#i live in a suburb right outside minneapolis

[astriiformes]

minnesota gang <3 id love to hear your thoughts on living here as someone from out of state, if u wanna share!

Of course -- I always enjoy when other people get excited about my Minnesota blogging, haha.

For context I grew up in Arizona and then Colorado, and spent a fair bit of time in both Oregon and California visiting family, so I am very much from the west. Minnesota's been an interesting place to end up because of the ways it does/doesn't overlap with it. Like, I deeply, deeply miss the mountains, which are the part of the country that truly has my heart, but I've come to love a lot of the nature here as well, particularly the fact that the Twin Cities have a much healthier relationship with natural spaces than a lot of other urban areas. Just today a friend and I were walking on a bridge across the Mississippi and stopped midway to look out over it for a while. I love that there are city parks with waterfalls here, and that it's not uncommon to see eagles in and around the lakes, and that I've found fossils and geocaches clambering down steep gorges along the river. It's nice.

(And I especially love the nature up north, even though I've only been a few times -- Lake Superior is awe-inspiring, the glacial geology here is fascinating to me as someone who loves the natural sciences, hopping across the stepping stones at the mouth of the Mississippi up at Itasca is kind of mind-boggling, the trees up there feel a lot more like home, and as a certified Wolf Guy, learning that Minnesota is home to more wolves than anywhere in the contiguous "west" has genuinely delighted me.)

But I've also just loved the community I've found here. A large part of the reason I left Colorado was because Denver was just too expensive for me to consider (I was living with my family, in a suburb outside the city that was really stifling and lonely), and I really thought a lot of the places I could find real belonging would have too high a price tag, which I think is a common fear for queer folks who have mostly heard about big eastern and western cities as safe havens. The Twin Cities have given me everything I wanted in that regard. I have so many queer friends here, some of whom are more like family at this point, have regularly had coworkers like me and even had one job where I was encouraged to be fairly loudly out (and got to do some neat outreach as a result), and these days in particular am counstantly counting myself lucky to live in a state fighting for the rights of its transgender population.

And I've found community in other ways, too! There's a really vibrant, creative geek scene here, that's hung onto more of its old-school fandom roots -- probably my favorite convention anywhere is right here in Minneapolis (CONvergence), and there's a wonderful filk community in the area. I love, love, love my very queer, very social justice-oriented synagogue and that there are interesting Jewish community events going on with some frequency (and that I've even found a great deli to buy hamantaschen at every Purim!). And man. 2020 was a hard year here, but I'm going to remember the ways my neighbors and I stepped up for each other for the rest of my life. When the rest of the country was acting like our cities had burned to the ground, I felt like I was seeing the best of humanity from so many of the people around me. There were a couple days my qpp and I drove around just... taking pictures of all the art that had sprung up around the Cities, and on the boarded windows we knew would be taken down, because people had made them blossom with color and rebellion and love while they were up.

All told, there's a lot of neat things here. There's a lot of problems, too, but it's not hard to look around and see people fighting to solve them -- and in the meantime, there's plenty of joy and community to cling to. I've been fortunate enough to live in a few different parts of the country and have fallen in love with each of them in their own way, but Minnesota took me by surprise. I always thought of it as one of the quieter, more boring Midwestern states and I'm glad to have learned otherwise.

(I am also a cold weather guy through and through, despite my desert roots, so the winters treat me just fine, ha. The camaraderie through the blizzards and below-zero temperatures is another very real part of the state's charm.)

#land of eldritch lakes

[merrock]

CHARACTER INFORMATION

face claim: Alex Fitzalan

full name: Chandler Linwood

nickname(s) / goes by: Chandler, Chan

pronouns & gender: cis man, he/him

sexuality: biromantic asexual

birth date: February 11th, 1997

birth place: Minneapolis, Minnesota

arrival to merrock: 2022

housing: the suburbs

occupation: freelance photographer, employee/barista at Pause for Paws

work place: Pause for Paws

family: John Linwood, Susan Linwood (parents, both still live in Minnesota)

relationship status: single

PERSONALITY

If you had to describe Chandler in one phrase, it could easily be "trust issues". He's not a bad person, but he's happy to let people assume the worst about him and roll with that reputation. It's the best way he knows to protect himself. It's not that he tries to act edgy or like a completely unlikeable jerk, but more that he keeps a wall between himself and most people. Sometimes that means sharpening his sarcastic nature into a weapon, but often times it results in more of a laid back, apathetically sarcastic presence. Find some common ground with him and his defenses will seem to lower, and you'll find yourself talking to a much kinder version of him. He can count on one hand the amount of people he feels he can fully be himself around. Those 'lucky' few will receive wild video game/cartoon conspiracies, unhinged memes at three in the morning, and random tupperware containers of delicious food he's made too much of. After nearly a year of living in Merrock, he's just now starting to believe that he's finally on stable ground in his life, but he still has a strong self-sabotaging streak that he's willfully and stubbornly oblivious to. 

WRITTEN BY: Elle (she/her), est.

BACKGROUND / BIO

tw: alcoholism, vague mental illness, implied abuse, brief mentions of death

Chandler was born in Minneapolis, Minnesota, to John and Susan Linwood. Although his earliest years were spent living in the city, almost all of his childhood memories were made at the family's next home in the suburb of Wayzata. His mom was an ER doctor, and his dad had a cushy office job (although he didn't have the passion for his career that Susan did). On the outside, they were the all around perfect American dream family. But reality is never that simple, and things were quite different behind closed doors. Between Susan's long hours at the hospital, and John's nasty habit of getting wasted every night, Chandler had to grow up fast. One thing his mom impressed on him from a young age was not to tell anyone what was happening at home or reach out for help. This led to a general distrust of authority figures and a lot of acting out at school.

By the time Chandler was a teenager, things at home had deteriorated even more. He wasn't sure how much of that was his parents actually getting worse, and how much of that was him growing up and being able to understand what 'normal' was supposed to look like. It wasn't that they didn't love him, and he knew he was at least lucky to know they truly cared about him. But he realized more and more that they were simply two people who never should have started a family, especially not with each other.

It wasn't until college that Chandler learned about asexuality, so he spent a lot of high school confused. He had always been romantically and aesthetically attracted to every gender. But when his friends would talk about sex, he couldn't relate to what they were saying. Surely, people didn't just look at each other and think 'I wanna fuck that person', or obsess over sex the way they claimed to...right? He spent most of high school trying to feel the way everyone else did. He thought if he just slept with the right person, it would all click into place. It never did. But he did develop quite the reputation for sleeping around and drinking too much at parties. The second thing was the only way he could really escape Wayzata at the time, but he had a plan. Get into a good, out of state college and never look back. Most people assumed he didn't really take his studies seriously, that he had somehow gotten into mostly AP classes by coasting. But he was balancing taking care of his parents, mountains of homework and keeping up a crazy social life like he was constantly walking some kind of tightrope all while acting like nothing phased him.

It paid off when the acceptance letters started coming in. Chandler chose a school that was far enough away from his parents to avoid getting sucked back into Wayzata. He refused to be a sad pop punk song about some angsty kid who never escaped their hometown. When he got to college, Chandler quickly realized he had never thought that far ahead. He had no idea what he wanted to major in, or do with his life now. He realized part of him never expected to succeed in leaving Minnesota behind. At the same time he was struggling to find interest in his school work, he found his life revolving around college parties. He reasoned to himself that this is exactly what college kids were supposed to do; drink too much several times a week and then go to class exhausted the next day.

It only took him a couple years to spiral out of control. After meeting a girl at a party, they hit it off and got serious pretty quickly. She had her own issues that didn't mix well with his own. At her insistence, he dropped out of college (he was still aimlessly drifting around campus taking gen-ed classes without being any closer to figuring out what his major should be). After that, he was extremely isolated and his whole life revolved around her. Their relationship became more toxic and by the time Chandler realized he needed to leave, he no longer knew how to. So he stayed with her for a awhile longer, relying on drinking and other self destructive habits to numb himself to his life.

His one-way ticket out of the college town came in the form of a phone call from his dad. John's brother had died. Uncle Paul had an ex-wife (it was a nasty divorce that had dragged out through much of Chandler's teen years), but no children. He didn't live in Minnesota, but sometimes he'd come stay at the house for a week or two and watch Chandler while his parents went out of town on a kid-free trip and he always treated Chandler like the son he never had. He was the closest thing Chandler had to an adult he could trust (although he never discussed his parents quirks with his uncle - even as an adult he never wanted to open that can of worms). Without any immediate family of his own, Paul had left his vacation home in Maine to Chandler. He didn't think twice before packing what he could in a suitcase and going to check out Merrock himself. He's been there ever since.

Chandler had a history of doing freelance photography to fill the gaps between what his parents were sending and the cost of living. But, as much as he enjoyed photography, he didn't have the connections in Merrock to go full-time with it. And he was so new to town, he didn't know how reliable it would be for income in the long run. So he got a job at Pause for Paws. It might seem like an odd fit for someone who's not exactly warm and fuzzy himself, but Chandler loves animals and had never really been able to have a pet in his life. And with him being really into cooking and a good amateur bartender, he figured those skills would be transferrable to working in a cafe. Since getting more settled into small town life, he has adopted a dog named Jenna and a cat from the cafe he named Ryan Renolds. 

#merrockbio #chandlerlinwood #alcoholism tw #mental health tw #abuse tw #death tw

[punkenglishnerd]

I’ve written and rewritten this post a thousand times and I can’t seem to fully express what I want to say. So I’ll just write my main points here:

The police brutality that has been happening are hate crimes. They are murder. These criminals masquerading as policemen need to be brought to justice.

People who are not black have to recognize their privilege, and that includes both white people and non-black POC. I recognize my privilege as a non-black POC and a mixed-race POC, and I will not speak over black voices or tell them what they should and shouldn’t do, how they should and shouldn’t feel, how they should and shouldn’t react.

#there is so much more i could say #but i've been struggling to express my thoughts #and these two bullet points honestly get most of my thoughts across #for those of you who don't know #i live in a suburb right outside minneapolis #and i'm seeing firsthand not only the protests #but people's reactions to the protests #and i could go on about my thoughts on that #but for now i'll leave this post as is #i'm sure this will start some discourse #and i'll probably get some hate #probably not from my followers #but i'm sure some people are trolling posts with certain key words #and commenting/hating on the ones they disagree with #all i ask is that if anyone does want to start discourse on this post #please keep it civil and respectful #which realistically i probably know won't happen #but there's no harm in asking to try to keep things as respectful as possible #poc #tw racism #tw police brutality #tw murder

[so-writing]

The Devil You Know - Tyson Jost (1)

note: I've been gone for a minute because no inspiration to write but it came and here we are! I'm reworking my master because it's incredibly outdated and needs some major work. I haven't linked anything to it in a while and I won't be linking this.

plot: Tyson gets traded and, as much as you love him, you can't let yourself follow him. (Song: Only Be Mine - Arrows in Action)

--

Tomorrow's a nightmare, I'm dreamin' today And my head is haunted, the past just can't stay The devil you know, yeah he comes and he goes I'm selfish and vapid, I hide in my prose He’s not there when you get the phone call. He’s not even the one that calls you.

Hockey websites and Twitter and Instagram accounts light up with the news and you first find out about his trade when one of your friends screenshots a post on Reddit.

“Nico Sturm for Tyson Jost [@nhlupdate]” with a Reddit “confirmed” flair.

Kacey tries her best to keep herself collected when she asks how you’re doing, if you’ve talked to Tyson yet, if you’re going to be okay. You can feel the tension through the phone but you’re too preoccupied by the fact that Tyson has been traded to another team several states away and he hasn’t even bothered to call you yet.

“I’m fine,” you lie, “we’ll get through this,” you lie again. You’re pretty sure lies are going to become a common thing for the next little bit of time.

Kacey doesn’t sound convinced but she lets it go and you say your goodbyes before ending the call. For the first time, in a long time, probably since you moved in, you take a legitimately serious look at the walls around you.

The apartment was cold and unwelcoming when Tyson rented it and asked you to move in with him. The dark marble counters and cold black kitchen appliances paired nicely with the open industrial design and exposed brick throughout the space. It was nice, but it needed a bit of a comfy touch and you were quick it give it one.

You introduced warm art and lighting fixtures and furniture that removed some of the iciness of the empty space and built yourself a little home. It wouldn’t be your home anymore though, because Tyson would be moving away and there was absolutely no way you could afford the place on your own.

“Fuck,” you whispered into the silent apartment, “Tys?”

He still hadn’t called. He wouldn’t call for another two hours, and when he did, it broke your heart even more than you thought it already was.

*

“Hey baby,” he was almost whispering, “you okay?”

“No,” your lower lip began to tremble, “why didn’t you call earlier?”

“I’m sorry, I wanted to. I told Kacey to call for me, they threw me on a plane right away and things just went off from there.”

A soft silence between the two of you, you trying your best not to cry, before Tyson sighed and asked, “what are you thinking right now?”

That was it, the floodgates opened and you left nothing untouched. What was going to happen to the two of you? Were you going to stay together and be long distance? Did he even want that? Was he going to kick you out of his place? How was this going to work? Was it over?

“No,” his voice cracked, “no of course it’s not over.”

“It feels pretty fucking final, Tys.”

“I’ve been traded, it happens to lots of guys.”

“Does it happen to guys who aren’t married and established and have girlfriends that can’t afford to keep their old place and attend their games?”

He didn’t respond immediately, probably trying to compose what he thought was the right thing to say.

“I don’t know, but I know that I love you and that I can take care of you. Fuck, come out here, please? I’ll find a new place for us to live here in Minneapolis. It’ll be a fresh start for the both of us.”

It wasn’t something that had even crossed your mind. The abruptness of his trade that seemingly came out of nowhere had you thinking about plenty of possibilities but uprooting your entire life wasn’t one of them.

Born in Golden, a small suburb about twenty miles outside of Denver, you grew up living and breathing Colorado air. You’d always loved your home state and meeting Tyson his rookie year with the Avalanche was the cherry on top of what you thought was the start of your life taking shape.

“Baby? You still there?”

You were, but you didn’t respond so he kept talking about a future in Minnesota and how this would be good for him, good for the both of you. A fresh start.

That was the problem, though, because you didn’t want one. Naively, you always thought Tyson would stay in Colorado playing for the Avalanche and the two of you would spend your lives together in Denver. Marriage, babies and everything in between would happen and it would be there in Colorado. It was home.

“Tyson,” you stopped him, “i’m sorry, I’ve got to hang up. I’ll call you soon, okay?”

A slightly bewildered acceptance came from his end and you ended the call while he was still speaking.

*

Pounding on the door of your childhood home at almost midnight was probably not a good look but you’d been pacing your apartment thinking about what to do and, while you think you had decided, you needed to hear your parents opinion to be sure.

“Honey, what the hell?”

Your mom, dressed in silky pajamas and looking sleepy as hell, opened the door and pulled you inside.

“What’s wrong?”

“Tyson got traded.”

“To Minnesota, I know. Your father saw it on TV.”

“He asked me to come with him.”

She pursed her lips before opening her mouth, like she was about to say something, before shutting it again.

“Should I go with him?”

“Put on some water for tea. I’m going to wake your dad.”

*

Puffy eyes and red skin and chapped lips weren’t cute. Tyson’s mom was going to see the state of you and probably wonder why her son was with someone so unhinged. You spent the remainder of the night talking (and crying, mostly crying) to your parents while you weighed your decision and what it would mean if you left home to live with Tyson.

He sent you a text early letting you know that his mom was flying in to pack some of his stuff up so he had something to wear while he lived in a hotel close to his new home arena.

You hadn’t seen her in almost a year and this meeting was the opposite of ideal but when she opened the door, you launched yourself into her arms and the waterworks started again.

“This isn’t how I wanted us to see each other again.”

No response from you, because you were too choked up to say anything. It took a few minutes for you to let her go and a few more minutes of talking to accept that she was taking some of Tyson’s things out of the apartment forever.

He’d be back there less than five times and they’d be slowly lurking toward to the end. The end of his time in that building. The end of his time with the Avalanche. The end of his time in Colorado and the end of his time with you.

“I’ll see you soon?”

It wasn’t a question you could answer, because you hadn’t decided what you were going to do yet, but you nodded fiercely and hugged her goodbye. The door closed behind Tyson’s mother and you broke down again.

Was it possible to have no tears left to cry? You were probably dangerously close to finding out.

Over the next few days, Tyson called when he could and sent as many messages and possible to reassure you that he loved you and that he wanted you with him. It felt good to know that even though he was with a new team, he was still with you.

*

It wasn’t until the first game that the Avalanche played against the Wild, in Minnesota no less, and you couldn’t get out of work to fly out, that you realized you couldn’t do it.

You watched the game in your apartment, because Tyson didn’t live there anymore, and cried as you realized what you were going to do. Based on their social media, Tyson was absolutely thriving in Minnesota and you would only be a dark cloud on his new green grass, not raining down and watering it, just sadly lingering and killing any new growth.

He picked up right away when you called him and the happiness in his voice sent your stomach into your throat.

“Baby! Oh my god! I don’t want to be happy about this but, fuck, I am so happy!”

The Wild won over the Avalanche, thanks to EJ’s penalty, and Tyson sounded like he was on cloud nine.

“I’m glad, Tys, you deserved the win.”

“Hey,” the sound of people in the background faded away, “you okay?”

This was it. As much as you didn’t want, because you loved Tyson Jost more than you could even say, you couldn’t go with him. Minnesota was his fresh start, not yours.

“Honestly, no. Tyson,” you paused but he was quick to interrupt what you were about to say.

“Don’t do this. Please don’t do this? Not tonight?”

His happy tone dropped into a wavering one and you were tearing up at the sound of it. How fucking heartless was it to do this the first night he played and won against his old team? You hadn’t even thought of it.

“I can’t come to Minnesota, Tyson.”

“Why?”

It was a great question, one you didn’t really have a real answer to. You knew in your gut that leaving home to live with Tyson wasn’t the right choice but you couldn’t actually pinpoint a reason why. Sure, your family and your friends and your job were in Denver, but FaceTime was a thing and you could always get new employment.

Tyson had been the love of your life since shortly after you met him but less time around him made things clearer for you personally. You loved him, absolutely, but it obviously wasn’t enough to move mountains, or your life, for the sake of the relationship. You loved him though, still, you always would, he needed to know that.

“Nevermind,” he didn’t let you speak, “Your silence is enough.”

The call went dead and you sucked in a deep breath. That was not the way you wanted to end your relationship with Tyson Jost.

-

what do you think so far?

#tyson jost #tyson jost imagine #tyson jost fic #tyson jost edit #colorado avalanche imagine #Minnesota wild imagine #hockey imagine #nhl imagine

[hlupdate]

Variety’s Grammy-nominated Hitmaker of the Year goes deep on the music industry, the great pause and finding his own muses.

“We’ll dance again,” Harry Styles coos, the Los Angeles sunshine peeking through his pandemic-shaggy hair just so. The singer, songwriter and actor — beloved and critically acclaimed thanks to his life-affirming year-old album, “Fine Line” — is lamenting that his Variety Hitmaker of the Year cover conversation has to be conducted over Zoom rather than in person. Even via videoconference, the Brit is effortlessly charming, as anyone who’s come within earshot of him would attest, but it quickly becomes clear that beneath that genial smile is a well-honed media strategy.

To wit: In an interview that appears a few days later announcing his investment in a new arena in his native Manchester (more on that in a bit), he repeats the refrain — “There will be a time we dance again”— referencing a much-needed return to live music and the promise of some 4,000 jobs for residents.

None of which is to suggest that Styles, 26, phones it in for interviews. Quite the opposite: He does very few, conceivably to give more of himself and not cheapen what is out there and also to use the publicity opportunity to indulge his other interests, like fashion. (Last month Styles became the first male to grace the cover of Vogue solo.) Still, it stings a little that a waltz with the former One Direction member may not come to pass on this album cycle — curse you, coronavirus.

Styles’ isolation has coincided with his maturation as an artist, a thespian and a person. With “Fine Line,” he’s proved himself a skilled lyricist with a tremendous ear for harmony and melody. In preparing for his role in Olivia Wilde’s period thriller “Don’t Worry Darling,” which is shooting outside Palm Springs, he found an outlet for expression in interpreting words on a page. And for the first time, he’s using his megaphone to speak out about social justice — inspired by the outpouring of support for Black people around the world following the death of George Floyd at the hands of Minneapolis police in May.

Styles has spent much of the past nine months at home in London, where life has slowed considerably. The time has allowed him to ponder such heady issues as his purpose on the earth. “It’s been a pause that I don’t know if I would have otherwise taken,” says Styles. “I think it’s been pretty good for me to have a kind of stop, to look and think about what it actually means to be an artist, what it means to do what we do and why we do it. I lean into moments like this — moments of uncertainty.”

In truth, while Styles has largely been keeping a low profile — his Love On Tour, due to kick off on April 15, was postponed in late March and is now scheduled to launch in February 2021 (whether it actually will remains to be seen) — his music has not. This is especially true in the U.S., where he’s notched two hit singles, “Adore You,” the second-most-played song at radio in 2020, and “Watermelon Sugar” (No. 22 on Variety’s year-end Hitmakers chart), with a third, “Golden,” already cresting the top 20 on the pop format. The massive cross-platform success of these songs means Styles has finally and decisively broken into the American market, maneuvering its web of gatekeepers to accumulate 6.2 million consumption units and rising.

Why do these particular songs resonate in 2020? Styles doesn’t have the faintest idea. While he acknowledges a “nursery rhyme” feel to “Watermelon Sugar” with its earwormy loop of a chorus, that’s about as much insight as he can offer. His longtime collaborator and friend Tom Hull, also known as the producer Kid Harpoon, offers this take: “There’s a lot of amazing things about that song, but what really stands out is the lyric. It’s not trying to hide or be clever. The simplicity of watermelon … there’s such a joy in it, [which] is a massive part of that song’s success.” Also, his kids love it. “I’ve never had a song connect with children in this way,” says Hull, whose credits include tunes by Shawn Mendes, Florence and the Machine and Calvin Harris. “I get sent videos all the time from friends of their kids singing. I have a 3-year-old and an 8-year-old, and they listen to it.”

Styles is quick to note that he doesn’t chase pop appeal when crafting songs. In fact, the times when he pondered or approved a purposeful tweak, like on his self-titled 2017 debut, still gnaw at him. “I love that album so much because it represents such a time in my life, but when I listen to it — sonically and lyrically, especially — I can hear places where I was playing it safe,” he says. “I was scared to get it wrong.”

Contemporary effects and on-trend beats hardly factor into Styles’ decision-making. He likes to focus on feelings — his own and his followers’ — and see himself on the other side of the velvet rope, an important distinction in his view. “People within [the industry] feel like they operate on a higher level of listening, and I like to make music from the point of being a fan of music,” Styles says. “Fans are the best A&R.”

This from someone who’s had free rein to pursue every musical whim, and hand in the album of his dreams in the form of “Fine Line.” Chart success makes it all the sweeter, but Styles insists that writing “for the right reasons” supersedes any commercial considerations. “There’s no part that feels, eh, icky — like it was made in the lab,” he says.

Styles has experience in this realm. As a graduate of the U.K. competition series “The X Factor,” where he and four other auditionees — Niall Horan, Zayn Malik, Liam Payne and Louis Tomlinson — were singled out by show creator and star judge Simon Cowell to conjoin as One Direction, he’s seen how the prefab pop machine works up close. The One Direction oeuvre, which counts some 42 million albums sold worldwide, includes songs written with such established hitmakers as Ryan Tedder, Savan Kotecha and Teddy Geiger. Being a studious, insatiable observer, Styles took it all in.

“I learned so much,” he says of the experience. “When we were in the band, I used to try and write with as many different people as I could. I wanted to practice — and I wrote a lot of bad shit.”

His bandmates also benefited from the pop star boot camp. The proof is in the relatively seamless solo transitions of at least three of its members — Payne, Malik and Horan in addition to Styles — each of whom has landed hit singles on charts in the U.K., the U.S. and beyond.

This departs from the typical trajectories of boy bands including New Kids on the Block and ’N Sync, which have all pro ered a star frontman. The thinking for decades was that a record company would be lucky to have one breakout solo career among the bunch.

Styles has plainly thought about this.

“When you look at the history of people coming out of bands and starting solo careers, they feel this need to apologize for being in the band. ‘Don’t worry, everyone, that wasn’t me! Now I get to do what I really want to do.’ But we loved being in the band,” he says. “I think there’s a wont to pit people against each other. And I think it’s never been about that for us. It’s about a next step in evolution. The fact that we’ve all achieved different things outside of the band says a lot about how hard we worked in it.”

Indeed, during the five-ish years that One Direction existed, Styles’ schedule involved the sort of nonstop international jet-setting that few get to see in a lifetime, never mind their teenage years. Between 2011 and 2015, One Direction’s tours pulled in north of $631 million in gross ticket sales, according to concert trade Pollstar, and the band was selling out stadiums worldwide by the time it entered its extended hiatus. Styles, too, had built up to playing arenas as a solo artist, engaging audiences with his colorful stage wear and banter and left-of-center choices for opening acts (a pre-Grammy-haul Kacey Musgraves in 2018; indie darlings King Princess and Jenny Lewis for his rescheduled 2021 run).

Stages of all sizes feel like home to Styles. He grew up in a suburb of Manchester, ground zero for some of the biggest British acts of the 1980s and ’90s, including Joy Division, New Order, the Smiths and Oasis, the latter of which broke the same year Styles was born. His parents were also music lovers. Styles’ father fed him a balanced diet of the Beatles, Fleetwood Mac, the Rolling Stones and Queen, while Mum was a fan of Shania Twain, Norah Jones and Savage Garden. “They’re all great melody writers,” says Styles of the acts’ musical throughline.

Stevie Nicks, who in the past has described “Fine Line” as Styles’ “Rumours,” referencing the Fleetwood Mac 1977 classic, sees him as a kindred spirit. “Harry writes and sings his songs about real experiences that seemingly happened yesterday,” she tells Variety. “He taps into real life. He doesn’t make up stories. He tells the truth, and that is what I do. ‘Fine Line’ has been my favorite record since it came out. It is his ‘Rumours.’ I told him that in a note on December 13, 2019 before he went on stage to play the ‘Fine Line’ album at the Forum. We cried. He sang those songs like he had sung them a thousand times. That’s a great songwriter and a great performer.”

“Harry’s playing and writing is instinctual,” adds Jonathan Wilson, a friend and peer who’s advised Styles on backing and session musicians. “He understands history and where to take the torch. You can see the thread of great British performers — from Bolan to Bowie — in his music.”

Also shaping his musical DNA was Manchester itself, the site of a 23,500-seat arena, dubbed Co-op Live, for which Styles is an investor and adviser. Oak View Group, a company specializing in live entertainment and global sports that was founded by Tim Leiweke and Irving Azoff in 2015 (Jeffrey Azoff, Irving’s son, represents Styles at Full Stop Management), is leading the effort to construct the venue. The project gained planning approval in September and is set to open in 2023, with its arrival representing a £350 million ($455 million) investment in the city. (Worth noting: Manchester is already home to an arena — the site of a 2017 bombing outside an Ariana Grande concert — and a football stadium, where One Love Manchester, an all-star benefit show to raise money for victims of the terrorist attack, took place.)

“I went to my first shows in Manchester,” Styles says of concerts paid for with money earned delivering newspapers for a supermarket called the Co-op. “My friends and I would go in on weekends. There’s so many amazing small venues, and music is such a massive part of the city. I think Manchester deserves it. It feels like a full-circle, coming-home thing to be doing this and to be able to give any kind of input. I’m incredibly proud. Hopefully they’ll let me play there at some point.”

Though Styles has owned properties in Los Angeles, his base for the foreseeable future is London. “I feel like my relationship with L.A. has changed a lot,” he explains. “I’ve kind of accepted that I don’t have to live here anymore; for a while I felt like I was supposed to. Like it meant things were going well. This happened, then you move to L.A.! But I don’t really want to.”

Is it any wonder? Between COVID and the turmoil in the U.S. spurred by the presidential election, Styles, like some 79 million American voters, is recovering from sticker shock over the bill of goods sold to them by the concept of democracy. “In general, as people, there’s a lack of empathy,” he observes. “We found this place that’s so divisive. We just don’t listen to each other anymore. And that’s quite scary.”

That belief prompted Styles to speak out publicly in the wake of George Floyd’s death. As protests in support of Black Lives Matter took to streets all over the world, for Styles, it triggered a period of introspection, as marked by an Instagram message (liked by 2.7 million users and counting) in which he declared: “I do things every day without fear, because I am privileged, and I am privileged every day because I am white. … Being not racist is not enough, we must be anti racist. Social change is enacted when a society mobilizes. I stand in solidarity with all of those protesting. I’m donating to help post bail for arrested organizers. Look inwards, educate yourself and others. LISTEN, READ, SHARE, DONATE and VOTE. ENOUGH IS ENOUGH. BLACK LIVES MATTER.”

“Talking about race can be really uncomfortable for everyone,” Styles elaborates. “I had a realization that my own comfort in the conversation has nothing to do with the problem — like that’s not enough of a reason to not have a conversation. Looking back, I don’t think I’ve been outspoken enough in the past. Using that feeling has pushed me forward to being open and ready to learn. … How can I ensure from my side that in 20 years, the right things are still being done and the right people are getting the right opportunities? That it’s not a passing thing?”

His own record company — and corporate parent Sony Music Group, whose chairman, Rob Stringer, signed Styles in 2016 — has been grappling with these same questions as the industry has faced its own reckoning with race. At issue: inequality among the upper ranks (an oft-cited statistic: popular music is 80% Black, but the music business is 80% white); contracts rooted in a decades-old system that many say is set up to take advantage of artists, Black artists more unfairly than white; and the call for a return of master rights, an ownership model that is at the core of the business.

Styles acknowledges the fundamental imbalance in how a major label deal is structured — the record company takes on the financial risk while the artist is made to recoup money spent on the project before the act is considered profitable and earning royalties (typically at a 15% to 18% rate for the artist, while the label keeps and disburses the rest). “Historically, I can’t think of any industry that’s benefited more off of Black culture than music,” he says. “There are discussions that need to happen about this long history of not being paid fairly. It’s a time for listening, and hopefully, people will come out humbled, educated and willing to learn and change.”

By all accounts, Styles is a voracious reader, a movie lover and an aesthete. He stays in shape by adhering to a strict daily exercise routine. “I tried to keep up but didn’t last more than two weeks,” says Hull, Styles’ producer, with a laugh. “The discipline is terrifying.”

Of course, with the fashion world beckoning — Styles recently appeared in a film series for Gucci’s new collection that was co-directed by the fashion house’s creative director, Alessandro Michele, and Oscar winner Gus Van Sant — and a movie that’s set in the 1950s, maintaining that physique is part of the job. And he’s no stranger to visual continuity after appearing in Christopher Nolan’s epic “Dunkirk” and having to return to set for reshoots; his hair, which needed to be cut back to its circa 1940 form, is a constant topic of conversation among fans. This time, it’s the ink that poses a challenge. By Styles’ tally, he’s up to 60 tattoos, which require an hour in the makeup chair to cover up. “It’s the only time I really regret getting tattooed,” he says.

He shows no regret, however, when it comes to stylistic choices overall, and takes pride in his gender-agnostic portfolio, which includes wearing a Gucci dress on that Vogue cover— an image that incited conservative pundit Candace Owens to plead publicly to “bring back manly men.” In Styles’ view: “To not wear [something] because it’s females’ clothing, you shut out a whole world of great clothes. And I think what’s exciting about right now is you can wear what you like. It doesn’t have to be X or Y. Those lines are becoming more and more blurred.”

But acclaim, if you can believe it, is not top of mind for Styles. As far as the Grammys are concerned, Styles shrugs, “It’s never why I do anything.” His team and longtime label, however, had their hearts set on a showing at the Jan. 31 ceremony. Their investment in Styles has been substantial — not just monetarily but in carefully crafting his career in the wake of such icons as David Bowie, who released his final albums with the label. Hope at the company and in many fans’ hearts that Styles would receive an album of the year nomination did not come to pass. However, he was recognized in three categories, including best pop vocal album.

“It’s always nice to know that people like what you’re doing, but ultimately — and especially working in a subjective field — I don’t put too much weight on that stuff,” Styles says. “I think it’s important when making any kind of art to remove the ego from it.” Citing the painter Matisse, he adds: “It’s about the work that you do when you’re not expecting any applause.”

#harry styles #variety #021220

[hldailyupdate]

This Charming Man: Why We’re Wild About Harry Styles

Variety’s Grammy-nominated Hitmaker of the Year goes deep on the music industry, the great pause and finding his own muses.

“We’ll dance again,” Harry Styles coos, the Los Angeles sunshine peeking through his pandemic-shaggy hair just so. The singer, songwriter and actor — beloved and critically acclaimed thanks to his life-affirming year-old album, “Fine Line” — is lamenting that his Variety Hitmaker of the Year cover conversation has to be conducted over Zoom rather than in person. Even via videoconference, the Brit is effortlessly charming, as anyone who’s come within earshot of him would attest, but it quickly becomes clear that beneath that genial smile is a well-honed media strategy.

To wit: In an interview that appears a few days later announcing his investment in a new arena in his native Manchester (more on that in a bit), he repeats the refrain — “There will be a time we dance again”— referencing a much-needed return to live music and the promise of some 4,000 jobs for residents.

None of which is to suggest that Styles, 26, phones it in for interviews. Quite the opposite: He does very few, conceivably to give more of himself and not cheapen what is out there and also to use the publicity opportunity to indulge his other interests, like fashion. (Last month Styles became the first male to grace the cover of Vogue solo.) Still, it stings a little that a waltz with the former One Direction member may not come to pass on this album cycle — curse you, coronavirus.

Styles’ isolation has coincided with his maturation as an artist, a thespian and a person. With “Fine Line,” he’s proved himself a skilled lyricist with a tremendous ear for harmony and melody. In preparing for his role in Olivia Wilde’s period thriller “Don’t Worry Darling,” which is shooting outside Palm Springs, he found an outlet for expression in interpreting words on a page. And for the first time, he’s using his megaphone to speak out about social justice — inspired by the outpouring of support for Black people around the world following the death of George Floyd at the hands of Minneapolis police in May.

Styles has spent much of the past nine months at home in London, where life has slowed considerably. The time has allowed him to ponder such heady issues as his purpose on the earth. “It’s been a pause that I don’t know if I would have otherwise taken,” says Styles. “I think it’s been pretty good for me to have a kind of stop, to look and think about what it actually means to be an artist, what it means to do what we do and why we do it. I lean into moments like this — moments of uncertainty.”

In truth, while Styles has largely been keeping a low profile — his Love On Tour, due to kick off on April 15, was postponed in late March and is now scheduled to launch in February 2021 (whether it actually will remains to be seen) — his music has not. This is especially true in the U.S., where he’s notched two hit singles, “Adore You,” the second-most-played song at radio in 2020, and “Watermelon Sugar” (No. 22 on Variety’s year-end Hitmakers chart), with a third, “Golden,” already cresting the top 20 on the pop format. The massive cross-platform success of these songs means Styles has finally and decisively broken into the American market, maneuvering its web of gatekeepers to accumulate 6.2 million consumption units and rising.

Why do these particular songs resonate in 2020? Styles doesn’t have the faintest idea. While he acknowledges a “nursery rhyme” feel to “Watermelon Sugar” with its earwormy loop of a chorus, that’s about as much insight as he can offer. His longtime collaborator and friend Tom Hull, also known as the producer Kid Harpoon, offers this take: “There’s a lot of amazing things about that song, but what really stands out is the lyric. It’s not trying to hide or be clever. The simplicity of watermelon … there’s such a joy in it, [which] is a massive part of that song’s success.” Also, his kids love it. “I’ve never had a song connect with children in this way,” says Hull, whose credits include tunes by Shawn Mendes, Florence and the Machine and Calvin Harris. “I get sent videos all the time from friends of their kids singing. I have a 3-year-old and an 8-year-old, and they listen to it.”

Styles is quick to note that he doesn’t chase pop appeal when crafting songs. In fact, the times when he pondered or approved a purposeful tweak, like on his self-titled 2017 debut, still gnaw at him. “I love that album so much because it represents such a time in my life, but when I listen to it — sonically and lyrically, especially — I can hear places where I was playing it safe,” he says. “I was scared to get it wrong.”

Contemporary effects and on-trend beats hardly factor into Styles’ decision-making. He likes to focus on feelings — his own and his followers’ — and see himself on the other side of the velvet rope, an important distinction in his view. “People within [the industry] feel like they operate on a higher level of listening, and I like to make music from the point of being a fan of music,” Styles says. “Fans are the best A&R.”

This from someone who’s had free rein to pursue every musical whim, and hand in the album of his dreams in the form of “Fine Line.” Chart success makes it all the sweeter, but Styles insists that writing “for the right reasons” supersedes any commercial considerations. “There’s no part that feels, eh, icky — like it was made in the lab,” he says.

Styles has experience in this realm. As a graduate of the U.K. competition series “The X Factor,” where he and four other auditionees — Niall Horan, Zayn Malik, Liam Payne and Louis Tomlinson — were singled out by show creator and star judge Simon Cowell to conjoin as One Direction, he’s seen how the prefab pop machine works up close. The One Direction oeuvre, which counts some 42 million albums sold worldwide, includes songs written with such established hitmakers as Ryan Tedder, Savan Kotecha and Teddy Geiger. Being a studious, insatiable observer, Styles took it all in.

“I learned so much,” he says of the experience. “When we were in the band, I used to try and write with as many different people as I could. I wanted to practice — and I wrote a lot of bad shit.”

His bandmates also benefited from the pop star boot camp. The proof is in the relatively seamless solo transitions of at least three of its members — Payne, Malik and Horan in addition to Styles — each of whom has landed hit singles on charts in the U.K., the U.S. and beyond.

This departs from the typical trajectories of boy bands including New Kids on the Block and ’N Sync, which have all pro ered a star frontman. The thinking for decades was that a record company would be lucky to have one breakout solo career among the bunch.

Styles has plainly thought about this.

“When you look at the history of people coming out of bands and starting solo careers, they feel this need to apologize for being in the band. ‘Don’t worry, everyone, that wasn’t me! Now I get to do what I really want to do.’ But we loved being in the band,” he says. “I think there’s a wont to pit people against each other. And I think it’s never been about that for us. It’s about a next step in evolution. The fact that we’ve all achieved different things outside of the band says a lot about how hard we worked in it.”

Indeed, during the five-ish years that One Direction existed, Styles’ schedule involved the sort of nonstop international jet-setting that few get to see in a lifetime, never mind their teenage years. Between 2011 and 2015, One Direction’s tours pulled in north of $631 million in gross ticket sales, according to concert trade Pollstar, and the band was selling out stadiums worldwide by the time it entered its extended hiatus. Styles, too, had built up to playing arenas as a solo artist, engaging audiences with his colorful stage wear and banter and left-of-center choices for opening acts (a pre-Grammy-haul Kacey Musgraves in 2018; indie darlings King Princess and Jenny Lewis for his rescheduled 2021 run).

Stages of all sizes feel like home to Styles. He grew up in a suburb of Manchester, ground zero for some of the biggest British acts of the 1980s and ’90s, including Joy Division, New Order, the Smiths and Oasis, the latter of which broke the same year Styles was born. His parents were also music lovers. Styles’ father fed him a balanced diet of the Beatles, Fleetwood Mac, the Rolling Stones and Queen, while Mum was a fan of Shania Twain, Norah Jones and Savage Garden. “They’re all great melody writers,” says Styles of the acts’ musical throughline.

Stevie Nicks, who in the past has described “Fine Line” as Styles’ “Rumours,” referencing the Fleetwood Mac 1977 classic, sees him as a kindred spirit. “Harry writes and sings his songs about real experiences that seemingly happened yesterday,” she tells Variety. “He taps into real life. He doesn’t make up stories. He tells the truth, and that is what I do. ‘Fine Line’ has been my favorite record since it came out. It is his ‘Rumours.’ I told him that in a note on December 13, 2019 before he went on stage to play the ‘Fine Line’ album at the Forum. We cried. He sang those songs like he had sung them a thousand times. That’s a great songwriter and a great performer.”

“Harry’s playing and writing is instinctual,” adds Jonathan Wilson, a friend and peer who’s advised Styles on backing and session musicians. “He understands history and where to take the torch. You can see the thread of great British performers — from Bolan to Bowie — in his music.”

Also shaping his musical DNA was Manchester itself, the site of a 23,500-seat arena, dubbed Co-op Live, for which Styles is an investor and adviser. Oak View Group, a company specializing in live entertainment and global sports that was founded by Tim Leiweke and Irving Azoff in 2015 (Jeffrey Azoff, Irving’s son, represents Styles at Full Stop Management), is leading the effort to construct the venue. The project gained planning approval in September and is set to open in 2023, with its arrival representing a £350 million ($455 million) investment in the city. (Worth noting: Manchester is already home to an arena — the site of a 2017 bombing outside an Ariana Grande concert — and a football stadium, where One Love Manchester, an all-star benefit show to raise money for victims of the terrorist attack, took place.)

“I went to my first shows in Manchester,” Styles says of concerts paid for with money earned delivering newspapers for a supermarket called the Co-op. “My friends and I would go in on weekends. There’s so many amazing small venues, and music is such a massive part of the city. I think Manchester deserves it. It feels like a full-circle, coming-home thing to be doing this and to be able to give any kind of input. I’m incredibly proud. Hopefully they’ll let me play there at some point.”

Though Styles has owned properties in Los Angeles, his base for the foreseeable future is London. “I feel like my relationship with L.A. has changed a lot,” he explains. “I’ve kind of accepted that I don’t have to live here anymore; for a while I felt like I was supposed to. Like it meant things were going well. This happened, then you move to L.A.! But I don’t really want to.”

Is it any wonder? Between COVID and the turmoil in the U.S. spurred by the presidential election, Styles, like some 79 million American voters, is recovering from sticker shock over the bill of goods sold to them by the concept of democracy. “In general, as people, there’s a lack of empathy,” he observes. “We found this place that’s so divisive. We just don’t listen to each other anymore. And that’s quite scary.”

That belief prompted Styles to speak out publicly in the wake of George Floyd’s death. As protests in support of Black Lives Matter took to streets all over the world, for Styles, it triggered a period of introspection, as marked by an Instagram message (liked by 2.7 million users and counting) in which he declared: “I do things every day without fear, because I am privileged, and I am privileged every day because I am white. … Being not racist is not enough, we must be anti racist. Social change is enacted when a society mobilizes. I stand in solidarity with all of those protesting. I’m donating to help post bail for arrested organizers. Look inwards, educate yourself and others. LISTEN, READ, SHARE, DONATE and VOTE. ENOUGH IS ENOUGH. BLACK LIVES MATTER.”

“Talking about race can be really uncomfortable for everyone,” Styles elaborates. “I had a realization that my own comfort in the conversation has nothing to do with the problem — like that’s not enough of a reason to not have a conversation. Looking back, I don’t think I’ve been outspoken enough in the past. Using that feeling has pushed me forward to being open and ready to learn. … How can I ensure from my side that in 20 years, the right things are still being done and the right people are getting the right opportunities? That it’s not a passing thing?”

His own record company — and corporate parent Sony Music Group, whose chairman, Rob Stringer, signed Styles in 2016 — has been grappling with these same questions as the industry has faced its own reckoning with race. At issue: inequality among the upper ranks (an oft-cited statistic: popular music is 80% Black, but the music business is 80% white); contracts rooted in a decades-old system that many say is set up to take advantage of artists, Black artists more unfairly than white; and the call for a return of master rights, an ownership model that is at the core of the business.

Styles acknowledges the fundamental imbalance in how a major label deal is structured — the record company takes on the financial risk while the artist is made to recoup money spent on the project before the act is considered profitable and earning royalties (typically at a 15% to 18% rate for the artist, while the label keeps and disburses the rest). “Historically, I can’t think of any industry that’s benefited more off of Black culture than music,” he says. “There are discussions that need to happen about this long history of not being paid fairly. It’s a time for listening, and hopefully, people will come out humbled, educated and willing to learn and change.”

By all accounts, Styles is a voracious reader, a movie lover and an aesthete. He stays in shape by adhering to a strict daily exercise routine. “I tried to keep up but didn’t last more than two weeks,” says Hull, Styles’ producer, with a laugh. “The discipline is terrifying.”

Of course, with the fashion world beckoning — Styles recently appeared in a film series for Gucci’s new collection that was co-directed by the fashion house’s creative director, Alessandro Michele, and Oscar winner Gus Van Sant — and a movie that’s set in the 1950s, maintaining that physique is part of the job. And he’s no stranger to visual continuity after appearing in Christopher Nolan’s epic “Dunkirk” and having to return to set for reshoots; his hair, which needed to be cut back to its circa 1940 form, is a constant topic of conversation among fans. This time, it’s the ink that poses a challenge. By Styles’ tally, he’s up to 60 tattoos, which require an hour in the makeup chair to cover up. “It’s the only time I really regret getting tattooed,” he says.

He shows no regret, however, when it comes to stylistic choices overall, and takes pride in his gender-agnostic portfolio, which includes wearing a Gucci dress on that Vogue cover— an image that incited conservative pundit Candace Owens to plead publicly to “bring back manly men.” In Styles’ view: “To not wear [something] because it’s females’ clothing, you shut out a whole world of great clothes. And I think what’s exciting about right now is you can wear what you like. It doesn’t have to be X or Y. Those lines are becoming more and more blurred.”

But acclaim, if you can believe it, is not top of mind for Styles. As far as the Grammys are concerned, Styles shrugs, “It’s never why I do anything.” His team and longtime label, however, had their hearts set on a showing at the Jan. 31 ceremony. Their investment in Styles has been substantial — not just monetarily but in carefully crafting his career in the wake of such icons as David Bowie, who released his final albums with the label. Hope at the company and in many fans’ hearts that Styles would receive an album of the year nomination did not come to pass. However, he was recognized in three categories, including best pop vocal album.

“It’s always nice to know that people like what you’re doing, but ultimately — and especially working in a subjective field — I don’t put too much weight on that stuff,” Styles says. “I think it’s important when making any kind of art to remove the ego from it.” Citing the painter Matisse, he adds: “It’s about the work that you do when you’re not expecting any applause.”

Harry for Variety. (2 December 2020)

#harry styles #harry update #article #variety #hldaily #December 2020

[allsassnoclass]

Meet Me Under the Mistletoe

Ficmas Day 1 for @calumsclifford <3

Pairing: Michael Clifford/Ashton Irwin

Rating: Teen and Up

Key Tag(s): Fake/Pretend Relationship, Office Party, Pining, Fluff, no warnings needed

Word Count: 15,665

Read on AO3

—

“And you asked Luke and Calum, but neither of them could do it?”

“Yeah.”

“Then you asked some other people, who also said no?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Is there a reason you didn’t ask me?”

Michael had not come up with a reason beyond I’m in love with you and that seems like a recipe for disaster.

“Uh,” he says. “I didn’t think you’d want to. I mean, I already ask you for so much.”

“That’s stupid,” Ashton says. “I like fancy parties, and spending time with you, and helping you. If you’re really set against telling them the truth, then I can be your fake boyfriend for the night.”

Michael has been letting everyone at the office believe he has a boyfriend for the past few months. Things become complicated when they ask to meet his boyfriend at the company winter party.

—

“I need you to be my boyfriend!”

It’s a testament to their experience as friends that neither Calum nor Luke look surprised to have Michael burst through their door haphazardly.  He knows his cheeks are flushed from the cold and running up the stairs and his coat probably isn’t buttoned properly and he only has one mitten on, but he’s in a crisis.  Calum and Luke don’t even bat an eye, although Luke lifts himself up from where he was tucked against Calum and frowns.

“Which one of us were you talking to?  Also, Calum and I are in a monogamous relationship already.  Sorry, Mikey.”

“Not my actual boyfriend,” Michael says, kicking off his shoes.  There’s snow clinging to the sides, and he steps gingerly over any damp spots in the entry before flinging his coat down on the armchair and flopping right next to Calum on the couch.

“What other type of boyfriend is there?” Luke asks.

“A fake one.”

That finally gets Calum’s attention, who had been pretending that the news was somehow more riveting than Michael’s crisis.

“What did you do?” Calum accuses.

“Nothing!”

Calum’s eyes narrow.

“I maybe have let everyone at work assume that I have a boyfriend and now they expect to meet him at the company holiday party.”

Calum sighs heavily, as if he hasn’t been Michael’s accomplice in far worse situations.

“How did that happen?”

“It just did,” Michael shrugs.  “Someone asked if I had a girlfriend back in September, and I said ‘boyfriend’ and they took it to mean that I have a boyfriend rather than want one.”

He had only been working there for three weeks when someone asked the question, and he had been so tired of not setting the record straight at the first possible opportunity.  It’s tedious to laugh off something like that and then have to come out later, and Michael figured that if anyone was going to be homophobic at least he would find out then instead of later when he had time to possibly grow to like them first.

Thankfully it hadn’t been an issue, as two other people in the department have same-sex partners.

Everyone there respects his privacy, so he hasn’t had to make up too many details, and it’s been nice to not have to acknowledge just how long it’s been since he last got to kiss a guy, let alone date one.

“Just tell them you don’t have one,” Luke says.

“If I was planning on doing that, I would’ve done so three months ago when this whole thing started.  Besides, I think there’s a betting pool involved, or at least a lot of behind my back speculation.  There are stakes now.”

“This is what you get for lying,” Calum says, shaking his head.  Michael pouts.

Michael was always told that one day, his little white lies would come back to bite him in the butt.  He doesn’t make a habit out of fibbing, but sometimes it’s simply easier to say something less-than true in order to save further pain down the road.  Insisting that he had done all of his homework by himself was easier than admitting that he and Calum did half each, and he got more free time out of it.  Telling Calum that Luke ate the last cookie instead of him saved Calum from a foul mood, because he’s unable to stay mad at Luke.  Telling Ashton that he was not, in fact, planning him a birthday party made the surprise that much sweeter.

When he told his coworkers that he has a boyfriend, he had expected this to be like every other little, insignificant lie he tells.  Now, he is paying the price.  He’s probably paying the price for every single lie he’s ever gotten away with in the past.

“This is a bit extreme for karma,” he says.  “Anyway, it’d be one night only, and apparently the party is pretty fancy.  Since headquarters is just over in Minneapolis, we’re invited to join theirs.  There’s a raffle with big prizes, plus a free catered dinner.”

“If it’s with headquarters, neither of us can go,” Luke says.  “My cousin works there.  She’d recognize me or Cal, and she definitely knows we’re dating each other, not you.”

“Really?” Michael asks.  “Shit.  You two were my best bets.  I needed to pick someone who wouldn’t fall in love with me.”

“You know,” Luke says.  “We do have another friend who is single and who you want to fall in love with you.”

“No,” Michael says.  “Absolutely not.”

“Come on, just think about it,” Luke says.  “Ashton would probably have a great time, and you’d get to show him off, maybe kiss him under the mistletoe...”

“He’d do it,” Calum says.  “He bends over backwards to help you already, and he loves schmoozing at fancy parties.  Plus, depending on how fancy it is you might get to see him in a suit.”

“No,” Michael repeats.  “The last thing I need is to have Ashton pretend to be my boyfriend.  If he was going to fall in love with me, he would’ve done it by now, and I don’t need a taste of what being with him would be like without any of the substance.”

Luke huffs and sits back.  Calum merely raises his eyebrows.

“Good luck finding someone else to go along with this.”

Michael flips him off and gets out his phone to start making calls.  He gets through seven refusals before he finally considers that Ashton may be the best viable option.

“No luck?” Calum asks, smirking.  Michael slumps against the couch and rubs at his eyes.

“Roy said that this is probably the universe giving me a sign.  Also he’s busy on the night of the party.”

“I can’t picture Roy and you pretending to date, anyway,” Luke says.  “Honestly, I think all of those would’ve failed.  Your coworkers would see through you in an instant.  You’d become the laughing stock of the office.”

“I could’ve at least had fun with Jack,” Michael says.

“He would’ve been laughing at you and texting Alex the entire time,” Calum says.  “Call Ashton.  Better yet, go to his house and talk it out in person.  Luke and I are supposed to be on a date in 30 minutes.”

“He’s expecting you,” Luke says, typing out something on his phone.  “He made baked ziti and needs you to help him eat it.”

“Did you tell him?” Michael asks, sitting up so fast he gets dizzy.

“I just said that you’re in crisis and will be coming over.”

“He’s going to laugh at me.”

“You deserve it,” Calum says, placing a hand on his shoulder.  “But you also know that he’s going to do everything he can to help you, and he’ll have better suggestions than me or Luke.  We’re good at getting you into trouble, not out of it.”

Michael sighs.  It’s not that he thought he could somehow keep this situation a secret from Ashton, but it’s still mortifying to consider confessing to him that he’s done something stupid enough to require finding a fake boyfriend in order to continue a long con he’s pulling on his coworkers.

He should probably tell everyone that he never had a boyfriend to begin with, but that seems like too little, too late when he has already panicked and told everyone that his boyfriend will come to the holiday party.  Michael is not a quitter.  This may not be a competition, but he will win, and winning means not facing the embarrassment of admitting the truth.

“Okay,” he sighs.  “I can’t believe you two are kicking me out in my time of need so you can go on a date.”

“Talk to Ashton and you might get a date for the holiday party,” Calum says.  “Then you can stop being a third wheel and we can double date instead of kicking you out.”

“I hope this works out for you, Mikey,” Luke says.

“Don’t give me false hope, please,” he says.  “It’s been years.”

Michael stands in silence, the others knowing better than to try and convince him Ashton could possibly like him, too.  He ran out of hope for that a long time ago, and he’s been attempting and failing to get rid of this pesky crush ever since.

“Stay warm out there,” Calum says, standing and following him to the door.  “Tell Ashton we say hi.  If there’s anything else we can do to help, just ask.”

“You’re sure that neither of you can be my boyfriend?” Michael asks one last time, slipping his arms into his coat and fighting with the zipper.

“Sorry,” Luke says, not sounding very sorry at all.  “Ask Ashton!”

“Fuck you,” Michael calls back cheerily, stepping out the door.

Leaving the sanctuary of the apartment complex for the cold of a Minnesota winter sucks, especially since his car has cooled down almost all the way again, but Ashton’s house isn’t too far away.  Michael is the outlier, living in a suburb while the others stayed closer to the heart of St. Paul.  He likes being close enough to the cities to easily commute for work and have access to all of the events happening, but it’s nice to not have to fight traffic for every little thing, even if the roads outside his house aren’t always plowed as nicely as the ones outside Ashton’s.

He traverses the familiar streets until he finally pulls into Ashton’s driveway with just enough room behind Ashton’s car that he’s not blocking the sidewalk.  Ashton has some Christmas lights up, just a string of simple blue ones following his roofline.  Michael sits in his car and watches them blink on and off, giving the impression of the stars they can’t see from light pollution, or of gently falling snow.

Ashton appears in his kitchen window, reaching into the cupboard next to it, surrounded by warm light.  He glances out and spots Michael’s car, face splitting into a smile and giving him a wave.  Michael has been in this position a million times before, but he wonders what it would be like if Ashton was calling him into their house after a long day, without having to leave at the end of the night.

He’s been spotted now.  Michael has no choice but to get out of the car.

“Hi,” Ashton calls from the kitchen when he lets himself in.  “Make yourself at home!  Dinner’s almost ready!”

Michael likes Ashton’s house.  It’s small, but in a way that mostly feels cozy rather than cramped.  The outside is white but the door is a light red, verging on pink, and each of the rooms inside is painted a different color, something which Ashton always says he’s going to change but has never gotten around to doing.  Michael hangs up his coat on one of the many hooks by the entrance, then toes off his shoes and flexes his fingers, trying to get some warmth back into them.  He runs cold, so winter is a constant struggle to keep his fingers from freezing off.

He steps into the living room, painted a pale green with mismatched furniture and warm blankets thrown over every surface.  Michael helped pick out the rug that dominates most of the floor space, and it makes him happy every time he comes over to see it.  Ashton doesn’t have a tree yet, but there’s a space for it cleared in the corner.  The dining room and kitchen are one room right off the living room and painted yellow.  Michael wanders over to the baking pan covered in foil, lifting up the corner to inhale the scent of freshly-cooked pasta, cheese, and sauce.

“Hey, no premature tasting,” Ashton says.  “If you’re going to be in the kitchen, make yourself useful and set the table.”

“You could say hello before you start ordering me around,” Michael says.  Ashton stops flittering around long enough to pause in front of Michael, hands on hips and smile on his face.  There’s steamed broccoli on the counter that definitely added to the current frizziness of his hair, and he’s wearing an off-white cable-knit sweater with the sleeves pushed up.  Michael hates himself for the way everything about this situation makes his heart flutter.

“I said hello when you first got here.  You’re the one breaking in to eat my food without a word of greeting.”

“Hi, Ashton,” Michael says, accepting the brief hug Ashton offers.  “You’re welcome for helping eat your food so the leftovers don’t overtake your fridge.”

“If I knew how to adjust the cooking times on this recipe for smaller portions, I would.”

That’s a lie.  Ashton enjoys feeding his friends.  Michael has at least one dinner a week at Ashton’s house under the excuse of him making too much food for one person.

Michael gets out two plates and the appropriate silverware and sets the table.  He gets out his favorite glass, a novelty Star Wars one with art of the celebration of Endor printed on it, and gets the matching Tatooine one for Ashton because he knows it’ll make him roll his eyes.  There’s apple juice and water in the fridge, and by the time Ashton has brought all of the food over Michael is sitting patiently at the table, hands folded neatly in front of him.

“So,” Ashton says once they both have a good helping of baked ziti, broccoli, and garlic bread on their plates, “Luke said you’re in crisis?”

Michael sighs.

“Promise you won’t laugh?”

“I’ll try,” Ashton says.  Michael shamefully recounts the sticky situation he has brought upon himself, avoiding eye contact the entire time.  Ashton chews slowly once he’s done, taking his time swallowing before he figures out what he wants to say.

“Hm.”

“Yeah,” Michael says, for lack of anything else.

“And you asked Luke and Calum, but neither of them could do it?”

“Yeah.”

“Then you asked some other people, who also said no?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Is there a reason you didn’t ask me?”

Michael had not come up with a reason beyond I’m in love with you and that seems like a recipe for disaster.

“Uh,” he says.

“If you don’t think you could pretend to like me, that’s fine.  I was just curious,” Ashton says, stabbing at his broccoli.

“It’s definitely not that,” Michael says.  “I didn’t think you’d want to.  I mean, I already ask you for so much.  I’m eating your pasta right now.  It didn’t seem fair to ask you to do this, too.”

“That’s stupid,” Ashton says.  “I like fancy parties, and spending time with you, and helping you.  If you’re really set against telling them the truth, then I can be your fake boyfriend for the night.”

“Oh.  Okay.”

Ashton smiles, all dimples and sunshine.  Michael wants to bask in Ashton’s smiles forever.

“Awesome.  Crisis averted.”

It can’t be that simple, but Ashton’s easy confidence makes it feel like it is.  Michael doesn’t know why he was freaking out about the situation.  If anything, his crush on Ashton will make everything more believable, and Michael can pass himself off as a really good actor if questioned.

The rest of the night passes like every other dinner they’ve had with the two of them.  They talk about their weeks and about any random topics they choose, then Ashton picks a CD and they do the dishes, Ashton washing and Michael drying.  Ashton convinces him to stay later and watch a movie, and Michael lingers too long afterwards.  When he eventually tears himself away, it’s only after a late-night cup of hot chocolate and multiple uncontrollable yawns.

When he goes to bed that night, he steadfastly does not think about how he will be calling Ashton his boyfriend in a few weeks.

-/-

Michael doesn’t talk to Ashton about fake dating again until the day before the party.  He’s been forwarding the office emails about it, so Ashton knows the date and time, that this is a suit-worthy event, and what the food options are.  Otherwise, though, their time together has been filled with everything except mentions of the party and the con that will go down there.  Michael has been avoiding Luke and Calum due to all of the teasing, so he and Ashton go shopping for Luke and Calum’s presents together, Michael pointing out things that Ashton’s family might like on the way.  Ashton has a list of Christmas movies he wants to watch that they begin steadily working through, and Michael begins a snowball fight one day that Ashton wins.  Thankfully, Ashton agrees to make him cocoa and cuddle him after stuffing snow down the back of his jacket.  Michael’s face gets red enough that Ashton frets he might be coming down with something.

The something is being hopelessly in love.

Ashton texts him on Friday asking if he wants to come over early so they can get ready together and talk through their boyfriend story.

Boyfriend story.  He’s supposed to refer to Ashton as his boyfriend tomorrow.

He shows up at his house as requested, and Ashton greets him with a cup of hot cocoa, freshly made just the way Michael likes it.  Ashton stocks up on cocoa mix as soon as it hits October, making it at any and every opportunity.  On days when multiple people are over, sometimes he’ll make it from scratch, breaking out the cocoa powder, sugar, milk, and chocolate to create the best beverage Michael has ever tasted, sometimes with a secret ingredient Ashton makes him guess.  Michael rarely gets it right, but the praise he gets from Ashton on the days where he does manage to identify the extra flavor makes every loss more than worth it.

Ashton takes his with marshmallows, but Michael prefers whipped cream.  It warms him more than the beverage to see the pile of whip on top, stocked just for Michael.

“You put up your tree!” Michael calls while Ashton prepares his cup.  There are no presents underneath nor stockings on the wall since Ashton spends Christmas day with his family, but the small fake tree is erected every year to help him get into a festive mood.  Michael steps closer and recognizes most of the ornaments on it, either from previous Christmases or because he was there when they were bought.  Pieces of a tiny drum set hang from a set of branches near the front, each part paid for by a different member of their friend group as a gift after Superbloom Studios opened.  Michael bought the high hat.

“Second week of December.  It’s tradition,” Ashton says, shuffling into the room carefully with a mug in each hand.  Michael reaches for his, careful not to spill when he takes it from him.

“I saved your ornament,” he says, nodding to the coffee table where a small wooden “M” sits, painted to look like the torso of a snowman.

“Thanks,” Michael says, setting down the cocoa and picking up the ornament.  It was originally a joke gift, but now every year Ashton ensures that he puts it on the tree.  There’s a nice open branch near the bottom that he takes advantage of, giving himself time to admire the tree once more before finally sitting.

“So,” Ashton says.  “How did we get together?”

Michael takes a sip of his cocoa, burning his tongue just slightly.

“You have whip on your nose,” Ashton says, just like he does every time.  Michael sighs and swipes a thumb across it, sucking the whipped cream into his mouth so none of it goes to waste.

Ashton clears his throat.

“So.  Boyfriend story.”

“Boyfriend story,” Michael agrees.  “We have to have been together in September, but otherwise I’ve been really vague.  We can make up whatever we want.”

“Okay,” Ashton says, nodding.  “We should probably stick as close to truth as possible, so our meeting story can still be the same, but maybe we started dating mid-summer?”

“The lake trip?”

“Yeah!” Ashton says.  “Do you remember that night, it was like our second night there, where we just sat at the end of the dock and looked at the stars?  Everyone else was at the bonfire, so it was just us.  Maybe I asked you then.”

Michael remembers that night clearly.  He had gone down to the dock to get some space, needing a breather after all of the activity of the day and Ashton walking around without a shirt basically since they got there.  Even so, when Ashton eventually joined him it was like a sigh of relief.  He knows more about stars than Michael does, so Michael leaned back and let him point out different constellations and make up stories for unfamiliar ones, trying not to stare at the shadowy profile of Ashton instead of the sky.  The small waves of the lake rose and fell, covering his ankles then dipping lower in a steady rhythm mimicking his heartbeat.  Ashton kept their arms pressed together almost the entire time.

He had wanted to kiss him, so he pushed him in the lake instead.

“Yeah,” Michael says.  “That sounds good.”

“Okay, good.  Great!  What else do we need to figure out?  How serious are we?”

“Uh, medium?” Michael asks.  “It’s been five months, so nothing too daunting but more than just a casual thing.”

“What’s the PDA going to look like?”

“Uh,” Michael says.  Ashton takes a sip of his cocoa.

“I mean… are we still in the honeymoon phase?  Will we be holding hands a lot?  What’s our game plan if we somehow end up under the mistletoe?  I don’t think anyone can make us kiss without opening themselves up to a workplace harassment suit, but are we going to do a cheek kiss?  Are you okay with me kissing you?  What about--”

“You need to slow down,” Michael says.  “Give me some time to think, jeez.”

“Sorry,” Ashton says.  “Boundaries are important.  I don’t want to cross any.”

“You won’t.  I’m down for anything.”

“Really?” Ashton asks, skeptical.  He sets his cocoa down and moves until he’s right next to Michael on the couch, then slings an arm around his shoulder, tucking him close.  Michael melts into his side easily.  “So something like this would be fine?”

“You mean what I do with you, Calum, and Luke at every opportunity?’

“Okay,” Ashton says, adjusting so his hand is now on Michael’s thigh.  It’s more unfamiliar, a different weight in a more intimate spot, but not unwelcome.  Michael suppresses the shiver it sends through him.

“Still okay,” he says.

“Alright,” Ashton says.  After a moment of consideration, he takes Michael’s mug from him and replaces it with his own hand, clasping them together palm to palm.

“Wait, I don’t like this,” he says, adjusting so their fingers are threaded together instead, then undoing it and just holding their hands flat against each other.  Michael lines their hands up, fingers following the same lines.  He wonders if Ashton can feel the calluses that form whenever Michael has time to pick up a guitar.  The metal of his rings is warmer than Michael anticipated.  Every moment that they stay frozen like that makes Michael’s heart pound harder, even though they’re simply touching hands, something ordinary and barely worthy of comment.

“Your hands are freezing,” Ashton says quietly.

“Your hands make mine look so tiny,” Michael says.

“They are tiny,” Ashton says.  “I’m trying to figure out how to hold them.”

“Like this.”  Michael laces their fingers together again gently, one space over from how Ashton had done it.  “Who knew that holding hands would be the thing to trip you up?”

“I guess I haven’t had anyone’s hands to hold in a while.  I’m out of practice on this whole romance thing.”

“You’re doing alright so far.”

“Well, this is the easy stuff.  Are you sure you’re down for anything?”

“Yeah,” Michael says, heart leaping into his throat at the possibility of what that could mean.

Ashton hums, then shifts so he’s facing Michael.  His eyes search his face and Michael does his best not to show any of his thoughts, especially how much he wants Ashton to do one particular thing.  He steadfastly keeps his gaze locked on his eyes instead of letting it flicker down to his lips.

Ashton leans in slowly, telegraphing his movements, and presses a lingering kiss to his cheek, nose pressing into his cheekbone and breath against his face.  Michael can’t stop his inhale, catching a whiff of Ashton’s favorite cologne, just from the proximity.

“Still okay,” he manages to say.  Ashton doesn’t lean back, comfortable staying in Michael’s space, probably close enough to hear how loudly his heart is beating.

“And if I moved a few inches to the left?”

Michael swallows.

“Still okay.”

For a moment he thinks that Ashton might do it, just to see how far he can press.  Michael will always meet him challenge for challenge, and he has the perfect excuse for it.  Ashton’s just so close, and Michael might never have this opportunity again despite fantasizing about it for years.  It would be so easy to now.  He almost turns and presses their lips together himself, but Ashton pulls away right before he finds the courage to do so.

“Okay,” Ashton says, picking up his cocoa again.  “We can play it by ear.  We’ll just do what feels natural and appropriate for the situation.  Sound good?”

Michael nods.  Ashton glances at him over his mug.

“Are you sure?  You’re in charge here, Michael.  I’m willing to do whatever you want me to.”

“No, that’s good,” he says.  “That’s the best way to do it.”

Ashton observes him for a moment longer, in that way that makes Michael feel like he’s revealing too much.  Secrets from Ashton are the hardest ones to keep, but he’s had a lot of practice.

“If you say so,” Ashton says.  “If I do something you don’t like, just tell me.”

“Yeah, same to you.”

Michael picks up his mug again.

“What do you think our worst date was?” Ashton asks.  Michael snorts into his cocoa, because only Ashton would put that as a high priority part of their boyfriend story, but they spend almost all of the time until they need to get ready coming up with increasingly ridiculous scenarios and arguing over whether either of them would plan that as a date in the first place.  Michael has long since finished his drink by the time Ashton checks the time and says they need to get ready.

Michael doesn't start to feel nervous until he's standing in front of the bathroom mirror, struggling with his tie and feeling ridiculous for it.  The office encourages business casual, so he rarely has to wear one, but apparently because the party is joint with headquarters the dress code is stricter.

Michael was not made for formal wear.  He feels best when he gets to dress down, and he knows that his preferred hairstyle doesn't always align with a clean suit and tie.  For a long time, he didn't even have a suit coat that fit right, but his parents paid for one for his birthday over a year ago with the idea that it'd help him get a better job.  It did eventually work, but he never breaks it out unless he has to.

“Hey Michael?" Ashton calls from outside.  "Do I need a tie if I wear a red shirt instead of a white one?"

"Do whatever you want," Michael responds.  "Just be sure you're not showing all your chest hair.  Can you tie my tie?"

Ashton pushes the door open.  Michael catches a flash of red out of the corner of his eye before he turns and takes in the full picture.  Ashton looks stunning, and even though Michael expected that it takes his breath away.  His suit fits his shoulders nicely and tapers at the waist, and the red compliments his skin tone well, bold and vivid.  Michael is pleased to see that only the top two buttons are undone, keeping things appropriate, but there's a thin gold chain peaking out just below his collarbones.  He wants to trace it with his finger, then let his hands wander lower.

"Wow," he says.  "You clean up nice."

"My hair is a mess.  I need to put some gel in it before we go," Ashton says, batting Michael's hands away from his tie and taking over.  "Are you nervous?"

"A little," Michael admits, tilting his chin up to give Ashton better access.  "This would be a bit nerve-wracking even without the fake boyfriend thing.  I don't think I'm going to know many people there."

"Well, you'll have me."  He tightens the tie, then cups Michael's cheek.  He leans into it, leaching the comfort provided.

"There," Ashton says.  "I have the most handsome boyfriend tonight.  He was even considerate enough to match his tie to my shirt.  Everyone is going to be jealous."

"Thanks," Michael says.  He steps back and hands Ashton the container of hair cream on the counter, watching him rub a bit of it between his fingers then comb through his hair, adjusting the way it's artfully tousled and smoothing the sides until he's satisfied.

"Maybe I have the most handsome boyfriend tonight," he says.

"Now you're just trying to butter me up," Ashton replies, grinning at him.  "I already agreed to this.  The flattery is unnecessary, but not unwelcome."

"Can't I just think you're a good looking guy?" Michael asks, trying to keep the tone teasing like he would with Luke or Calum.  "You're a sexy motherfucker, Irwin; I hate to break it to you."

"That's rich coming from you."

"We don't have time for this," Michael laughs, pushing him out of the bathroom.  "I can't show up late to my first office winter party just because you won't take my compliment without trying to one-up me."

"There are worse reasons to be late," Ashton protests, planting his feet so Michael has to actually put in an effort, stumbling when Ashton suddenly relents.  He catches Michael with a cheeky grin.

"Move," Michael laughs, savoring how close they're standing, tethered together by Ashton's hands on his elbows.  "We have to go."

Ashton’s eyes search his face, suspended in the moment like he knows that Michael wants nothing else than to live here forever.  Michael sways forward, magnetic pull too strong, but Ashton steps back in the same moment, moving them out of the bathroom and tugging him towards the door.

“Bundle up,” Ashton says.  “I hear it’s cold outside.”

-/-

The venue is simultaneously huge and very difficult to find.  Ashton puts the address in his phone, but he’s a bad navigator and recent snowfall makes the roads slick, complicating the driving process more.  They’re supposed to get more snow tonight, but Michael can find Ashton’s house in any context and situation, like a homing pigeon on the return journey.  It would be his most useless skill if he didn’t end up in the driver’s seat after almost every gig they go to, Ashton always too hyped up and focused on the music to enjoy driving home.

The nearest place to park is a block away and lands Ashton in a snowbank.  Michael gets out first and offers him a steadying hand, and Ashton beats him to paying the meter.  He links their arms as they walk, breath fogging in front of their faces.

“It’s a beautiful night, sweetheart,” Ashton says.

“Sweetheart?”

“Just trying out some pet names, seeing what fits, honey.  Darling?  I feel like I shouldn’t be saying babe if we’re both wearing suits in front of your fancy work friends.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Michael says, as if he hasn’t bit his tongue against calling Ashton babe before.  He’s not the type of person who can pull off platonic pet names.

“We’re really flying by the seat of our pants here.”

“It’ll be fine, right?” Michael asks.  “No one has a reason to think I’m lying, so they’ll believe us even if we mess up.”

“They will,” Ashton says.  “I’m going to be so in love with you they’ll wonder if we’re eloping tomorrow.”

Michael’s heart leaps into his throat.  When Ashton puts his mind to something, it happens.  He might really have to watch himself to ensure that he doesn’t fall for their lie, too.

“Is this it?” Ashton asks under his breath as they arrive at the doors.  A couple in front of them pull them open, the woman in a longer dress and the man wearing a peacoat over his suit.  “Damn, Michael, maybe I should’ve worn a tie.”

“It’ll be fine,” Michael says.  “No one is going to be paying attention to us.  Besides, you never have to see these people again.”

Ashton hums, holding the door for Michael and following him into the venue entrance.  He lets out a low whistle once he sees what’s inside.

The floor looks like it’s marble.  There’s a chandelier, golden light reflecting off of crystalline shards to pepper dots like stars across the space.  Evergreen trees stand in the corner, gold and silver lights hidden within the branches and surrounded by red and blue baubles. If this is the entry, Michael can’t imagine what the actual event space looks like.

“Hey.  Coat check,” Ashton says, nudging Michael out of his chandelier-induced trace and towards the area where an employee waits to take their coats in exchange for a numbered ticket.  A different employee at the entrance then asks for their names, because apparently this party needs a guest list , before they finally enter the main event space.

It’s just as stunning as the entry.  There’s a larger chandelier in this one, hanging over rows of tables with red and gold tablecloths.  Each table has a centerpiece, some with evergreen boughs and pine cones, some with ribbon and candles, each one stunning.  Near the front of the room, Michael thinks he can make out an open dance floor and a small stage through the clumps of people in suits and fancy dresses.

“I shouldn’t be here,” he says.  “This is a party for people who make six figures.  I do not belong here.”

“I thought you audit a bank for farmers,” Ashton says.  “Don’t normal work parties include ugly sweater contests and too much eggnog?  Why the fuck do farm bankers need suits and chandeliers?”

“I have no fucking clue,” Michael says, eyes scanning over the people he can see in a desperate attempt to find a familiar face.  Only half of these people are from headquarters, but Michael still only knows the people in his department.  He doesn’t have much contact with people outside of it due to the variety of companies making up their conglomerate, each with a different set of staff.

“Michael!” someone calls.  It takes a moment to spot Harry coming towards him, which shouldn’t be possible because Harry’s suit has colorful flowers on it.  He’s holding hands with a man Michael recognizes as his husband only because Harry never shuts up about him, making his way through the crowd with a level of enthusiasm that Michael can feel himself automatically mirroring.  Harry’s joy has always been infectious, getting Michael through a few long days since he got hired.

Ashton shifts closer and Michael’s adrenaline spikes with the knowledge that the ruse starts now.  Harry is Michael’s favorite coworker: if they trick him, they can probably trick everyone.

"Hello," Harry says once he gets close enough to be heard over the sound of everyone else in the room talking and what seems to be faint classical music in the background.  "You're the first person I've recognized here."

"Same," Michael says.  "I wasn't expecting it to be this crowded."

"Headquarters is big," Harry says.  "At least we get free food and to see Lou in a suit."

Harry's companion rolls his eyes.

"You haven't even introduced us and already you're objectifying me.  I'm Louis, Harry's husband," he says, sticking out a hand.  Michael takes it.

"Michael," he says.  "This is Ashton."

"Michael's boyfriend," Ashton adds, taking Louis's hand next and making Michael’s heart stutter.  It rolls off Ashton’s tongue so naturally.  He’ll probably be hearing him say that in his dreams for the foreseeable future.

Harry lights up like a Christmas tree.

"Ashton," he enthuses.  "It's so good to meet you.  Alexis owes me fifty dollars."

"What for?" Michael asks.

"Well, we were betting if Ashton was your boyfriend or not.  You never actually told us which one of your friends it is, but I could tell by how you talk about him.  She thought that was too obvious for how cryptic you were being."

"You talk about me to your work friends?" Ashton asks.  Michael tries to shrug nonchalantly.

"All the time," Harry says.

“Do I need to be worried?” Ashton asks.

“Yeah,” Michael says.  “I’ve revealed all of your deepest, darkest secrets.”

“It’s cute,” Harry says.  “You can tell he thinks the world of you.”

“I don’t even mention Ashton that that much,” he protests.  “Not nearly as much as you talk about Louis.”

“No one can top Harry for that,” Louis snorts.  “I swear, no one I meet through him ever needs an introduction, because he’s probably already told them everything they could possibly want to know.”

“If it makes you feel better, I know nothing about you,” Ashton says.  “You can introduce yourself to me.”

“Well, don’t mind if I do,” Louis says cheekily.Ashton easily sweeps him into conversation, listening intently to his stories as a drama teacher and asking the right questions to keep things going.  Michael has heard half of this information from Harry already, but Louis breathes a new life into it.  Michael watches him speak, noticing the way that Harry easily leans into him, how they seamlessly finish each other’s sentences and subconsciously know exactly how they fit together.  Louis gestures and Harry shifts so he won’t get hit, leaning back into his space with a hand on his back within the next second.  Their eyes light up when they glance at each other in between breaths, and Michael feels a pang in his gut.

He wants something like that, someday.  It’s the same thing that he sees with Calum and Luke, or Jack and Alex.  He wants to share those small touches and brief looks with someone else and know that they’re returned fully.  He knows that he sometimes displays his fondness all over his face when he looks at Ashton, but it’s not the same when he has to look away to keep from getting caught.

At least he doesn’t have to look away tonight.  He can probably spend as much time as he wants admiring Ashton’s smile and eyes and jawline and everything without repercussions.  After all, he’s supposed to be in love, and someone should appreciate that one stubborn strand of hair brushing Ashton’s forehead.

“...Right, Michael?” Ashton asks, words finally reaching Michael’s ears.

“Yeah,” he says, blinking himself out of his daze.  He feels his cheeks heat up in a blush.  It probably won’t be the last time tonight.  “Sorry, what were we talking about?”

“I was telling Louis about Superbloom Studios,” Ashton says, bumping their shoulders together.  “Mentioned how you helped Matt and I learn how to use the equipment way back when we first bought it, and now there are secret Michael Clifford demos that legally can’t see the light of day without copyright infringement.”

“You’ve had much better musicians pass through your doors since,” Michael says.  “Want to reveal who your most recent client was?”

Ashton mimes zipping his lips.

“You know I can’t until they announce the album.  We’re trying to make the Twin Cities a hot spot for Top 40s artists to record, not chase them all away by breaking confidentiality.”

“But a song you produced could be on Top 40 radio soon?” Louis asks.  “That’s impressive.”

“We’ll see,” Ashton sings.  “I’m not in the habit of counting my chickens before they hatch.”

“No, you’re just in the habit of being a tease.”

Ashton quirks an eyebrow.  It makes Michael itch to do something, although he doesn’t know what.

Eventually, he decides to just roll his eyes and cross his arms, pouting a bit.  Ashton slips an arm around his waist and presses a kiss to the side of his head, the first real point of contact since entering the event space, and his stomach somersaults multiple times in a row.

Harry and Louis look amused, not suspicious.

“I like this side of you,” Harry says.

“What side?” Michael asks.

“The in-love one.  You’re… lighter.”

Michael opens his mouth, but ultimately doesn’t know what to say to that.  Ashton replies instead.

“I like it, too.”

They spend the next few minutes talking to Harry and Louis, filling time while other people who seem leagues more comfortable with this event fill the space.  Eventually the clock must tick over to the starting time, because someone steps up to the podium at the front of the room and taps the microphone asking for attention.

“Is that our president?” Michael asks Harry, completely not paying attention to the short opening statement about the “success of the company” and how it’s been a “phenomenal year full of milestones and achievements.”

“Yeah,” Harry whispers back.  "He'll get up and talk again later, after dinner.  Speaking of, we should find a table."

Harry looks over everyone until he sees someone he recognizes, grabbing Louis's hand to start covertly making their way through the crowd, glancing back at Michael and nodding in the direction he's going.  Michael grabs Ashton, who seems like he was actually trying to listen, and follows them.  As weird as holding his hand earlier had been, weaving through the people standing around with a hand around Ashton’s wrist is comfortable and familiar.  It's nothing that they haven't done before at crowded shows pushing towards the barricade or particularly busy streets, but Michael doesn't have to let go once they reach their destination if he doesn't want to.

Their destination ends up being a trio of tables near the center of the room flooded with people that Michael finally recognizes.  Alexis, Miranda, Dalmar, Imani, and Jason all wave when they arrive, surrounded by who Michael assumes are their own plus-ones.  They slip into seats next to Alexis and her partner, trying to make as little commotion as possible with the president of the company still talking at the front.

While Harry is his favorite coworker, Alexis is arguably the most entertaining.  She gets away with pranks and backtalk that Michael is too worried about job security to ever consider, but her after-work gatherings are always a highlight of the week.  It would be possible that management is keeping her around solely to boost morale if not for her eye for detail that has saved mistakes from appearing in many projects and reports.

"Hey," Alexis whispers, leaning across Michael to grab Ashton's attention.  "I'm Alexis.  What's your name?"

"Ashton Irwin," Ashton says, giving her a smile.  Alexis swears, dropping her head down to the table.

"You owe me money," Harry stage whispers.  She takes a few bills out of her purse without looking and throws them in his general direction.  "Thank you!"

"I want to be included in the next office betting pool," Michael whispers.  "I want to cheat you out of fifty dollars next time."

"It's not hard," Harry says.  "She always bets to lose."

Alexis flips him off.

The president continues to drone on, and Michael starts bouncing his leg up and down out of boredom until Ashton places a hand on it to stop him.  He mouths an apology, but Ashton simply slips off his puzzle ring, handing it over.  Michael hopes his smile conveys how grateful he is to have something else to fidget with.

When the president finally stops talking, Michael pays attention to his surroundings just enough to realize that tables are being dismissed to go get food one by one.  It looks like they won't get to join the line for a while, to his great disappointment.  He's getting pretty hungry and the thought of Alexis interrogating Ashton without a distraction makes him nervous.  He hands back the ring and switches to tracing the poinsettia pattern woven into the tablecloth, trying not to fidget more while Alexis introduces Jamie and points out the rest of his coworkers at the other tables to Ashton.

"So," Alexis says, leaning on her elbow and propping her head up with her fist, "Michael has told us a few things about you, but how did you meet?"

"At college," Ashton says, draping his arm across the back of Michael's chair as he turns to face Alexis more fully.  "We met at a party once, but we didn't really talk until a mutual friend brought us together.  He's been one of my best friends ever since."

"Oh, you two have been together a long time," Alexis says.

"We didn't get together until this summer," Ashton corrects good-naturedly.  "It was a lot of pining before that.  I mean, you've met Michael.  I never stood a chance."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Michael frowns.

"Falling for you was inevitable, sweetheart."

Michael blinks at him.  That's not something he ever expected to hear, a little over the top even for their fake romance, and he absolutely does not have a response prepared.

"Aw, that's sweet," Alexis says.  "Please tell me you guys are actually a normal couple and not a pile of goop like those two over there.  Believe me, I love love as much as the next person, but if Jamie and I are the only two here who aren't completely and grossly obsessed with each other we're going to move to the straight coworkers’ table."

"Hey," Harry says, breaking his conversation with Louis to flip her off.  Alexis returns it without even glancing at him, an ingrained part of their banter by now.  It’s surprising that they haven't gotten reprimanded for it in the office yet.

"If we were as bad as them, you wouldn't have lost fifty dollars just now, don't you think?" Michael asks.

"He has a point," Jamie says.  "Besides, everyone is entitled to a honeymoon period."

She takes Alexis's hand on the table and squeezes.  Alexis rolls her eyes but squeezes back.

Ashton asks them how long they've been together, then effectively keeps the focus on everyone else at the table instead of them.  One of his many skills is making everyone in the room feel like they are the most important person, and Michael is glad that he doesn't have to try to deflect or make up stories right now.  Maybe it'll be easier later.  Ashton already has everyone he's met wrapped around his finger and hanging off his every word, drawn by the magnetic energy he carries that made Michael first talk to him at that college party all those years ago, but some part of Michael still feels like everyone is going to see through their facade.  He knows that theoretically no one cares, but the confirmation of the betting pool makes him jittery.  It shouldn't be a big deal, but now he hasn't just lied about having a boyfriend, he's lied about the boyfriend being Ashton , and somehow that's worse.

Still, he can't let Ashton pull all of the weight.  He needs to start selling this, too.

Should he initiate some sort of PDA?  It's not like he can naturally grab one of Ashton's hands, because he's still leaning on Michael's chair, and anything else feels out of place.  Besides, they said that they'd do what feels natural, and none of this is natural to him.

He's overthinking this.  He should just pay attention and try to enjoy the night, but that seems like an impossible task with Ashton and Alexis boxing him in on either side.  One of them is significantly more distracting than the other, but Michael finds himself wishing that they could just be alone, enjoying one of Ashton's home-cooked meals and the next Christmas movie on his list.  Whatever catered dinner they have here isn't going to compare to the way any food tastes when Michael knows that Ashton is the one who made it for him while they enjoy it at his dining room table, and as much as he feels lucky to get on so well with his coworkers, he can do without their company if he has Ashton with him instead.

“Mike,” Ashton says, nudging him out of his thoughts.

“Yeah?”

“Time to get food,” Ashton says, standing.  Michael looks around the table and sees that everyone else is already making their way over to the buffet line.  Ashton waits for him and sets a slow pace on their way over.

“You’re really spacey tonight.  You okay?”

“Yeah,” Michael says.  “I’m fine.”

Ashton gives him an unimpressed look.

“Seriously,” Michael says.  “I’m just overthinking.  I’ll be much more enjoyable once we eat and I relax a bit.”

“What can I do?” Ashton asks.

“You’re really playing up the doting boyfriend thing.”

“Hey, no,” Ashton says, pausing.  He looks around, then lowers his voice.  “I’d ask that even if we weren’t boyfriends right now.  You’re important to me, Michael.  If I can do something for you, I want to.”

“Thanks,” Michael says.  “It’s not a big deal, though.  Like I said, once we’re eating and I have other things to focus on it’ll be fine.”

“Okay.”  Ashton nods once, then takes Michael’s hand.  It feels more natural now than it was earlier, smile breaking out unbidden on his face as he squeezes back.

“Come on,” Ashton says.  “Food time.”

The buffet is full of delicious options, with pit ham, chicken, pasta, potatoes, roasted vegetables, fruit, hummus, different breads with various spreads, and a cheese platter.  Michael and Ashton collaborate to get a little bit of everything, something Ashton probably is only doing to make Michael happy given how closely he guards his food whenever they eat out.  If that’s the intention, it works.  Michael wants to taste everything, and he can only do that with two plates.

The soft instrumental music makes a return for dinner, gentle conversation starting up at the table once they sit and a staff member brings water around.  Michael samples each dish on Ashton’s plate, letting Ashton take what he wants from his, finally settling enough to keep up his typical banter with Alexis, Harry, and their partners.  He talks a bit with the other table, settling another bet between Imani and Dalmar and watches Imani collect twenty dollars for having the closest answer to when Michael and Ashton started dating.  Her absolutely gleeful expression makes Michael snort, erasing some of the discomfort of the lie.

Staff members for the event space come around with options for dessert, and Michael is once again delighted when Ashton chooses something different from him, an apple crumble while Michael gets a slice of cake.  Ashton pushes the plate towards him when it arrives, encouraging him to take a bite.

“Thanks,” he says, taking a forkful.  The sweet tang of the fruit doesn’t compare to the sweetness in Ashton’s expression.  Michael gets distracted by the pleased noise he makes at his own first bite and the way he licks his spoon after the last one, watching entranced until someone taps a microphone at the front, cutting the background music off abruptly.

“Before we get the party portion of the evening started, I want to make a few more quick announcements,” the president of the company says.  He continues to prattle about numbers and figures that Michael can’t follow without them written out in front of him, but he understands as well as everyone else what “winter bonus” and the amount that come after it means.

“Are you going to use that on my Christmas present?” Ashton whispers, leaning close to speak into his ear.

“Shut up,” Michael says, elbowing him.  “Maybe I’ll use it to get away from Luke and Cal for a bit.”

“Lake trip part two, this time just me and you?” Ashton asks.  Michael doesn’t let himself consider what it would be like to exist at that same cabin from the summer alone with Ashton, with no other people or endless summer fun to distract him.  The central heating is awful, so they’d probably spend a lot of time by the fireplace, possibly getting cozy under a blanket.  They’d be able to go skating on the lake near shore, maybe after a late brunch.  Ashton might sleep in for once in his life.  Michael would love to be sleeping in the same bed instead of confined to one of the other rooms, cold and alone.

He’s not considering it.  Instead he smiles, shakes his head, and gently pushes Ashton away, trying to refocus on what the president is saying rather than the man next to him.

“The raffle will take place at the end of the night, so be sure to stick around if you want a chance at any of the gift baskets or certificates.  We have a beautiful backdrop for photographs in the back corner if you’d like a memory from the night, and leftovers from the buffet are now open.  We’re lucky enough to be joined by one of Minneapolis’s fantastic live bands for the dancing portion of the evening, so please enjoy yourselves!  Take time to celebrate, enjoy each other’s company, and make the most of this beautiful night.  Here’s to many more like it!”

Michael applauds politely along with everyone else, sipping his water while he watches the band set up.  Based on the instrumentation, he has absolutely no idea what genre of music they’ll be playing.  The only thing that makes sense is the piano and vocalist, but there are also two electric guitars, a drummer, an upright bass, a cellist, a saxophone, and a trumpet.  The singer introduces them as Eds and the Airplanes, then they launch into something between 1940’s big band and modern bubblegum pop.  Somehow, everyone in the room seems to be in favor of it.

“Huh,” Michael says.

“I know these guys,” Ashton says.  “They recorded with us in October.”

“Oh, so you can tell us that but you can’t say who else records with you?”

“They tagged us on Instagram,” Ashton says.  “They don’t care if anyone knows what they’re up to.  Besides, their manager loves me.  It’s fine.”

“Must not love you that much if you’ve never told me about the band.”

Ashton shrugs, but before he can elaborate Harry is there, tapping them both excitedly on the arm.

“Let’s go dance!” he says.  “Lou can teach you how to swing dance if you want.  I think you can cha-cha to this song.”  He does a quick few steps in place on beat, then smiles.

“You can cha-cha to it,” Louis says, appearing over Harry’s shoulder, “but that doesn’t mean that you should.  Swing is the way to go here.”

“We’ve taken ballroom dancing classes,” Harry says, pleased.  “Come on!  Alexis said she’d only get up and dance if you two do, and if Alexis does it the rest of the department will.”

Michael will take every opportunity to push Alexis out of her comfort zone, so he gets up and pulls Ashton with him.  There are a few other people doing some semblance of dancing on the outskirts of the dance floor space, mostly older couples, but as soon as Louis and Harry step onto it everything livens up, Louis twirling Harry around and then both of them move around the floor for a few seconds before Louis breaks their hold and rounds on the group.

“Okay, pair up!  One of you has to be the lead, aka me, and the other gets to be the follow, aka Harry.  Ready?”

“I’ll lead.  Good rhythm,” Ashton says, intently watching Louis and trying to mimic his position. He takes Michael’s hand and puts a tentative hand on his waist.  Michael does his best to focus and follow the intense three minute crash course that follows without stepping on Ashton’s toes.  Ashton catches on right away, and Michael finds it easy to follow him once he gets the basic step down.

“Think you’ve got it?” Louis asks when the next song starts, something around the same tempo and equally as peppy.

“Hell yeah,” Ashton says.  He starts the basic step, then twirls Michael and get him to move his feet.

“I think you’re enjoying this too much,” Michael says.  He’s led in another spin, Ashton switching hands and Michael trying to remember which one he needs to grab to set them back to rights.

“No such thing,” Ashton replies.  “I get to listen to music, be close to you, get the heart rate up a bit… what’s not to enjoy?”

“There are other ways to achieve all of that,” Michael says.  Ashton wiggles his eyebrows, and Michael laughs and stumbles over the next few steps.  They wait a few bars, then start again in rhythm, four steps with and around each other, Ashton tugging Michael across his body in circles, spinning him out only to pull him back in again.

“Maybe we should go ballroom dancing,” Ashton says.  “This is fun.  Harry and Louis might have the right idea.”

“I wasn’t expecting dancing tonight,” Michael says, “but I do think we’re the best-looking couple on this dancefloor.”

“Want to try a lift? Dirty Dancing style?”

Michael laughs so hard at the image that they have to pause in their dance, and by the time he recovers the song has ended and transitioned into something slower.

“Come on,” Michael says, leading Ashton back to the edge where the rest of his coworkers have congregated.  They pass Harry and Louis on the way, both of them locked in a different style of dance to match the new tempo.  Harry winks at him when they catch eyes.

“You didn’t tell us he could dance,” Alexis says to Michael.

“I’m a man of many talents,” Ashton says.  “Michael can’t be expected to remember all of them.”

“He’s humble, too,” Michael says.

"Ashton Irwin, I thought that was you!"

Michael turns to find an unfamiliar woman approaching.  Her hair is dyed with blues, greens, and yellows, a mixture that's both artistic and striking, especially when paired with the tight black dress she's wearing.  She's pretty, with dark lipstick and a gold necklace drawing attention to her bust.  If Michael didn't have the most beautiful person in the room next to him, he probably would give her a double take.

"Ashley!" Ashton says, immediately sweeping her into a hug.

"Can’t say I expected to see you here," she says.

"Me neither!  I didn't realize your band would be playing tonight," he says.  "Guys, this is my friend Ashley.  She manages Eds and the Airplanes.  We met when she booked our studio a couple months ago."

"Met, went on two dates, became friends instead, you know how it goes," Ashley says.

Michael's heart plummets, then completely stops when he sees the panicked expression on Ashton's face.

"Dates?" Alexis asks carefully.  "When was this?"

"Summer," Ashton says quickly.  Ashley frowns.  "Back in the summer.  June, I think.  Before I started dating Michael, obviously."

"Dating Michael?" Ashley asks.  "When the fuck did that happen, because it sure wasn't while my band was recording."

Oh holy shit.  Their entire story is going to get blown apart because Ashton went on some dates with this incredibly attractive, music-smart woman, dates that Michael had no idea about despite theoretically being one of Ashton's best friends.  They've seen each other consistently each week since college.  When did Ashton have time to sneak around on dates?  More importantly, why would he keep this from Michael?

Ashton is floundering for an explanation.  Michael can't hear any of his attempts over the ringing in his ears.

"I have to--I have to use the bathroom," he says.  He's leaving before anyone has a chance to try to stop him, weaving in between the tables as fast as he can without breaking out into a full-on sprint.

Everyone is going to know that he lied.  Even if Ashton manages to charm his way through a salvageable story, why would anyone believe that Ashton would go for someone like him if Ashley is right there?  If they didn't work out, why would he and Ashton be able to make it a full five months?

He pushes open the bathroom door, thankful that all of the stalls look empty.  It's the type of fancy bathroom with a small armchair in the corner, and he sinks into it, cradling his head in his hands.

Fuck.  What if everyone thinks Ashton is a cheater?  What other reason would his coworkers have for Ashton's panic and the way Michael ran away?  Why else wouldn't Michael know who Ashley is, if her relationship with Ashton was completely innocent?

Why didn't Ashton tell him about her?

The door opens again and Michael jumps.

"Michael?" Harry asks, eyebrows drawn together in concern.  "What's wrong?  I saw you leave the dance floor pretty quickly."

"I--"

He lets out a shaky breath, running a hand through his hair then rubbing at his face, hoping desperately that Harry isn't going to laugh at him.

The cat's out of the bag, anyway.  There isn't any way for them to recover from this.

"Ashton's not my boyfriend," he says.

Harry shuffles closer and crouches down by Michael's chair.

"He's not?" he asks slowly.  Michael shakes his head.

"I don't have a boyfriend.  I never have.  I just didn't want to correct you guys when you all thought I did.  I don't know, I guess it was nice to pretend for a bit, but everyone was so eager to meet him here, so I asked Ashton to fake it with me."

Harry hums.

"There's a woman here he went on some dates with.  I didn't know about them, but they didn't meet until October, and I think she just accidentally busted the whole thing."

Harry hums again.  He’s frowning, mouth turned down in a way that makes Michael scared that he just lost his best work friend.

“Sorry.  I shouldn’t have lied.  This is probably just karma.”

“It’s okay,” Harry says.  He stands, then leans against the arm of Michael’s chair, putting an arm around his shoulders.  “If it makes you feel better, you had me fooled.”

Michael laughs mirthlessly.

“That’s because I’ve been in love with him for years.”

“Oh, Michael,” he says, squeezing him tighter.

“Yep,” he says, popping the last consonant.  “Haven’t had time to get a real boyfriend when I’m hung up on him.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry says.  There’s nothing else to say.  

“And the worst thing is,” he starts, words falling unbidden now that he’s let himself speak, “now that I met her it’s like, how could I compare?  I mean, she’s beautiful, and her hair is so gorgeous and fun and mine’s been dull and blonde for so long because otherwise it’ll fall out, and she obviously knows a lot about music while I’ve barely picked up my guitar in the past few weeks and just--”

He sighs and stands, shrugging off Harry’s hands and heading towards the sinks.  His hair is a bit messy, resistant to his efforts to comb through it.

“Nothing anyone can do,” he says.  “I can’t hide in the bathroom all night.  Do you think Alexis and the others are going to hate me?”

“No,” Harry says.  “They might think it’s weird for a little bit, though.”

Michael focuses on his hair again, trying to stop the subtle shake in his hands.  He and Ashton can just leave early, photo-ops and the raffle be damned.  Michael can work around awkwardness, but if that’s all that this night is going to turn into he’d rather be back home playing video games.

The door opens again.  Michael tenses, only to see in the mirror that it’s not some stranger or his boss, but Ashton.

“Hey,” Ashton says.  He looks at Harry and nods, then turns back to Michael.  “You okay?”

“Fine,” he says, messing with the knobs on the sink.  “What’s happening out there?”

Ashton glances at Harry again.

“Do you two need a minute?” he asks.  Ashton nods, but Harry waits until Michael does too before he leaves.

“I, uh, had to tell Ashley about what’s going on, but I don’t think anyone else knows.  Everything is okay.”

“Really?” Michael asks, turning finally.  “How did you talk your way out of that one?”

Ashton shrugs.  “I’m good with words.  Ashley caught on pretty quickly, too.”

"Did you really date her?" he asks before he can stop himself.  Ashton sighs.

"We went on a few dates, yes.  Two of them.  Well, more like one and a half before we decided we were better suited as friends."

"Oh," Michael says.  "Why?  She seems nice and fun.  She obviously likes music, and she's pretty.  You'd think you two would be a good match."

"Well, we aren't," Ashton says.

"Okay," Michael says.  Ashton nods once.  It feels weird and tense, an unusual dynamic for them that Michael doesn't know how to fix.  "Sorry, I guess."

"Don't be," Ashton says.  "I never should have started it.  It's a good thing it ended where it did."

"Why?"

Ashton sighs, coming over by the sinks to lean against the counter.  The bathroom isn't that large, but Michael hadn't realized how far away he felt before he had him within arm's reach.

"I... was just using her, I think.  I was hung up on someone else and thought that if I dated her, I'd be able to get over it.  That wasn't fair to either of us.  She caught on and said we should be friends instead."

Michael's breath catches in his throat.  Ashton has been doing his own pining, going so far as to try to date other people to get over this mystery person, and he's been doing all of it without Michael's knowledge.

"Why didn't you tell me any of this?" he asks, hoping that it doesn't sound hurt.  "I didn't even know you liked anyone.  I could've tried to help."

Ashton takes a breath, tracing the marble pattern on the countertop with his finger for a long moment, close to where Michael is resting his own fingers.  He wants to reach out and tie their hands together, but Ashton looks up at him before he can.  There's something heavy in his gaze that makes Michael feel like whatever he says next could break him if neither of them are careful.  Still, he leans closer, trying to let Ashton know that he's listening.  He's always listening to him.

"The person I was hung up on... or, well, am still hung up on, I suppose, he--"

The door opens again and both of them spring back, breaking their bubble like they're school kids caught skipping class to make out in the bathroom.  Michael's cheeks flame, but the man who enters doesn't spare them a glance, headed straight to a stall.  

"We should rejoin the party," Ashton says.  Michael can't stop the disappointment that fills him, despite knowing that Ashton is right.  Besides, public restrooms aren't exactly the most pleasant hangout, not even one fancy enough for an armchair in the corner and little vials of lotion by the sinks.

"Okay," he says.  "Everything's good?"

"Everything's good," Ashton replies.  Michael nods and squares his shoulders, following Ashton out of the bathroom and back into the bustle of the party.  The band is still playing at the front, but Michael drags his feet, pausing and tugging Ashton with him towards the beverages to get another drink of water.  Ashley intercepts them on the way over.

"Michael? Hey," she says.  "I'm sorry about what happened back there.  I obviously had no clue what you two were doing and I didn't mean to throw a wrench in things.  I think we covered it pretty well, though.  You're secret's still safe."

She winks, charm oozing out of her in a way that partially reminds him of Ashton.  Once again, he wonders why they didn't work out.  Whoever Ashton likes must be pretty special.

He pushes the thought away.  There's no use getting upset over it when he still has to put on a show of being happy for the rest of the night.  He has to at least be able to fake it, and that means distracting himself until he can get home and wallow.

"It's okay," he says.  "You didn’t know.  It's not like you could’ve guessed what was happening."

Ashley laughs.  "You're right about that.  Still, I support it.  You two make a good pair."

Michael glances at Ashton, who looks like he's either trying to psychically communicate with Ashley or gut her.  Michael clears his throat, trying not to wonder who Ashton wishes he were a pair with, instead.

"Thanks," he says.

"Well, I need to get back to the band in case they need me.  I'm sure I'll see you both sometime later."

"Yeah, later," Michael says.

"See you, Ash," Ashton adds.  Ashley smiles and gives them both a small wave with her fingers as she turns.  Michael watches her walk away.

“Come on,” he says eventually.  “I want some water.”

The band transitions to another slower song, something jazzy featuring the piano and upright bass.  Ashton puts a hand near the base of Michael’s spine as they walk, finally getting little plastic cups of water and wandering to an empty space to sip it.

“This isn’t how I expected the evening to go,” Ashton says.  Michael snorts.

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s not you,” Ashton says.  “But I do think we need to raise your spirits a bit.  It’s your holiday work party!  You’re with friends, enjoying live music and getting to dress up.  Come dance with me again.”

“You think very highly of your dancing skills,” Michael says.  “Don’t let it go to your head.  You’re no Fred Astaire.”

“I’m impressed you know who that is,” Ashton says, downing the rest of his water and throwing it in a nearby trash bin.  Michael makes an affronted noise that goes ignored.  “Regardless of you insulting my dancing, it was making you smile earlier.  Come on.  You can’t let one false alarm ruin your night.  Dance a few songs with me, then we can take ridiculous pictures with their winter backdrop and wait for the raffle before heading back out into the snow.”

“I don’t want you to step on my toes,” Michael says.

“I promise I won’t,” Ashton pleads.  “Please?”

Ashton peers at him earnestly, eyes soft.  He starts to smile, knowing that Michael is going to cave against his best attempts, and when he takes Michael's hand and starts to walk towards the dance floor, Michael unsticks his feet and follows him.

"You're lucky I like you," Michael says.  He tries to sound begrudging, but it probably doesn't work.  Ashton can read him too well.

"I am," Ashton says.  He stops abruptly, making Michael run into him, and turns.  "Seriously.  I'm lucky to have you in any way you let me.  You're so wonderful, and I'm grateful that I can call you one of my best friends."

Ashton brings their hands up to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the back of Michael's palm, watching his reaction through his lashes.  Something indescribable lodges itself in Michael's throat.  For a moment, he wonders if he can tell Ashton all of the ways he wants him without messing everything up.

"Come on," Ashton says, breaking the moment.  "Let's dance."

Another slow jazzy song is playing when they make their way to the floor, and they join other couples in an embrace.  Ashton keeps their hands together but slides a gentle hand around his waist to his lower back, resting heavily there and pulling them closer together.  Michael finds a spot for his hand on Ashton's shoulder, but with how close they're standing it's more like a hug than anything else.  Ashton starts them in a gentle sway.

"Hey," Ashton murmurs, close enough that Michael feels his breath puff against his cheek.  It reminds him of the moment after Ashton kissed his cheek on his couch this afternoon, when Michael thought he might try to kiss him on the lips next.

"Yeah?"

"Harry and Louis are making out in the corner.  It's very unfitting for a work function."

"What?" he asks.  Ashton turns them so he can see, and sure enough his eyes find Harry's floral suit near the edge of the room, the man himself locking lips with his husband.

"Huh," he says.  "I hope our manager sees them and says something about it.  You'd think after being married for a few years they'd have calmed down."

"It's kind of cute," Ashton says.  "It's nice that they're still that in love with each other."

"I guess," Michael says.  "I don't know.  I don't think I'd want to be that gushy with someone, you know?  I don't need to always be touching or making out to know that we like each other, hopefully.  I don't know if I'd enjoy that, especially somewhere as public as this."

"What would you enjoy, then?" Ashton asks.  Michael shrugs.

"What we're doing here, I think.  It's nice, but not suffocating.  We're enjoying each other's company and all, but what would be the point of even going out if we were going to be hanging off each other the entire time?  We could just do that at home."

"I thought you'd be a bit more cuddly."

Michael will be the first to admit that he loves a lot of physical contact, and back in college he probably would have said he wanted it all the time.  He would love to show off his partner and relationship as much as possible.  Now, though, it's a bit different.  Ashton doesn't hang off people as much as the rest of them do, but that's okay.  Michael has learned to read him over the years, and there's something to be said about subtle glances and soft words kept between just the two of them, tucked close to Michael's heart, things Michael has stopped mentioning in his lovesick laments to Calum and Luke.  Some things are made more special when they're only shared between two people.

"In private, yes.  Of course I'd want to be as close as possible to you.  But I don't really want everyone else seeing that, I guess.  I want some things to be just for us."

"I understand.  I like that better, too."  Ashton clears his throat.  "Theoretically."

"Theoretically," Michael says, thankful that his face is partially hidden from the angle that they're dancing.

That's the type of relationship he would want with Ashton.  It's been too long since he thought about what he would want in a relationship with anyone else.  It could be different, but it certainly wouldn't be better.

"I hope you get that," Ashton says suddenly.  "I know we're pretending now because you didn't want to tell your coworkers that you don't have anyone, but I hope you find someone soon.  I want you to be happy."

"You too," Michael says.  It’s not a lie, even if it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.  He's not going to get a happy relationship until he gets over Ashton, and he's already spent so many years liking him that he doesn't know how to stop.

Ashton hums.  Michael thinks he might understand, given his own secret pining that he's been doing.  He wants to ask again why Ashton didn't tell him.  He doesn't know if he's ready for the answer.

The song ends, transitioning to another upbeat number that has younger people jumping and older people shuffling along together.  Ashton suddenly swings Michael out in another twirl, and then they're back to swing dancing, two steps and a ball-change keeping them on beat.

"Warn a guy next time," he says when he comes back to him.

"Spin incoming," Ashton says, sending him right back into another twirl.  Michael laughs through it, and Ashton's responding smile is the best thing Michael has seen all night.

-/-

Michael ends up dancing with Ashton for the rest of the night, losing track of fast songs and slow ones with intermittent breaks to bother his friends and catch a breath until the band announces that it'll be their last one of the evening.  It feels strange that Michael has spent so much time stressing over this night only for it to be nearly over.  When the song finishes, Ashton dips him like they’re in a movie.  Looking at him framed by the overhead lights, Michael can almost believe he has a halo.

They make their way back to the table they started at for the raffle, Michael sitting and Ashton making a detour to get water.  Everyone in attendance got their name put in as part of the RVSP, but Michael doesn't even know half of the prizes.  In reality, he's ready to stare at Ashton and trace individual strands of hair through his curls with his eyes rather than listen, memorizing every detail he can.

"Hey," Alexis says when he sits down.  "You looked like you were having a good time."

"I was," he says.  "Dancing is more fun than I thought, but don't tell Harry I said that."

“I already know,” Harry says.  “You and Ashton should join us when we go dancing.”

Michael gives him his most sarcastic smile.  Alexis studies his face, eyes looking for any signs of deceit in a way that makes him sit up straighter.

"Does he treat you well?" she asks.  "Things were really weird once that Ashley girl showed up."

"He does," he says.  "I promise."

Alexis continues her scrutiny, but she must be satisfied with her findings, because she nods.

"Good," she says.  "I like him, but I like you more."

"Thanks," he says.

"What about me?" Harry asks.  Alexis flips him off, and things at the table are back to normal by the time Ashton returns with two cups of water, one that he hands to Michael.  The president taps the microphone again before Michael can properly thank him, so he elects for squeezing his hand and hopes it suffices.  From Ashton's smile, it does.

The first few raffles are for various baskets following themes like movies, a taste of Italy, and art.  Michael zones out as people he doesn't recognize get their names called (and sometimes butchered), thoughts wandering to his expectations of the night and what actually happened.

He and Ashton never got their picture taken with the backdrop.  It's not the end of the world, but Michael wishes they had thought to do that.  It may be fake, but it'd be the only couple's photo of them that Michael may get, and he'd like to remember some things about the night, like the feeling of dancing in Ashton’s arms and how radiant he looks.

For all of the fuss about PDA and mistletoe, they didn't have to contend with any of that, either.  Michael's not sure if he's relieved or disappointed.

"Ashton Irwin!" the president calls.  Michael startles as the rest of their table erupts in cheers.

“Huh,” Ashton says, standing.  “I didn’t know I was included in this.”

“Go get your prize,” Harry says, shooing him forward.  Michael watches him make his way to the front and come back with a basket.

“You can probably have half of this,” Ashton whispers to him, showing the basket.  There are two mugs in it, but there’s also a lot of coffee, and Ashton doesn’t care about how fancy his caffeine is.  He takes it black the majority of the time and uses it more as a tool to wake up than an enjoyable beverage.  They ignore the rest of the raffles in favor of pawing through the basket, taking out items to pass around the table when the others ask about them.  There’s some fancy hot cocoa mix that makes Ashton’s eyes light up, but the majority of it is coffee that Michael has to resist the urge to open up and smell.  Knowing him, he’d make a mess.

Michael is so focused on the coffee that he barely registers the end of the party, the president’s words going in one ear and out the other until everyone starts standing and shuffling towards the door around him.

“Hey,” Alexis says.  “You can’t leave until we take a picture.  Dalmar wants one of the whole department.”

“I want one of us,” Harry says.  They wait a minute to let some of the crowd clear out, then Michael is swept up in the tide heading towards the photo backdrop.  There’s cotton on the ground to give the impression of snow, and one side has pine trees decked in gold and a starry landscape behind while the other has silver accents and a sparkly wire reindeer.

“Very thoughtful of them to coordinate a gold and a silver option, I assume so everyone can choose the backdrop that best matches their outfit,” Ashton says, voice low.  Michael snickers.

Ashton joins the other plus-ones off to the side while Michael is corralled into a department picture, sandwiched between Alexis and Imani.  Once Dalmar promises to email it out, Harry makes him stay for a picture with him and Alexis, then another one that includes their dates.

“Do you want one with just you two?” Harry asks him after.  Michael glances at Ashton, then nods, handing his phone over.  He hasn’t checked it all night, and there are a few messages from both Calum and Luke that he’ll probably ignore until morning.

Ashton puts an arm around his waist for probably the last time tonight and decides to use the privilege for evil, jabbing him in the side and making him squirm and involuntarily laugh.

“I hate you,” he says.

“No you don’t,” Ashton responds cheekily.  Michael turns back to where Harry already has the camera up.

“Say cheese,” he says.  Michael smiles.  Harry gets a few shots in before Ashton presses a kiss to his cheek.  Michael hopes he doesn’t look too startled before he starts smiling again, letting himself relish in the moment.

“Got any good ones?” Ashton asks once he pulls away.

“Yeah, I think so,” Harry says.

“Ashton,” Ashley calls, appearing in the crowd and waving him over.  He glances back at Michael.

“One moment,” he says, then heads towards her.

“So,” Harry says casually, handing over Michael’s phone.  “There’s really nothing going on with you two?”

Michael lets his gaze land on Ashton, locked in what looks to be a serious conversation with Ashley.  She gestures and he makes a face that she returns, but he can’t tell what they’re discussing.

“No, not on his end.  He has someone else he’s after.”

“Someone who isn’t you?”

Michael shrugs.  “He didn’t say.  There’s no way, though.  I think I’ve used up all my luck for the night.  Karma says nothing else good can happen now that the lie worked.”

“It’s Christmastime, Michael,” Harry says.  “Maybe you’ll get a miracle.”

Ashton hugs Ashley.  She says something into his ear and he nods.  Michael sighs and forces himself to turn back to Harry, who is still looking at him with his head tilted like a puppy.

“He cares about you a lot; it's been obvious to all of us here tonight.  Don't discount that just because you're scared.  Maybe it's time to tell him," Harry says.

"I've been doing this for years," Michael reminds him.  "It's never time."

"Hey," Ashton says, reappearing.  "Ready to go?"

"Yeah," Michael says.  "See you later, Harry.  Tell Alexis I say goodbye, too."

"Good luck, Michael.  Remember, Christmas miracles!"

Michael gives him a tight smile and starts towards the coat check.  They killed enough time with the pictures that they don't have to wait in line too long before they're bundled up and ready to leave.

"What did Harry mean about Christmas miracles?" Ashton asks, putting on his gloves.

"Nothing," Michael says.  "He's just being optimistic.  What did Ashley want to say to you?"

"Oh, you know," Ashton says.  "Just that it was good to see each other and finally meet you."

"Meet me?" Michael asks.  "She didn't even talk to me.  Why would she want to meet me, anyway?  I'm just an auditor."

"You're not just anything.  Besides, I've probably talked about you a lot.  Come on.  Time to brave the cold."

Michael frowns at the abrupt change, but Ashton is already heading towards the entrance, so he scrambles to catch up.

A gust of wind greets then outside, thick snow swirling in the air around them.  Michael braces himself against it, huddling down in his coat and shoving his hands in his pockets.  Ashton leans close, flexing his fingers where he's gripping the handle of the basket, and they shuffle down the sidewalk as one.  Once Michael gets to the car, he immediately turns on the defroster and heat, hating the first few minutes of cold air until the car warms up properly.  Ashton grabs the scraper from the back before Michael can, brushing snow off the front windshield and scraping away the frost that had gathered in the time they were at the party.  When he gets to the driver-side window, he makes funny faces at Michael while clearing it off.  It warms him more than the heater does.

"Thanks," Michael says once he's done.  "I hate scraping.”

"I know," Ashton says, brushing snow off of his coat where it had gathered on his shoulders.  "Hey, I got a gift card in my basket.  Let's swing by before you drop me off."

"It's a little late for coffee," Michael says.

"This place is open until midnight, and they have great hot chocolate.  Come on.  You got me a free meal tonight, so let me give you a free late-night cocoa."

"Fine," Michael says, as if he wasn't going to cave as soon as Ashton suggested it, as if he himself wouldn't mind prolonging their time together if it's just the two of them.  "Put the address in.  The roads aren't that bad yet."

-/-

The coffee shop is a small place on a corner, one of the only shops still lit up at 9:30 at night.  Snow has gathered on the window ledges and the corners are blocked by frost, but warm light and swashes of browns and yellows still spill out, giving the entire building an inviting atmosphere.  Ashton holds the door for him on the way in, the bell above the door tinkling a greeting with the welcome rush of heated air.

The inside is just as cozy as Michael's first impressions suggested.  A few mismatched tables are scattered around the room with wooden chairs tucked against them, but it's the armchairs near the back that make him smile, big padded things arranged around a crackling fireplace that would probably swallow him if he sat down in them.  A bookshelf sits off to the side, old paperbacks and worn hardcovers nestled amongst other trinkets on warped wooden shelves, sinking under the weight of the years.  A Christmas tree stands in the corner, what looks like homemade ornaments adoring it and a few boxes in shiny wrapping paper underneath.  Calm Christmas music plays faintly over the speakers, and a barista calls out from where she is wiping down a table that she'll be with them in a moment.

"I've never been here before," Michael says.

"If you lived with me instead of out in a suburb, you would've by now," Ashton says, brushing snow off of Michael’s shoulder.  "It's one of my favorite places to go once winter hits.  I don't care for coffee, but I love everything else about the place.  It's a great source of inspiration and relaxation."

"Of course it is," Michael says fondly.  "Every place is a source of inspiration for you.  You probably found inspiration at my work party."

"Maybe that was more about the company than the location," Ashton says.

"I guess there were a lot of interesting people there, like Ashley.  You can probably get some material from Harry and Louis, too."

Ashton stares at him for a long moment.

"Are you being deliberately obtuse as a way to let me down?  Or do you really not know yet?"

"Hi, what can I get you?" the barista asks.  Michael is getting really sick of people interrupting Ashton when he's about to tell him something.

Ashton orders two small hot chocolates, one with whip and one without, then leads Michael to a table in the back corner.  It's an odd choice when they have the entire shop to themselves, but Michael doesn't fight it.  He's too distracted by the tantalizing smell of the hot cocoa and the mountain of whip on top of it, so much so that he burns his tongue on the first sip.

"Careful," Ashton laughs.  He reaches forward and swipes the whip right off Michael's nose, popping it into his mouth.  Michael's brain shuts down and takes its sweet time restarting, staring at Ashton gently blow on his own cocoa and take a much more cautious sip.

"So," Ashton says.  "I had an alternative motive for getting you to come here tonight."

"Is this payback for making you come to the party with me?  Are you going to ask me for a favor?"

"Not a favor," Ashton says.  "Well, I suppose you could come to the studio's New Years Eve party with me, if you wanted."

"I was already planning on going," Michael says.  I've been there every year since you opened.  I wasn't going to miss it now."

"See, this is what I was talking about with you being deliberately obtuse," Ashton says.  "Do you want to go with me?  As my date?"

Michael frowns.

“Did you tell everyone you have a secret boyfriend?”

Ashton sighs and cradles his head in his hands.  “You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you.”

“Say what?” Michael implores.  “Is it too much for you to stop being so cryptic and just tell me what you want me to understand?”

“Michael, I really, really like you.  Romantically.  I have for a long time.  I want to know if you’ll go on a date with me.”

“What the fuck?” Michael asks.  Ashton’s face crumples.  “No, not like--how long?  Because I’ve been in love with you since college!”

“What?” Ashton blinks.  “I thought… I mean, I’d hoped, and there were moments, but I didn’t realize it had been that long for you.”  He smiles, letting it grow on his face until it’s overwhelming.  Michael mirrors it.  “Holy shit.  This is great!”

Michael laughs.

“Do you really like me?”

“Yes, Michael.  Of course I do.  I knew I eventually would as soon as I met you, I just put it off for as long as I could.  You’re magnetic.  It was inevitable.”

Michael doesn’t know what to do with the joy bubbling up in him, threatening to overflow like a volcano with all of the heat of one.

“So, Michael Clifford, want to be my date to the Superbloom New Year’s party?  And my boyfriend?  My real one, in case that somehow wasn’t clear by now.”

“Yes!  Please, yes, I would love to,” Michael says.

“Good,” Ashton says.  “But I do have one more confession to make.  I still haven’t told you why I wanted to come here right now.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look up,” Ashton says, pointing above their heads.  Michael follows his directions and is met with a small sprig of green leaves with tiny white flowers hanging from the ceiling.  “We never did get a mistletoe kiss, which was extremely disappointing to me.  Will you indulge me now?”

Michael turns back to him, seeing hope shining in his eyes, and nods a little too eagerly if the way Ashton giggles at him is any indication.

“Alright,” Ashton says, standing.  “Come on.  I’m not about to make you lean over the table.”

He takes Michael’s hands, tugging him to standing.

“I’m weirdly nervous,” Michael confesses once they’re face to face.

“Don’t be,” Ashton says, taking a step forward.  “If it’s bad, we’ll just try again.  I have the feeling I’ll be kissing you a lot in the future.”

“Yeah,” Michael breathes.

“Ready?” Ashton asks, eyes flicking down to Michael’s lips and then back up.  Instead of answering, Michael leans in, Ashton meeting him halfway in the best kiss Michael has ever had.  In the grand scheme of things, it’s utterly unremarkable, but to Michael it’s everything: the feeling of his cold hands enveloped by Ashton’s, the calm atmosphere of the coffee shop they’re in, the taste of hot chocolate still on Ashton’s lips, and the satisfaction of finally, after years, knowing what this sensation is like all melts together to form something that feels like complete and utter happiness.

Ashton drops their hands so he can cup Michael’s jaw and kisses him again, and then again, and then they stand there smiling at each other until Michael finally starts giggling.

“Our hot chocolate is probably getting cold,” he says.

“God, I love you,” Ashton replies.  Michael knows that he’s blushing, but for once it’s not out of embarrassment or the cold outside.  He’s never felt this level of joyful peace.

Ashton kisses him once more, quickly, before he finally goes back to his seat.  Michael joins him, taking a sip of his drink.  He can’t help but think that Ashton’s homemade cocoa is better.

The man in question reaches out and takes one of his hands, holding it across the table and beaming, showing off his dimples, and Michael once again can’t resist smiling back.

Maybe Harry is right.  Karma stands no chance against a Christmas miracle.

#my writing #mashton #5sos fanfic #ficmas 2020

[jamielea81]

Conversations

Chapter 13

Description: You accompany your friends on a day trip to Animal Kingdom Theme Park where you meet Scott Evans by chance. This one afternoon leads to a year long friendship with both Chris and Scott over text messages and phone calls.

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

Warning: Fluff, curse words, a little bit of NSFW - If you are under 18 please do not read!

Word Count: 6,700

A/N: I know nothing about the lives of the Evans family and mean no harm. This is purely fiction and for fun. Reblogs and comments are much appreciated! The tag list is now closed. Each chapter tends to get reblogged from me a few times, so if you’re following me, you can’t miss it.  

*Italics are internal thoughts

Catch up with Chapter 12

**

The boys had no clue about your plan. Frankly, no one knew what your plan was. You weren’t trying to be secretive, no, you just didn’t want all the fuss. One week was more than enough time to host someone in your home. Two weeks was outlandish. You would simply tell them later in the week that you were staying in Boston for an additional week. On your own.

You had rented a one bedroom apartment in the city near the harbor. Chris had been putting a lot of extra effort into your relationship recently by coming to stay with you every few weeks. You wanted to see if Boston was a place you could see yourself spending a lot of time in. Staying with Scott or Chris for the second week wouldn’t really allow for you to see if you could be comfortable there by yourself. You wanted to check out the coffee shops, parks, and small eateries. You had read through numerous travel sites and blogs by locals who boasted the neighborhoods that were not only hip, but had low crime rates.

Chris had gone back to Massachusetts from his latest visit just over a week ago and you had already begun to miss him. When he sent you a text three days after leaving, telling you he was missing you, you instantly felt relieved. The two of you had spent a lot of time talking on his visits which ultimately brought you closer. He slept in your bed all three days of this last trip, never pressing for more than a cuddle and a few kisses. Chris spent a great amount of time talking with you into the early morning hours about how it would be when he was away filming. The two of you would need to survive on Skype or Facetime as he was often away for months at a time. He said that you could visit him on set, but your time together would be limited.

The additional week in Boston was born from the vacation time you had to use or lose with the Orlando Sentinel. Asia was quick to agree that your start date with News Now could begin a few days after you returned from your trip. Having the ability to work from anywhere was a huge positive. Your lease would be coming up for renewal in February and you were honestly struggling with staying or leaving Orlando.

Central Florida had been your home for sixteen years, but you were still only renting. That had to mean something. You didn’t miss the long winters of Minnesota, but you did miss your family. Minnesota felt safe and comfortable for a place to start over again, but you still weren’t sure that was the right step for you. Logically, it was too soon to move to Boston. You were never the girl to move somewhere for a guy. Chris was one of the people closest to you, but the two of you were barely a couple. But why the hell was your heart telling you to give it a shot? At least you had a couple of months to figure it all out.

**

You had swung by Krispy Kreme on the way to Jana’s office armed with a coupon for half off a dozen. Not that you needed a dozen donuts, but a deal was a deal. That’s how you’d always been. You weren’t one of those coupon clippers, but you always shopped on sale and always looked in the clearance section. If there was a bargain to be had, you were a willing participant. This is why even looking at places to rent for the long term in Boston frightened you. Sticker shock was an understatement. You could buy a new, large family home in the suburbs of Minneapolis for the same price you could purchase a studio apartment in Boston. Technically, you could look outside of the city, but that’s something you’d have to think about later when a decision needed to be made.

“I brought food,” you greeted her, shoving the box in her face as she signed you in to the building.

“That’s not food.”

“You can eat it Jana. I’m pretty sure Brooks consumes these five days a week.”

“Fine. Maybe just one,” she replied, reaching into the box and pulling out a glazed one once you got to her office. You gave her a satisfied smirk before grabbing one for yourself. “You ready to work with Brooks again?”

“Is one ever ready? But seriously, I didn’t exactly work with him when he was at the paper so even now I still won’t see him,” you shrugged, taking a huge bite and promptly licking your fingers to Jana’s dismay.

“When are you starting again?”

“Like the twenty eighth. Some time that week. I’m going to try to have something to submit that week. Maybe about my time in Boston. Who knows?”

“You call me the workaholic, yet you’re working on vacation,” Jana said.

“Well, I’m nervous as shit, so I just want to be ready to go with something.”

With promises of dinner together when you returned, you left her office with the box of donuts in hand. Rather than heading straight for the elevator, you decided to stop by Ethan’s office. His door was open, but he was engrossed in a law book.    

“Hey,” you called out loud enough for him to hear you but soft enough not to startle him.

He looked up, grinning when he saw it was you. “How are you?”

“Good. I’ve come to tempt you with sugar,” you said holding up the box.

“No bribing needed. Whaddaya got?”

“A little bit of everything,” you said, stepping into the room and placing the box on the desk. You opened it for him to pick. He quickly pulled out one of the custard filled ones, moaning at the taste.

“Thank you,” he murmured, mouth still full.

You gave him an honest smile. Speaking to him the last time you were in the office really got rid of that tension about seeing him.

“You’re welcome.”

“What are you up to?” he asked.

“How much time do you have?” you asked.

“For you? As much as you need.” He gestured to one of the empty chairs in front of his desk.

You told him about the new job and how much you were looking forward to the change. You left out the part about possibly moving since nothing was set in stone, so there was no need to get into that.

“I’m sorry Y/N,” he started, you giving him a questioning look. “When I said that stupid thing about your job. 100% didn’t mean it. I was just angry and I aimed low. You’re a great writer. I read everything you wrote when we were together, and I still read it today.”

You gave him a small smile. “Thanks for saying that. And you still read it?” you asked surprisingly.

“Got to get my Disney news from a reliable source,” he shrugs.

**

Boston’s weather seems to be all over the place with predictions for the next two weeks being anywhere from the fifties to the low seventies. You packed a large suitcase and your trusty leather carryon with a few sweaters, sweatshirts, t-shirts, jeans, leggings and a couple pairs of short boots. You’ll wear your sneakers to the airport. At least that’s one less thing to pack. You’re staying with Scott and Zach, but you toy over bringing your cute yet flirty pajamas and lingerie. You and Chris aren’t exclusive, at least not technically. He told you he isn’t seeing anyone else and isn’t planning on either. But the words boyfriend and girlfriend or partner haven’t been uttered. Taking a guess, he’s most likely waiting for you to say it since he doesn’t want to push you. You’re not even sure how much you’ll be seeing him this trip. He said he’ll be around, but never made actual plans with you. Picking up your cell, you shot him a text.

Y/N: When am I seeing you in Boston.

Chris: All the time?

The fact that he adds that question mark makes you laugh.

Y/N: Well, we never made plans, so I wasn’t sure if you have stuff going on all week.

Chris: You’re such a dork. You’re coming to my town and you have to question when you’re going to see me?

Y/N: I thought it was Scott’s town, you know, since I’m staying with him.

Chris: What?!

Chris: That’s not fair. You didn’t even give me the chance to offer 😔

Y/N: My poor baby. I’ll be sure to kiss it all better.

Chris: You better

Yep, you were packing the cute underwear.

**

You sent Scott a text as soon as you landed.

Scott: On my way. White BMW.

Grabbing your bag from the conveyer belt, you grabbed a coffee before going out to short term parking where he said he’d meet you. The temperature was a cool sixty-three degrees, so you were dressed in a cozy hunter green sweater, jeans, and browns boots. You thought about throwing on a jacket, but figured the boys would tease you. Minnesota you would have teased you, but you’d been in Florida too long now. Sixty was cold.

Crossing over to the ramp, you looked around for a white BMW as instructed. A sudden honk jolted you, causing coffee to spurt out through the cup’s cover.

“Mother fucker!” you whispered to yourself.

The offending driver jumped out of the car, jogging toward you. “Shit! Sorry!” It was Chris rather than Scott. NASA hat on his head, Pats sweatshirt, and jeans. The epitome of casual, yet it he looked good.

When does he not look good?

“You scared the shit out of me,” you said, dropping your carryon to the ground and hugging him with your free hand. “I should be smacking you rather than hugging you.”

“M’sorry. Wanted to surprise you,” he said pulling away.

You kissed the pout on his lips, Chris smiling as soon you pulled back. He bent down grabbing your bag from the ground and then grabbed the handle on your suitcase. You followed behind him, admiring the view.

He really is America’s Ass.

The drive to Scott’s didn’t take long. He had a large two-bedroom condo in the city. Parking was a challenge, but Scott had purchased a second spot a year ago and since Zach wasn’t’ home, Chris parked there.

He grabbed your two bags while you easily toted your purse and now empty coffee cup into the building’s entrance and up the elevator. Chris walked in without knocking, but you supposed Scott knew you were coming since you did text him when you landed.

“I brought you a gift!” Chris called out.

Scott walked into the entry and living room giving you a big smile. “Oh. Is there a return policy?”

“You are such a brat!” you spat out. “Does your mother have room at her place? Feel like I’d getting a warmer welcome there.”

“Sassy, don’t give me no lip. You know I love you,” Scott said, pulling you into a hug. You let your arms hang to give him that bit of attitude, plus you still had your purse and cup in hand.

“Ahuh, love you too,” you replied.

Scott showed you to your room for the week while Chris followed behind, setting your bags on the floor. Light blue walls with dark wood furniture made up the room. A queen size bed placed in the center with a chest of drawers sat on the opposite wall. A relatively large flat screen TV mounted to the wall above the chest. On each side of the bed were a matching set of night stands. A vase of white daisies sat on the right-hand side.

“Bathroom is across the hall. Dinner is at six. Don’t be late. No fucking in your room,” he said, pointing between you and Chris, closing the door as he left. “Or at least be quiet about it,” he said through the door.

Chris looked at you with raised eyebrows while you shook your head. “Uh, we don’t have to,” he said.

“Well, definitely not now.”

“Yeah. Yeah, totally. That’s just Scott,” Chris said, shrugging. He was nervous and it made you smile.

Chris stayed for dinner but left around eight kissing you breathless before wishing you a goodnight.

**

Scott, Zach and yourself hit the road early starting with the Freedom Trail, making sure to see the graves of Samuel Adams, John Hancock, and Paul Revere before stopping at the Old State House. Chris had wanted to join the three of you, but when you mentioned he would draw in a crowd being that you would be surrounded by tourists, he was quick to change his mind.

Scott brought you to Beacon Hill where you fell in love with the architecture of the beautiful brick homes. When he told you the average price, you choked on your breath, quickly deciding it wasn’t anywhere you would be able to live.

You moved on to Charles Street, stopping in a few shops to buy something for Jana as well as yourself. When it was time for lunch, Scott and Zach brought you to Cheers bar on Beacon Hill. Scott told you there actually two locations, this one was used for the exterior shots for the show. It was everything you imagined it would be. You were too young to enjoy the show when it aired originally, but picked up on the reruns when you were in your late twenties.

Harvard University was as grand and as beautiful as you imagined it would be bathed in the gorgeousness that is fall. You treated to the boys to ice cream, finding a nice spot on a grassy lawn filled with students and tourists alike. Scott took a few pictures of you with ice cream cone in hand and red and orange leaves all around you. You did the same for each of them. The spontaneous photoshoot turned into a leaf fight as Zach dumped a large handful on Scott’s head.

**

Nervous seemed like such an inadequate word to describe how you were feeling. You weren’t even a nail biter but you couldn’t keep your thumb out of your mouth as you chewed the corner repeatedly.

“Would you stop it? You’ve met her,” Scott said, taking his eyes off the road briefly to look at you.

“Yeah and she thought I was some floozy.” Scott snorted. “Do people still say floozy?”

“I’m pretty sure they don’t. And you know that’s because she didn’t know you were you. It’ll be fine. She loves you. I talk about you all the time. Well, not all the time, but I talk about you and she loves you.” You took a deep breath. “Now keep that finger out of your mouth. She will judge you for jagged fingernails.”

“Such a brat,” you said softly.

“Me? Do I need to have Chris take you and all your luggage back to his place tonight? Why’d you pack so much anyway? Must’ve packed like three winter coats or somethin’.”

“Shuddup,” you murmured. You’d only been in town for four nights and weren’t planning on having this conversation until Friday. “Was going to tell you later, but might as well tell you now. But do not tell Chris. I will tell him later,” you warned.

“Sounds serious,” he said.

“You know how with this new job I can pretty much work from where ever I’d like?” Scott nodded his head. “I’m still trying to figure that all out. Not that I don’t love Florida. Jana and Brooks are my family there, but I’m thinking it might be time to make a change. I thought about Minnesota since my parents and brother are there, but I also wanted to see how I’d like Boston.”

“What are you gettin’ at Y/N?”

“I’m staying in town next week. I rented an apartment to see if I feel comfortable here.”

Scott let out a low whistle. “Chris is going to be pissed,” he sing-songed the last word.

“You think?” you asked.

“Oh yeah.”

“Like pissed because I’ve thought about maybe splitting my time here or moving here?”

“Oh god, no. He’d probably love the fuck out of that. He’s going to be pissed you aren’t staying with him.”

You didn’t even think of that. The idea of having your own space to see if you’d like being here was still the right decision, but he was right. Chris would probably be upset you didn’t tell him what you were thinking. And he’d probably be mad you weren’t staying with him.

“Shuddup,” you said again.

**

“Ma! Your favorite son and Sassy are here,” Scott called out after opening the front door to his mother’s house.

“I’m already here,” Chris called from what looked like the kitchen. He walked into the entryway pulling you into a hug. “Missed you.”

“You just saw me at breakfast,” you replied, kissing his lips quickly before anyone else came in the room.

“Still missed you.” He interlaced your fingers and pulled you toward the kitchen. “Cah’mon.”

Lisa, the boy’s mother was in front of the stove, a few pans sizzling on the burners. It smelled delicious, so you knew you were in for a good meal.

“Y/N, it’s nice to see you again. How are you enjoying your stay?” she said turning to face you.

It was all so formal, you instantly jumped into interview mode.

“It’s been quite wonderful. Scott’s been a great host,” you replied.

She smiled warmly and went back to her pans.

“When are the girls getting here?” Scott asked.

“Should be here soon. Why don’t the three of you show Y/N around?”

Chris gave you the tour while Scott plopped himself on the sofa in the family room.

“And this was my room,” he said, opening the door. It was set up as a guestroom with a full-size bed pressed against the center of the far wall.

“So, is this where the Sandra Bullock poster used to hang?” you said pointing at the ceiling.

“Et tu, Brute? Never going to live that down.” Chis said, shaking his head.

“Oh, everyone does it babe. I’m pretty sure I had a couple of NSYNC pictures torn from magazines hanging on my walls. I know I had one of Joey Lawrence.”

“Joey Lawrence?” he chuckled.

“He looked good in Blossom when I was a kid. He had great hair.”

“Yeah? What do you think of my hair?”

You ran your fingers through his hair, giving the end a slight tug. “This hair?” you said softly, your face close to his. “This hair, I can’t get enough of. Probably the sexiest head I’ve seen in a week.”

“A week? You runnin’ your fingers through someone else’s hair?” he asked, his breath hot against your lips.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

He pressed his lips against yours. Arms instantly tugging you closer while you kept one hand in his hair and the other around his neck. Kissing Chris would never get old. He walked backwards until his legs hit the edge of the mattress, lowering himself down and pulling you onto his lap. You wrapped your arms around his neck, his hands instantly going to your ass as he pulled you to straddle him closer. A moan broke from your throat, catching you off guard.

“That’s it baby,” Chris whispered, lips attaching themselves to your jaw.

Instantly you were reminded that you were indeed in his mother’s house. The same mother who thought you were just a hook up when she first met. You sighed, loosening your grip from around his neck. Chris continued to kiss across your jaw and down your neck.

“We’re in your mother’s house babe,” you said.

“And?” he muttered into your neck.

“And, she probably wouldn’t appreciate this going on in her guestroom.”

He pulled back a bit, finding your lips and placing a kiss there. “I beg to differ, but I suppose this isn’t how you want to meet my sisters.”

“Nope,” you said, popping the p. You crawled off his lap and a ran a hand through your hair. It was a good thing that you only had on lip balm, because surely had it been lipstick it would have been a mess on your face. You tugged at your sweater, making sure the neck was straightened before turning back to Chris and smiling. “Why don’t I spend the night at that construction zone you’re calling a house tomorrow night?”

“Really?” he asked, eager smile on his face.

“Yes, really.” You’d tell Chris tomorrow about your extended stay. It would just be the two of you tomorrow, so it would be easier to talk to him about your thoughts on possibly moving. You hoped he’d be honest with his feelings on it as well.

The two of you made your way back to the family room, immediately spying Chris’ sisters. Scott told you tonight’s dinner would just be the siblings as his mom wanted to keep it small and casual as they got to know you. Saturday would have the whole Evans’ clan in attendance for a potluck type lunch.

“Nice of you two to finally join us,” Chris greeted Carly and Shanna.

“We’re on time, you’re just always early,” Shanna said.

“Wait until you have kids. You’ll see how long it takes to get out of the house,” Carly spat.

“Anyway. This is my girlfriend Y/N. Y/N, these are my sisters Carly and Shanna.”

Whoa. Girlfriend. I guess he’s saying it first.

You felt your face heat up, but you quickly extended your hand to Carly first who pulled you into a hug and then passed you to Shanna who did the same.

“Great to meet the often talked about Sassy,” Shanna said with a giggle.

“Oh boy. Hopefully only good things,” you replied.

“Maybe. Siblings never rat each other out, so we simply can’t say,” Carly added shrugging her shoulders.

“You know damn well, no one is saying anything bad about you Sassy. It’s  Chris that needs to worry,” Scott said. Shanna instantly nodding in agreement.

“Let’s get a drink!” Carly said, putting her arm around your shoulder and dragging you to the kitchen.

With beers in hand, the five of you went back into the family, sandwiching between Chris and Shanna on the couch. A few minutes later Lisa came and joined you. “Dinner in ten minutes kids,” she said, squishing next to Scott on a large oversized chair.

“Sounds good, Ma,” Chris said.

“What are you kids talking about?”

“We were just getting ready to interrogate Y/N,” Carly said, giving you a wink.

“No, we most certainly were not,” Chris said, putting his arm around you and pulling you close.

You chuckled lightly, patting his thigh with your hand. “Babe, it’s fine.” You pulled away and looked at each of the three women. “What would you like to know?”

“Dinner’s almost ready, why don’t we wait until we sit down?” Lisa offered.

**

With dinner on the table, you readied yourself for an onslaught of questions.

“So, you’re from Florida?” Carly asked.

“Actually, I’m from Minnesota. I moved to Florida for college and just stayed.”

“And you’re a Disney person?” Shanna asked.

“Absolutely,” you smiled. “I worked, well, still work for the Orlando Sentinel covering anything and everything Disney parks. I’m not sure if the guys told you I recently took a different job, but I’ll still be covering some Disney parks’ news.”

“They did. Congratulations Y/N. It sounds like it was a change you were looking to make,” Lisa said.

“It was. I love covering the parks, but I’ve written a lot of current events articles for various magazines and I’d really like to delve into that.”

Chris squeezed your knee pulling your attention to him. He beamed at you, literally beamed. You knew he was happy for you but this told you that he was happy with how this meeting was going.

“Do you have any siblings?” Shanna asked.

“I have one brother and his name is Heath. He’s three years younger than me. And I have a bunch of cousins that are all around our age, so they always felt like siblings growing up.”

“Are you all still close?” Lisa asked.

“My brother and I are, but it gets harder to keep in touch with my cousins as we get older.”

“Have you ever been married?” Shanna inquired.

“Shanna!” Chris hissed.

You looked at Chris and gave him a smile. “It’s fine. No, I’ve never been married nor engaged. I’ve had a couple of long-term relationships, but not in the last few years.”

Shanna smiled, apparently satisfied with your answer.

**

After dinner, you offered to help Lisa with pouring coffee and dishing up the cake she had made.

“Y/N, I just wanted to apologize for that day I met you in Epcot. I didn’t treat you fairly and I honestly feel awful about it.” She turned away from the cake to face you. “Scott has always spoken so highly of you. I truly am sorry that I wasn’t as welcoming as I should have been.” Lisa stepped closer to you, grabbing both of your hands with hers. “Chris hadn’t mentioned that you were the same friend that Scott had told me about. So, when he said he was meeting up with a friend, I was a little annoyed. I thought that this friend was someone that he just had met, so I was disappointed it was taking time away from the kids.” She chuckled softly. “That sounds awful. It’s not that Christopher does that regularly. He never does that.” She took a breath and started again. “Oh boy, I’m probably getting him into trouble with you.” You chuckled at her words and shook your head. “My point is, I’m sorry and I hope we can be friends because you are obviously a very important woman in both my sons’ lives.”

“No hard feeling at all and I hope we can be friends as well.” You leaned forward and wrapped your arms around here. She quickly followed suit, patting your back gently with one hand.

“Are we getting cake or what?” Chris asked, stepping into the room. “Didn’t know I was breaking up a Hallmark moment.”

“Har-har Christopher. Come grab some of these plates,” Lisa said.

Chris stepped close to you, grabbing a plate while you poured another cup of coffee. “Everything okay?”

“Completely,” you said with a smile.

**

“Are you really leaving me for my brother?” Scott asked in his best daytime soap opera voice.

“Well, I’ve seen him naked, so...” you trailed off, shrugging your shoulders.

“All you had to do was ask,” Scott offered.

“I’m sure Zach and Chris would love to hear that.” You patted his head, grabbing your carryon bag from the couch, making sure you had everything for the night. “I’ll be back with you tomorrow night for our best friends sleep over party like we planned. No boys allowed except for you.”

“Damn right! I’ll be sure to stock up on raspberry vodka.”

“No! Only wine. I learned my lesson when you got me drunk.” Scott scoffed, but waved you off. Chris was down stairs circling the block since he couldn’t find a spot to park. “Tell Zach when he gets up from his nap that I’ll see him tomorrow.”

“I will. Have fun and use protection!” Scott yelled out. You promptly flicked him off and shut the door.

**

Chris’ house was beautiful, even if it was being remodeled. The rooms that were currently being redone were the two guestrooms, the office, a guest bathroom, and the deck.

“See, you totally could have stayed here the whole time. Plenty of space for just you and me.”

The two of you were laying on his really comfortable couch. You between his legs and back against his chest. He kissed your neck and you hummed.

“Well, I remember someone telling me his house was practically unlivable. Then Scott offered and who am I to refuse? You’ll just have to have me stay another time.”

“Oh, I will,” he replied, then kissed your neck again.

“Your house is gorgeous. I really love this room and I’m sure this wall of windows out to the deck will look even better when it’s finished.”

“It’s going to be great. Like a second living space. At least that’s what the designer tells me. How are you likin’ Boston?”

You turned to face him slightly, tucking one leg underneath yourself. You licked your lips nervously.

Now or never.

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that.”

“Okay, what’s on your mind?”

“Now, don’t get mad,” you started, Chris raising his eyebrows. “That’s not what I mean. Um. Okay, so you know how I mentioned that with this new job, I can spend time here with you or I could spend time with my family and work at the same time?” He nodded his head. “Well, I’m thinking about maybe relocating. I’m not sure what I want to do yet and I don’t need to make a decision right away. My lease isn’t even up until February.”

Chris face lit up, his smile as big as you’ve ever seen it. “What are you saying, Y/N. You movin’ here?”

“Not sure yet, that’s what I’m getting at. I’m staying in Boston another week.”

“You want to stay with me?”

“That’s the thing. I gotta make sure I’m comfortable being here. You’re not always here. Months at a time when you’re filming even. So, I actually rented an apartment for a week to see if I like the area.”

“Sweetheart, you could still stay with me and figure out if this is the place you want to be.”

“I know, but if I did move here, I’d have my own place so I wanted to get the feel of it. I didn’t mention it to you or Scott because I didn’t want you both insisting that I stay with you.” Chris narrowed his eyes at you. “Don’t give me that look. It’s way too early for me to be moving in with you. We both know that.”

“Fine. You’re probably right,” he murmured.

“Maybe I can cook you dinner at my pretend apartment next week,” you offered.

“You better. Don’t think you’re staying a whole ‘nother week and not seeing me almost every day.”

“Babe,” you sighed out. “The whole point of me staying another week is to see if I can get along on my own. If we are hanging out every day, that’s not how life is always going to be.”

“Five days.”

“Two days,” you offered.

“Two days?! Sweetheart…Four days.”

“Three, and that’s my final offer,” you concluded.

“Deal. But that’s you and me time. No Scott.”

“That’s fine by me. But it’s not an all-day deal. I want to try to work.”

“Yes ma’am,” he said, grabbing your face and pulling it to his lips.

“Let’s go to bed,” you said, standing up and pulling him up with your hand. The two of you walked into his room, you slipping into the en suite.

You pulled off your sweater, cami, and jeans, folding them neatly and placing them on the far side of the vanity. You took a deep breath, admiring the see-through black bra and matching panties. You were ready to be intimate with Chris again and you hoped he was feeling the same. Giving yourself one last look, you ran your fingers through your hair and pinched your cheeks. You were feeling confident and you hoped it showed. Taking one more deep breath, you steadied yourself and opened the bathroom door, walking back in the room to Chris who had changed into a t-shirt that he wore with his boxers.

“Sweetheart,” he said with a shaky breath.

“Hi, Chris,” you said, moving closer to him. He sprung to his feet to stand in front of you. Your hands went to his chest, placing both palms on him. “Make love to me.”

It came out more like a statement than a question and you were proud of yourself in that moment. Chris visibly gulped, licking his lips, he nodded. His arms instantly wrapped around you, caging yours to his body.

“Oh sweetheart, I’ve missed you,” he said softly. His lips trailed from yours to your neck, back up to that spot behind your ear that made your knees shake. He walked you to the bed, gently laying you down with him coming to lay beside you. His knee went between your legs opening you up to him. One hand caressed your pussy over your panties as he mouthed your nipple through your bra, causing goosebumps to erupt down your body. “Are you sure?” he asked.

“Yes, god yes. I want you babe,” you moaned as his mouth went to your other breast.

While the first time the two of you were together was fun and full of nervous energy, this time was the two of you truly making love. Chris took his time worshiping your body. It was slow and soft and you knew that it was absolutely right.

**

Lisa’s home was stuffed to capacity, much of the guests spilling into the backyard. It wasn’t just the Evans clan in attendance today. Everyone brought friends who they considered family. The names of everyone you met started to swirl together. The family was easy enough to get down as you met the kids back in May. Carly’s husband, Shanna’s boyfriend, a few cousins, and uncle were added to the list. Chris had a few buddies there as well as Scott that they introduced you to. Everyone was warm and welcoming and you felt at ease as they all seemed to want to get to know you. These were the important people in Chris’ life, so they were important to you as well.

Chris was relaxed which you loved to see. He had a few beers but wasn’t out of control. When you were around each other, he kept a hand on you. On your back. On your side. Around your shoulders. On your cheek. It was sweet and welcome, especially after the night you spent together.

You decided to stick to lemonade during the day, switching to white wine as the day went on. Getting drunk in front of these people wasn’t something you wanted to do even if Scott was trying to make that happen. He’d walk by with a bottle in hand and you’d quickly cover the top of your glass with your hand. It was slumber party night back at Scott’s, one of you had to be responsible enough to drive you home later.

One person you hadn’t even thought of meeting was Courtney. It was foolish of you to forget about her since Scott had told you she had been a long-time friend of the family, not to mention Chris’ on and off girlfriend for years. You wanted to like her and you wanted her to like you. It was such a weird thought to have. She’s Chris’ ex after all. She had been around for his other girlfriends including his longer relationships.

“Y/N, this is Courtney,” Scott introduced.

She gave you a polite smile and a wave which you returned. “The famous Sassy! I’ve seen you on Scott’s Instagram account,” she said.

Okay. This isn’t so bad.

“That would be me. It’s nice to meet you.”

She was prettier in person than she was in pictures. The kind of girl that didn’t need makeup but wore it anyway and it only enhanced her natural beauty. She was dressed casually in jeans and sweater, yet she looked unbelievably put together.

“You in town long?” she asked.

“Another week, then I’m back to the warmth,” you said with a smile.

“Suppose this is quite the change for you. Plus, the Evans family can be quite overwhelming.”

Scott scoffed at that, pushing her shoulder. “Only some of the Evans’ are overwhelming. I’m wonderful.”

You grabbed him around the waist, kissing his shoulder. “You sure are sweetie,” you said sarcastically, earning a laugh from Courtney.

Scott excused himself, leaving you and Courtney to chat. She was nice and sweet and easy to talk to.  You immediately understood why she remained friends with the family when her and Chris broke up the first time. It was still odd in away to be friendly with your boyfriend’s ex, but if everyone else loved her, you needed to give it a shot. Boyfriend. That was another thing. Chris was your boyfriend. You really liked the sound of that.

It was close to seven and Scott was itching to take off. He wanted to order pizza and have a dance party. Zach was staying with Chris for the night so the two of you could have that sleep over. You both had great boyfriends to put up with you. Confiscating Scott’s keys earlier in the day, you went in search of Chris to tell him goodbye.

You found Chris with a few of his friends you had met early in the day along with Courtney standing on the patio outside. Chris was telling a story, animated as ever. His arms flailing about, head tipped back as he laughed at his own joke. You stood back to admire him as he had the group enthralled with whatever tale he was telling. Courtney stepped forward, wrapping an arm around his middle. It seemed innocent at first until she placed a hand on his sweater clad chest, hand trailing lightly. Chris looked down at her hand and then to her face, neither of them noticing you had stepped outside. He lifted her hand from his chest, much to her surprise, and then stepped out of her embrace. “I have a girlfriend,” he said softly, but you still heard it.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” Courtney quickly replied.

You wanted to escape without being seen. It definitely felt like a moment you weren’t meant to witness even though you were happy with the outcome. You were mere inches from the patio doors when Scott popped out, calling out your name drawing the attention of the group standing nearby.

“Hey sweetheart,” Chris said, leaving the group and walking up to you, kissing your temple to greet you. You wrapped an arm around his middle and leaned into him. “Are you taking off?”

“M’hmm,” you replied. “Just coming to say goodnight.”

“I’ll walk you out,” he said.

“Hey, Y/N? Can I talk to you for a moment?” Courtney asked. You turned around to see a small frown on her face.

You nodded your head. “Sure.” You squeezed Chris’ hand. “I’ll see you inside,” you said to him.

Courtney followed you further into the backyard, taking a seat on a small bench.

“I’m not sure what you may have seen, but I wanted to apologize. I had my arms around Chris and If I had known he was with someone, I wouldn’t have been as handsy as I just was. That’s not me and I don’t want you to get that impression of me. M’sorry and I hope that you can accept my apology.”

Scott had not introduced you to Courtney as Chris’ girlfriend, so you did believe that she didn’t know and she did seem sincere. You didn’t want things to be weird, especially if you did end up moving here at some point.

“Already forgotten. I’d like for us to be friends, so no hard feelings,” you replied.

“Thank you,” she said, giving you a soft smile.

Both of you stood up, you walking back into the house and Courtney staying outside. Chris intertwined your hand with his, walking both of you out the front door to Scott’s car. He pulled you into a rocking hug, before pulling back, placing both palms on your cheeks and kissing you deeply.

“I’ll see you Monday for our day one of three?” he asked with a grin.

“I’d like that.” You kissed him again before climbing into the driver’s seat of the car. Scott already asleep in the passenger’s seat.

“Oh, Scott,” you said, shaking your head. He was lucky his car had GPS and you had his address.

Chapter 14

**

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[96thdayofrage]

A white police officer who fatally shot a Black man during a traffic stop in a Minneapolis suburb resigned Tuesday, as did the city’s police chief — moves that the mayor said he hoped would help heal the community and lead to reconciliation after two nights of protests and unrest.

The resignations from Officer Kim Potter and Police Chief Tim Gannon came two days after the death of 20-year-old Daunte Wright in Brooklyn Center. Potter, a 26-year veteran, had been on administrative leave following Sunday’s shooting, which happened as the Minneapolis area was already on edge over the trial of an officer charged in George Floyd’s death.

Brooklyn Center Mayor Mike Elliott said he was “appreciative” that Potter submitted her resignation but that he had not asked for it nor accepted it. It wasn’t immediately clear what that would mean.

A decision on whether prosecutors will charge Potter could come as soon as Wednesday. Meanwhile, the cities of Minneapolis and St. Paul imposed 10 p.m. curfews. A Brooklyn Center city spokeswoman didn’t immediately respond to a message on whether the city would have a curfew.

Gannon has said he believed Potter mistakenly grabbed her gun when she was going for her Taser. She can be heard on her body camera video shouting “Taser! Taser!” However, protesters and Wright’s family members say there’s no excuse for the shooting and it shows how the justice system is tilted against Blacks, noting Wright was stopped for expired car registration and ended up dead.

Elliott said at a news conference that the city had been moving toward firing Potter when she resigned. He said he hoped her resignation would “bring some calm to the community,” but that he would keep working towards “full accountability under the law.”

“We have to make sure that justice is served, justice is done. Daunte Wright deserves that, his family deserves that,” Elliott said.

Activists who attended the news conference called for sweeping changes to the Brooklyn Center Police Department and sharply criticized the acting police chief, Tony Gruenig, for not yet having a plan.

Elliott said the department has about 49 police officers, none of whom live in Brooklyn Center. He said he didn’t have information on racial diversity at hand but that “we have very few people of color in our department.”

The modest suburb just north of Minneapolis has seen its demographics shift dramatically in recent years. In 2000, more than 70% of the city was white. Today, a majority of residents are Black, Asian or Latino.

Wright was stopped for having expired license plates. Police then tried to arrest him on an outstanding warrant after failing to appear in court on charges that he fled from officers and possessed a gun without a permit during an encounter with Minneapolis police in June.

Body camera footage released Monday shows Wright struggling with police when Potter shouts, “I’ll Tase you! I’ll Tase you! Taser! Taser! Taser!” She draws her weapon after the man breaks free from police outside his car and gets back behind the wheel.

After firing a single shot from her handgun, the car speeds away, and Potter says, “Holy (expletive)! I shot him.”

Wright died of a gunshot wound to the chest, according to the medical examiner.

Protests began within hours.

In her one-paragraph letter of resignation, Potter — a 26-year veteran — said, “I have loved every minute of being a police officer and serving this community to the best of my ability, but I believe it is in the best interest of the community, the department, and my fellow officers if I resign immediately.”

Wright’s father, Aubrey Wright, told ABC’s “Good Morning America” that he rejects the explanation that Potter mistook her gun for her Taser.

“I lost my son. He’s never coming back. I can’t accept that. A mistake? That doesn’t even sound right. This officer has been on the force for 26 years. I can’t accept that,” he said.

Chyna Whitaker, mother of Daunte’s son, said at a news conference that she felt police “stole my son’s dad from him.”

The Minnesota Police and Peace Officers Association said in a statement Tuesday that “no conclusions should be made until the investigation is complete.”

Prosecutors in Hennepin County, where the shooting occurred, said they have referred the case to nearby Washington County -- a practice county attorneys in the Minneapolis area adopted last year in handling police deadly force cases. Washington County Attorney Pete Orput told WCCO-AM that he had received information on the case from state investigators and hoped to have a charging decision on Wednesday. Orput did not immediately respond to a message from The Associated Press.

Elliott, the mayor, called for the governor to move the case to the attorney general to prosecute.

Asked to comment, John Stiles, spokesman for the attorney general’s office, said the attorney general has confidence in Orput’s review of the case.

Ben Crump, the Wright family’s attorney, spoke outside the Minneapolis courthouse where a fired police officer is on trial in Floyd’s death. Crump compared Wright’s death to Floyd’s, who was pinned down by police when they tried to arrest him for allegedly passing a counterfeit $20 at a neighborhood market last May.

Daunte Wright “was not a threat to them,” Crump said. “Was it the best decision? No. But young people don’t always make the best decisions. As his mother said, he was scared.”

Potter has experience with investigations into police shootings. She was the police union president and one of the first officers to respond after Brooklyn Center police fatally shot a man who allegedly tried to stab an officer with a knife in 2019, according to a report from the Hennepin County Attorney’s Office.

After medics arrived, she told the two officers who shot the man to get into separate squad cars, turn off their body cameras, and not to speak to each other. She accompanied two other officers involved in the shooting while investigators interviewed them.

[astriiformes]

I’m 17, genderfluid, and thinking of applying to Macalester College for college. I saw your pinned post, and wondered if you could offer any insight into how safe the surrounding areas and cities are for an out non-binary/gender nonconforming person. If you can, thank you so much!

(I’m here from @filkyeahfilk, I remembered Pure of Heart from the Pegasus Awards so I’m currently watching that part of the concert posted in October! It’s very good)

Oh, I love the area around Macalester -- the neat store and/or restaurant density over there is high (not what you were asking about, obviously, but an honest testimonial).

As for your actual question, I have been very out as trans/nb the entire time I've lived in the Twin Cities (for better or for worse, I don't really fit in the closet, and a lot of people can tell even before I tell them) and have found it to be a surprisingly positive and affirming experience. There have been exceptions, but I've been surprised by their relative scarcity. I wouldn't isolate that to my own experience, either -- there are a lot of trans and non-binary people in and around the Cities and while I know a few people who've had some difficult experiences, it's also not true across the board.

I can't claim Minneapolis and Saint Paul form a total oasis, especially with general unpleasantness on the rise, but in my time here I've had multiple affirming employers (an escape room that had so many queer people working at it we occasionally had whole shifts with no cis people working, and a science museum that let me wear Pride and pronoun pins on my work lanyard and where I had to tell HR to please issue my paychecks in my legal name because they kept defaulting to my preferred one...) and made lots of other trans/nb (and trans ally) friends, which are the sorts of things that contribute to a general feeling of safety for me -- I can't be sure of everyone's intentions, but if I know my job and the people I hang out with most often have my back, that goes a long way. Neither has been difficult for me living here. The further out you get from the Twin Cities proper the more complicated it gets, although many of the surrounding suburbs, at least, are still safer-than-average places -- and Macalester is sort of tucked halfway between the Minneapolis and Saint Paul downtowns, so it's right in the heart of the Cities.

I've also had good experiences with accessing gender-affirming care through one of the main health providers in the metro area, although if you're coming here as a student, I know a lot of people at my own school get theirs through the university. Not sure what it looks like at Macalester but I'd guess it might be similar. It's definitely been a good state for care even before the issue of bans started cropping up other places, which is probably one reason people were flocking here already.

I hope some of that helps! If you've got more specific questions I can try to narrow things down a bit, but want to make sure I don't overgeneralize my (decidedly positive) experience here to concerns outside their scope.

Also since you mentioned the Pegasus Awards/Pure of Heart, I'd be remiss not to mention that the Twin Cities have a pretty solid filk scene. We've done performances/circles at a couple different conventions which can be hard to find. Mostly not relevant to your inquiry, but maybe an extra little perk! (And also I know the people that run a lot of the filk programming here and they are A+ humans who I can vouch for, if you're worried about feeling safe)

#also i hope it's alright to post this so other folks with similar questions have the chance to see it #i did lock reblogs though and can always make it private if you want

[weirdlandtv]

Like the 1960s generation had The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, and Bob Dylan, the Big Three of the 1980s were Prince, Michael Jackson, and Madonna. Their new albums weren’t just song collections, they were messages uttered by the Oracle up on the mountain, echoing across the valley. They were events, statements, re-incarnations. Each new album presented a new persona for fans to imitate and for critics to evaluate, or, in the case of Prince, decipher. (Artists, back then, had to change with each new release or else be considered irrelevant. David Bowie entered the 1980s a smart yuppie, George Michael in the span of 7 years went from sparkling teen idol to sensitive, searching biker cowboy.)

Michael Jackson and Prince were regarded as rival gods, with the former more commercially successful but the latter preferred by most serious music critics (though in reality, fans, like me, liked both). Michael Jackson played games with tabloid journalists, who in turn responded with growing hostility; Prince played pranks on music critics, who wilfully allowed themselves to be deceived and wowed by this inscrutable prodigy.

Michael Jackson’s Avalon was Neverland, a fantasy dream that always invited ridicule (though not from me); Prince’s Mount Olympus was Paisley Park, a place deemed so mythical that fans constructed their own maps from the few photos and bits of footage that existed of it, and then endlessly speculated on what life was like inside of it: the parties, the concerts, sacred rituals, whisperings, the spontaneous nightly sessions. “Did you know,” they’d say, wide-eyed, “Prince has this huge vault of original masters and unreleased music right under Paisley Park? Only he knows the key code.” Whole albums (all masterpieces of course) had disappeared into that vault, never to be heard by ordinary mortals. And he never slept: nobody had ever caught him sleeping. He just went on and on, creating music. That was Prince, the enigmatic wonder, the living love symbol, and flamboyant question mark.

I still find it strange to realize so many of the artists I just mentioned, who so energetically populated my childhood and early teens, are dead. Michael Jackson, Prince, David Bowie, and George Michael all died within 7 years of each other; but there’s also Whitney Houston, Freddie Mercury, Kurt Cobain, and so many more. (Compare 1960s giants Paul McCartney, The Rolling Stones and Bob Dylan, who are still touring and releasing records.)

When Prince died, a little more than three years ago today, I was on Texel, an island to the north of Holland, where I live. I checked my phone, checked the news, like you so stupidly do every now and then, and then saw the incredible headline. A sunny day, clouds seemed to appear that moment. Some people love celebrity deaths and follow juicy rumor sites about who punched who and who stepped out of the limo without their knickers on; me, I get depressed. It’s like having swallowed a stone. The sensationalist cries around every celeb death to me are like a beehive of bad vibes, a pest, and I have to stay away from it as far as possible if I want to protect my mental health, or what’s left of it. Prince’s death made me take things slow for a week or so. I have to mentally chew on such things, change my settings, ease into the new reality, let my heart adjust to its new weight. I’ve often had to deal with death in my life, sometimes it’s as if every high-profile death shocks me back into that familiar feeling of dread and despair.

Though Michael Jackson’s Neverland has turned into a derelict theme park that carries the curse of being unsellable, Prince’s Paisley Park has become a museum. Occasionally, browsing the internet, I see photos of it, and I’m always struck, kind of uneasily, about how soulless it seems. What does the lair of an extravagant hermit look like? What did I expect? Not something that looks like the atrium of a New Age company maybe. Looking at the interior, those sad police photos that were released last year, I can’t help but see the stupendous mundanity of it all. The building itself, somewhere in a suburb outside of Minneapolis, resembles a bunker, and though the pyramid skylights, that vaguely resemble guard towers, provide some natural light, the rest of the building is artificially lit, but dark. The recording studio is just that. Some of the walls have sayings like “Everything You Think Is True”. Stained glass with stars, clouds, and guitars. There’s a potted plant here, and an ugly tangle of phone cords in the corner there. Prince’s bedroom was sparse with empty green walls, and a plastic trash can you can buy at your local Walmart (but he never slept of course). The legendary vault reminds me of the storage room of my dad’s old electronics company, with its disorderly shelves and half-opened cardboard boxes. And everywhere, in every corridor and every space, there’s Prince iconography, but it’s rather bland, like the cover of a cheap unofficial biography.

For Prince, it must have been strange living in your own mausoleum.

The music that came from that place though. I believe PARADE (1986) was the first full album he recorded there, and then everything that came afterwards. My uncle was a real Prince fanatic, taking a slew of albums with him whenever he stayed with us, bootlegs too, so from an early age I became quite well-versed in all things Prince. Bits of his lyrics are as familiar to me as old family sayings. Personal favorites are the albums 1999 (1982), BATMAN (1989), and the LOVE SYMBOL ALBUM (1992). I like the street-smart humor of his early stuff, the raw passion, the in-your-face sex metaphors, with symbols as loud as cymbals, just the wild mercury sound of it; later on, his work became more spiritual, and harder for me to follow. His whole being though was music, every movement was a melody, every step a beat; he created music the way other people breathe. He had more songs in him than a duck has quacks. If you listen to the posthumous release, PIANO AND A MICROPHONE 1983, it’s as if the piano, microphone and artist aren’t three separate things, but one organism, bleeding and generating music; it features some wonderful, loose playing. It seems to me that towards the end of his life, in physical pain and unable to play a piano or guitar unless stuffed with elephant tranquilizers, he started to drift, and drift further, until he fell over the edge.

Like Bob Dylan, whose mystique and inaccessibility he shared, Prince had a habit of frustrating his fans, by deliberately excluding a great song from an otherwise so-so album and storing it in his vault, or by making his music hard to buy or even find (online, before he died, there was almost nothing). That’s one reason I kind of stopped following him; the other is the depressing decline of his songwriting since the 1990s. Looking at his later albums, which I first dutifully bought until I didn’t anymore, there’s hardly anything I really like. None of the best-of compilations collect anything from after the 90s. What happened? Age is part of it of course. A decline in quality is inevitable, most musical artists do their best work in their 20s and 30s. It’s also possible Prince’s brand of singing about his women like they are divine vaginas simply went out of style. Once cheeky and outrageous (his work was why Parental Advisory stickers were invented), his songs no longer shock us 21st centurians. We’ve seen so much already. Dirty sex wasn’t the only topic he sang about of course (far from it), but it’s the one he pushed forward the most as part of his image; his “royal badness” was part of his appeal. (The BATMAN soundtrack originally was going to feature Michael Jackson as Batman, the force of good, and Prince as the Joker, representing decadence, sin, evil.)

But his supposed “badness” was an act of course. The cocky poses, flashy gestures and mean diva looks were an obvious shield against the outside world, a theatrical defense mechanism. An attempt to dazzle people before they can get to you. When you’re shy—and he of course was the shyest—you feel like everyone is constantly watching you, and you become overly aware of how you look, how you walk, how you come across; you are constantly aware of your physical being taking up space. So what do you do when you’re an artist? You perform. Everything you do becomes a kind of performance, a conscious act. It gives you a feeling of control: you know why people are watching, because you’re making them watch you. But the essence of it is always shyness and nerves.

There’s something endearing about that 1983 footage of him being invited on stage for an impromptu jam by James Brown, who a few minutes earlier had invited Michael Jackson up. Ready to upstage his rival, who had just performed some killer moves, Prince takes the stage, struts, plays some random riffs, struts some more, suddenly takes off his jacket and does some tricks with the microphone stand, claps to whip up the audience—and then as he wants to make a fast and sudden exit, he clumsily goes down knocking over a prop, stage hands hastily arriving from all sides to help him up.

He died in an elevator near the lobby, but the spot itself has been covered up by a new wall (it’s near the watchful eyes in the third image). I keep wondering what happened. Was he making his way down to the ground floor from his production offices, or was he going up from the recording studio to his bedroom to maybe sleep? One associate, questioned by police, stated that Prince had told her he “was depressed, enjoyed sleeping more than usual and was incredibly bored”, and that at his last concert, he felt like he was going to fall asleep on stage. Those were rare remarks. An intensely private person, he mostly hid his problems, not just from others, but even from himself. The end, then, was inevitable. As with Michael Jackson six years before, the drugs relieved him of his pain, and then of his life.

He never slept, and when he did, it was 4ever.

#prince #paisley park #photos #inside #interior #studio #music #pics #pictures #images #house #home

[jobsearchtips02]

Meet billionaire Expense Ackman, who made billions off coronavirus crash

REUTERS/Richard Brian.

Billionaire hedge-fund supervisor Bill Ackman made $2.6 billion off a questionable bet that the coronavirus would crash the stock market last month.

Ackman was accused of making inflammatory remarks throughout an appearance on CNBC with the intent of moving the markets to increase his earnings however denied it in a press release

Ackman, worth $ 1.6 billion, has a history of making controversial bets.

While most of the world saw their nest eggs decimated as the stock exchange entered into a free-fall over coronavirus worries last month, one hedge-fund supervisor was raking in billions.

Costs Ackman, the chief executive of Pershing Square Capital, made $2.6 billion off a $27 million bet that the pandemic would tank the marketplace. Ackman has a history of controversial bets that earned him a $ 1.6 billion fortune and an examination by the New York District Attorney’s Office.

A representative of Ackman at Pershing Square Capital did not right away respond to Service Expert’s request for comment on Ackman’s profession, net worth, residential or commercial property holdings, or domesticity.

Keep checking out to find out more about Costs Ackman.

William Ackman, 53, was born and raised in a wealthy suburban area outside of New york city City.

Bill Ackman.

Reuters/ Allen Fredrickson.

Ackman was raised in Chappaqua, the wealthy New york city suburb of north of New york city City, according to The Daily Mail Chappaqua is likewise home to Costs and Hillary Clinton, Ben Stiller, and Vanessa Williams, according to The Daily Mail

Ackman’s father, Lawrence Ackman, owned an industrial real-estate financing company, according to The Minneapolis Star Tribune His mom, Ronnie Posner Ackman, serves on the board of New York’s Lincoln Center, according to The New York Times

Ackman made a bachelor’s degree and MBA from Harvard, according to Forbes Quickly after graduating in 1992, Ackman established an effective investment company with a former schoolmate called Gotham Partners at age 26, The Minneapolis Star Tribune reported. The company achieved success however Ackman chose to wind it down in 2002, mentioning a series of lawsuits.

In 2003, Ackman was investigated by the New york city State Attorney General Of The United States over Gotham’s trading practices.

Costs Ackman.

No charges were ever submitted, Ackman said the extremely publicized investigation was difficult on his household.

” Individuals look at you amusing,” Ackman told The Minneapolis Star Tribune of the occurrence in2008

Ackman went on to found Pershing Square Capital Management with $54 million in 2004.

The cash was a mix of funds from his individual fortune and a loan from Leucadia National, according to The Minneapolis Star Tribune The firm was a near-instant success. In one of its finest years, 2014, Perishing Square posted 40%returns compared to the S&P 500’s 13%gain the exact same year, according to Investopedia

Pershing Square has large stakes in Chipotle Mexican Grill, Starbucks, and Hamburger King owner Restaurant Brands International Inc., Bloomberg reported. The value of its overall possessions tops $6.5 billion, according to Forbes

In a 2014 interview with Bloomberg, Ackman stated his guidelines for investing are to be bold, do the opposite of what everyone else is doing, and do lots of research study.

A Wendy’s junk food dining establishment is seen in Los Angeles, California U.S. November 7,2017

Ackman’s hedge fund made the majority of its money by purchasing stakes in big corporations, lobbying management to make changes to increase its stock rate, and after that quickly unloading their shares at an earnings, The Minneapolis Star Tribune reported in2008 Pershing Square purchased a large stake in fast-food burger chain The Wendy’s Company in 2004, pushed it to offer off its effective Canadian subsidiary Tim Hortons, and went on to cash out its financial investment at a profit, according to Investopedia

” His video game is to increase the stock and go out– quick,” Howard Davidowitz, then-chairman of a New york city investment banking and consulting company, told The Minneapolis Star Tribune of Ackman in 2008.

However Ackman is extensively thought about to be an activist financier, according to Markets Insider.

” What we provide for a living, purchasing stakes in business and working to make them better, more effective, more efficient, I think it’s excellent for the shareholders, I believe it’s terrific for the workers,” Ackman told Bloomberg “I think I can do some great with that, and it’s likewise extremely rewarding. I like my day job.”

Pershing Square’s success made Ackman a billionaire. He first appeared on Forbes’ billionaire’s list in 2013.

Source: Markets Expert

Ackman’s strong bets have made Pershing Square a lot of cash– but they have likewise cost the hedge fund billions too.

Bill Ackman.

Ackman’s 2012 short versus multilevel marketing supplement maker Herbalife was one of the most prominent mistakes of his career, according to Investopedia Ackman wager $1 billion that the company would fail, while fellow billionaire investor Carl Icahn made a long-lasting financial investment in the business, Organisation Insider formerly reported. Ackman publicly implicated Herbalife of being a pyramid plan whose stock cost was bound to hit absolutely no, according to The Wall Street Journal

Icahn and Ackman entered into a public battle over the business’s prospects that was called “the hedge fund equivalent of Stalingrad” by The Journal, with Icahn eventually emerging victorious. Ackman lost hundreds of countless dollars on Herbalife, Business Insider reported.

Ackman likewise made a questionable investment in near-bankrupt drugmaker Valeant Pharmaceuticals that led to a contentious Senate hearing over Valeant’s practice of purchasing existing drugs and offering them at inflated prices in 2016, Service Expert reported at the time. Valeant has since been renamed Bausch Health

Pershing Square also lost money on bets on now-defunct bookseller Border’s Group and big-box merchant Target Corporation, according to Investopedia The losses put the hedge fund into what Bloomberg called a “three-year losing streak” in 2019, prior to Ackman’s bet against the stock exchange.

Ackman’s hedge fund made billions of dollars when coronavirus fears sunk the stock exchange in March.

Costs Ackman (left).

Pershing Square invested $27 million in credit security on investment-grade and high-yield bond indexes earlier in 2020, when the market was widely perceived to be healthy, according to Markets Expert

Ackman has considering that used the revenues to strengthen Pershing Square’s financial investments in Berkshire Hathaway, Hilton, Lowe’s, Dining Establishment Brands International, Starbucks and Agilent, Markets Insider reported.

Ackman was implicated of actively sinking the marketplace to increase his profits.

Costs Ackman.

Ackman made an look on CNBC on March 18, declaring that “hell is coming” since of the outbreak, after tweeting comparable beliefs previously in the day. Ackman’s remarks sent the already unpredictable market down, triggering allegations from various news outlets and on social media that Ackman went on television with the intent of making his bet versus the marketplace more profitable, Forbes reported.

Markets plunged so dramatically that the market struck a so-called circuit breaker, stopping trading for 15 minutes, Markets Expert reported.

The billionaire defended himself in a declaration to Pershing Square financiers, writing that “By Wednesday, March 18 th at 12: 30 p.m., when I appeared on CNBC, we had actually currently sold a little over half of the notional amount of our CDS, realizing a gain of more than $1.3 billion, with the unrealized part of our hedge having a market value at that time of $1.3 billion for an overall of $2.6 billion,” Ackman wrote in a news release “Importantly, our hedge had currently settled prior to my going on CNBC.”

Ackman also ruffled plumes by safeguarding a fellow hedge-fund manager who has been connected to Bernie Madoff.

Ezra Merkin privately invested his customer’s cash with Bernie Madoff, losing billions after the Ponzi plan was exposed, according to Bloomberg Merkin was investigated by the New york city Attorney General Of The United States as a potential coconspirator of Madoff’s however settled his case in 2012.

” I’ve known him for 15 years,” Ackman stated. “I believe he’s a truthful individual, a smart person, an interesting individual, a smart financier. People don’t want to hear that since if you invested with Ascot you lost all your cash.”

Fellow hedge fund supervisor Michael Steinhardt of Steinhardt, Fine, Berkowitz & Co. likewise publicly defended Merkin, according to The Street

Ackman credited his new household for motivating his earnings.

Bill Ackman and Neri Oxman go to The New York Stem Cell Structure Gala And Science Fair at Jazz at Lincoln Center on October 7, 2019 in New York City City.

” Possibly it has something to do with being liked and getting married?” Ackman stated of his successes at an investor conference in April 2019, Bloomberg reported.

Ackman and his partner, retired Israeli Flying force lieutenant and MIT teacher Neri Oxman(who is best known for being a reported ex-girlfriend of Brad Pitt), invited a child in the spring of 2019, according to Bloomberg

The couple got together in 2017, after being introduced by both Ackman’s previous teacher and a college good friend following a contentious divorce from his very first spouse, landscape architect Karen Ann Herskovitz, according to Page 6

Ackman and Herskovitz have a “civil, however not warm, relationship,” an unnamed source informed Page 6 in2017 The former couple share three daughters, according to Page Six

Ackman promised to give a minimum of half of his fortune to charity.

Ackman has given more than $400 million in grants to organizations focusing on cancer research, education, economic advancement, and social justice, according to his structure’s site

Ackman and his wife also offered $26 million to Harvard in 2014, according to Philanthropy News Digest

He spent a big portion of the rest of his money on an extensive portfolio of luxury realty.

The Upper West Side of Manhattan.

Ackman bought a $225 million penthouse in the neighborhood, The Wall Street Journal reported in2018 Ackman also owns two other systems in another luxury pre-war building on Manhattan’s Upper West Side that cost nearly $221 million combined, The Journal reported.

They also own a six-acre estate in the Hamptons.

An aerial view of beachfront mansions in Bridgehampton, New York. Ackman’s house not visualized.

Ackman bought the properties, which are located in the town of Bridgehampton, for $235 million in August 2015, according to The Real Deal

The combined value of Ackman’s real-estate portfolio is more than $165 million, according to The Daily Mail

In his spare time, Ackman is a passionate tennis player.

Ackman has actually been playing considering that youth, according to Forbes

Ackman also has an interest in politics.

Costs Ackman.

We now have a business owner as president,” Vanity Fair reported Ackman said.

Ackman hasn’t always been a fan of Trump. In 2016, Ackman penned an essay in The Financial Times asking Bloomberg LP CEO and former New York City mayor Mike Bloomberg to run for president.

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from Job Search Tips https://jobsearchtips.net/meet-billionaire-expense-ackman-who-made-billions-off-coronavirus-crash/

[theculturedmarxist]

     By    Niles Niemuth    

       10 August 2019  

Friday marked five years since 18-year-old Michael Brown was shot at least six times, including once through the top of the head, and left for four-and-a-half hours to die in the street by Ferguson, Missouri police officer Darren Wilson. Brown’s father, Michael Brown, Sr. used the grim anniversary to call for a reopening of the investigation into his son’s death. The killer cop has never been charged.

“Justice has not been served,” Brown, Sr. said at a press conference Friday morning outside the St. Louis County Justice Services Center, not far from where Michael Brown was killed. “My son deserved to live a full life. But a coward with a badge… chose not to value his life. My son was murdered in cold blood, with no remorse and no medical treatment.”

Brown’s killing on the afternoon of August 9, 2014 sparked popular protests in the small working class suburb of St. Louis, which were met with a paramilitary police occupation and deployment of the National Guard by a Democratic governor. The scenes of riot police with body armor and military grade weapons, backed by armored vehicles with mounted machine guns and military helicopters, facing down peacefully protesting men, women and children shocked the whole country and the world. Protestors were shot by rubber bullets, bean bags and flash bang grenades. More than a dozen journalists were arrested as they attempted to cover the police crackdown.

Despite volleys of tear gas and the imposition of a curfew, protests continued night after night, demanding that Wilson be charged and arrested for the murder of the African American teenager.

Four months later a grand jury delivered its decision not to indict Wilson, reigniting protests that were again met by a police crackdown and the deployment of more than a thousand National Guard troops. This was followed by President Barack Obama’s Justice Department announcement in March 2015 that it would not bring federal civil rights charges against Wilson, completing the whitewash of Brown’s murder.

The killing of Brown, along with the police murder of Eric Garner, choked to death less than a month earlier on Staten Island in New York City, sparked a nationwide wave of protests demanding an end to police violence. The popular slogans “Hands Up! Don’t Shoot!” and “I Can’t Breathe!” were taken up by crowds across the country protesting one police killing after another.

Despite popular protests and increased scrutiny in the aftermath of Brown’s killing, US police officers have continued to kill at a rate of more than 1,000 people every year, amounting to more than 5,000 since Brown was gunned down. According to data collected by Mapping Police Violence, police officers were charged in less than 2 percent of all 6,836 killings recorded between 2013 and 2018. In only 0.4 percent of cases (28) during this period was an officer charged, convicted and sentenced.

Police murders that have provoked significant protests since Brown’s death include: [accompanying videos omitted]

The murder of twelve-year-old Tamir Rice (December 2014): Rice was shot within two seconds of police arriving at the park gazebo in Cleveland, Ohio where he was playing with a toy handgun. He died the following day in the hospital. Neither officer involved in the shooting was ever charged.

The death of Freddie Gray (April 2015): Gray died after being given a “rough ride” in the back of a Baltimore police van. His killing sparked a social eruption that was suppressed by 2,000 National Guard soldiers. While six officers were charged in his death, none was convicted.

The shooting death of Philando Castile (July 2016): Castile, 32, was shot and killed during a traffic stop in suburban Minneapolis, Minnesota. His murder was live-streamed on social media by his girlfriend to the horror of millions. The officer, Jeronimo Yanez, was charged with second degree manslaughter but found not guilty at trial.

Little more than a year later, on July 15, 2017, a Minneapolis police officer shot and killed 40-year-old Justine Damond in the alley behind her home. Officer Mohammed Noor, who had fired his gun from the passenger seat of the squad car his partner was driving, was found guilty of third-degree murder and second-degree manslaughter and sentenced in April to 12.5 years in prison.

Stephon Clark was shot at least seven times, including multiple shots in the side and back, in his grandmother’s backyard by two Sacramento, California police officers on March 18, 2018. While Clark was holding only a cell phone, the district attorney declined to bring charges and determined that the officers were justified in using deadly force.

The reign of terror has continued this year with at least 544 people shot and killed by police, according to the latest tally by the Washington Post. Under Trump, the police operate without even the fig leaf of federal oversight provided by the Justice Department under Obama. Trump has counseled the police not to be “too nice” when arresting people.

The Black Lives Matter organization and slogan were promoted in the aftermath of the Brown killing to corral opposition behind the Democratic Party and divide the working class by promoting identity politics. With the backing of the corporate media and the Obama administration, Black Lives Matter was championed in order to present police killings as essentially a racial issue, obscuring the more fundamental class issues. The illusion was promoted that police brutality can be resolved by means of various reforms, including more minority officers, racial sensitivity training, body cameras, “community oversight” and federal consent decrees.

Having won positions of privilege and influence, including $100 million from the Ford Foundation, the leaders of Black Lives Matter have since worked to keep popular protests under wraps, seeking to prevent another popular uprising like Ferguson or Baltimore while advancing the agenda of black capitalism.

While African American men and boys have been the focus of many national protests and are disproportionately the victims of police violence, the largest number of victims continue to be white. What unites all of those who are killed or wounded by the police is that they are working class or poor and among the most vulnerable elements in society, including the homeless and those suffering from mental illness. [emphasis added]

Since the urban rebellions of the 1960s, police forces across the US have been militarized, with the establishment of SWAT teams and the deployment of armored vehicles to crush any sign of opposition from the working class. Under Obama, record amounts of weapons and equipment were doled out to local police forces by the Pentagon under its so-called 1033 program, which was established by another Democrat, President Bill Clinton.

The fundamental cause of endless police violence is the capitalist system, which the police operate to protect and serve, along with all of the dire conditions it produces for the working class—poverty, social inequality and war. Police killings can be fought only through the unification of the working class in the US and internationally, across all artificial racial, ethnic and national lines, in the fight for a socialist society based on human need and not the profit interests of a rapacious ruling elite, which controls the entire political system and both big business parties.

#acab #kill all cops #racism #black lives matter #obama #democratic party #bill clinton #freddie gray #tamir rice #michael brown #ferguson #baltimore #ford foundation #justine damond #stephon clark #police brutality #eric garner

[diinofayce]

Shadows on the Horizon - 13

Pairing: Winter Soldier! Bucky Barnes x OFC! Layne Hardin | Word Count: 3.1k | Warnings: Language, gunfire, fighting, blood | A/N: This is a sequel to my story Like a Whisper in the Night | Shadows on the Horizon Masterlist

“What in the hell are you doing here?” Michael seethed as Layne lifted her mirrored aviators off the bridge of her nose to nestle into the chocolate curls at the top of her head.

Frowning at her eldest brother, but ignoring him, she flipped open her identification card and SHIELD badge open for the officers that had stepped forward to meet them.

“I’m Agent Hardin, this is Agent Sweet,” Layne addressed them, Susanna flipping open her own ID in response. Layne reached out and shook both their hands.

“I’m Sergeant Roscoe and this is my partner Officer Johnson.” Sergeant Roscoe was a middle-aged Hispanic man who stood about 5’10”, his black hair was combed neatly in place with gel and his face was clean shaved.

Officer Johnson looked to be fresh out of the academy, his blond hair the same golden as Steve’s and he was very evidently trying to grow some facial hair to make his boyish features seem more manly. He was a bit taller than Michael, but the Michaels’s temper tantrum obviously had the young officer on edge. He looked at both Layne and Susanna with wide eyes full of awe as he took in their combat suits and the weapons holstered on their hips.

“Ms. Prue mentioned you lot would be coming, I’m afraid to say I didn’t believe her,” Sergeant Roscoe chuckled, his thumbs looped casually in his gun belt.

“Normally we would just send some SHIELD agents out for something this minor, but it’s a family matter you see,” Layne explained ruefully.

Cheryl had finally stepped forward and suddenly wrapped her arms around Layne’s shoulders, pulling the girl into her and drowning Layne in the sharp, musky smell of Lancome Tresor. “Thank you for finding Maddie,” Cheryl sobbed into Layne’s hair, the woman being at least five inches taller than Layne.

“Of course, Cheryl,” Layne shushed, rubbing her hands soothingly up and down her sister-in-law’s back.

“Found Maddie? Excuse me? You took her from the camp?” Michael interjected, reaching out to grab his ex-wife but stepping back when Sergeant Roscoe straightened himself up to his full height. The officer was a few inches shorter than Michael, but even in his anger her brother wasn’t dumb enough to act out in front of a law official.

Cheryl unwound herself from Layne and glared at her ex-husband. Her chestnut hair was streaked with strands of silver and powdery gray, and the wrinkles around her eyes just made her look so much more tired.

“We filed her as missing, Michael, and you had her taken away. I haven’t stopped looking for her and you knew where she was this whole time!” Cheryl screamed. “I want him arrested!”

Layne let the officers handle the divorcees, she took a step back and activated her enhancer so she could scan the people around her. Both Lucas and Rosaline lit up with vibrant yellow auras just like Madeline had said. She raised an eyebrow noting that Officer Johnson also had a yellow aura, while everything else was normal. Blinking twice she let her vision shift back and smiled at the children waving them over.

“Hey, guys, I’m your Aunt Layne. I’m your dad’s little sister,” Layne introduced herself, not quite sure how to speak to children.

“Yeah, we know. Madeline said you’re an Avenger?” Lucas asked, eye balling her like he didn’t believe his older sister.

“Sure am.” Layne smiled.

“You’re dating the Winter Soldier, right?” Lucas continued.

Layne hesitated slightly, not sure what Michael may or may not have said around the children. “Yeah. Yeah I am.”

Lucas’ face lit up and he locked his phone, shoving it in the pocket of his pants. “That’s so cool! His metal arm is so neat! I bet he could crush my school bus with it!” Lucas raved.

Layne smiled and pointed back at the SUV where she could see Bucky through the windshield watching them warily. “Yeah, he’s in the car waiting. Why don’t you guys go pack everything you need from your rooms upstairs. Anything really important that you cant live without and like a weeks worth of clothes, okay? And then you can meet Sergeant Barnes.”

“Are we not going to live with Dad anymore?” Rosaline asked around the brown pigtail she had been nervously chewing on.

Layne shook her head slowly. “No, your Dad did something really naughty and he has to go with the police.”

“Are we going to go back to Mom’s?” Rosaline’s eyes shifted to an amber glow when she looked quizzically up at her aunt. Layne tried to keep her expression neutral as she wondered what exactly Rosaline was seeing or doing.

“We’re probably going to go see Maddie in New York. That’s where she is, right?” Lucas answered his sister and then looked up at his aunt.

Layne blinked down at what was almost a carbon copy of their brother Jordan when he was Lucas’ age and nodded. “Yeah, we’re gonna go with your mom to New York to see Maddie.” Layne didn’t think this was the time or place to tell the kids about the school. She figured Cheryl should be the one to do that. “Can you be quick? Like ten minutes, quick?”

Both children nodded and took off to the house. “Agent Sweet,” Layne called out and jilted her chin towards the house. Susanna nodded and followed after the children.

“What’s happening? Where are the children going? I do not want that woman in my house!” Michael bellowed and started towards the house.

Layne rushed forward and grabbed her brother at the elbow, halting his forward movement. He reeled around and raised the back of his hand to strike her but Layne caught his wrist and twisted his arm behind his back, jerking upwards painfully.

“You know, don’t quote me, but I think hitting me is a federal offense.” Layne growled. Her gaze shot over to the SUV where Bucky had already flung open the driver said and was one foot out of the vehicle. When he saw that Layne had it under control he relaxed, but kept the door open and one leg out on the asphalt.

“Now, look, you’re stressing my boyfriend out,” Layne growled and tossed her brother away from her.

Michael stumbled and caught himself. Viciously raking his fingers through his curls his eyes darted around anxiously.

“You can’t take the children. I wont let you use them as weapons. They need to have their powers stripped so they can be normal functioning members of society,” Michael argued. Behind him, Officer Johnson bristled anxiously and Sergeant Roscoe shot him a look.

Every muscle in Layne’s body stiffened as she rounded on her brother. Michael may have at least a solid foot on her but he has zero physical ability, so when Layne grabbed the front of his shirt and wrenched him down to eye level, any fight he wanted to put up was futile.

“Do you know what being stripped of your powers entails, Michael?” Layne hissed through clenched teeth, tears stinging at the back of her eyes as she thought back to the lifeless bodies of girls that still haunted her dreams. Dead or not, the image would plague her for the rest of her life. “You die, Michael. They aren’t a fun added bonus to our lives, it’s punched into our DNA. There is no motherfucking ‘camp’.” Layne dropped her brother to raise her fingers with air quotes.

Fishing her phone out of her pants pocket she pulled up the medical file that one of Dr. Cho’s protegees sent over to her of Madeline. Layne pulled up the photo attachment of Madeline with dead, vacant eyes; her hair shaved from her head with cuts scattering her scalp that were obviously from a clipper biting into her skin. The dark bruises under her eyes and the fact that it looked like she hadn’t been fed in weeks. She shoved the phone in her brother’s face.

“This is what they did to your daughter. This is how we found her. Dirty and hungry and abused. And do you know what they were doing, Michael, they were using her to fight us. We aren’t looking to weaponize children, they are!”

The color was drained from Michael’s face and with sudden jerky movements he stumbled away from Layne and emptied his stomach in the hedges. Layne took the moment to look up at Michael’s perfect little house in the suburbs of Minneapolis. It was soft butter yellow with white shutters and a little front porch, it all looked immaculate and well kept with it’s perfectly cut lawn and trimmed hedges. Their mother had instilled in them everything for appearances and that was all this house shouted at her. Layne looked across the street at the housewives poking their heads out at the commotion and the kids who had just gotten home from school peeking out their bedroom windows. A perfect little suburbia, they had no idea what was truly happening around them outside of their couple of blocks.

The com in Layne’s ear crackled with what she understood was Danny materializing somewhere out of sight. “There’s a nondescript black van at the end of the block. Two men in the front, three in the back. They’re watching the house.”

“Agent Sweet, you have two minutes, get the kids to hurry. Dust off those mommy skills,” Layne commanded and turned to look at Bucky. He gave her a look like he was waiting for orders and she held her hand out to signal him to just wait. She could almost hear his growl of discontent from where she was standing, but she simply turned and grabbed the back of her brother’s collar heaving him up.

“Did you call them for the children?” Layne demanded just as the kids ran out of the house.

Layne’s head whipped up at the sounds of screeching tires and automatic gunfire.

“SUSANNA!” Layne called, spinning around to mark where everyone was.

Susanna brought the children into her chest and crouched down, covering them as the two police officers pulled their weapons and opened fire on the van that rolled up. Bucky was out of the SUV in a flash, his Sig Sauer aimed and ready, with two pulls of the trigger the men in the front seats were dead causing the van to careen to the side and hop onto the lawn across the street. Bucky rushed forward and managed to get in front of the van and slam his metal fist into the fender halting the van’s movement.

Sergeant Roscoe was yelling into the walkie on his shoulder for backup while pressing his hand hard against a gun shot wound on Officer Johnson’s shoulder. Layne took a second to survey, noting the women locking up their houses and screaming for their children, Susanna lifting both children into her arms to drag them to the SUV, Michael kneeling over Cheryl who was laying on her back on the grass mostly hidden from Layne’s field of vision.

Blinking she shifted vision and counted the three men in the back of the van who were readying to storm out. “Specter! Barnes!” Layne barked and jabbed her finger at the back doors. Layne ran into the street and positioned herself in front of the doors about a hundred feet back. “Sweet, drive the van, get the kids out. We’ll meet up with you.”

Bucky placed his hand on the handle when Susanna successfully peeled out of the fight zone and Layne nodded at him, Bucky threw the door open and Layne raised her hands, her vision swimming with the rage she was feeling. She noted the shadows shift as Danny slipped in behind the three men and Layne made a grabbing motion with her hands, the armed man on the far right freezing in his spot and then falling limply to the ground as Layne ripped his soul from his body and tore it in two. Before she could move on Danny had taken over the body of the man that was the farthest back and used him to shoot the last man. When Danny was safely out of the man’s body, Layne gave him the same treatment as she had the first guy.

She spun around, her rage still consuming her as her eyes flicked over the houses and around the street, trying to find anything else suspicious. When she felt Bucky’s metal hand grab her shoulder she almost reacted defensively before recognizing the hard, cold grip.

“There’s no way they only sent five operatives,” Layne said, looking up at Bucky who was frowning slightly at her.

His ice blue eyes scanned her face, waiting for her own eyes to shift back to their warm, cheerful, caramel color but the golden flames didn’t look like they were going to be quenched any time soon. He squinted his eyes as he looked down the road the van came from and shrugged.

“If they were only planning on taking two kids and Michael was handing them over willingly, I don’t think they would have bothered to send more,” Bucky murmured softly looking back down at Layne. His heart felt heavy in his chest, he remembered when Layne would get physically ill over the mere thought of having to hurt someone. Bucky had promised himself after Layne got kidnapped that he would do all the killing for her, he would never put her in a position where death would sit heavily on her shoulders. But in those months that they had separated and she had done missions by herself or with Sue she had toughened up, her heart hardening to the idea of taking the enemy out no matter the cost. While he respected the hell out of her and didn’t love her any less, he couldn’t help but miss the soft, clumsy civilian she used to be.

“Stop looking at me with whatever you’re feeling right now, Barnes,” Layne said gruffly, raising an eyebrow at him. “There’s no time.”

Bucky hesitated, trying to sort through and compartmentalize his emotions, god he used to be so much better at this. “Yeah, sorry. Later though?”

Layne’s expression softened and she smiled. “Of course later. There’s always later.” She patted his hand that was still on her shoulder and then slid out of his grasp.

Danny hopped out of the back of the van and walked up to stand next to Bucky, he was punching in a SHIELD emergency clean up request into the smart watch that Stark provided for all of them while trying to keep the three automatic rifles that he had pilfered from the back of the van strapped over his shoulder. Bucky looked the shorter up and down, black hoodie zipped all the way up under his chin and the hood pulled low over the top of his face to cover his brown curls. It was the full gas mask, though, that really put an itch in the back of Bucky’s neck. He reached out to take the guns from Danny to lighten his load and the man nodded at him gratefully.

“I kind of hate that thing,” Bucky murmured motioning to Danny’s mask.

“Really?” Danny asked, sounding surprised despite the voice modifier that was installed. “You’re the one that gave it to me.”

A flash of crawling through the mud and trenches of Western Europe flashed through his mind. The gas masks were necessary as smoke grenades and gas bombs littered the battle field. He could almost smell the stale, recycled breath and the filtered smoke and the iron of the blood soaking into the dirt. Bucky blinked as he tried to force himself back into the present. Danny had moved on away from him and was now hovering around the police officers. His ears rung for a moment before popping back into focus and his gaze whipped around to where Layne was hunched over Cheryl on the ground. The older woman was screaming in agony while Michael yelled at Layne in a panic, his hands stained red.

The sound of sirens in the distance caused Bucky’s hackles to raise momentarily before he remembered that he was no longer being hunted by basically the entire world. Rushing to Layne’s side he noted how Michael took a step back away from him but focused his attention to the blood seeping out between Layne’s fingers from where she was pressing them against Cheryl’s chest.

“The kids, where are the kids?” Cheryl asked, her eyes unfocused past all of them.

“They’re with our agent, they’re safe,” Layne reassured and looked up at her boyfriend. “I need you to get SHIELD backup and clean up on the radio and then contact Agent Sweet.”

Bucky nodded in affirmation, responding with a ‘yes ma’am’ before stepping back and getting on the phone with the correct people. His eyes trailed after the ambulances and fire truck that pulled up, his eyes immediately looking for and locking in on any sort of proper identification as he spoke quietly into his phone. The EMTs approached Layne and took over for Cheryl’s care, loading her up on a gurney and getting her quickly into the back of the ambulance and off the scene. Danny had left the officer’s sides, choosing instead to shrink back into the shadows between the houses and watch away from his eldest brother, Bucky was sure if he didn’t have enhanced vision he wouldn’t even be able to see the man but as it was Bucky could just barely make out a shift in the shadows.

Layne approached the down Hydra agents and Bucky shifted his position so he could still see her as she climbed into the back of the van. She carefully nudged each agent with her foot before reaching down and securing the weapons by their bodies. Bucky confirmed with Susanna to have her swing back around and pick them up now that the coast was clear just as one of the Hydra agents from the front of the van stirred.

He took Layne by surprise, getting an arm around her waist and pulling her close to him like a shield. Bucky was dropping his phone and pulling out his gun without a second thought. He could have swore he landed a shot in each of the agents up front, but the man holding Layne looked to be spattered in only his partner’s blood. Impossible, he never missed. Bucky locked eyes with Layne just before pulling the trigger.

#winter soldier x ofc #winter soldier x layne hardin #bucky barnes x ofc #bucky barnes x layne hardin #winter soldier #bucky barn #winter soldier fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfiction #avengers #avengers fanfiction #marvel #marvel fanfiction

[lelliefant]

It is literally colder where I live than at the North Pole right now, guys.

1/30/19

This is not a joke! I live in a suburb of Minneapolis, Minnesota, and it is currently -26 degrees Fahrenheit here. (That’s -32 degrees Celsius for the non-Americans.)

I’m not talking about the wind chill or “ambient” temperature. This is the actual temp. (The wind chill is about -50 degrees F.)

A Few Fun Facts

Ya know what happens in temperatures like this? Why, I’ll tell you!

It takes less than 5 minutes for frostbite to set in, so you have to cover everything, including your nose when you go outside.

Pens don’t work because the ink freezes. You have to carry a pencil in your purse.

The cold makes your nose run, and then the snot freezes up hard inside your nostrils. I call these “snotsicles.”

Cold like this is physically painful after a few minutes. Your whole body hurts. Until it doesn’t—and if it stops hurting, then you’re in trouble.

If you take a cup of boiling water outside and throw it in the air, it freezes to a powder before it hits the ground.

That’s the Subzies for Ya

Now, in Minnesota, we’re used to extreme cold. We usually get some days every year when the temp doesn’t go above zero—I call them the “subzies.” Because of geography, Minneapolis/St. Paul has colder winters than Anchorage, New York, Chicago, or any other major metro area in the U.S. Quite a bit colder. We just “dress for it” and eat lots of hot dish and go about our business.

But this is different. Why?

Because the North Pole is too warm, people.

Polar Shenanigans

The extreme cold in Minnesota right now is dipping so far south because of what the science people call a polar vortex. Basically, that means a clump of polar air has flopped down over Canada and invaded the Homeland. (Where’s the 8-billion dollar wall to protect our Northern border from polar immigration, Mr. Trump?) I’m not a climatologist, so please go ahead and look at one of the links below if you want to know more about what a polar vortex is.

Meanwhile, the North Pole is heating up. As I mentioned, I’m no fancypants climate expert, but I do know it’s not supposed to get above freezing at the North Pole in January.

https://www.google.com/amp/s/www.sciencealert.com/scientists-stunned-by-surging-north-pole-temperatures-in-the-dead-of-winter/amp

https://www.apnews.com/77d640ee81fa4890b689d39c6bea545d

In Conclusion/Memoriam

Why am I telling you all this?

Bragging rights.

I request your sympathy and admiration for me and my People of the North. (Please feel free to hang onto your pity, though. We don’t have much use for it here and the garage is full as it is.)

It’s fцскing COLD rn, k?

It’s 4AM and I can’t sleep.

It hurts, therefore I must lash out.

Science.

Seriously, if you are still denying climate change, you are welcome to come visit and see the effects for real.

Check It Out

Here’s a link to a story about how Chicago is going to be colder than the North Pole today (Chicago is like 200 miles south of Minneapolis): https://www.google.com/amp/s/amp.usatoday.com/amp/2715979002

And a story about the polar vortex and the influence of global warming: https://www.cbsnews.com/news/polar-vortex-what-is-the-2019-polar-vortex-weather-event-and-is-global-warming-to-blame/?ftag=CNM-00-10aab4i

A video of the boiling water trick (note: This is not from today; I’m just linking it as an example): https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=QCrrJs2areo

Some more fun(?) stories:

https://weather.com/news/news/2019-01-29-polar-vortex-cold-outbreak-nws-breathing

https://www.google.com/amp/s/www.cbsnews.com/amp/news/polar-vortex-parts-of-us-expected-to-be-colder-than-south-pole/

https://weather.com/science/environment/news/2019-01-29-extreme-cold-as-planet-warms-polar-vortex

#Minneapolis #Minnesota #The North Pole #Give me a flag to stick in the ice #Cold #Really not warm #Global warming

[buerkleacura]

6 Things to Love About Living in Minneapolis, MN

Minneapolis, MN is a buzzing metropolitan city that gives residents and those living nearby a cherished combination of epicenter energy and outdoor recreation. If you’re thinking of making a move to Minneapolis, keep reading to learn why we think you’re making the right choice.

Beautiful City Views

Minneapolis is a stunning city whether you’re admiring it from a distance, or exploring every corner of its metropolitan area. The Minneapolis skyline lights up at night and boasts a beautiful postcard-like image as it reflects off the Mississippi River. Deep inside the city is where the magic truly reveals itself. The streets are lined with beautiful buildings, and during the summer months, people flock to its charming boutiques, cafes, and restaurants.

Great Surrounding Suburbs

If you love the idea of having quick access to the city but want to live in a suburban neighborhood, Minneapolis is surrounded by multiple suburbs with detached and semi-detached homes that provide the perfect environment for raising a family. These suburbs aren’t boring places to live by any means and offer a ton of shopping, restaurants, and lakeside fun along the shores of Lake Minnetonka.

World-Class Dining

The Minneapolis food scene is perfect both for foodies who make a point to visit a new restaurant each week and those who just like a meal out from time to time. It’s home to hundreds of restaurants that have won countless awards for cultural dishes from across the globe. You’ll find the best Italian, Chinese, Thai, Indian, American cuisine, and more!

Beautiful Parks and Lakes

With two of the biggest parks in the country and 12 lakes across the city, Minneapolis residents have endless options when it comes to getting outside and enjoying some fresh air. The city’s collection of lakes are connected by various trails that are perfect for walking, jogging, or biking. When the weather gets warm, their beaches fill up with residents and boaters. In the winter, hockey and ice skating enthusiasts lace up and enjoy a day of fun on frozen lakes.

Quality Education at All Levels

Minneapolis parents can rely on their children receiving the highest standard of public education from kindergarten through high school. The city’s public schools are rated sixth-best in the country when taking into account standardized testing, dropout rates, and other factors. High school graduates also don’t have to go far for higher education with the University of Minnesota right in their backyard, which is a Big 10, Division I school.

Thriving Economy

Minneapolis is a business-friendly city that is home to 16 fortune 500 companies and is full of valuable employment opportunities. It’s also a place where entrepreneurs can take their ideas and turn them into a successful business. This allows families to earn a median income well above the national average and enjoy the finer things in life. Explore every beautiful park of Minneapolis in the luxury and comfort of an Acura. Stop by Buerkle Acura today and pick out the car or SUV that’s perfect for you!

#BuerkleAcura #minneapolis