in trouble.  Then it spread beyond China, and I knew we were.  We’ve been flirting with this possibility for decades—the Spanish Flu of the late 1900s was just a whisper, and people don’t know more about it not because it wasn’t very serious or it didn’t spread very far, but because transportation and communication weren’t what they are now. 

We prepared as well as we could.  It helps that we’ve already had most of our yearly doctor visits and the regular winter flu.  It helps a lot that we work in-house, that all three of us can work online, that the house is big enough that we can work together and still be at safe distances, that Tim LOVES to shop (for all those occasions when the nearby store have been cleaned out of their supplies of necessary items, and all those times when yet another frozen dinner just won’t cut it), that our cats are indoors (except for the ferals I feed, and they are all known customers at this point), and that we have some resources.  We live in a small city with a number of medical schools, which means lots of medical resources.  And we have good friends here.

I’ll be checking in now and then, to say hi, to give some not-too-gloomy-I-hope thoughts, to let you know I’m still lurking about.

Maybe I should give hints about what I’m sure is happening in the current book.  Like, o, Arram’s encounter with a lesser god, one that’s greedy for other people’s power, who believes the world owes him.  A god who takes everything from those who have less to begin with—even Arram.

[seeaddywrite]

not a place, but a feeling

a/n: written for alex manes appreciation week 2020, day 1. i used the theme ‘home can be a person,’ but took a lot of liberties, whoops? thanks as always to @soberqueerinthewild for catching all of my repetition, wacky tenses, & holding my hand through the last 5k words of this fic, haha.

warnings: starts with forlex, but this is very clearly a malex fic & forrest does not end up particularly happy. angst with a happy ending, as per usual. 8k+ wordcount.

                                                                  ________

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Alex mutters to himself, turning the key in his SUV’s ignition for the third time and hoping for a miracle. The engine wheezes, sputters a few times, and finally settles into a high-pitched whine that sets Alex’s teeth on edge. Apparently, the ‘check engine’ light on his dash that morning had been more urgent than he’d expected -- and now, he’s stuck somewhere between Jim Valenti’s old hunting cabin and town. Fantastic. He’d already been running late to meet Forrest thanks to taking way too long to pick an outfit for their first official date, and now he’s over half an hour late.

As if it read his mind, Alex’s phone starts to ring, Forrest’s name flashing across the display. Groaning, Alex accepts the call and tries to crank the engine one more time. The attempt results in a screech and an alarming puff of smoke emerging from beneath the hood. With a bitten-off curse, Alex yanks the key from the ignition and throws the car door open, hastily putting a safe distance between himself and the smoking vehicle. Logic tells him that the smoke isn’t necessarily a precursor to an explosion, or even a fire, but years of military training and instinct are impossible to ignore.

“Hello? Hello? Alex, are you there?”

Alex glances from the still-smoking SUV to the phone in his palm, the source of the tinny-sounding voice calling his name. Frustrated with himself, he smacks a hand against his face and answers, hoping Forrest hasn’t already hung up on him. “Hey, yeah, I’m here. Sorry -- my car doesn’t want to start, and I guess I cranked it one too many times, because the engine just started smoking.”

For a moment, the only thing Alex hears on the other end of the line is blaring music. “I should probably not be relieved that your car blew up, huh?” Forrest asks, a self-deprecating laugh clear even through the pounding bass in the background. “I was starting to think you were standing me up.”

“What? Why would you think that?” Alex asks, putting the call on speaker so he could pull up Guerin’s contact information and start a new text while he listens. There’s no one else he could call at this hour, and he needs to be able to get to base on Monday, one way or the other. Michael would probably be able to fix the SUV, and even if he couldn’t do it overnight, he’d at least get Alex a loaner car for a few days while he did. And, after that, Alex wouldn’t have to worry about something like this happening again anytime soon; he could trust that Michael would actually fix the problem entirely, unlike any other mechanics in Roswell -- or in general, honestly.

My car gave up on me halfway to town. Any chance of some help?

It only occurs to Alex after the message has gone through that he should probably be a little more apprehensive about texting Guerin out of nowhere, but he’s really not. The two of them make a hell of a team, and after spending so much time together unravelling the mysteries of Nora and Tripp, and everything that came after, Alex is more confident than ever that Michael will always be part of his life -- even if it’s not in the way he’d initially hoped it would be. They’re family, whether or not they’re sleeping together, and Alex doesn’t doubt that anymore.

“Well, you weren’t exactly thrilled about the idea of going to Planet 7,” Forrest is saying, answering Alex’s question about why he would stand him up, and Alex feels guilty for not giving him his full attention. “And I kind of pressured you into it. I thought maybe you changed your mind.”

It’s a fair assumption, Alex supposes. He hadn’t been thrilled with the suggestion of going to Roswell’s only gay bar, even after finding the courage to push his father’s hateful words and judgements out of his mind for long enough to pull Forrest into a kiss in the middle of the Wild Pony. But he’s not the kind of guy to agree to something he really doesn’t want to do for a date, and he’d assumed Forrest would know that -- like Guerin would have. But Forrest is different from Michael; he has no reason to take Alex at his word, lacks the intimate knowledge of who Alex is that Michael has somehow managed to collect through ten years of hook-ups, break ups, and hurt feelings. And that’s not Forrest’s fault -- so Alex needs to learn to communicate better, somehow, if this has any chance of working out.

“I’m still planning on coming,” he promises, looking out at the darkened horizon, visible only because of the moonlight. “Seriously, I would’ve been there already if it weren’t for the fact that my car decided that tonight was the night it was giving up on me. I’m really looking forward to seeing you.”

There’s an audible smile in Forrest’s voice as he responds, and Alex feels vaguely proud of himself for managing to put it there, despite everything. “Okay, awesome. Want me to come get you? It’s late, so I doubt anyone’s going to be able to tow you before morning. And trust me, you don’t need to rough it in the desert overnight to prove what a badass you are. I already know.”

Alex laughs, and opens his mouth to retort -- but his phone dings, signalling an incoming barrage of messages, and Alex opens them with a swipe of his thumb, once again distracted from the phone conversation.

Let me guess. You decided to ignore your check engine light again.

Or was it an oil change you put off for six months?

You realize routine maintenance isn’t actually a suggestion, right? You either get it done, or you end up stranded in the middle of the desert begging for a ride.

On my way now with the tow now. Can you give me anything more specific than halfway to town, or am I supposed to just drive and hope for the best?

Alex snaps a picture of the nearest mile marker with the flash on, and sends it to Guerin with a quick, I plead the 5th. See you soon.

“Hello? Alex! Alex, are you --”

Alex winces guiltily and puts the phone hurriedly back to his ear. “Sorry, sorry, I’m still here. What were you saying?”

Again, all Alex hears for a long moment is the thudding of the bass from whatever stupid pop song the DJ is playing, and he runs a hand through his hair, frustrated with himself. He already basically missed their date, and now he’s only half paying attention while Forrest is kind and understanding about it. Alex doesn’t deserve his patience.

“I was asking you where you are. I’ll come get you, and we can still get in a few hours of shitty music and half-off beer,” Forrest reiterates patiently, though Alex can tell he’s starting to reach the end of his reserves of understanding. And, considering the circumstances, Alex doesn’t blame him.

“No, don’t worry about it! That’s pretty far out of your way. I already have a tow truck coming, so I’ll just have them give me a ride into town, and I’ll meet you like we planned.” Alex pauses, reflecting on his words and wondering when, exactly, he’d decided to avoid using Michael’s name… and why. It’s not like Forrest didn’t already know that the two of them were good friends. It’s not like it meant anything, that Alex called Michael to help -- his car broke down, and Michael is a mechanic. None of that added up to anything that he needed to lie to Forrest about.

And yet.

“You found a garage open at this hour in Roswell?” Forrest asked incredulously. “I can’t even get fast food past eight, so you’re going to have to share some of your black market contacts.”

The expectation of a laugh is pretty obvious, so Alex manages a slightly strained chuckle. “Uh, well, I can probably hook you up with a burger at the Crashdown after hours, but that’s about it,” he retorts, even though Liz is long-gone, and the chances of after-hours snacks at the diner are a lot lower without her. “I just called Guerin, tonight. He pretty much runs Sanders’ garage these days, and lives out back, so it’s no big deal for him to come get me.”

Alex opts to ignore the fact that he knows Michael doesn’t usually drop whatever he’s doing to rescue stranded motorists who aren’t smart enough to get their vehicle to a garage when the ‘check engine’ light comes on when he’s not working. That’s just what friends do for each other, and Alex would do the same, if their positions were reversed.

“Oh.” Alex doesn’t know Forrest well enough to read the emotion in the short syllable, but he’s not naive enough to think he sounds pleased. “You two must be pretty good friends if he’s giving up his Friday night plans to come pick you up, huh?”

It seems like a loaded question, so Alex just says, “We’ve known each other a long time,” in response, and glances up as a set of slowing headlights wash over him. Sanders’ tow truck pulls off to the side of the road in front of Alex’s SUV, and Michael waves from the window, familiar curls bouncing from the motion. Alex waves back with a grin.

“He’s pulling up now, actually, so I’m going to get off of here. I’ll give you a call and let you know when I’m five minutes out, if you still want to try to spend some time together tonight?”

Alex watches as Michael hops out of the truck and starts toward him with the usual swagger in his stride. It’s hard to tell what he was doing before he got Alex’s text, because he’s wearing the same ragged jeans and worn jacket that Alex has seen him in a hundred times, but there’s enough volume in his curls to suggest he put some effort into his hair. A date with Maria, maybe? Or hanging out with Isobel, who loved to make fun of his hair if he didn’t put the effort in?

“Yeah, okay,” Forrest says, recapturing Alex’s attention for a minute. “I’ll stay and have a few drinks, and I’ll see you when you get here. Tell Michael I said ‘hey.’”

“Will do,” Alex says, and ends the call just as Michael reaches him, hand extended for the keys.

“So?” he asks, and despite the darkness, Alex knows exactly what the teasing expression on Michael’s face looks like. It’s always the same -- a furrowed brow, a mischievous glint in his eyes, even as he manages to keep his lips from turning up in a too-obvious smile. It’s a look that never ceases to make Alex’s heartbeat speed up, even now, when they’ve moved past any real chance of romantic reconciliation. “Which one was it? Check engine light or skipped oil change?”

Alex rolls his eyes, but tosses his keys into Michael’s open palm. “Look, it’s not my fault that the check engine light comes on when you need an oil change -- who wouldn’t assume that’s the problem and keep driving?” They’ve had this argument before; Alex always takes his car to Michael when something goes wrong, and Michael always has to point out that Alex sucks at taking care of an engine. At this point, Alex would almost be disappointed if the mocking stopped.

Michael shakes his head in faux disappointment and disappears to pop the hood, leaving Alex to follow behind and watch. Another wave of smoke wafts into the night sky when the hood opens, and Michael sends Alex a disbelieving look over his shoulder. “Seriously? How many times did you try to start it when it made the grinding noise? A hundred? This would’ve taken me two minutes to fix if you hadn’t kept pushing it.” He’s pulled a flashlight from somewhere and is shining the beam down into the guts of the SUV, staring at what, to Alex, looks like a bunch of hoses, wires, and smoke.

“Sorry,” Alex says sheepishly. “Don’t worry about it tonight if it’s going to take a while -- I’m sure you had plans. We can just tow it back to town and worry about it again on Monday, during actual working hours.”

There’s a clank and a thud, and another plume of smoke curls up from the engine. Michael groans, and straightens up to slam the hood closed. “Yeah, okay, I give up. Let’s just get it on the truck and I’ll figure out what you did to it when I can actually see what I’m doing.” They both take a few steps back, and Michael turns, looking down the silent road for a minute before glancing back at Alex. “I’m going to cheat, since there’s no one else around. You can just get in the truck if you want. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Michael doesn’t wait for an answer before he’s staring intensely at the SUV. After a moment, with a slide of gravel and the squeal of tires, the SUV moves up the ramp on its own. There’s a thud as the connections fasten under the guidance of Michael’s metaphysical hands, and a few minutes later, they’re on their way back into Roswell.

For once, the silence between them isn’t loaded with things they should have said. Alex is reclined in the seat, relaxed and comfortable with someone he trusts driving -- but the ease of the atmosphere evaporates quickly when Michael asks, “So where am I dropping you? Do you need a ride back out to your place?”

It shouldn’t be this hard to tell Michael that he’s meeting Forrest. They haven’t been together in a long time, if they ever really even were -- and Michael has Maria. It’s not like he’s going to be upset. But the words feel stuck in Alex’s throat as he opens his mouth to answer, and his stomach squirms unpleasantly. “Uh, no,” he says. “I’m actually … meeting someone. At Planet 7.” His eyes are locked on the road straight ahead, but Alex can’t help himself; he glances at Michael through his periphery to check for a reaction.

Michael’s shoulders have lost their comfortable slouch, and his spine is rigid. He obviously still cares about who Alex is spending his time with -- but Alex isn’t going to apologize. They’re both moving on, and they need to remember that.

“Yeah,” Michael says finally. “I kind of guessed. You’re pretty dressed up for a night of snacks in front of the TV.”

Alex glances down at himself, taking in the dark-wash jeans and button-up shirt he’d selected for the occasion. “I guess so,” he agrees, sighing. “Uh, what were you doing with your night, before you were rudely interrupted by my smoking engine?” It’s not the most graceful subject change, but Alex doesn’t really care as long as they’re away from the topic of Forrest.

Michael snorts. “Trust me, I was relieved you called -- it’s my night to babysit Max and make sure he doesn’t take off after Liz. Towing a car is way more exciting than watching him boohoo into his beer.”

“I’m surprised you’re not glued to Maria’s side, since she just got out of the hospital.” Alex had only been trying to keep the conversation moving steadily away from his own date that night; he doesn’t expect Michael to go rigid in response. He blinks, turning in the passenger seat to get a better look at Michael’s expression, but he’s gone blank.

“Maria and I are over.” The answer, when it comes, is terse and definitely over-simplified, but Alex knows better than to ask for details. If Michael wanted to share, he would have already, and while friends might have license to pry into each other’s personal life, Alex doesn’t want Michael doing the same in return, so he stays quiet aside from a soft, “I’m sorry.”

The drive loses the easy sense of camaraderie after that. Alex spends the next twenty minutes into town fighting with a small, cruel voice in the back of his head that keeps whispering celebratory words about Michael’s break-up. They’re friends now. Friends don’t think like that, but even after a decade of separation, it’s hard not to think of Michael as more than a friend. Alex hopes that he just needs some practice; otherwise, none of this is going to end well.

Planet 7 isn’t exactly in the middle of town, but Michael finds it without any direction. Alex slides out of the passenger seat when he sees Forrest coming toward them, smiling, and glances back at Michael. “Thanks for the help, Guerin,” he says earnestly. “I really appreciate it.”

Michael nods, his expression still tense, though Alex thinks that’s less about his break-up and more about Forrest, now. “No problem. If you need a ride home, just let me know.”

Forrest has reached them by this point; one of his arms falls over Alex’s shoulders, and Alex only startles for a moment before relaxing again when he realizes who’s touching him. Michael’s eyes narrow slightly, but not enough to be noticeable to someone who isn’t really looking.

“That won’t be necessary,” Forrest tells Michael pleasantly, though he’s standing closer than he ever has before when they aren’t joined at the mouth. Alex sighs inwardly -- this is what he’d been trying to avoid. He doesn’t want Forrest thinking he needs to compete with Michael. Competition and jealousy in a relationship never ends well, and Alex wants one good thing in his life. Surely that’s not too much to ask? “I’ll make sure he gets home in one piece. Thanks for bringing him though, Alien Dude!”

Michael nods at Forrest, then glances back at Alex, an unreadable expression in his dark gaze. “I’ll call you tomorrow about the SUV,” he promises. “It might take me a couple of hours, but I’ll get it up and running for you by Monday. You need to be on base by six, right?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Guerin -- I owe you one.” Really, he’s lost track of who’s one-upping who when it comes to favors, but Alex isn’t interested in keeping score, and he doesn’t think Michael cares much, either.

Michael nods at them one more time, his eyes lingering on Alex’s face for long enough to make him start to squirm, and then he’s gone, disappearing in a plume of exhaust and the groan of overworked machinery, leaving Alex and Forrest staring after his his taillights and Alex feeling strangely bereft.

“All right,” Forrest says, his voice twice as cheerful as it had been only a moment ago. “Let’s get the night started, shall we? You missed out on Happy Hour, but I scored you a feather boa anyway.”

Alex laughs, letting the teasing ease him back from thinking about Michael and into focusing on Forrest and their plans. This is the path he’d chosen, the person he’d chosen. He’s never going to give up on being a part of Michael’s life, and he’ll protect the aliens and their secret with everything he has in him to make up for what his family did to theirs. But Michael can be his family without being his lover, and Alex needs to stop confusing the two before he winds up heartbroken and alone all over again.

Sometimes, love just isn’t enough. Cosmic doesn’t mean much without commitment, without trust, and there are too many complicated feelings between Alex and Michael to make a go of it. So he smiles, leans into Forrest’s side, and allows himself to be led into Planet 7 with a warm arm draped over his shoulders.

*******

Despite the anxiety leading up to their first few dates, being with Forrest turns out to be surprisingly easy. He’s smart and funny, quick with a witty comment or self-deprecating joke, and never pushes Alex further than he’s willing to be pushed. He understands Alex’s service background and love of writing, even if music isn’t his preferred medium, and encourages Alex to dress and act in a way that makes him feel true to himself. Alex smiles a lot around him, and laughs, and starting their relationship feels like sliding into an old, worn jacket -- soft and comfortable, without any real friction.

“So, basically, you’re bored,” Maria summarizes, after Alex finishes telling her about how smoothly things are going. They’re in the Wild Pony just after opening, Maria in her usual position behind the bar, Alex sitting on a stool opposite. She’s only been back to work for a few weeks after her stint in the hospital, but there’s no sign of weakness in the way she runs her business -- or the way she’s looking at him now.

“What? No! That’s not what I mean,” Alex argues, shaking his head quickly. “I said things are comfortable between us. That doesn’t mean I’m bored!”

Maria raised an eyebrow, her brightly-painted fingernails tapping against the bar. She’s dressed fairly conservatively tonigh in a flannel shirt and a pair of form-fitting jeans, but her nails are painted in pastels, a minor homage to her usual style. “Sweetie, you’ve been dating for what, two weeks? Relationships that new aren’t supposed to be easy, and definitely not comfortable. Two weeks in is like the honeymoon! You’re supposed to want to spend every waking moment together, to have to fight to keep your hands off of each other -- and instead of telling me about how hot he makes you, you’re comparing him to an old coat.” Skepticism drips from her words, and Alex crosses his arms over his chest and stares back at her in return annoyance.

“We’re taking things slow,” he says, and winces inwardly at the defensive tone.

While it’s true that Alex hasn’t exactly had to fight to keep his hands off of Forrest, he hasn’t been fully honest about them agreeing to take their sexual relationship slowly. Alex isn’t a prude, and it’s not that Forrest isn’t exactly his type. He’s just been unsure about taking that next step. Every time their dates end up at Forrest’s place -- and it’s honestly just a coincidence that Forrest has never stayed at Alex’s. It’s just always worked out that way; Alex isn’t trying to keep him out of his personal space -- and their goodbye turns into a little more than kiss, there’s always something holding Alex back from letting the moment continue. Forrest is great about it, and smiles when Alex pulls away, but after four dates and four attempts at moving onto second base, Alex can tell he’s starting to get frustrated.

Honestly, so is Alex. He doesn’t know why he’s so reticent to sleep with his boyfriend. Forrest has always been embarrassingly up front about finding Alex sexy, and he’s never so much as blinked at the realities of Alex’s amputation or scars -- but even so, Alex can’t do it. He’s just not ready.

But he’ll be damned if he admits any of that to Maria. Alex has no desire to know how she’d read into that information whatsoever.

“Uh-huh, right. Slow.” Maria pours a shot of whiskey into two glasses and slides one across the bartop to him, eyebrows raised in challenge, and Alex makes a face, but clinks his shot glass against Maria’s and knocks it back. “Okay, great. Are you drunk enough to tell me the truth now, or --”

“Whoa, shots before the sun goes down? And here I thought I was the town drunk.”

When Alex turns, he finds himself face-to-face with a smirking Michael Guerin. He’s wearing his usual jeans and open-collared shirt, black cowboy hat tipped forward on his head, and he’s obviously trying to act nonchalant. But Alex knows that he’s been avoiding Maria ever since she broke up with him -- Maria had been complaining about it half an hour ago. With that in mind, he looks at Michael again, and sees the tense lines around his eyes and the sharp edges of his smile.

“I think I’ve got a ways to go before I’m even tipsy,” Alex retorts, shaking his head in bemusement. “But you’re welcome to join us and see how many shots it takes.” In the weeks since their last meeting, it’s gotten easier to be around Michael without worrying about saying or doing the wrong thing. They’ve relaxed back into their usual banter, supported by genuine care for each other, and Alex isn’t spending every second of every interaction analyzing microexpressions anymore. It’s a nice change, and he’s planning on doing whatever he can to make sure it sticks around this time.

“You have no idea how much I wish I could,” Michael groans, and gestures over one shoulder with his thumb. Alex follows the movement and finds Isobel and Max Evans settling into a table at the back of the bar. Isobel’s perfectly-lined eyes are rolling in what can only be exasperation, and Max just looks miserable. There are bags beneath his eyes, and his hair and beard have seen better days, while Isobel is her usual immaculate self in floral dress with a flowing skirt and an updo. “Iz decided she’s had enough of Max’s moping and wants to get him laid.”

The disbelieving noise that escapes from Alex’s throat really isn’t a reflection on Max’s looks -- he has no doubt that, if his heart were in it, the defacto leader of Michael’s little family could find someone to take home with him. But the guy is clearly miserable and heartbroken over Liz’s departure, still. There’s no way Isobel’s going to convince him to pick anyone up tonight, no matter how many beautiful women she parades past the table.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Michael says, shaking his head. “I told her she’s crazy. Max has been pining over Liz for longer than he’s known how to speak in complete sentences. There’s no way he’s moving on that easy -- but you know how Isobel is.” He shrugs, a what can you do? sort of gesture, and Alex is stopped from answering by Maria clearing her throat pointedly from behind the bar.

Michael glances her way, his shoulders tensing for a second, but his smile is only slightly strained. “‘Sup, Deluca?” he asks. “I need three of whatever you’ve got on tap.” The interaction is wholly impersonal, and Alex almost winces for Maria, who definitely didn’t miss the cool tone in Michael’s voice as he spoke to her. Obviously, he’s still upset about the break-up, or at least holding onto some hard feelings. It’s not like Alex can blame him either, as much as he wants to be able to take Maria’s side, or at least understand her perspective. But Alex knows what it’s like to love Michael Guerin, and he knows what it’s like to lose him, and he can’t understand why Maria would put herself through that if she didn’t have to. She hasn’t really explained herself, either, to Michael or to Alex, so it’s almost impossible to empathize.

“You should come hang out,” Michael invites, when Maria turns away to get his drinks. “There’s already a crowd, so she’s going to be too busy to chat soon.” He’s right; the Pony has filled up while Maria grilled him on Forrest, and there’s already a line forming at the bar. For now, the second bartender has it covered, but it won’t be long before Maria will have to devote her full attention to running drinks. “You get company, I have someone to buffer and maybe stop me from killing one of my siblings . . . it’s a win-win situation, really.”

Alex chuckles, and nods his easy agreement. He’s not entirely sure how he feels about Max Evans after what he did to Flint -- it’s not like he hadn’t had a good reason to want the man dead, considering what he’d done, but despite all of his sins, Flint is still Alex’s brother. But it’s hard to look at the guy moping in a bar full of people and see a cold-blooded killer, and Alex wants to like Max. Plus, Isobel is always good for a laugh and at least one ridiculous story, and Alex never needs much of an excuse to spend time with Michael. “Yeah, sure,” he says. “But I’m telling you, if Max starts crying into his cup, I’m out of there.”

“Deal,” Michael agrees with a laugh. He heads back to the table with Isobel and Max, his body language getting looser the further he gets from Maria. Alex wonders if he realizes how much more relaxed he seems as he rejoins Max and Isobel -- before Max’s death, that was the last word he would have used to describe Michael in his presence, but now, it’s like something has clicked between them, and Guerin is clearly most comfortable with his family.

Alex tries not to hope that extends to him.

“He’s still giving you the cold shoulder, huh?” Alex asks, once Michael is out of earshot. He’ll go join them in a minute, after he has a chance to say goodbye to Maria and try, one more time, to figure out why she’d ended a relationship that seemed to make her genuinely happy.

Sighing, Maria nods. “Guess so. I was hoping that it’d get better, once he finally started coming back to the Pony, but --” she waves a hand in Guerin’s vague direction, the golden bangles on her wrist clacking together. “I get a ‘hey, how are you?’ and a ‘I’ll take a beer, please,’ and that’s about it. He doesn’t even try to get out of paying anymore, and I never thought I’d be bummed about that.” Her nose wrinkles, and Maria hunches forward over her elbows on the bar, looking run down. “I miss him, you know?”

Alex knows. Intimately. “Then maybe you shouldn’t have broken up with him?” he suggests leadingly, hoping that he’ll get a reason without having to ask, explicitly, why Maria had ended things. The suggestion sends a brief shock of something through his chest, but Alex doesn’t let himself stop to analyze it.

Maria rolls her eyes, but there’s a lingering sadness in them that Alex could pick up from across town. He knows Maria too well to fall for the act she’s putting on, and they both know it. “I had to,” she says finally, the words slow enough that Alex can tell she’s thinking it through even as she answers. “I didn’t want to, but—“ The sentence hangs in the air between them, but Maria doesn’t finish; instead, she shrugs. “I didn’t doubt that he loved me, you know. That wasn’t it— I know he thinks it was. But when you went missing, he just... didn’t think. Didn’t stop to ask for help, or wonder what he was walking into. He just started off on this crusade to get you back, all on his own.”

Alex opens his mouth, ready to tell her that Michael would have done the same for her, and that kind of recklessness probably isn’t a healthy, positive trait in a stable relationship, but Maria silences him with a look.

“Every time I called, every time I needed him— it wasn’t like that. He was always there, he always showed up for me— I’m not complaining! But Michael never jumped without looking, without thinking first, when it came to me. He was never desperate, or past reason, you know? He always managed to keep his secrets, or protect his family while he was saving me. But he didn’t do that when it came to you. Michael thought you were in real, mortal danger, and his first instinct was to do whatever was necessary to save you, and screw whoever else it might hurt.”

What the hell is he supposed to say to that? He sees where Maria is going with her explanation, now, and he’s not proud of the small, smug feeling hiding beneath the incredulity growing under his breastbone. “Maria, that’s not --”

“And,” Maria interrupts, raising her voice as if determined to be heard, whether Alex wants to listen or not. “As stupid as it sounds, considering the sci-fi horror movie our lives have become, I want someone to be that desperate at the thought of losing me.” Maria laughs, then, a short, self-deprecating sound. “I don’t want to play second-fiddle to the one great love of his life, Alex. As much as I love him, as much as I believe he loves me, dating isn’t fair for either of us.”

Alex stares at her, his lips parted as he flounders for the right words. He’s torn between trying to convince her that she’s wrong, that he and Michael are doing well at being friends and that it’s enough, and telling her that maybe she’s right, that it was never going to work out, and he wants her to be happy.

“That’s not— he’s not—“ Alex can’t argue, really. He knows, deep down, in the same part of his subconscious that knows the sky is blue and the grass is green, that Michael would do anything for him, and Alex would do the same in return. Even when they couldn’t look at each other without wanting to scream or cry, they’d always done their best to protect one another, and Alex doesn’t think that’s ever going to change. He’d promised Michael, once, that he’d keep him safe from his family, from the government, and Alex isn’t going to go back on his word on the off-chance that Michael and Maria might manage to work things out.

“Look, Maria,” he says finally. “Helena asked him to build a weapon of mass destruction.” The words feel the words like they’re being torn from his throat, but Alex perseveres. “And he did it. If she’d wanted him to build a bomb that could kill everyone in town, or more— he really might have done it, no matter who got hurt, just like you said.” Another full shot glass appears in front of him when he pauses, and Alex throws it back without a second thought, hoping the liquor will ease the ache caused by reliving everything that’s gone wrong with Guerin. “And how am I supposed to live with that? Knowing what he might do? What I could do, if our roles got reversed?”

The question is as good as admitting that Alex still has feelings for Michael, and he knows it. Hiding things, especially feelings, from Maria DeLuca has always been all but impossible, and this time, she’d barely had to give him a nudge before he spilled his guts. Damn it. How is he supposed to go over and drink with Michael and his family now?

“See? The fact that you didn’t even try to deny it is pretty telling, Alex,” Maria says, her lips quirked at the corners. “Instead, you immediately jump to how dangerous the lengths you’d go to for each other are. And yeah, maybe it’s a bad idea for you to be together -- I don’t know. That’s for you two to figure out.” Soft hands tighten around his. “But I had to make a choice for myself, too, and now I’m sure I made the right one.”

The noises of the bar and growing crowd around them fill the silence until Alex squeezes Maria’s hands and moves to pull back to say goodbye, before Guerin comes back to ask what’s taking so long -- the last thing either of them need is for Michael to overhear this conversation. But Maria’s grip tightens instead of releasing, and when Alex glances up at her, eyebrow raised in question, she’s staring at him with a strange intensity that tells him he really, really doesn’t want to hear whatever she’s about to say next.

“Don’t you think that Forrest should have a chance to make that choice?” she asks, and Alex yanks his hands free as he slides down from the barstool, more than ready to tell Maria to have a good night and leave. “I know you don’t want to hear it, Alex, but dating him is no different than Michael dating me. And--”

“And what, Maria?” Alex demands sharply. “You want me to tell you that I’m not sure about Forrest? You want me to admit there are times when we’re together that I have to remind myself that he’s not Michael, and I can’t expect him to know stupid things like the fact that I never remember to get a freaking oil change? Yeah, okay! I’ve been in love with Michael since I was seventeen. I can’t just flip a switch and stop feeling that way, even if it’s the right thing to do!”

Flustered at the sudden deluge of feeling and irritated by Maria’s pushing, Alex barely registers when Maria’s gaze jerks to one side and widens. “Alex -”

But he’s been holding back for weeks, months, years of watching Michael with other people and trying to open himself up to dating, too, and Alex isn’t ready to stop talking now that he’s started. So he ploughs forward, ignoring her interruption. “But you can’t compare yourself with Forrest, either -- it’s not the same. We’re dating! It’s fun, but he’s not in love with me. It’s not --”

“Alex!”

“Oh, no, don’t interrupt him on my account.”

Fuck. Like he was free-falling from a plane without the guarantee of a parachute, Alex’s stomach sinks and flips.

Forrest.

Alex spins around to find the guy he’s supposed to be dating standing less than a foot away, back and to Alex’s right, just a little in front of the crowd that now stretches from the entrance to the bar itself. Horror and guilt bloom in his stomach, making him feel nauseous. Alex struggles to make his mouth form words, his mind spinning as he tries to put together an explanation for whatever Forrest had just heard -- and what had he heard? How long has he been standing there? Alex honestly has no fucking clue, and the horrified, apologetic expression on Maria’s face suggests that she doesn’t, either. “I --” Alex shakes his head and forces a smile on his face. He can only hope it doesn’t look too fake. “I didn’t know you were going to be here tonight,” he says, biting his lower lip.

Both of Forrest’s eyebrows lift high enough that they disappear into his hairline. “Yeah, I’d say that’s pretty obvious,” he drawls, arms crossed defensively over his chest. Alex’s heartbeat speeds as the uncomfortable moment stretches between them, and for once, he’s grateful when someone drops a quarter in the jukebox and starts blaring an old country song at top volume. It cuts through the awkwardness a little, at least. “I came to meet a couple of friends who wanted to talk about plans to expand Open Mic night -- so, imagine my surprise when I came over here and heard the guy I’m dating talking about still being in love with his ex.”

Alex grips the edge of the bar, hard, and looks down at the floor. “I’m sorry you had to hear that,” he says quietly, the words barely audible over the din of the bar. “Can we maybe go somewhere to talk about this? I know I owe you an explanation, and I didn’t mean to --”

But Forrest shakes his head before he can even finish the sentence, lips thin and eyes hard. “Look,” he says, and the timbre of his voice matches the look in his eyes. “We haven’t been dating long, and you really don’t owe me an explanation. I’ve known you have history with Guerin since we met at the barn, and it’s not like I haven’t had plenty of clues since then that you’re not over him.” He runs fingers through his vibrantly blue hair, looking away from Alex while his jaw clenches and unclenches. When his gaze meets Alex’s again, the anger is still obvious, but this time, resignation is, too. “I mean, come on. You called him to come pick you up for our first date, when I could have come to get you just as easily after the car died. And last week, when you were talking to Liz in the car? You should have seen the way your face lit up when you started telling her about how he’s thinking about going to college or whatever. And that song -- fuck. How did I miss that the song was about him?”

Forrest paces in a small circuit around the barstools in their immediate area, and Alex remains silent, unable to say or do anything to defend himself or correct Forrest -- because everything he’s said is true. Alex may not have realized it, and he’d truly gone into this relationship with the best of intentions, but he’d never really wanted Forrest. He’d liked the way he felt with Forrest, enjoyed being flirted with and pushed out of the comfort zone he’d hidden within for so long, and Alex had mistaken liking Forrest’s company for romantic feelings. And all the while, he’d been trying to push away real romantic feelings for Guerin, like he’d been doing for the last decade of his life.

God, he’s such an asshole.

“So. Here it is. I’m going to go home, get drunk, and hate you for a while. You’re going to leave me alone. And then, in a few months when I can look at you without wanting to either yell or cry, we’re going to be friends. Because there aren’t enough gay guys in Roswell, and I think we could both use a friend who gets it.”

It’s such a Forrest way of breaking up with Alex that he almost laughs. It didn’t seem like anything could ruffle Forrest’s feathers -- it had been one of the things that drew Alex to him from the start. That constant calm, the feeling that no matter how chaotic and out of control Alex got, Forrest would be steady. But a desire for control, or something easy, isn’t a good enough reason to be with someone, not when Alex has always thrived in high-pressure situations, has always sought out the adrenaline rush. Maybe it’s a side effect of his ruined childhood, but Alex has always preferred the chaos of his time with Michael to anything else.

Alex swallows, his smile small and a little sad when he nods at Forrest. “Okay. I can do that. But seriously, I really am sorry. I really thought that I could move on, and I wanted to try with you because you always made me feel so brave.”

Forrest sucks in a breath, shakes his head again, and disappears into the crowd, headed toward the exit.

Alex doesn’t go after him.

******

It takes Michael about twenty minutes to find him after Alex leaves the Wild Pony. He’d considered sticking around and drinking until the shame and guilt melted away into an alcoholic haze, but ultimately, Alex has enough problems without adding alcoholism to the list. So he’d said goodnight to a still-apologetic Maria, avoided the stares and whispers that came from being dumped very publicly in a small, gossip-mongering town, and slipped out into the street.

He walks home, thankful for the house he bought that’s only a mile or so from the Wild Pony and the fact that he’s able to walk for a mile without the pinching and aching his old prosthetic had caused. He’ll be sore tomorrow, probably, but it’s worth the night air and the chance to clear his head. The confrontation with Forrest had been so public that Alex is feeling more embarrassed than guilty, at this point, but he knows that when that dies down, he’ll be angry with himself for hurting someone that way. No, Forrest hadn’t been in love with him, but that didn’t excuse the way Alex had treated him -- and he’s going to have to deal with that, somehow.

“You know, I’m pretty sure normal people don’t walk down abandoned alleys at this hour,” a familiar voice says from behind him, and instead of jumping at the unexpected presence, Alex lets go of the tension he hadn’t known he was carrying. Michael Guerin’s voice has always meant security, to Alex, even when it wasn’t guaranteed.

“Good thing neither of us are normal people,” Alex shoots back, stopping to wait for Michael to catch up. When they’re shoulder to shoulder, he starts forward again, falling into step with Guerin without even thinking about it. “I thought you’d still be at the Pony-- it’s awfully early, if you’re trying to keep that town drunk title.”

Michael huffs a laugh. “What do you mean? They ended the night with a floor show, so I figured the bar was closing.” He should probably be offended by the joke, Alex thinks, or at the very least embarrassed that Michael most likely overheard everything Forrest said, but he’s not. Instead, he’s just glad that Michael cared enough to chase after him, even now.

They walk in silence for a while longer before they arrive at the fence around Alex’s yard. He opens it with his key and gestures Michael inside -- he’s come this far, after all, and he isn’t trying to make an excuse to leave. Alex kills the security system and leads the way into the kitchen, kicking off his shoes and shrugging out of his jacket as he goes. “You want coffee?” he asks, heading straight for the coffee pot that’s served him well for the last several years.

Michael shrugs. “Sure, if you’re making it anyway.” He leans against the wall of cabinets a foot or so away from where Alex is measuring out coffee grounds, one foot propped casually behind him, arms hanging loose at his sides, and Alex can feel the weight of his stare as he flips the power switch on the coffee pot. But neither of them say anything, and the anticipation of the moment when someone finally breaks is enough to make Alex’s pulse speed up.

“So, are we going to talk about this, or --?” Unsurprisingly, Guerin is the first one to give in and speak.

Alex turns to face him properly, fidgeting with the bottom of his henley as he does. “Do you want to?”

It’s a fair question. Every time Alex has tried to talk to Guerin about their relationship, about the chance of moving forward, Michael’s been the one to say ‘no,’ or to walk away, and Alex doesn’t know if he’s brave enough to try again without some reassurance that this time will be different. He doesn’t mind fighting for Michael, doesn’t mind protecting him and loving him from a distance, if that’s what he needs, but there’s a limit to the number of times he can put himself on the line and be vulnerable only to have it thrown back in his face.

There’s a beat of silence, but ultimately, Michael nods. “Last time we talked about this, I couldn’t unravel what your father did to my mother from you and me,” he says quietly, his grease-stained fingers drumming idly on his own arms. “And I needed to know if I could find something -- someone -- who didn’t have the same power over me that you always have. Being with you has always made me feel like I’m in free fall, and I couldn’t be sure there wasn’t about to be a fiery crash landing.”

It hurts more than Alex expected, to hear that, but he knows he’s given Michael reason to worry. “Yeah,” he sighs, flipping the coffee pot off when the light comes on, signalling that it’s done brewing. “Is that still how you feel now?” If the answer is ‘yes,’ Alex doesn’t know where this conversation will lead, but he needs to know either way.

“Alex, I’m pretty sure I’m always going to feel out of control when I’m around you,” Michael says bluntly, taking a step forward, his gaze intent on Alex’s face. “You and me, we’ve never been easy, and my bet is that if we try this, we’re going to have to put some effort in to make it work -- but my mom never got the chance to be with Tripp. She had a lot more reasons than I do to be afraid, or to run in the other direction, and she didn’t, because she knew that love was worth it.”

Reading Tripp’s journal had been an emotional experience for all involved, but Alex wonders if he missed Michael having this revelation that day. He’d been caught up in his own thoughts, his own regrets for himself and his father, and the people they might have been if Tripp survived, so he supposes it’s possible.

“I don’t want to spend any more time wondering if we can be happy together,” Michael continues, suddenly close enough that Alex can feel his breath against his face. As usual, his mere proximity makes Alex’s cheeks feel warm and his stomach feel tight. He couldn’t speak now, even if he wanted to interrupt. “I don’t want to wake up every day for the rest of my life with the same hollow feeling in my gut when I realize you’re not in bed beside me. I don’t want to watch you date anymore assholes who make you smile, and I -- fuck, I want to be able to remind you to get your damn car serviced so you don’t end up stranded on the side of the road!”

Alex’s laugh is a little wet, and he’s reaching out to touch Michael’s stubbled cheek before his mind registers the action. He’s utterly overwhelmed with Michael’s admission, blown away by the honesty and the affection and the care, and God, he wants. He aches for Michael in that moment like he’d spent the better part of a decade aching for him in another part of the world, homesick for a person who wasn’t his anymore, and Alex wants to reclaim that home now more than ever.

Michael swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing convulsively, and continues, “I still can’t look away, Alex. And it hasn’t been our time, but now -- now I think it could be. If you still want to try this with me.”

This time, Alex’s laugh is incredulous. “I thought you heard what Forrest said at the bar,” he says, his expression impossibly fond as he looks back at Michael. “I’m in love with you. And I’m done running.”

The impulse to do it again will come back, he knows. Alex’s spent his entire adult life running, in some way or another, and that’s not going to vanish overnight because he has Michael. But he wants to stay, now. He wants to make a home with the man in front of him, wants to tie their lives together in every conceivable way and spend the rest of his days protecting Michael and making him happy. And that’s a pretty solid foundation on which to build.

Michael’s smile is wide and earnest in a way Alex has so rarely seen, and he drinks it in, promising himself that he’s going to take every opportunity to make Michael smile that way in the future.

And then, without overthinking, without worrying about what happens next, Alex closes the remaining distance between their bodies and seals their lips together in a hard, affirming kiss. Michael’s arms close around him, and Alex allows himself to melt into the warm, strong chest in front of him, content in the knowledge that Michael won’t let him fall.

For the first time since he went to war at eighteen, Alex Manes is officially home.

[demauryss]

for mtea @bluronyourradar. based on her tags on this post. i had minimum knowledge of how speed dating works so i wrote what came to me with the bit of research i did!!! i hope you like this and i’m sorry for taking too long!!

slow motion (i’m watching our love) 💌 | 3.9 k

in which there’s speed dating, some unexpected friends, a brief stint of matchmaking and a whole lot of sunshine smiles.

Lucas didn’t know what he was expecting to happen when he’d agreed with Mika to come to this … event or whatever it was. Because apparently Lucas was like a house plant Mika had got and forgot to take care of – and now it was starting to rot and needed someone to looks after it pronto.

That had been Mika’s analogy in trying to convince Lucas to try speed dating. Something he hadn’t heard of before. And with the promise of Mika buying all of Lucas’s groceries for the month if he came, Lucas had landed himself in this place. And it was the most recent thing he was regretting.

It’ll be fun, I promise!                      

It’s stupid, is what it is.

He didn’t know what to expect – but it was certainly not resorting to hide in a corner away from Mika’s prying eyes after talking with a total of four people – and being a witness to a very explicit kiss.

He wasn't thinking he'd get anyone when he had agreed to this, if you ask him. His thought process has been more towards getting through the evening with avoiding as much human interaction as he can. But in a succession of events, Mika had dragged him to a table, and Even, taller than nine of Lucases combined and eyes which was the reason why Lucas's tongue had forgot to form words, had approached him, and that was the first negative spike in his brain's specified compartment for dread.

They had talked for eight minutes before the bell rang and Even moved on to the next person. Lucas had learnt he was from Oslo; in his second year of college. He seemed nice, if those eight minutes were anything to go by, and totally someone Lucas would probably consider himself with. 

But there was something nagging inside his brain.

So he'd smiled as Even had left. Totally chiding his brain for worrying about lost potential when there were more pressing matters to discuss. Like why the next person coming after Even looked like a live incarnation Jack Frost. His name was Sander, and he was a David Bowie enthusiast. And then had come Nico and David, one after the other. 

And if it hadn't been for the way his stomach had crumbled at the thought of being with any of them -that he was slowly feeling his insides coming to his throat whenever he as much as smiled at them, that there was this empty hollow feeling inside of him as he sat talking to them despite his brain accepting them to be nice as the first thing it made sense of – Lucas wouldn’t be sitting here in his natural habitat being miserable at cursing his luck.

But as it happens – there was something nagging inside his brain. A black space. A variable entirely missing from the equation.

Lucas looks around the multitude of people all in an assortment of fading lights and a cacophony of voices all going over his head of people conversing. Lucas has never been good at that part, and that's why he finds it all so surreal to see. And it’s between that, hiding from Mika and cursing his fate, that there’s a mild commotion behind him. It would have been impossible to separate it from the discordance around him, had it not been for the way the reason the said commotion is created comes to where he’s sitting in the corner. Lucas, without meaning to, trains his ears on – he does a quick counting in his head – four people.

“I’m just saying,” One of them says, rubbing a hand over his neck. He looks like how Lucas feels after having to deal with a stupid customer on the phone – which is a story of a daily basis, “If you want to find a match, then maybe you should try and – I don’t know – talk to someone! ---

“Shut up Marti! This whole concept is stupid.” The one Lucas assumes to be Isak snaps. He looks tired, and Lucas really can’t argue with that sentiment.

“But it won’t hurt you to try?” Marti begins as a final resort. Isak only glares at him, “I don’t know what you think, but going on a date once doesn’t make you a relationship expert.”

“And especially when you call us in the middle of it to help you fake an emergency so you could run away.” The third person speaks, and Marti turns his murder filled eyes towards him. Lucas watches, heart somewhat lighter, as Marti just about digs the grave of the person in front of him.

“I like you better when you’re stoned, Matteo.” Marti grumbles, and the person in question turns starry eyed towards him, his tongue peeking out as he takes a gulp of the liquid in the glass he’s holding. These people remind Lucas of his own group of friends, those he hasn’t seen in months. With Yann and Basile both gone to spend the summer with their grandparents and Arthur on that science camp he signed up for ages ago – it has been quite some time since he last saw of them.

And now he misses them, terribly.

Marti looks at his friends disapprovingly as Isak and Matteo and the quiet friend whose name Lucas hasn’t got yet fail to hide their laughs at Marti’s distraught expression. He sighs, turning sideways and catching Lucas’s eyes. Lucas feels heat crawling up his neck spreading over his face at the thought of being caught in listening to someone else’s conversation. His initial reaction is to looks away, but his brain prevents him from doing so. Whatever, it’s too late now.

To his surprise, Marti addresses him like he’s talking to an old friend or something. “Please help me clear a point to these idiots,” he begins, “I’ll owe you forever.”

As if on cue, three pairs of eyes turn towards him in sync. Lucas gulps down whatever he was feeling earlier at being caught. “I’m sorry I can’t do that,” Lucas starts, feeling foreign being the subject of unknown gazes.

“Because you also think it’s stupid, right?” It’s Isak who begins with a hopeful cadence in his tone. Marti frowns at him, and Lucas sends a small smile in his direction.

“Well, there’s no denying that.”

The yell that breaks past Isak’s lips as he jumps in triumph raises several eyes in their direction. Lucas chuckles, apologetically looking at Marti who’s watching everything with a scowl on his face.

“I knew you were one of us,” Isak gestures to himself and the two people standing behind him. He looks out into the ground, pulling a sour expression on his face, “No sane person would be willing to spend an entire evening out there. It’s what I’ve been trying to tell this idiot here. But I think he gets it now. Do you, Marti?”

Marti, who has turned his head away from them, grumbles childishly, “Whatever. You guys don’t care for me.”

Isak laughs, and it’s Matteo who comes forward at that instant, wrapping an affectionate arm around Marti’s neck. “Don’t be like that, Marti. We do care for you!”

“Yeah. You’re the one who opens all of our jars when we need them.” The quiet one steps forward, and Lucas watches with Isak next to him. He heaves a sigh, before rolling his eyes, “Yeah yeah, now you can stop being a diva-” he turns to Lucas, “-he’s just being dramatic. Ignore him.”

Lucas laughs, now all unease under the guise of the nervousness which comes from meeting these people. Isak steps forward, taking a seat next to where Lucas is sitting. His friends follow, and soon he’s include in a circle of unknown people in a place he’d rather bolt out of.

“If we’ve reached an agreement here,” Isak pointedly says towards Marti, who is busy drilling holes in his skull. There’s light music present in the air around him, filled with occasional ringing of bell. Lucas ignores it and focuses on Isak. “I’d like to formerly make an introduction. I’m Isak, that’s Marti, Robbe and Matteo, and we’re seriously not having a good time right now.”

Lucas grins, “I’m Lucas, and you can count me in that.”

“Then what brings you here, Lucas?” It’s Robbe – the quiet one – who asks him that. His eyes have a kind look in them, and it’s accentuated by the light hanging over his head.

“My roommate,” Lucas sighs, “He works here, and he kind of convinced me to come and by convinced I mean he offered to buy my groceries for the month, so.”

They laugh, even Marti, who lets his annoyed expression slip for a minute before picking it up again as if nothing happened. It does occur to Lucas that he’s basically oversharing to a bunch of random people he just met. But the thought evaporates when they smile together, a familiar glint to all of their eyes. Lucas follows the warmth and soon, he finds himself getting enveloped.

Matteo smiles, “I was tagged into this Instagram post and someone thought it’d be a good idea to try this out.”

“And I still stand by it,” Marti somewhat grumbles. Lucas chuckles as Isak shakes his head at him. Robbe pats him on the back as Marti turns to Lucas.

“Please tell me you atleast talked to people before forming your opinion instead of criticizing from afar like some people here.”

“Hey!” Isak, Matteo and Robbe shout in unison. Lucas smiles, shaking his head. “Yeah I did meet some people but –“ Lucas shrugs, “-they were not someone I’d consider eating a pizza with brought from my roommate’s money.”

“That makes a lot of sense. Why didn’t I think of it before?” Matteo asks Robbe, who just shrugs. It Marti who bites back, “Because you’re stupid, that’s why.”

Lucas looks between them, as Isak raises his hand, high-fiving Marti over Lucas’s head. This night is going to be fun.

//

Some twenty minutes later, and Lucas is now a member of a groupchat with the four people whom Lucas can now almost call him his friends. (They’ve exchanged numbers, followed each on Instagram, exchanged pretty heavy details of their lives and exchanged some solid opinions on the people they’ve found mildly interesting.)

Now he and Matteo are surveying the crowd, finding someone suitable for Isak to go and talk to since his great epiphany seconds ago about not wasting any chance he’s presented with. (Marti had the most smug ‘I’ve been saying it for ages’ look on his face which Isak had wiped away with a middle finger raised in his direction.) Robbe and Marti were helping them, but it wasn’t up to any use since so far Isak had rejected hundred percent of the guys they had picked, all with the same monotonous ‘I’m not feeling it now.’

And Robbe had coughed a laugh with Marti hiding his face in Robbe’s shoulder, Matteo had whispered under his breath, that’s not the only thing you’re going to not feel tonight if you keep this up, and Isak had landed a smack at the back of his head – and it was when Lucas had realized his evening had turned out quite different from what he was thinking. He may not have found a match tonight, and Mika hadn’t said that he must find one. Atleast he’d be walking out with this memory with four new contacts – and the freedom from worrying about buying his groceries for the next month.

He looks out into the crowd dimmed with light. He doesn’t know if any successful match has been formed yet or not, but he doesn’t have to worry about that for more as he spots Mika sashaying towards him with a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Damn Lucas,” he says. His eyes turn brighter as his gaze shifts from Lucas to the people sitting around him. “I thought finding one match would take you centuries but you’ve managed to snag four beautiful people from the crowd. I must be teaching you well.”

Lucas rolls his eyes as Mika goes on introducing himself to them. It’s when terms like Lucas’s gay guru and Lucas’s foray for the night are exchanged between the group, that he turns around, way past feeling embarrassed at his roommate’s antics. He’s so used to them now it’s not even funny.

“Okay Mika you can stop it now,” he says, watching as the guys including Mika act entirely too pleased at Lucas’s discomfort. “Sorry to burst your bubble but none of them is my match.”

“Oh he wishes he could get someone like me,” Robbe grins as Marti and Matteo fail to hide their terrible smiles. There’s a moment where Lucas remembers he called them kind, but that’s all gone now.

“Yeah. He was alone and miserable in the corner. If it hadn’t been for us he would have probably died from sadness.” Isak says, elbowing Lucas in his shoulder. Lucas musters his most perfect glare he could in that moment.

“I hate you all.”

“Oh but I don’t!” Mika laughs as if he’s having the time of his life. “I’m not pleased with anything Lucas does in his life, but I’m so proud of him for finding you guys!” He looks like a proud parent, Lucas would have felt to say had it not been for Mika declaring the sentiment himself. “I’ve work to do now, but you guys are welcome to come here anytime you want.”

Mika leaves, and Lucas glares at the four devils now grinning from ear to ear. Lucas rolls his eyes, scowling when their expressions don’t drop.

“Seriously?” Lucas asks.

“Yes,” they all reply in unison, and Lucas shakes his head.

“Now if you’re done being creepy can we go back to the task at hand?”

It gets their attention as Isak straightens up, a serious expression falling on his face. “I’ve come to a conclusion; I’m letting fate decide it for me.” as he speaks, he pulls out a coin from his inner pocket and puts it forward in his open palm in front of Lucas. “Lucas, take this coin and throw it in whatever way you want. If it lands on the floor somewhere, I’d go home and never try speed dating again. But if it lands on a table or hits someone on the head and that person turns then-“

He shrugs, and Lucas doesn’t see the logic in his plan. “It’s stupid,” Robbe says, to which Isak snaps in his direction, “Shut up I’m trying something here.”

So with one last hopeless look shared between Lucas and Marti and Robbe and Matteo, and a hopeful Isak jumping with glee, Lucas takes the coin, throwing it away and –

It follows a perfect projectile, a silver running through air, disappearing for a second. They all watch it and Lucas can swear they’re all holding their breaths. It’s silly, how they collectively exhale when the coin reappears into their vision before landing on-

Even’s table.

Lucas can tell he’s shocked when a coin lands on his table not far from them as he starts looking around. Lucas turns his head to the side, watching Marti and Matteo and Robbe do the same. But Isak- he stays with his stare focused on Even who’s now smiling at someone and Isak looks completely smitten.

“Um…Isak?” Marti waves a hand in front of his face, sharing a look with the three as Isak completely ignores him.

“Lucas you beautiful being!” Isak says, still in a kind of trance as he gets up from his chair. Lucas understands his intentions, and with a pat on his back, Lucas says, “Go on. He’s from Oslo too.”

It’s what sets the deal as Isak sets in motion. “I’ll catch up with you guys later,” he says off-handedly. They watch him make his way to Even, the crowd swallowing him just when he makes his way to the table.

Matteo turns to Lucas, “Is he one of the guys you said you talked too?”

Lucas nods, “Yeah he is – and come to think of it, I think I met some people you guys would like.”

And as Lucas plays matchmaker, he looks for the remaining three people he had met before. It’s funny really – this fate or kismet or whatever was going on when he met these people each of which bears a connection with the people he’d met earlier – and he spots Sander, his lighter than blond hair standing from the crowd. Lucas turns to Robbe.

“You see that guy over there? He’s Sander, and I think you’d be perfect together.”

//

It takes him a minute or two to find Nico and David in the crowd, and it takes him a minute as he convinced Marti and Matteo to go talk with them. Unlike Robbe who had fled straightaway, these two were difficult, and Lucas had resorted to quoting Marti’s own lines to him.

“It doesn’t hurt you to try, does it?”

And now he is left alone on their table as he tries to check up on his friends in the crowd. He had seen Isak disappearing with Even, and he’d shot him a thumbs-up when he’d met his eyes from across the room. The rest of them are still in the talking stage from what Lucas can see, even Mika, who’s now stood talking to someone much too familiarly – and Lucas can’t help but be envious of apparently how easy that looks for him.

He’s thinking of calling it a night after Isak sends a message in their newly formed groupchat, saying how he doesn’t think he’d be back anytime soon (which Lucas kind of guessed, by the way). The other boys reply in variations of same sentiment, and Lucas guesses his attempt at matchmaking was more successful than he thought it would be.

Lucas shakes his head, sending a message back into the groupchat, making sure the guys knew he won’t be missing them if they end up getting murdered tonight.

(But in all seriousness, he tells them to be safe, and he smiles when gets all affirmative responses in return.)

It’s when he’s beginning to leave that he feels a presence beside him. It’s a repeat of just a few moments ago, and he turns, expecting it to be Robbe or Matteo or even Mika and-

-and it’s not them. Not by a long shot.

For a moment it feels like one of Lucas’s daydreams as the light turning green and blue dances over the stranger’s head. His lips are curved in a smile, and Lucas really feels he’s tripped and transported into one of the universes he’s created during many of his bouts of daydreaming.

“Hi. You’re Lucas right?” The stranger’s voice carries over the noise of the club. It’s soft, sweet, and Lucas would have lost it had it not been for the stranger to be standing literally in a meter’s distance of him.

The stranger meets his eyes, and Lucas feels all the conversation skills in him reverting to zero. He was having no problem talking about his life to then-strangers just moments ago. Why does it brain have to be filled with hay now?

“Um – yes?” It comes out as a question, and the person smiles. Lucas feels his idiot brain transporting him to somewhere else – where it’s only him and the stranger, where the voices in the background aren’t filling his mind like white noise and where the sun is shining directly over him so Lucas is able to make out the colours lighting up in the stranger’s eyes.

Lucas’s heart beats heavily in the hollow of his chest.

The stranger cocks his neck to one side, “I’m Eliott,” he says. Eliott, Lucas rolls the name in his head. “And I’ve been watching you play matchmaker for a while and I’ve been meaning to ask -,” he takes a pause; Lucas hangs onto it, “-which of these beautiful boys do you think I’d match perfectly with?”

It’s a wonder Eliott doesn’t notice when Lucas’s heart tears his chest and lands on the table in front of him, beating so heavily it’s a struggle trying to calm it down. Eliott has been watching him. Eliott, who looks like he makes a living out of appearing on billboards and photoshoots, has been watching Lucas for a better part of his night.

Lucas wets his lips, thankful for the dim lighting of the café to hide his burning cheeks. What he wouldn’t give to-

“Do you have your eyes set on someone tonight?” Lucas mirrors the position of Eliott’s head. Eliott’s face lights up even more, and Lucas feels a shiver of unknown reason pass through the length of his spine.

“I do, actually. He has a nice smile and pretty blue eyes. And his hair is the wildest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Lucas looks around, confused for a moment, “That’s like, half of the people here?”

Eliott wrinkles his face adorably. Something jumps inside Lucas’s stomach at the sight. Eliott mutters something under his breath which Lucas fails to catch. And then he looks up, his eyes now gaining a glint which wasn’t there before. Lucas focuses – and it’s of nervousness.

“I suppose I should be more direct,” Eliott begins, taking a step forward so he’s just an inch away from Lucas, “If you’re free now then I’d like to take you somewhere.”

What?

Lucas chokes on the air caught in his throat at Eliott’s sudden statement, neck whipping towards him so fast it’s a wonder he doesn’t break it. Eliott himself looks taken back, and Lucas doesn’t know if it’s at his own words or something else.

“Wait no – that was so straightforward I’m sorry!” Eliott’s voice is frantic, and Lucas feels a beginning of something in his chest. “I – uh – I wanted to know if you’ve found someone tonight.” He says in one single breath. Lucas feels his face getting warm. The good warm you get after spending a day out in the sun as it washes away your sadness and takes it from you as it begins to set. He feels ants crawling inside him – those who begin from his heart and spread like a warm fire all around him with his blood.

Eliott looks like he might mass out when Lucas comes back. This doesn’t happen to him. It isn’t often that people actively seek him out. And here’s him – Eliott – in all his beauty sitting in front of hm. There’s something restless inside his arms, a nervousness which rises from the feeling which he’s refusing from letting it set in his bones.

“I haven’t,” Lucas’s voice is small, but it’s everything which brings a light to Eliott’s face which he can’t wait to follow. The warmth settles over him, and Lucas turns his head to the side when it becomes too much. He finds the guys, minus Isak, who have now taken the role of an audience for Lucas, and apparently look shameless when Lucas catches them staring.

(It isn’t like Lucas can judge them or anything.)

Lucas tries to convey a message to them with his eyes, and they get it, thankfully, as they turn to their respective partners, now forming a small circle which Lucas watches from afar. He turns to Eliott, his eyes in half-moons and smile in all suns. It really feels like a dream, and he wastes no moment in sending a prayer above.

“So – the place you wanted to take me?”

Eliott laughs, his voice soft and high. He leans forward, and Lucas meets him halfway.

[princessanneftw]

Princess Anne: the best queen we’ll never have

Discreet and dependable, she is a royal cast in her mother’s mould. No wonder many long for her to reign over us, write Roya Nikkhah and Tony Allen-Mills

Roya Nikkhah and Tony Allen-Mills for The Sunday Times

When the Princess Royal turned up at one of the charities she supports to meet a gathering of disabled and autistic children, a young girl boldly informed her: “You don’t look much like a princess.” Anne didn’t miss a beat. “Good,” she replied. “That’s very reassuring.”

There have been moments over the past half-century when the Queen’s second child didn’t behave much like a princess either. She acquired a criminal conviction after her bull terrier, Dotty, bit two children. She tried to wriggle out of a speeding fine. She once owned a Reliant Robin.

Anne was unprincesslike in other ways too. As president of Save the Children, she has toured remote corners of Africa, Asia and the Middle East. She slept on camp beds and shared a bathroom with up to eight people. She visited parts not many British royals have reached: Madagascar; Peru; Wuhan, in China. In London she travels to some engagements by Tube. In 1971 she was the BBC’s sports personality of the year.

Today, as she approaches her 70th birthday, Anne has in many ways emerged as the royal family’s most valuable member after the Queen.

Captain Sir Nick Wright, a former naval officer, was Anne’s longest-serving private secretary, retiring last year after 17 years. He has never previously spoken about the princess. Now he says her sense of humour is “marvellously wicked” and her stamina endless: “The day starts early and ends at 11pm, day in, day out. Like the Duke of Edinburgh, she’ll just go on and on.

“She is totally consistent. If I’d done something wrong, I’d get a look, which can be disarming at times, but then she would immediately move on. Now, more than ever she will be a great stabilising influence for the monarchy, and when the Prince of Wales accedes to the throne, I don’t see her role being diminished, because she is such a valued and committed member of the family.”

Amid the chaos that has engulfed the dukedoms of York and Sussex, Anne has appeared a pillar of probity, devoted to her royal duties, impervious to the fallout from successive family scandals.

Although she is now 14th in the line of succession, it is tempting to reflect, as the nation braces for a whirlwind of birthday tributes — including a fly-on-the-wall ITV documentary promising to tell the story of “a royal mould-breaker, a princess who refused to follow the script” — that Anne may come to be remembered as the best queen Britain never had.

It has been quite a turnaround for a distant, largely unknowable princess routinely described as “no-nonsense”, “brusque” or “as stiff as her hairdo”. She was the first daughter of a monarch to be sent to boarding school. One of her contemporaries at Benenden in Kent was the royal biographer Penny Junor, who later described her as “one of the rudest people I have ever come across”. Anne inherited her father’s fondness for swearing at photographers and brushing off unwanted attention, earning her the tabloid title “Princess Sourpuss”. A Sunday Times profile in 2001 mockingly described her as an “enemy of the people”, after her lawyers explained that the reason why she didn’t slow down her speeding Bentley when flashing blue lights appeared behind her was because she thought it was a royal police escort.

She was never mistaken for a “people’s princess” and her relations with her former sisters-in-law Diana, Princess of Wales and Sarah, Duchess of York were by most accounts somewhere between chilly and arctic. She was reported to have shouted during a royal Christmas party at which Diana was present: “I will not be pushed around by that brainless woman.”

Her 1973 marriage to fellow equestrian Captain Mark Phillips produced two children; long before Harry and Meghan shunned a title for their son Archie, Anne insisted that her son Peter and daughter Zara remain Mr and Miss.

“I think it was probably easier for them,” she told Vanity Fair earlier this year. “I think most people would argue there are downsides to having titles.”

Over the years there have been occasional upsets, notably in 1974 when Anne survived a kidnap attempt in central London. Some years later she was linked romantically to her Scotland Yard protection officer, who was removed from royal service in 1982 amid newspaper reports of “overfamiliarity”.

Several more rumoured romances were reported but shortly after divorcing Phillips in 1992, Anne married Commander Timothy Laurence (now a retired vice-admiral and a knight). There has been speculation in recent years that the couple have grown apart and live separate lives, but people who know them say the partnership remains watertight.

“I’ve seen them together often and they seem to me a very good team,” said the lyricist Sir Tim Rice, a long-standing friend of Anne’s. She and Laurence attended a revival of the musical Chess at the London Coliseum. “She rang me up and wanted it to be very downmarket,” said Rice. “They sat at the back, we had a sandwich at half-time and when some of the producers found out they said, ‘Why didn’t you tell us? We could have made more of a fuss.’ But that’s exactly what she doesn’t want.”

Indeed, it has been precisely the avoidance of fuss that has turned Anne into such a discreet, dependable and desirable patron for so many of the more than 300 charities, military organisations and associations that she supports.

Unlike Prince Charles, Anne rarely courts public displeasure by pronouncing on government, family or any other policy matter. At her many public engagements — she has often topped the list of busiest royals — she tends to dodge the top brass and head straight for the lower ranks, military or civilian.

As she told Vanity Fair: “It’s not just about ‘Can I get a tick in the box for doing this?’ No, it’s about serving. It comes from an example from both my parents’ way of working and where they saw their role being.”

Gareth Howells, chief executive of the Carers Trust, of which Anne is also patron, said: “At every event she goes straight to talk to the unpaid carers first. They are her priority. She doesn’t just rock up to shake hands.”

Major Tom Gibbs, the officer commanding C Squadron, King’s Royal Hussars, recalled Anne ripping up the programme when she arrived at the unit’s base in Germany shortly after it was mobilised for the Gulf War in 1991: “Instead she spent hours talking to the [soldiers’] wives to understand the impact it was going to have on them. She gives the unit what it needs, rather than what is expected.”

Colonel Jason Gunning, of the Royal Signals, another of Anne’s regiments, added: “She doesn’t seek the limelight, but she’s very good in it.”

A month after Harry and Meghan announced their departure for a new role across the pond, Anne told Vanity Fair: “I don’t think this younger generation probably understands what I was doing in the past. Nowadays, they’re much more looking for, ‘Oh, let’s do it a new way’. And I’m already at the stage [of], ‘Please do not reinvent that particular wheel. We’ve been there, done that. Some of these things don’t work. You may need to go back to basics.’ ”

All this suggests that Anne, in radically different circumstances, might have become the worthiest of successors to her mother. The Queen and her daughter are said to have become much closer of late and one royal source noted: “The feeling is that if the Duke of Edinburgh isn’t around any more, it will be the princess who is giving her mother more support and not the Duke of York, who was trying to insert himself into that role.”

Andrew is now more concerned with extracting himself from trouble. “With everything that’s been going on recently, the members of the royal family you have left are the really hard-working ones, like Anne, who just get it; who knuckle down and know ‘it’s not about us, it’s about them, the public’,” the source added.

The Princess Royal may have been a mould-breaker once, but today she has reshaped and remade herself very much in her mother’s image. All hail not-to-be Queen Anne II, the monarch Britain never knew it might need.

[yayeetsonny]

Dancing In The Dark~Lindsey Horan x Male reader

prompt: Lindsey and Male reader are quarantined together, they’re in a bit of a rut. Romantic dinner, and dancing fixes everything.

Requested by: @zestybiscuitanon​ 

Y/N PRO//

It’s been 8 weeks since the start of the quarantine. The first 3 weeks were a walk in the park and my girlfriend Lindsey Horan and I were more in love than ever, We relished in the time we got to spend with each other and all the new things we were learning about each other. But then things shifted, we started arguing more often and by the time week 6 came around we were eating meals in silence, not knowing what to talk about anymore and having to take consistent days of space for ourselves. Now we weren’t going to break up by any means… at this point but if we wanted to make it work we need to find a way out of this rut we’ve found ourselves in. 

“Y/N?” Lindsey called out, coming into our room looking at me hesitantly

“Yeah, Linds?”

“I was wondering if you wanted to play FiFA with me?”

“Ummm… maybe later okay? I’m a little busy right now, sorry.”

As soon as I said that I regretted it as I watched her face fall but she did her best to put on a fake smile as she nodded and left the room. I would have said yes if I knew we wouldn’t play in absolute silence and stay sitting a whole couch a part. 

“I’m a little busy right now.” What? That’s a lie, idiot! I know lying to her wasn’t the best idea and I could tell that I had hurt her feelings but I wasn’t really sure how I could make up for it now. I just flopped down on our bed frustrated by my inability to be honest, but eventually I got up and went to the desk we had in the room across the hall, sitting down I  pulled up a notepad. My best ideas, romantic or not come to me when I write things down. 

I started to brainstorm romantic dates I could plan to make up for the last few weeks, I knew it would be hard because we couldn’t really leave the apartment unless we needed to get food or go to the bank but I figured I could still pull this off.

“Romantic movie marathon?… no she’s probably sick of tv.”

“Pie eating contest?… That’s not romantic or a good idea.”

“ Nerf gun war?… Not romantic enough.”

“Walking Ferguson?… We already do that everyday.”

“Ughh, this is impossible.” I said to no one but myself.

“What’s impossible?” Lindsey said, taking me by surprise.

I quickly closed the notepad that had “Date ideas” written at the top in big letters, threw it across the room and tried to act as “natural” as possible.

“Uh, Oh… Nothing honey, I was just working on something for my boss.” I said nervously

“Okay? Why are you being so jumpy?”

“Me, jumpy? pfft, I dunno what you’re talking about.”

 I nearly fell out of my chair as I had put my feet up on the desk in my bid to look calm.

“Alright then, I’ll leave you to it then.”

Once again she left looking upset and slightly concerned. Wow… smooth Y/N, real smooth. I thought. I picked up the notepad and once again went back to brainstorming ideas. It was a lot harder than I was anticipating but after what felt like forever I finally got an idea I knew she would love. I ripped out the page that had my plan on it and went back to our room to start getting ready. When I was freshly showered and changed I went out to the living room to find it empty and a note on the counter.

“Y/N,

I took Ferguson for a walk, figured you were too busy to come with. Be back soon.”

-Lindsey

Okay so her note was a little cold, no “I love you’s” or “We’ll miss you’s” but this gave me the perfect opportunity to get everything ready.

 I planned to cook her favorite meal, and during dinner I would tell her how I was feeling about everything and she could do the same. I hoped that then we would be able to get better at communicating and we would be in a better place. After we finish eating I plan to ask her to dance, and we would go to the living room and we could dance like we did that night I asked her to be my girlfriend. In order for that to be romantic I needed to set up candles (without lighting them yet), sting some of those really cool Led lights around the room and close off that area until I was ready for her to see it. 

That was the trickiest part since the living room was one of the first places you saw when you walked in the door but after some digging I found a clothes line, some pins and set of bedsheets I could hang to cover it. It looked really weird and I knew she would ask questions but I had answers ready. I barely finished setting everything up when she came back and when she walked in the look on her face was priceless.

“Okay… what’s with the giant bedsheet wall in the living room?”

“I just need those too dry; I accidentally spilled water on them, so I hung them up.”

“They don’t look wet to me.”

“Well, then would you look at that! They dried a lot faster than I thought.”

Turns out I really only had one answer to her questions and she was looking at me like I was crazy.

“You’re being really weird today Y/N, you know that? Here let me help you take them down.”

She started to tug on the sheets and I knew I had to find an excuse for her to stop before she saw what was behind them.

“Wait, wait! Don’t!”

“Why not? They’re dry I promise.”

“Lindsey, please stop!”

“Okay, okay. I stopped, what’s wrong? Why are you getting so worked up?”

“They’re important to me.”

“These bedsheets are… Important to you?”

She was even more baffled now and I could tell she was becoming more and more concerned by my weird behavior.

“Yes?”

“Y/N… is there something going on? Something you need to talk about? I’m a little worried about you babe.” She said, the concern very evident on her face.

She approached me and took my hand in hers, intertwining our fingers and squeezing gently.

“You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

“I know, I’m okay. I promise but I just really need you to leave those up for now okay?”

“Okay, I’ll leave them be.”

“Good. Now I actually have a surprise for you.”

“You do, really?”

“Yeah, while you were out I made us dinner.”

I led her over to the table and showed her the meal I had prepared. I served us both and then sat across from her.

“Y/N- I don’t even know what to say. You didn’t have to do this, thank you.”

“I did have too, I wanted to make up for today and for the last few weeks. I know it's been just as hard for you as it has been for me. And I’ve been pushing you away, and I haven’t been a good boyfriend lately, I’m sorry.” I said earnestly.

“This was very sweet of you. It’s okay, I forgive you. I’m sorry as well, I know I haven’t been the most loving girlfriend lately.”

“It’s okay, I get it and I forgive you.”

“Can I ask you something, Y/N?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Why have you been pushing me away? I know I was doing some of the same things but I was starting to feel like you didn’t want to be here with me anymore.”

“I did that because I wasn’t sure how to tell you how I’ve really been feeling, I noticed that we were fighting a lot more about such little things and it scared the crap out of me, so I figured if I became a little more distant, the fighting would be less.”

“I’m sorry you’ve been feeling like that. I was feeling much the same way and didn’t know what to do.”

“I think we both were trying to find a way to make things better and ended up making it worse huh?”

“A little, yeah.” She giggled

I reached across the table and took her hand in mine, leaning across I kissed her gently. We continued to talk everything though and came to an agreement to do better at communicating how we feel and to make sure that we let each other have space but not push each other away. I felt much better and I could tell so did she. 

“Did I tell you about that squirrel in that tree outside the building the other day?” Lindsey asked, already starting to laugh at whatever she was about to tell me.

“No, What about it?”

“So I was just taking a walk by myself right?”

My face fell at the thought of her walking around possibly feeling upset about us. She noticed and quickly added

“But I wasn’t sad or anything, I just want to get out for a bit.”

“Oh, okay. Continue.”

“So I looked up in the tree after I heard a bunch of noise and saw that he was trying to grab an acorn that had rolled far away from him, but he wasn’t just walking to it, he was determined to stretch for it.” 

She finished in a fit of laughter and I couldn't help but join in.

“So like that little guy from ice age? He just couldn’t seem to get his precious acorn?”

“Exactly!”

We were able to find new, albeit somewhat weird things to talk about and finished the meal, smiling lovingly at each other. 

“Okay… Linds?”

“Yeah, babe?”

I actually have one more surprise for you. You wanna see?”

“What? No way, Yeah I do!” 

I took her hand and led her over to the bedsheet wall.

“Okay, we’re here.”

“The bedsheets? I’ve already seen these.”

“I know, silly goose. The surprise is behind them” I said giggling as she pouted at me.

“I would’ve figured that out.”

I back tracked after remembering I still had to light the candles, turn on the LED lights and turn out the regular lights, so I told her to go wait in the kitchen and not to peek. 

“I wanna seeee.” She whined

“I know lovely but I promise it’s worth just waiting a little longer.”

“Fineee.”

As soon as she wasn’t looking I dashed behind the “curtain” and did everything I need to there, before emerging again only to go over to the light switch and turn out all the lights in the apartment.

“Hey, Why’d you turn out the lights?!” She yelled.

I went over to where she stood, once again taking her hand, telling her to close her eyes I led her over to the living room and tore down the bedsheets. 

“Okay, open!”

When she saw everything she gasped loudly and brought her hand up to cover her mouth.

“Do you like it?” I said, nervously rubbing the back of my neck.

“Like it?… Y/N, I love it.”

“I’m really glad.”

I turned on the speakers I had set up and the playlist with all the music we loved, including the first slow song we ever danced to began to play,

“May I have this dance?”

I held my hand out to her and she eagerly accepted, I led her to the “dance floor” and we began to sway to the music. My hands rested on her waist while her arms were wrapped around my neck. She had to stretch on her tippy toes to be able to reach but she didn’t seem to mind. We got lost in each other’s eyes and shared little kisses here and there. 

“These lights are so pretty.” 

“You’re so pretty” I said smiling softly at her

“That was cheesy.” She giggled

“I know, that was what I was going for.” 

“I love you.”

“I love you too, so much.”

We were so engrossed in each we had completely forgotten about Ferguson until he very loudly and rudely might I add made his presence known by barking at us and then shoving his way in-between us.

“Excuse you sir, do you mind?” I said feigning annoyance

He just barked at me while giving me the stink eye.

“Okayyyy… I’m sorry I left you out of my grand plan. Can you forgive me?” I said leaning down and petting him. He barked as if he was saying “Yes, I forgive you.” 

“My two favorite boys.” Lindsey giggled.

We went back  to dancing but this time we included Fergs and made sure he knew we loved him too.

“You’re my favorite dance partner. Thank you for asking me to the dance.” Lindsey whispered in my ear, giggling softly  as she hugged me.

“Thank you for letting me step on your toes.” I chuckled.

“You know, maybe next time we do this, you could let me cook?” Lindsey said hopefully.

“I hate to be the messenger of bad news babe but… You and I both know you aren’t the best in the kitchen.”

I laughed at the offered look on her face as she slapped me on the arm.

“Hey, I resent that! I’m not that bad.”

I raised my eyebrow and gave her a knowing look

“Okay so I suck at cooking! You’ll just have to cook me a romantic dinner every week then.” She said jokingly.

“That can be arranged.” I laughed.

We “danced the night away.” As they say, having Lindsey wrapped up in my arms and feeling closer than ever was an amazing feeling and as we continued to sway to the soft music I knew we would be okay and we’d come out of this quarantine stronger than ever.

//

Sorry for any mistakes.

-N

[shimmersing]

Summary: Aitahea is wakeful as the Luminous and her crew travel to the captured Republic ship Progress. Characters: Aitahea Daviin, Jedi Consular Setting: The consular ship Luminous; after Best Intentions Spoilers: End of Consular Chapter 1

My legs quiver a little as I descend the last few stairs to the cargo bay, peeking through to the engine room where Qyzen often takes advantage of the sublight engine’s droning to assist his meditations. I prefer silence or subtle music; no ship has never been musical to me. The Luminous is home and work and part of my life, but never the same as a living being. Not like Tember insists her No Promises is, though my sister would deny the influence of the Force in the same breath that she would insist her ship had a ‘heart.’ That we keep in touch at all being a Jedi and a smuggler, how might that unfold without a guiding hand?

My steps slow even further. Our work has been taxing, to say the least. I’m hungry for rest, real refreshing sleep, but it eludes me in an unusually subtle manner. I do all our prescribed Jedi practices. The breathing. The focus. The mindfulness. Peace. Knowledge. Serenity. Harmony. But my memory falters and skips, my own words dripping like the lines of the Sith Code, which I have read many, many times yet cannot commit to memory. The words refuse to stay mine, and again I fear that I’ve forgotten something valuable.

I reach the crafting console. Tharan and Holiday retired hours ago, even though they keep Nar Shaddaa time. I consider whether they would consider this early or late. On Tython, it would be before dawn at the Jedi Temple, just a blush of color at the horizon being shamed by the glitter of the wild palimpsest of light that glowed from the Deep Core. On Alderaan, dawn was a glittering burst of sunlight most of the year, though during summer the humidity set the evening sky ablaze, and rainbow fractals would slowly fade into starlight.

I sort idly through the materials we’ve collected, organizing them into appropriate bins, jars, boxes, or drawers. It keeps me busy for only a few moments as there’s so little to do. My companions are conscientious and keep the ship tidy, with little additional fussing from See-Too.

My fingers drift to the keypad, out of habit opening my inbox to check for messages. I sigh. I’ve meant to stop doing this during sleeping hours. If there’s an emergency it’ll come through See-Too, and he’ll see that I’m woken and responding. Most of the time when that’s about to happen I’m already awake, or at least aware, cognizant of some impending shift already echoing through the Force. I am always awake, at some level.

I close the application without looking at the display, avoiding the characters that could spell out disaster… or perhaps rest? Impending, cries the Force within me, and I rush to embrace it, willing it to wait, to gentle, to give me just a little more time. Only a little.

I am not ready. But there is no more time.

I am afraid, so I use it to sharpen my focus, bring my surroundings into stark relief. And then I release it. This is key. Yet. Always yet. Let go.

When the main holo chimes through the Luminous, I blink back to the present, frowning as I realize the auxiliary galactic map has opened, resolving on an unfamiliar sector. Two ships hang in the black. Ours, Luminous, and…

Progress. The ship Vivicar stole. Filled with our allies, Republic troopers he’d enslaved to his poisonous will.

My chest restricts again. I’d left Erithon on Alderaan less than a month before, seeking the end of this thread. Our communication is been sparse, our positions demanding more and more by the day. It was the reason I didn’t want to check for messages. If I check again and see nothing…

See-Too clangs as gently as possible against the bulkhead, following the noise with a quick apology, “I beg your pardon, Master, but we’ve arrived at the Progress. Shall I wake the others?”

I swallowed hard; my mouth was so dry.

“No.”

“Very well. You also have a call.”

“Thank you. I’ll take it in the common room.” I pat See-Too on a metallic shoulder as I slip by, leaving him making a bemused noise in my wake.

I assume the caller is Satele or Syo, aware of my arrival in much the same way I am, but when I load the holo, an armored trooper materializes before me. His helmet is under one arm and he runs a gloved hand through his hair.

It takes every molecule of strength I possess not to drop to the floor. Instead I smile, knowing the low-quality signal will hide the tremble in my lips.

“Hey, Jedi.”

“Hello, Lieutenant.”

[kk095]

Late Night Holdup

***here's my latest story. It may need some additional editing, but I hope everyone enjoys!***

Grace was a 32 year old single mother of 2. She was a pleasantly plump white woman who stood at 5'5 with straight brown hair, blue eyes, and had a small tattoo on top of her left foot. Since money was a little tight and the kid's father wasn’t in the picture, she worked 2 jobs: 1 as a housekeeping manager at a local hotel, and a 2nd part time job as an overnight cashier at a gas station convenience store.

Typically, the overnight shift at the gas station wasn’t a big deal. The crowds were pretty light, and she’d be able to be home with her kids during the day. The store owner was pretty laid back as well; he didn��t mind if Grace listened to music or played games on her phone when nobody was in the store.

The night in question started off like many others she’s worked before. It was a Thursday night into Friday morning, and weeknights like this were usually slow. She was set to work from 11pm to 7am that night, and arrived at approximately 10:50pm to start her shift.

There were a small handful of customers between 11 and 1am, but the store became a ghost town after that. To kill the silence and boredom, Grace played some games on her phone for the next little while.

Around 1:45am, a man arrived on foot and walked into the convenience store. He was a tall, thin white man who was around 6’2 or 6’3. He was wearing a gray zip up hoodie with the hood up with baggy, worn out jeans, and a pair of red Nike shoes. His complexion was rather pasty and some of his facial features appeared to be sunken in rather than chiseled, giving him the appearance of someone who partakes in hard drug use. The man browsed up and down the aisles of the store, grabbing a butterfinger and a small bottle of pepsi. When he approached the register, he put the 2 items down and asked grace for a pack of Newport red shorts. While Grace walked over to the area where cigarettes were kept, the man pulled out a short barreled Smith&Wesson 357 magnum revolver from his waistband.

When Grace turned back around, she dropped the pack of cigarettes, taken aback by the sight of a gun being pointed in her direction. “gimme what’s in the register and what’s in the safe.” The robber demanded. Grace stood still like a deer in headlights with her hands up. “listen bitch, I don’t wanna hurt you! Now get me the fuckin cash!” the robber yelled, quickly growing impatient. “um… uh… I can’t do the safe. The store owner has the key…” Grace replied, absolutely terrified. “well figure it out! Let’s hurry this shit up!” the criminal shouted. Grace fought back tears, handing the man what was in the register. She was then escorted at gunpoint to the back room where the storm’s safe was. “I… I can’t do the safe, I swear!” A teary eyed Grace said, trying to plead with the man. “Oh come on! Can’t you call the manager or some shit?!” the gunman asked impatiently. “um... I…” Grace lost her train of thought, looking at the barrel of the loaded pistol once again. The robber started to grow impatient and began screaming and berating Grace. Grace was now in tears. “Please… don’t hurt me… I have 2 kids…” grace cried, trying to appeal the man’s emotions a bit, but it was no use.

While the gunman continued to yell and berate Grace about the safe, a 2nd customer walked in. “Hello? Anyone here?” a male voice asked. The voice caught the robber off guard. He jumped a little bit and accidentally squeezed the trigger, firing off 1 shot. Initially, Grace thought the shot missed her. But when she looked down, she saw a small, circular blood stain on her shirt in her left chest. “oh my God… did I get shot?!” she blurted out, surprised at the turn of events. The customer who just entered the store heard the gun shot and made a beeline for the exit. The man had enough common sense to pull out their phone and call 911. The call was the following:

911 operator: 911, what is your emergency?

Man: I was at the gas station and I heard a gunshot. I think there’s a robbery going on in there!

911 operator: alright sir, what is the location of your emergency?

Man: uhhh… I’m at the shell gas station on 3rd Avenue south.

911 operator: alright sir, police and EMS have been dispatched. Can you tell me if you or anyone else is hurt?

Man: I’m fine, but I don’t know what’s going on in there. I wasn’t gonna stick around!

There’s a pause in the call for a few moment. The robber sprints out of a side exit and the 911 caller witnesses this.

Man: I see a man running out of the building with a gun!

911 operator: can you tell me what he looks like?

Man: um.. tall white dude, gray hoodie. He’s got a revolver! He’s running full speed towards kings highway! Hurry!

Over the following few minutes, the 911 operator instructs the witness to remain on the line and stay a safe distance away from the convenience store as a safety precaution and so the crime scene wouldn’t be contaminated.

In the following minutes, an ambulance and what seemed like an army of police cars flooded the scene with sirens and lights on full blast. Once a police presence was established at the scene, multiple cops entered the building with guns drawn. “Lee County sheriff’s! Put your hands up and drop your weapons!” the head officer yelled out with conviction. The sheriffs received no response, so they advanced further into the store. They scanned each aisle and behind the register counter and found nobody. When they got into the back room, the found Grace laying up against the wall. She was crying and covering up her own wound with her hands. “we’ve got 1 down back here! Get EMS in here!” one of the cops ordered.

EMS entered the building with a police escort. They were taken to the back room where the sage was and began examining Grace. The paramedics snipped off her shirt and bra, revealing her large d cup breasts. “entry wound left chest, nasty exit wound left shoulderblade. Might be a hollow point bullet.” One of the medics called out. The medics then set up 2 large bore IVs (1 in each arm) and hung a bag of ringer’ lactate to begin fluid resuscitation. Pain medications and a round of valium were given for pain management and calming. A portable heart monitor with 5 lead ECG was then set up on Grace. On scene, her vital signs were: BP 78/46, Pulse 128, pulse ox 96%. The entry and exit wounds were then bandaged up with some gauze pads, and Grace was placed on a gurney. A blanket was thrown over her top half and she was whisked out of the building and into an ambulance which waited nearby.

While Grace was loaded into the ambulance, the sheriff’s department began their investigation. They took a statement from the 911 caller, and ended up finding a Smith&Wesson 357 magnum revolver with 1 missing bullet in the storm’s dumpster. The next step was to contact the store owner to notify them of the incident and to gain access to the store's security cameras to see if there’s any incriminating evidence on video and to see if the shooter can be positively identified.

During transport, EMS removed the rest of Grace’s clothes along with her socks and shoes to assess her full body for additional gunshot wounds. The medics only noticed the 1 entry and exit wound in Grace’s thorax. Grace remained hypotensive and tachycardic during the ambulance ride, and began crying hysterically. “it’s gonna be ok! You’ve got 2 kids you’ve gotta live for!” the medic told Grace in an attempt to calm her down.

It too about 10 minutes to arrive at the ER, and time wasn’t exactly on Grace’s side in this instance. She was still awake and alert upon arrival, but her complexion was fading and she had a cool, clammy skin. “Am I gonna die?!” Grace cried out, asking the ER staff as she was being wheeled into a trauma bay.

Once in the trauma room, Grace was transferred onto the table and the blanket came off. She laid nude in a room full of strangers. The trauma team quickly began barking orders to one another in regards to Grace’s treatment. 4 units of unmatched O-negative blood, 2 units of platelets, and 2 units of FFP were on standby from the blood bank since the massive transfusion protocol was suggested by EMS when the called into the ED. A chest x-ray done, showing a left sided tension pneumothorax with mediastinal shift and a slight tracheal deviation to the right side. Essentially, the loss of normal air pressure in the chest cavity shifted everything in the opposite direction. The treatment for this is a chest tube insertion on the injured side in order to re-inflate the injured lung, and get rid of air and blood trapped in the thoracic cage. While a chest tube tray was being prepped, a FAST scan was performed. The chest portion of the scan showed pericardial effusion with pericardial laceration on the anterior side. The abdominal and pelvic areas came back clean, to nobody’s surprise.

Grace was in and out of consciousness during the FAST scan and chest tube tray preparation. “stay with us miss!” a nurse said, doing a sternal rub on Grace, to which she groaned in response. Next, the left ribcage was sterilized. A 1 inch incision was made with an 11 blade scalpel in between Grace’s ribs. Grace moaned, feeling the scalpel’s every move during the quick cut. Once the underlying muscle and fatty tissue were cut through, a long, flexible tube was placed into the small incision site. Grace moaned loudly in tremendous pain, feeling the large tube being shoved into the side of her chest while she was still conscious. Air came from the tube at first, making a sound similar to a fart. After the air exited, approximately 700ML of blood shot from the tube and onto one of the doctor’s yellow trauma gowns and onto the floor below. The injuries inside of Grace’s chest appeared to be worse than originally anticipated, so more blood products were ordered and a round of vasopressors were pushed in order to maintain blood pressure. However, the sudden loss of that much blood caused Grace to pass out. The trauma team did a sternal rub on Grace, but she didn’t respond. Since she became unconscious and had unstable vitals, airway management became an immediate concern. The trauma team decided to perform rapid sequence intubation at that point. A 7.0 ET tube was navigated into the woman’s airway. Once it was in the correct place, it was held in place with a blue tube holder, and an ambu bag was attached.

Grace continued to lose blood at a faster rate than it could be replaced, so she began to deteriorate rapidly. Shortly after intubation, Grace’s BP began to take a nosedive. Since pericardial effusion was noticed on the FAST scan, the trauma team decided to perform a parasternal pericardiocentesis in an attempt to buy the young woman a few minutes to make it to the OR for emergency surgery.

As large, fine spinal needle was picked up and a small catheter drain was attached to the back of it. The needle was placed in the 6th intercostal space at the left sternal border. The needle was sent further into the chest, being navigated by the cardiac notch of the left lung, and into the lining of the heart itself. The plunger of the needle was pulled back, and the body of the needle and the attached catheter filled up with clotted blood. Her vital signs didn’t improve, so the catheter was swapped out with a new one and the procedure was repeated. This time, fresh blood filled the needle’s body rather quickly. After the needle was withdrawn, a repeat echo was performed.

While this repeat echocardiogram was being performed, Grace lost a pulse. Deep, violent chest compressions were immediately started on the woman. Her large, natural breasts bounced rhythmically while her flabby belly bounced outwards. The heart monitors showed pulseless electrical activity, so epinephrine and atropine were injected into an IV site.

The medication didn’t have an immediate effect, so chest compressions continued. Grace’s chest caved in and a few of her ribs popped, causing some bruising and redness in between her breasts. The ET tube became clogged up with blood, so suction had to be applied in order to re-establish her airway. A small, flexible plastic tube was placed into the breathing tube. A slurping sound was heard as blood was being suctioned out. Afterwards, the ambu bag was reattached and artificial respiration was restored.

At the 3 minute mark of the code, the next dose of drugs were pushed intravenously since PEA was still being displayed. After a few cycles of harsh compressions, a shockable rhythm was obtained. The defibrillator paddles were gelled and charged to 200j. Once everyone backed away, the paddles were pressed up against Grace’s bare chest, and the shock was delivered. A thunk was heard as the dose of electricity was sent into her lifeless body. With no change resulting from the first shock, a cycle of compressions were performed and the defibrillator paddles were recharged to 300j. Shock #2 caused Grace’s body to jolt abruptly on the table, with her arms flailing a bit. But once again, Grace remained in v-fib. Chest compressions were resumed and the defibs were charged to 360j. The third shock made Grace’s feet kick up into the air just above the table before crashing back down, showing off the thick, meaty wrinkles in the soles of her size 8 feet. The monitors showed no change whatsoever, so the same cycle of CPR and defibrillation was repeated to no avail.

Following that 4th shock, the trauma team decided to perform a left anterolateral thoracotomy in a desperate attempt to manage bleeding/injuries, and restart her heart. Betadine was splashed all over the left side of Grace’s bare chest. With CPR ongoing just a few inches away, an incision was made in the 5th intercostal space. The cut began at the sternal border, across the chest, underneath the left breast, and ending a few inches shy of the left armpit. With the first cut out of the way, the underlying tissue had to be snipped away. After the underlying tissue was dealt with, the rib spreader was placed into the fresh, crude looking cut in Grace’s chest. A popping and cracking sound filled the room as her ribs were forcefully pushed apart.

A significant amount of blood was present upon entrance to the chest cavity. The blood pooled onto Grace’s flabby torso, on the table, and on the floor below. Suction was applied to the area and surgical sponges were placed in the incision area, but that failed to ameliorate the problem. Since blood was blocking the team’s line of sight, the decided to place a 2nd chest tube for additional blood drainage. The 2nd tube was quickly placed, evacuating an additional 1200ML of blood. More blood products were hung, but Grace was as white as a ghost. The 2nd chest tube drained a sufficient amount of blood, and clamps were subsequently placed on the descending aorta and left pulmonary hilum.

The pericardium was incised, relieving tamponade to some extent, and delivering the heart. A small bullet hole was discovered in the anterior pericardium and subsequently plugged up, but the other damaged structures were yet to be identified. In the meantime, internal massage was started while the internal paddles were being readied. A wet, squishing sound was heard while Grace’s fibrillating heart was manually pumped. Her heart began to feel firm, but light from the excessive blood loss.

After a cycle of internal compressions, the internal paddles were ready for use. The large, spoon shaped paddles were lowered into the patient’s chest around her fidgeting heart. Once everyone backed away, a 20j shock was delivered directly into Grace’s heart. Her torso jolted quickly from the small dose of electricity, but her heart continued to fibrillate. Since there was no change, internal massage was resumed and the internal paddles were recharged to 30j. A dull, wet thump was heard after the next shock. The shock failed to convert Grace from v-fib, so internal compressions were resumed. Epinephrine and atropine were pushed once again, along with the first dose of bicarb in an attempt to ameliorate the situation. The internal paddles were once again ready to go, and they were lowered back into the exposed chest cavity, around her twitching heart. The 40j shock was delivered, causing Grace’s toes to curl slightly, again wrinkling the soles of her feet. Post shock, her toes relax and the code goes on.

Grace received 3 more internal defibrillator shocks, several rounds of internal compressions, and 2 more rounds of drugs, but her heart just wouldn’t restart and her pupils were fixed and dilated. Unfortunately, time of death was called on Grace at 2:29am while she was still in v-fib.

The ambu bag was detached and the chirping monitors were switched off. The EKG electrodes were plucked off and additional equipment was removed while her heart fired off its last few frantic, useless signals. Her body was covered up and a toe tag was placed before being sent off to the hospital morgue.

Her autopsy revealed she died from left atrial rupture and partial detachment of the pulmonary veins. The pulmonary veins became partially dislodged from the left atrium, bleeding out into the pericardium and chest cavity.

10 days after Grace’s tragic death, her killer was apprehended by local police. The shooter was identified as 28 year old Jason “JJ” Walton. Walton is a known drug user and has prior convictions for narcotics possession and burglary. Walton was convicted of 2nd degree murder, armed robbery, unlawful possession of a firearm, discharging a firearm on public, and a probation violation for a prior arrest. He was subsequently sentenced to 55 years in state prison for his crimes.

[howaminotinthestrokesyet]

Behind The Album: Sticky Fingers

In April 1971, the Rolling Stones released their 12th studio album, Sticky Fingers. The recording of this album would mark new territory for the band in a lot of ways. Sticky Fingers would be the first album that had absolutely no participation from the late Brian Jones. This would be the first album released on their new label, Rolling Stones Records. The record would be the first major effort from new guitarist,Mick Taylor. He had participated on the previous album, but on a limited basis. The timing of the album was important as well because it would be the first major work from the band since the disaster at Altamont Speedway. Many things had changed in music since the new decade began.

An important factor that played a large part in the recording of the album was the fact that the band had tremendous tax issues at the time. They had learned that their manager Allen Klein had not been paying their taxes, even though he told them he was doing so. This meant that each member of the band owed quite a bit of money in back taxes to the government. Mick Jagger would later say, “I just didn’t think about taxes and no manager I ever had thought about it, even though they said they were going to make sure my taxes were paid. So after working for seven years I discovered nothing had been paid and I owed a fortune.” One of the first steps came in the band firing Allen Klein. Yet, this did little to minimize their money issues because unbeknownst to the band they had signed over copyrights in America to all their 1960’s material. Klein’s company Abkco Records now held ownership and received all royalties for their music. This financial catastrophe meant that they needed to release new music in order to make any money from the recordings. For this reason, Rolling Stones records was created to begin the process of getting the band out of debt. They needed to retain ownership of their music in order to maximize any kind of profit. After detaching themselves from Allen Klein, Prince Rupert Loewenstein was hired as the group's new financial manager. Looking back now, they finally found someone that would not rob them blind. Atlantic Records was hired to license all of their music, while Marshall Chess of Chess Records would handle the business side of the label. They seemed to trust his background as the president of a hardworking blues label more than anything else. There was a lot riding on this album financially for the band because if it did not sell, then things would go from bad to worse for each member personally.

The recording of Sticky Fingers actually began during their tour of the United States in 1969. They made a visit two muscle Shoals in Alabama because some of their favorite music was recorded there. During this time, the band recorded three songs, “Brown Sugar,” “Wild Horses,” and “You Gotta Move.” Keith Richards with later talk about those sessions in an interview. “The session] one of the easiest and rockingest sessions we’d ever done. I don’t think we’ve been quite so prolific… ever. Those sessions were as vital to me as any I’ve ever done. I mean, all the other stuff we did – ‘Beggars Banquet’, ‘Gimme Shelter’, ‘Street Fighting Man’, ‘Jumpin’ Jack Flash’ – I’ve always wondered that if we had cut them at Muscle Shoals, if they might have been a little bit funkier.” Yet, the recording of the album would take more than a year. The band did not reconvene for more tracks until March 1970 at Mick Jagger‘s estate, Stargroves. He did not have a studio in his house, but instead they used a mobile recording unit. They would use the same thing on the next album, which essentially carried around in a van all the equipment in the sound booth at a recording studio. This unit also allowed the band to record any musicians that just stopped by for a visit. One reason the album took so long was because the material they made during this period was so outstanding. If a song did not end up on Sticky Fingers, then they decided to use it for Exile on Main Street.

Unlike their other releases, this album embodied straight rock and roll. They did not experiment with country, gospel, or anything else for this record. Looking at it in hindsight, this is precisely why people love this album, while critics had mixed reactions about it. The one thing the band did introduce with this album was their new guitarist Mick Taylor. He became a revelation musically because Taylor stood out as the most technically skilled guitarist in the band's history. Keith Richards even said in an interview that the guitar part on “Can’t You Hear Me Knocking” could not be played by him. The guitarist also brought a much more melodic guitar as opposed to Brian Jones previously. This would not be the Rolling Stones, if they did not have any issues at all in the recording of the album. During this time, Keith Richards began to gradually descend into complete and utter heroin addiction. At times, he was so intoxicated during recording they had to abandon completely certain takes. The delay of the album probably had much more to do with his heroin addiction, rather than the amount of material they were producing. Richards would later comment on why he began using the drug. “It was] the periods with nothing to do that got me into heroin. It was more of an adrenaline imbalance. You have to be an athlete out there, but when the tour stops, suddenly your body don’t know there ain’t a show the next night. The body is saying, ‘What am I gonna do, leap out in the street?’ It was a very hard readjustment. And I found smack made it much easier for me to slow down very smoothly and gradually.” At one point during the recording, things got so bad that Mick Jagger filled in for him on the song “Moonlight Mile.” At no point previously would that have even been imagined. This would become quite the conundrum for the band considering the fact that they had just fired Brian Jones for this exact reason. Another interesting aspect of Sticky Fingers was the fact that Gram Parsons did a country version of “Wild Horses” one year before the album was even released for his band. There exist differing accounts on how it all transpired. Jagger and Richards were totally fine with the release of the song. Before his death, Parsons would say in interviews that the song was a gift to him for helping them with country rock songs like “Country Honk” on Sticky Fingers and Let It Bleed. The track is very different from the one the band released, and some critics even argue that the Parsons version is better.

One of the things about Sticky Fingers is that the art associated with the album became just as important as the music. Andy Warhol designed the cover of the album, which was a pair of pants with a working zipper. The first albums had the zipper pull all the way down to reveal white underwear. These albums are collectors items today because they eventually had to switch to a plain photograph. The metal from the zippers was damaging the records when they were stacked in trucks to be delivered. Unfortunately, nobody really knows for sure who the model is on the cover of the album. Some have suspected that it is Joe Johnson, the brother of Warhol's lover at the time. The other iconic piece of art released with this album came in the introduction of the Rolling Stones signature tongue. This has become the most recognizable image for their brand. You probably cannot live in this country without having seen it at least once. The inspiration for it came to Jagger via calendar he owned about Indian culture. “I was looking for a logo when we started Rolling Stones Records. I had this calendar on my wall, it was an Indian calendar, which you’ll see in Indian grocery stores, and it’s the goddess Kali, which is the very serious goddess of carnage and so forth. And she has, apart from her body, this tongue that sticks out. So I took that to John Pasche and he ‘modernized’ it somewhat.”

Upon its release, critics had very mixed reactions towards the album. The main flaw that some found it possessing came in the fact that it underwhelmed. This issue represented what these critics have come to love about the band's more recent efforts. On Beggars Banquet and Let It Bleed, the Stones had experimented quite a bit with their sound venturing off into new areas. Yet, Sticky Fingers did not go in those places, but instead stayed fairly close to basic rock and roll. This emerges as an age old story with a lot of bands. You must do something different in order to impress the critics because they will often say I have already listened to that. The album became the band's most popular one to date as it went number one in both England and America. That fact should actually be the true testament on how good the band's album is overall.

[archergwenwrites]

ZM - Feb 10 - Fake Dating

@zutaramonth

“I still don’t see why I have to go.”

Sokka frowned at the Switch in his hand from the comfy chair. “It’s simple, Katara. Dad’s a teacher; at least half his coworkers will be there-” The console beeped sadly as Suki’s beeped triumphantly. “-and he’ll be disappointed in you if you don’t show up so he can brag about you.” He turned to look at Suki whose lap on which he was reclining. “How to you keep doing that, woman?”

Suki stuck her tongue out at him before replying, “get gud.”

“Rematch,” he said, kissing her nose. “Anyway, Katara, just go to your five year reunion. Who cares if you’re going solo? No one’s gonna care about high school drama.”

Both Katara and Suki snorted in derision at the same time. “Fine, think poorly of your classmates. But I bet that-”

The door to Sokka’s apartment slammed open and then closed as his roommate returned. He tossed his keys into the bowl on the kitchen island, effortlessly turned it into an exhausted wave, and practically floated through their small living room gathering and down the hall. Another door slammed, presumably his room, and the three in the living room all exchanged amused glances as the muffled sounds of rustling still drifted back up the hall. A creak announced a door opening again, and Zuko emerged from the hall. He collapsed into the couch next to Katara, making her bounce slightly with his force on the fluff.

“How is everyone?”

“I’m doing-” Suki’s switch beeped merrily again. “Oh come on!”

“Give it up, Boomerang,” Zuko drawled, leaning his head back on the couch to stare at the ceiling, exposing his long, pale neck. “Your girlfriend is unbeatable.”

“Damn right I am!”

“Stop victory dancing under me! This is very unsettling!”

Chuckling, Katara returned her gaze to Zuko’s neck – since his face was currently unavailable. “We’re fine. How are you?”

His low groan was somewhat lost in the din of Sokka and Suki’s playful argument. “I’m alright. I’m just, tired of dealing with people, both at work in Uncle’s shop and with the city council.”

“Well I think you’re doing an amazing job.”

He lifted his head to give her a big smile just as Sokka turned to them from where he was now upside down on the chair. “Hey Zuko, go with Katara to her high school reunion. She needs a fake boyfriend to stave off all the terrible gossip remaining from high school.”

“Oh that’s not-”

“Sure, what night is it? Uncle will happily give me the night off.”

“Um, next Saturday. Doors open at 4:30 with dinner starting at 5:30. We don’t have to stay the whole time.”

He gave her a cheeky eyebrow raise. “I’m prepared to stay as long as it takes. I’ll save you from the gossips.”

“Careful, Zuko,” Sokka said teasingly before Suki shoved him onto the floor with a thwump. “Katara was quite the heartbreaker in high school. You’ll have to beat them off you with a stick.”

*

Katara was clenching the steering so hard she thought she might snap it off. “We should probably go over our story before we go in.”

Zuko gave her an amused glance. “Our story?”

“Yeah. How long have we been fake dating?”

“How long ago was your last relationship?”

She thought for a moment back to college. “Three years.”

“Year and a half then. Taking it slow because we started when you were in your final semester of college, about to do study-abroad; I was just elected to the city council but didn’t want you to get away so to speak without taking a chance, so we’ve only been dating in the same city on equal life footing for eight months, but it’s been long enough that it’s not too early in the relationship to bring me to a reunion and have it be desperate.”

“Yeah that makes-” She blanched. “That’s very good but my dad will be in there.”

“So tell him your plot.”

“What!” Zuko shrugged. “He’s Sokka’s dad, too. You think he wouldn’t like a good prank?”

“It’s not a prank,” she replied, exhaling as she released the steering well. “It’s winning the relationships.”

“That’s healthy,” he quipped, getting out of the car. She laughed as she slipped out of the car.

“Really? You of all people are gonna say that when you would date your private school girlfriend no matter what crap she’d put you through?”

Zuko shrugged, throwing an arm over her shoulders as the moved towards the door to the gymnasium. “Takes one to know one, princess.”

“Gross. No nicknames.”

“Oh, Sugar Queen? A memorandum on nicknames?”

“Knock it off, Prince Ponytail.”

Zuko laughed, and from the other side of the gym Hakoda caught his daughter’s eyes. “Whatever you say, Sweetness.”

In front of the check-in table and the innocent Earth Kingdom girls who’d volunteered for this, Katara punched Zuko with a quick jab into his side closest to her before turning to them. “Hi, Katara Sweetwater and guest.”

Zuko took her nametag from the nice volunteer and stepped close to Katara so he could affix it to her blouse. She blushed at the attention. He tapped her nose with a finger just as her dad’s hand landed on her shoulder.

“Katara. Quick question. I’ll bring her right back Zuko.”

“Nice to see you, Hakoda, sir.”

The older man gave a smiling nod before pulling his daughter to the side out of earshot of others. “You brought Zuko?”

“Before you start, it was Sokka’s idea.”

*

Zuko leaned against the wall blocking access to the small alcove where Katara and Hakoda were clearly hashing something out. Somehow, that must have given a guy with even scruffier hair and leather pants permission to lean against the wall next to him. Zuko just raised an eyebrow, but waited in silence for the stranger to explain himself.

“One of the downsides of being the teacher’s daughter. Always pulled off to get private lectures.”

“I’m not sure; the man has a fine touch with the grill. I’d almost consider him a perk.”

The stranger offered a hand. “Jet.” Ah yes. The one from end of senior year into college. The teenage rebellion one. The “only brought home once to unmitigated disaster” one.

Zuko took his hand and gave a firm shake. “Zuko.”

Jet’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t remember such a name in our graduating class.”

“Oh no, I didn’t go to this school. I’m Katara’s date though. Hence the hanging back. I’d much rather navigate this with her.”

“Interesting. We used to date; did she tell you that?”

“No, sorry. It must have slipped her mind.”

Jet scoffed a little. “Typical. Well, here’s some free advice, since you’re obviously new to this relationship. Whatever Mr. Sweetwater says, goes. She won’t even question how high if dear daddy tells her to jump or to break up with some guy. So I wouldn’t get too attached. If Mr. Sweetwater decides you’re done? You’re done.”

Zuko raised a dismissive eyebrow. “If you think Hakoda could make Katara do anything she didn’t want to do, I’d say you’re a fool.”

“That’s what I thought. But just you wait. Or you could always bail. I mean, it’s a little weird to be coming to a school reunion this early on, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know,” an older voice cut in. “A year and a half sounds about reasonable to me. Katara, thanks for updating me on Sokka. I appreciate it.” Katara, now standing next to Zuko and away from Jet, smiled at her father as he stood in front of the three of them. “Zuko, always a pleasure to see you.” He pulled the younger man into a brief hug. “Good to see you, too, Hakoda.” The teacher turned to the third member, voice and face notably colder. “Jet. Enjoy the party, all of you.” And he waded into the loose crowd.

Zuko offered a hand to Katara. “Well, care to introduce me to some of your classmates?”

“Of course,” she replied, placing her palm in his. “Nice to see you, Jet.”

“Uh, yeah. Same to you.”

Zuko gave him a jaunty two-finger salute from the forehead. “Nice talking with you, buddy. Enjoy the party.”

Jet just glared, and Zuko had to keep him from laughing. He leaned down to Katara’s ear. “Please tell me you have more ex-boyfriends I can annoy.”

She turned, her face so close to his, as she replied, “Unfortunately, no. There are, of course, multiple hearts I broke, but most of them were actually nice.”

“Then why break the pattern with Jet, of all people.”

Katara shrugged. “You don’t always see a mistake before you make it.”

Gently bumping her shoulder with his, he replied. “Fair enough.”

*

Katara tried not to panic as the dinner ended and spun into dancing. Zuko was too good at this. She knew that both his jobs required him to charm people, but she didn’t know when he had gotten good at it. Well, not good like a politician is good at charming. It all felt so real, the way he was genuinely interested in Haru’s moustache care or how he listened to Jin talk about her full classrooms of adorable kids. He still stumbled over words - he was still Zuko - but no one seemed to care, least of all him.

When he asked her dance for a slow song, she regretted having asked him to come the way she did, but it was too late now.

“This is nice.”

He only hummed in reply, the note vibrating in his chest. With her ear pressed against his sternum, she could swear she could feel it.

“You were so charming. How do you manage it? It can’t be just all that council practice; I see you enough times when you come home from a session.”

He chuckled, another pleasant vibration against her face. “I just comfort myself with the knowledge that, given how few of them I met before tonight, even just as your friend, I don’t have to see these people for another five to ten years, whenever they schedule the next reunion. It makes it a lot easier to let the mistakes roll off my back, because they’ll have forgotten by then.”

Katara pulled back. “You would come to another of these with me?”

“Of course, Katara.”

She leaned close, still swaying to the music. “Real or for tonight?”

His eyes widened, but he didn’t immediately say anything. Disappointed, and shocked she was so disappointed, she tucked her head back on his sternum. “I’m sorry. That was, unfair, of me to ask.”

“No, it just, surprised me. I didn’t expect you, well.” He paused. “Do you want it to be fake? Because if not, we can ditch this popsicle stand and get some real ice cream and get talking in peace.”

“Getting ice cream sounds nice.”

“You gotta remember to take it slow though; don’t want to get hurt going to fast in trying something new.”

“Of course. It’s the best way to appreciate what you chose.”

As the song ended, Zuko pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Then, Sugar Queen, lets go get you some super chocolate fudge.”

“Aww, you remembered!”

[welcometophu]

Into the Split: Home 3

Twinned Book 3: Into the Split

Home 3

[ Previous | First | THE END ]

Sun spills across the room, filtered past the half-open curtains. Nikolai rolls over, and dust motes float up, sparkling in the sunbeam.

Seth groans, shoving a hand out. “Stop.”

The backpacks and bags lie on the floor, as if they had time to somehow shrug out of them before collapsing on the bed. They’re still dressed, but lie tangled as if they’re just waking up in the morning. Nikolai sits up and counts the bags—they’re all there.

More importantly, they’re here. In their room, in the smaller of the two Benford houses. In Havenhill. “We’re home,” he says quietly.

“Mm.” Seth rubs at his eyes as he sits up. “I feel like I just woke up, but it looks like it’s—” He hesitates, while Nikolai walks to the window.

“Late afternoon,” Nikolai says. “About the same time as when we left Pawel’s house. At least we didn’t end up back in Unity at wherever his house is here.” He assumes they have Chelsea to thank for that. He doesn’t know exactly how her traveling works, but it seems to have gotten them home.

He lifts the sash of the window, and sound filters in. Music plays somewhere in the distance, and the shouts remind him of the sugaring festival. When he leans out, he can’t see any crowds or people, but there is a lazy column of smoke swirling into the sky in the distance, as if a bonfire has been lit.

He pulls his head back in and leaves the window open to let the fresh air into the room. “I think there’s something going on.” He holds out his hand, and Seth takes it as Nikolai tugs him from the bed.

They take a moment to stand there, arms around each other, foreheads resting together. Nikolai nudges a slow kiss, and Seth pushes his glasses back up his nose after.

Nikolai grabs a hoodie out of his backpack, while Seth finds a light jacket. By the time they’ve changed, there’s a rumble outside as a car pulls up, then someone bangs on the front door. They exchange a look.

“The wards,” Seth says.

“Probably.” Nikolai figures he’s right, that their abrupt arrival from the Dreamscape tripped some kind of alarm on the wards. Especially since these houses have been the epicenter of the wards breaking before. He hurries out of the room and makes it down the stairs first, pulling the door open as the banging starts again.

Ethan stands there with his hand raised, mid-knock. Marybelle is behind him, and in the distance, the Jeep is rumbling down the dirt road.

Ethan lowers his hand slowly.

“We’re back.” Nikolai barely gets the words out before Ethan is hugging him, Marybelle crowding close. They manage to drag Seth in as well, but it only lasts as long as it takes for Mikhail to park the Jeep and get up the front steps.

Nikolai and Seth are pulled out of the house, passed from Mikhail to Josef and Amaranth, and when Nikolai realizes his face is wet, he’s not sure if it’s him or his brothers.

“We heard from a Dreamwalker in Utah,” Ethan tells them. “Our Technopaths created—well, helped create—this network. And he said he had a message from you.”

“Brett.”

“Yes.” Ethan grins. “He said you’d done it. That the world was changed now. There’s news coming in from all over about it.”

“I wasn’t sure you’d be able to come back,” Mikhail admits. “It’s good to see you.”

Seth tilts his head, pushes his glasses up his nose again. “Of course we came back,” he tells them. “Our family is here. All we had to do was figure out how.”

Nikolai laughs. It’s not funny, but at the same time, it is. He’s a little afraid that if he gives in to all the complicated emotions rolling through him, he might never come back from the laughter and tears.

Seth grabs his hand and holds on tight, as if he knows Nikolai needs an anchor, and Nikolai is thankful for that.

“Chelsea brought us back. The same Shadowwalker who got us thrown out in the first place,” Nikolai explains. “After we healed the Split, we needed to help her become….” He trails off, not sure how to get into that without taking hours. “It’s a long story, but she’s more like Mattie now. And she knew how to travel and was able to bring us back. So we’re here.”

“You’re here.” Josef leans on his cane, his smile bright.

Amaranth hugs Nikolai again, her long hair tickling his cheek. “God, I’m glad you’re back. And we’re having a party. You’re just in time for May Day. We’re all about new beginnings right now.”

“Speaking of—” Josef cuts off, glancing at Amaranth. She steps back, moving into his space, her hand behind his back as she leans in close. “We set a date to kick Mikhail out of the house.”

“You’ve got a spare room for your brother, right?” Mikhail asks. “I don’t want to encroach on the honeymoon once these two are married in June.”

“No,” Seth says, ducking when Mikhail makes a mock grab for him. “We want our honeymoon phase, too.”

“Are you getting married?” Mikhail points out.

Married? “God no,” Nikolai says quickly, trying to school his expression to something less horrified when Seth laughs at him. “We’re young. I mean, maybe, yes, someday, but honestly. I just want to live in a house with me and Seth and that’s it for a while. And without needing to worry that the darkness is going to eat us—and believe me, it’s tried. I want to live a normal life.”

“What passes for normal,” Seth allows.

“The new normal,” Ethan tells them. “Because it’s changing.”

There’s noise in the distance, and Nikolai wants to join in the celebration. But if he gets in the Jeep now, he can’t hear Ethan’s news. On the other hand, he doubts Josef’s going to want to walk all the way to the big house.

He turns in place, looking between the path and the road.

Josef catches the motion. “We can meet you there, if you want to walk,” he offers.

“I’ll walk with them,” Mikhail says. “You and Amaranth take your time. I still need to convince them to give me that spare room.”

“No,” Seth says again, a little flatter than before although he smiles when Mikhail does as if maybe they’re both just teasing.

Nikolai wants to say that the path feels lighter than before, as if the wards don’t weigh as heavily on Havenhill. He doubts that’s true; it has to be his own attitude, the idea that every shadow isn’t going to whisper and move. Still. He can feel that sense of new beginning in the air, like the warmth of the spring air.

“The cities that were gone are still gone,” Ethan says soberly. “We’ve been sending people to look at the ones we could. Our network of communication is better than the Humans have right now.”

“We’re all human.” The words slip out after hearing the others say it so many times, and it feels right to say it now. At Ethan’s sharp look, Nikolai tries to explain. “We’re Talented. They’re… not. But maybe some of them are, and are just waiting to Emerge. We’re all still human, it’s just some of us are also magical.”

“He has a point,” Mikhail murmurs, and Nikolai is glad for the backup.

“Boston is dark.” Marybelle circles in front of them, walking backwards as she speaks. “There’s a group out of Maine that went down. It’s a community outside of Portland, with two Technopaths and a Dreamwalker who were all part of the efforts on our side for your Ritual. Friday morning they woke up to find Hu—” She stops, frowning. “There were newcomers from the city outside their wards. They said the Shadows were gone. Or at least, mostly gone. They’d seen a few, but not crowds of them, and not as brave as before. It’s as if they’re different. So a few of the,” she hesitates, then tries, “non-Talented city people, and some of the Talented community decided to take a trip down to Boston. It’s dark, yes, and there’s no one alive there. But there are no Shadowwalkers there, either. It seems like it might be safe.”

“I’m guessing if they made it there in just a couple days, they drove,” Mikhail says dryly.

“They made it there in hours,” Marybelle says, her voice hushed like that’s a miracle.

Maybe it is. Talent and those without together, on the road, in public.

“What about the government?” Nikolai asks.

Marybelle’s gaze drops, and Ethan makes a face. “DC is dark,” Ethan admits. “We don’t know who’s left. And they don’t have the kind of network that we’ve already rebuilt. At this point, it looks like our Talented communities are going to be spearheading the rebuild.”

“Which means we have a chance to make it work for us, and stop the persecution,” Mikhail says firmly. “We need to make a better world.”

“We should reach out to Albany and Bennington,” Ethan suggests. “I’ve tried talking to Mom and Alia—”

“We’ll help,” Seth tells him. And yes, that sounds right.

They should also travel up to Burlington, too, and maybe out to some of the places they heard about while at Alaric’s home. Nikolai thinks that while the two worlds are different, what they learned there might help them find the right paths to rebuild here.

“It’s only been five days, and so much has happened already,” Nikolai murmurs.

“The first five days of the new world,” Marybelle says happily. “Imagine what’s going to happen next.”

The sun peeks through the canopy of trees as they walk down the path, leaving the walkway dappled with spots of bright light that chase the shadows away. As Nikolai walks along, Seth’s hand in his, he hears singing in the distance, voices raised in cheer and happiness to greet the spring.

Seth lifts their joined hands, presses a kiss to Nikolai’s fingertips.

Nikolai feels the warmth of that touch spread through him, like dawn after the longest night. “It’s a new world,” he agrees softly. “And we’re going to make sure it’s a better one for everyone.”

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