#mentioned rockie and buckingham

[matchingbatbites]

somehow we're here

Explicit | 6.5k | Modern AU | Full Tags + Read on Ao3

Steve only downloaded the app because he was drunk. 

At least, that’s what he’ll tell himself in the morning, once he’s back in the light of day and not half-gone on a few fruity cocktails and multiple shots of tequila - at least three, though it’s realistically more like five or six. Nevermind that he’s been home for almost an hour at this point, is only still awake because of the vague nausea still rolling in his stomach. 

It had been incredibly easy to set up an account, even in his drunken state - something he thinks might be a feature and not a bug - and he’s been scrolling on it for about ten minutes when he realizes-

He’s still bored.

Because that had been the real reason, hadn’t it?

Steve is bored. Bored of first dates that seem to go nowhere, of relationships that seem to fizzle out after a few weeks, and for whatever reason, Tequila Steve seems convinced that a gay dating app would be a fun thing to sign up for. It’s not like he has anything to lose, he’s just bored and kind of horny and definitely not lonely and desperate.

So Steve flips through profiles, taking in photos of the same waifish boys and beefy gym bros. He’s just about ready to give up and try to sleep through the nausea, when he stumbles across a profile that makes him stop cold. 

The photo looks like it’s from a concert or something; the guy is on a stage, clearly mid-show, with a wicked looking guitar in his hands. Steve’s eyes get caught on those hands, the veins and the painted nails and the chunky, silver rings. 

His hair is a riot of dark curls haloed by the stage lights, and Steve regrets that he isn’t able to see the man’s face. He focuses instead on his clothes, the black t-shirt and ripped jeans, his exposed forearms littered with black ink. 

The photo is so honest. It’s pure, simple emotion and Steve is instantly drawn in, eager to know more about this person.

The next photo is closer, clearly cropped down from a larger picture, and Steve gets his first good look at the man’s beautiful face. Deep, chocolate eyes that house a delighted sparkle, a blinding smile that sets loose a swarm of butterflies in Steve’s stomach. Not to mention the piercings; two just below his lower lip and another through his eyebrow - Steve briefly wonders if he has more, maybe his tongue or his nipples - fuck, that would be so hot.

In the last photo the man is seated on a couch, holding an acoustic guitar this time, and he seems focused on whatever he’s playing, clearly unaware of the camera-person at all. Those brown curls are pulled into an updo, revealing ears littered with even more silver jewelry, and there’s a cute little crinkle between his brows that Steve wants to smooth out with his thumb.

Steve scrolls down to actually read the guy’s profile, and sees that his name is Eddie. He’s 27 and local to the area, he likes metal music and D&D, and he definitely seems to check a lot of Steve’s boxes. Nerdy? Yeah. Hot? Fuck yeah. Confident? If the concert photo is anything to go by, this man has confidence coming out his ass. So yeah, check there too. 

He adds the guy without hesitation, and will once again blame Tequila Steve for what’s next once he’s sober. He sends Eddie a message.

‘Hi, i’m straight, i literally just got this app cause im kinda bord and kinda drunk. But you’re actually my type. Can I be honest?’

Steve doesn’t really expect an immediate response, considering that it’s two in the morning and all, so he decides to flip over to a different app, already knowing that he isn’t really going to care about anyone else he might come across. He’s surprised when only a couple of minutes later, he gets back a simple ‘Sure lmao’, and scrambles to flip back over to the messenger.

‘I didint think i’d message anyone on here but your cute and hnestly i geuss i kinda like that you won’t get pregnant.’

He decides to wait this time, to see if he’ll get another quick response, and he holds his breath when the typing indicator pops up, only to disappear again. It does this a couple of times, like Eddie is writing and pausing, or erasing and starting over, and Steve just waits, so curious to know what the other man is going to say.

‘Are you free tomorrow? I need to know if you’re as adorably endearing when you’re sober.’

Steve gasps in delight. Eddie wants to meet him! He kicks his feet a little in excitement and messages back ‘I can be as endering as you want me to be baby.’ It takes him a second to realize he hadn’t actually answered Eddie’s question, and he sends a follow up ‘Yes i am free tomorow.’

‘Meet me at Hank’s on 6th? 7pm?’

He confirms the time and place, and even as giddy as he is, Steve’s barely able to exchange a few more messages before he’s out like a light.

Steve wakes up the next morning with a headache. It’s nowhere near the level of one of his migraines, but it’s enough to be annoying as he gets up and starts his day. He’s thankful it’s Saturday, that all he really has to worry about are some errands and brunch with Robin.

A quick shower and a cup of coffee has him feeling more alive, but meeting up with Robin makes him feel better than anything else could. She looks about as bad as he does, which is interesting considering that she didn’t even come with him to the club last night. 

They chatter on for a while, with Steve letting her rant again about the situation she finds herself in (she refuses to drop Vickie even though the girl bounces between her on-again-off-again boyfriend and Robin like a fucking ping pong ball, and she also refuses to admit her growing feelings for Chrissy, her roommate turned friend with benefits. It’s a whole mess.)

She asks about his own dating life, and he honestly has nothing new to report. He’d gone out last night intending to at least find someone to take home, but once he actually got into the scene, the effort just didn’t seem worth it for a temporary fix. 

Instead he drank, and he danced with strangers until the room started to spin, and then he made his way home. He’d had fun, even though he'd ended his night alone. Robin hums and pours another drink from the pitcher between them - White Peach Sangria this week, and it’s good, though Steve prefers the Bloody Mary they had last time. 

“We're kind of pathetic, huh?”

“I mean, you are,” Steve replies, and shrugs when she gives an affronted Hey! “I might be single, but you're the one who's letting a great girl slip through your fingers because you can’t say no to your fickle ex.”

“She’s not fickle-”

“Where was she last night?” Steve asks, staring Robin down until she says “With me.”

“Mhm. And where is she now?”

Robin frowns hard and grumbles “With Jack.” 

Steve gives her a look, and she sinks down a little in her seat. 

“You know, sometimes I forget that you were friends with the mean girls in high school, and then you hit me with that fucking Carol Perkins face and it all comes flooding back,” she says, and Steve rolls his eyes. 

“Stop being a drama queen, and stop waiting for Vickie to change her mind about Jack. It’s not fair for her to come running to you every time they have a fight if she has no intention of actually leaving him for you. You deserve better, Rob.”

Robin groans and drains the last of her glass. “When did you get so wise and shit?”

“Fuck you,” Steve says, no heat behind it as he kicks her under the table. “I know how relationships work and shit. You’re the one who doesn’t listen to me.”

She kicks him back with a “Yeah, yeah. Come on, let’s finish this pitcher so I can go home and wallow.”

The notification comes in after brunch, once he and Robin have parted ways and Steve’s just parked at the grocery store (he doesn’t take Robin with him to the store anymore, for both of their sakes). 

‘Hey, just want to make sure we’re still good for tonight?’

Tonight? What’s tonight?

It takes him a moment to remember his actions from the night before, to remember the app. Steve’s stomach flips at the vague memory of a conversation and he opens the messenger. He scrolls up, reading his message history with this Eddie person, and oh god. 

Is it possible to get secondhand embarrassment from your own actions? Your very drunk and somewhat horny actions? The guy seemed to take it pretty well, at least, and Steve taps over to his profile out of curiosity.

And yeah, okay, Tequila Steve had a point. He’s never thought about dating a guy before, but this man is hot, just absolutely sexy in a way Sober Steve isn’t prepared for. He had been planning on telling this Eddie guy that he was drunk when he agreed to meet, that he wasn’t interested, but now that would be a lie. Because he’s definitely interested.

He sends a ‘Yup! Still good :)’ and then quickly follows it with ‘I was so drunk last night that I kind of forgot about our conversation, so I’m glad you messaged me!’

Eddie’s reply takes a second, that starting and stopping going on just long enough to make Steve nervous before a message comes through. 

‘Oh damn! I’m glad I did too. Though you did tell me last night that you’re straight, so I won’t hold it against you if you don’t want to meet anymore. I know alcohol can make us do things we normally wouldn’t.’

Oh, he’s sweet. Steve actually does decide to think about it, and flips back over to Eddie’s profile as he does. He goes through the photos again, imagines what it would be like to be close, be intimate with Eddie the way he has with women. It doesn’t scare him the way he thinks it should, because he doesn’t actually think it would be that different. Sex is just sex, right? It’s the person that makes it fun, makes it special. And Eddie definitely seems like a special one.

What reaffirms Steve’s decision is the last photo, where Eddie is holding the acoustic. His eyes catch again on those ringed fingers, on the rough, clearly hand cut neckline of Eddie’s shirt. He thinks about what it would be like to lick the jut of Eddie’s exposed collar bone, and the shiver that runs down his spine has him immediately flipping back to the conversation.

‘I definitely still want to meet. As embarrassing as I was last night, I was telling the truth.’

‘Oh good! Nice to know that sober Steve also thinks I’m cute and is glad I can’t get pregnant.’

Steve groans and drops his head onto the steering wheel a few times. He's never gonna live that one down, is he?

Another message comes through before he can be too mortified, though he almost regrets looking when he sees ‘Unless sober Steve is more upset by that than glad’ which is followed rapidly by ‘It’s okay baby, we can always pretend if you want ;)’

This man is gonna fucking kill Steve.

Hank's on 6th is a little dive bar that Steve has actually been to a few times, when he and Robin had wanted to go drinking but hadn’t wanted to deal with the noise and bustle of the club. It’s cozy compared to other bars in the area, and Steve is happy for the familiarity of the location as he steps inside. He pauses inside the door and glances around, looking for- oh.

Sitting at a nearby table is Eddie, in the flesh. He’s even more stunning in person, with his hair pulled up into a bun, showing off the jewelry in his ears and the long line of his neck. He’s wearing a dark t-shirt and jeans, and Steve can see a leather jacket slung over the back of his chair.

Eddie spots Steve about the same time and waves, inviting him over. He does his own once-over as Steve approaches, and Steve knows what he looks like. He spent long enough in front of the mirror agonizing over his appearance, making sure everything was perfect. His red sweater is comfortable even though it’s a smidge too small, and he can see Eddie’s eyes catch on the way it stretches across his shoulders, on his forearms where he’s rolled the sleeves up. 

“Not gonna lie,” Eddie says as Steve sits down. “I’m kind of surprised you showed up.”

“I said I would. Tequila Steve might not be the smartest, but sometimes he has good ideas.”

Eddie laughs and Steve is overwhelmed with the desire to dig his thumb into the dimple that appears in the man’s cheek. “Well I hope I get the chance to thank him someday.”

Eddie’s photos don’t do him justice, don’t properly convey the energy he has. They get on better than Steve would have imagined, and while the conversation lulls every now and then, it never truly stops. His piercings catch the light, pulling Steve's attention down to his mouth, to the way it moves while Eddie speaks. It’s distracting, and the teasing smile Eddie wears for the conversation tells Steve that he knows.

Steve learns that Eddie works at an assisted living facility, something he never would have guessed based on the man’s appearance. It’s not a job Eddie ever expected to have, but he loves it, loves helping people who need it and gossiping with the old biddies that have taken a shine to him. In exchange Steve talks about his job as a physical therapist, how he recently started his experiential hours so he can specialize in pediatrics. 

(“I feel kind of dumb now,” Eddie says. “Knowing that you’re a whole ass doctor and I just have a CNA.”

“Eddie, I majored in kinesiology. You’re probably better in a medical setting than I ever will be.”)

They talk about their hobbies and interests, pleased to learn there’s a little bit of crossover with everything. They may not know the ins and outs, but Steve has absorbed some knowledge on D&D thanks to the kids he used to babysit, and Eddie likes to watch sports with his uncle to keep him company on his off days.

They sit and talk for a long while, completely unaware of the time passing until Steve looks at his watch and realizes it’s been nearly four hours since they sat down. 

“Holy shit, it’s almost eleven,” he says, and Eddie blinks in surprise. “Oh wow, I had no idea.” 

It’s like they’ve been snapped back into reality, and Steve notices the half dozen beer bottles littering their table along with the bill that’s been there for who knows how long. Steve pays the check - nearly shoves his card into the server’s hand so he can beat Eddie to it - and they both leave cash for the tip before heading out of the bar.

It’s outside Hank’s that the hesitation sets in. This is one of the best dates Steve has been on in a long, long time, and he really isn’t ready for it to be over. He thinks Eddie feels the same, if the way he reaches over to thread their fingers together means anything.

“Do you want to come back to my place?” Steve asks, practically on impulse, and Eddie smiles.

“I would love to, Stevie.” He takes a breath like he wants to say something else, but pauses, and Steve squeezes his hand gently.

“What are you thinking?”

“I’m trying to figure out how to tell you that I want to have sex with you without sounding like a slut who puts out on the first date.”

Well, that’s fair. Steve doesn’t usually have sex on the first date either. He likes the connection that comes with knowing someone emotionally before learning them physically, but there’s just something about Eddie. Steve feels like he knows the man inside and out after just four hours together, and he knows it’s fast but he wonders what it would feel like to wake up next to him in the morning. 

Steve just grins at the blunt honesty and tugs Eddie closer. “If you’re a slut then so am I, because I’m definitely down for that.” 

The drive back to Steve’s place doesn’t take long, and before he knows it he’s locking the door behind them as Eddie sheds his leather jacket. He drapes it over the back of the couch as he looks around, taking in Steve’s apartment. It’s not much, but it’s comfortable, cozy, very different from the sterile house Steve grew up in.

Eddie smiles as he sees the trinkets dotted about, a mix of gifts from the kids Steve used to babysit and his own little knick knacks, but pauses when he sees a photo collage of Steve and Robin on the nearby wall. Steve doesn’t like the way his smile dips down into a frown, and he walks over to wrap his arm around Eddie’s waist.

“That’s Robin,” he says as he pulls Eddie into his side, needing to quell any doubts or misconceptions he might be having. “She’s my best friend in the entire world, and a lesbian, so you can stop pouting now.”

Eddie gives him a bit of a side-eye and says “Not pouting. Just want to make sure you’re not doing this behind the back of an unsuspecting girlfriend or something.”

Steve smiles at the consideration and shakes his head as he turns Eddie to face him. “No girl, Eds, I promise. Just you and me.”

Something about that seems to be the final straw for Eddie because he surges forward, hands landing on Steve's neck as he leans up to press their mouths together.

The first kiss with Eddie is easy. It’s not earth-shattering or life changing, not like Steve thought it would be kissing a man for the first time. It feels like a normal kiss, and honestly that’s more of a comfort to Steve than anything. The fact that it’s Eddie on the other side of the kiss is what makes him shudder, makes him press closer. 

Eddie’s hands push up into his hair, messing up the styling as Steve dips his head to kiss along his jaw. He hums into smooth skin and slides his own hands down to Eddie’s ass, squeezing it briefly before using his grip to drag Eddie’s hips against his own.

He can feel the line of Eddie’s dick through the layers of denim and yeah, that’s different, but not bad at all. Steve warms up to it pretty quickly actually, especially once Eddie starts moaning into his ear, a low “Fuck, baby,” that only encourages Steve to continue. Their mouths meet in another kiss as Steve grinds their hips together, each thrust working to drive Steve absolutely insane.

Eddie’s hands eventually make their way south to ruck up Steve’s sweater, and he breaks the kiss just enough to mutter “Off, get this off,” against Steve's mouth.

Steve laughs but steps back, pulls off his top and drops it carelessly to the floor. Eddie groans and reaches out, not even hesitating before he pushes his hands into Steve’s chest hair. “God, I’ve been wanting to do that since I saw your photo last night,” he mutters, and it takes Steve a moment to remember the picture he’d drunkenly added to his profile. 

It was just a typical shirtless thirst shot he’d taken before a run one day (though he had put a shirt on before he actually left, thank you), because he’d felt good about the way he looked - and clearly Eddie had appreciated the picture as well. Steve shudders as Eddie scrapes his nails down his chest, and he half-expects Eddie to start purring in delight. 

“Is it as good as you imagined?” he asks, biting back a chuckle, and Eddie nods. 

“Better than. So fuckin’ hot. Don't ever shave it, I beg you.”

Steve does laugh at that. He lets Eddie get his fill for a moment before swooping in to kiss him again. He slips his fingers into Eddie’s belt loops and mutters a “Bed?” against his mouth. Eddie hums in agreement and Steve tugs him along, guiding him to the bedroom and only stopping once to grind their hips together.  

He steps back enough to pull off Eddie’s shirt and groans because his nipples are pierced, and fuck if that isn’t doing something for Steve. Thumbing over one makes Eddie shiver and gasp, and he knows that he needs to get his mouth on them as soon as possible. He feels like a predator as he pushes Eddie back, not stopping until the man is sprawled across his bed, a beautiful feast meant just for him.

Steve crawls on top of Eddie and presses his lips to the spider decorating his shoulder before moving down to lick over his nipple. Eddie shudders and pushes his hands into Steve's hair, holding him in place as Steve seals his mouth around the pink bud. The piercing is warm, and the stark contrast between metal and flesh has Steve groaning into Eddie's skin.

He sucks on it, earning a stuttering moan from the man under him and hands tightening in his hair. “Fu-uck, Stevie.” Steve thumbs over the other nipple and pinches it just to hear him gasp again, before continuing his journey southwards, pressing kisses into the tattoos he comes across along the way. He pauses for a moment to suck a bruise into Eddie’s hip, just above his waistband, and the man is practically squirming.

“God, when I agreed to come over, I didn’t think you were gonna be this much of a tease.”

Steve rolls his eyes and bites into the bruise he just created, pulling a low groan from Eddie. “It’s called foreplay, you ass.”

“I’d rather you foreplay my ass,” Eddie mutters, and Steve laughs into smooth skin. He does concede, though, and pulls back so he can slide off Eddie’s jeans and underwear, discarding them to the floor. Eddie’s dick is pretty, a smidge thinner than his own but just as long, and weeping heavily from the pink tip. Steve wants to touch it, taste it, wants to feel the weight of it on his tongue as Eddie fucks his mouth.

“Feel free to touch it, not just look at it,” Eddie says, and Steve smirks. 

“Normally I would, but someone wanted me to skip the foreplay.”

Eddie groans dramatically in response and Steve ignores him as he reaches over into the nightstand to grab the lube and a condom. He drops the items next to Eddie, and the man gives an “Oh shit!” as he grabs the tube. “You actually have lube?” 

“Uh, I'm a grown man, Eddie. Not some 15-year-old that still uses lotion to jack off.”

Eddie rolls his eyes and smacks the bottle against Steve's chest. “Twenty-four hours ago you told me you were straight, excuse me for making some assumptions.”

“Stereotypical assumptions,” Steve tacks on and Eddie rolls his eyes again harder. “Also you might be surprised to learn this, but some women also enjoy anal, so I'm not actually a complete newbie when it comes to this.”

“And here I was thinking I'd have to hold your hand through the whole thing.”

Steve huffs a laugh and slicks up his fingers. “Oh, do you not want to hold hands while I fuck you into the mattress?”

Eddie gasps and brings a hand to his forehead, like a mockery of some swooning maiden as he says “Why Stevie, I think that's the most romantic thing you've said so- ohhh my god.” He groans as Steve pushes the finger deeper, and kicks his shoulder gently when Steve just grins.

“Shut the fuck up,” Eddie spits, but Steve can tell there's no real heat behind it. He just hums, says “I dunno what you're talking about,” as he slides a second in alongside the first. He hooks his free hand under Eddie’s knee and pushes it closer to his chest, exposing him a bit more. 

Steve leans down to press a kiss to Eddie’s neglected dick and curls his fingers at the same time, trying to hit Eddie’s prostate. He knows he’s successful when hands jerk down, sinking into his hair once more as Eddie keens.

“Shit, Stevie-!” 

“Wanna suck you off next time. Wanna pin your hips to the bed and see how much I can take, wanna tease you until you come on my face, in my mouth.”

Eddie shudders and nods, bucks his hips as best he can with Steve’s fingers in him. “Oh fuck, yes. Gonna let me paint your face, baby? Gonna let me be the first cock to fuck that pretty mouth?”

Steve groans a “Fuck yeah, Eds,” and pushes in a third finger, eager to finish his prep but not wanting to rush. He spreads his fingers wide as he leans in again, sinking his teeth into the junction where thigh meets groin, and Eddie's entire body jerks at the bit of pain.

He tugs at Steve's hair, trying to pull him up as he says “Fuck! That's gotta be good enough, need you in me fucking last week, sweetheart.”

Steve shudders and nods with a “Yeah, baby,” as he pulls his fingers free. He stands up and strips off his remaining clothes, not worrying about where they land before he climbs back between Eddie's legs. He can feel Eddie watching as he rolls on the condom, and he's about to make a remark about it when the man says “You know what kind of sucks?”

Steve just hums in response as he scoots closer, until his thighs are pressed against Eddie's ass and all he has to do is push forward just a little more-

“That we’ll have to get tested before we can put my ability to not get pregnant to good use.”

A groan rips through Steve and he drops his head back at the mental image that creates. “Fuck, you can’t just say that.”

Eddie grins, all Cheshire and taunting as he says “Oh, I can’t? I can’t tell you how excited I am for you to come in me, to fill up my ass until I’m fucking leaking- mmh!”

Steve dives down to shut him up with a kiss before he can say anything else, and he can feel Eddie laughing into it. Arms wrap around Steve’s shoulders, holding him close as they take a moment to just make out, all slick and languid like they're not both on the verge of desperation. Steve wraps a hand around his dick and blindly rubs the head against Eddie’s hole before he finally pushes forward.

Even after prep, Eddie is tight, and Steve groans as he slowly sinks in, not stopping until his hips are flush with Eddie’s ass. He rubs his hands over Eddie’s sides as he just waits there, giving the man a chance to adjust. It only takes a moment before Eddie gives a soft “Okay, I'm good,” and Steve holds good on his word. He leans forward, lacing his fingers with Eddie's and pressing them into the bed as he starts a slow pace.

Eddie goes all starry-eyed as he glances at their joined hands, and mutters “Didn't think you were serious about that.”

“I don't joke about hand holding, Eds. It's very important.” That pulls a soft laugh from Eddie and Steve leans closer until he can kiss that smile, can taste the laugh at its source.

It's hands down the best sex Steve has ever had. Eddie is so responsive, all noisy and twitchy and eager. He quickly figures out what Steve likes and doesn't even attempt to keep his mouth shut, just offers a stream of encouragement that’s only broken when Steve finds and abuses that sweet spot inside him.

“Right there, Eddie? Is that it, baby?”

“Uh-huh, fuck, so good!”

Eddie's a fucking vision, with his brown curls slowly escaping the confines of the bun and his eyes glazed over in pleasure. Steve releases Eddie's hands and slides his own down to clutch at the man's slim waist, his fingers digging into the tattoos decorating his skin. He fantasizes about leaving bruises, about leaving his own mark alongside the black ink and fucks into him harder at just the idea. 

“Shit, Stevie! Gonna come, gonna-”

Eddie gets a hand around his dick and barely gets in a few strokes before he’s coming, a loud “Fuckfuckfuck!” escaping him as he spills over his hand and onto his stomach. It’s so fucking hot, and Steve’s hands tighten around Eddie's waist at the sight. His thrusts are a bit wild as he chases his own orgasm, and all it takes is Eddie's reedy “In me, Steve, give it to me-” before it hits him like a fucking truck. 

He doesn't remember the last time he came this hard, his hips grinding against Eddie's ass as he fills the condom before eventually collapsing down onto the other man. They just lay there for a moment, waiting for their highs to settle and their breathing to return to normal, and Steve smiles when Eddie starts to giggle.

“What's that about?” he asks, using the opportunity to press a few kisses along the line of Eddie's shoulder and neck. The man just grins and shakes his head.

“I haven't bottomed in like- three years. Forgot how good it feels.”

That surprises Steve a bit, actually. “Three years? And you just break that streak for some random person you met on the internet?”

“Mhm. You sent me those messages and I was like ‘Wow, I can't believe I'm gonna let this guy fuck me’.”

Steve laughs and nips at Eddie's shoulder. After a few minutes he carefully pulls out and reluctantly leaves Eddie on the bed as he goes to the bathroom to trash the condom and grab a wet hand towel. He cleans Eddie up before tossing the cloth to the floor and laying down beside him. He's instantly wrapped up in Eddie's arms and he sighs happily as they huddle close together.

“Stay the night? I'll make you breakfast in the morning,” Steve offers, and Eddie hums into his temple. 

“With coffee?”

“With coffee.”

Another hum before Eddie nuzzles into his hair, and Steve can feel Eddie press a kiss to the crown of his head. “Then I'd love to stay the night, Stevie.”

Steve wakes up slowly the next morning. The sun shining through the window bathes the room in golden light, making Eddie look ethereal where he lays curled into Steve’s side. He takes a moment to just watch the man, to admire the relaxed lines of Eddie’s face as he slumbers on, unaware.

He doesn’t know the last time he felt a connection with someone this- profound. 

Actually, no - the last time this happened was probably with Robin, the girl who became something closer to him than a sister, the one person who probably knows him better than he knows himself. Being with Eddie feels so similar to those early days with Robin - after they’d gotten locked in the bathroom during a mall fire, not the actual early days when Robin seemingly hated him.

So Steve knows deep in his soul that there’s something about Eddie. Something so special ingrained into his very existence, and Steve’s sure that, if he just gives it a chance, Eddie could change his life.

After a few more minutes of basking in the morning silence, he tries to slip out of bed without waking Eddie, but he knows he’s failed when the arms just tighten around him. Eddie groans out a “Noooo,” and Steve grins. He presses a kiss to Eddie’s hair and says “Gotta let me go if you want me to make your coffee.”

A muffled “Man of my dreams,” as Eddie releases him has Steve chuckling as he climbs out of bed. He throws on a pair of sweatpants and heads downstairs, and puts on some coffee before he does anything else. By the time Eddie joins him, dressed only in his boxers from the night before, the coffee is ready and Steve is stacking pancakes onto a couple of plates. 

Eddie seems more awake as he wraps his arms around Steve, pressing a quick kiss to his shoulder along with a soft “Morning, sweetheart.”

“Morning, baby. Coffee’s on the counter, sugar’s in the jar and milk is in the fridge if you want it.”

Another kiss meets his skin, this one just below his ear, before Eddie is pulling away. Steve finishes plating the pancakes while Eddie makes his coffee, and they converge at the kitchen island. They eat mostly in silence, but it's not uncomfortable. It's easy, actually, to let the quiet settle around them like a warm blanket. But that doesn't mean Steve's thoughts aren't racing.

“So, uh.” Steve pauses, feels almost bashful as he looks up at Eddie. “It's been a really, really long time since I've felt a connection like this, and I may be a little dumb, but I'm not an idiot.” Eddie frowns at Steve's little self deprecating dig, but doesn't say anything as he continues. “I really want to see where this goes, if you're up for it.”

A slow grin breaks out on Eddie's face and he leans in, getting into Steve's personal space. “Why Stevie. Are you asking me to be your boyfriend? After only one date?”

Steve huffs a laugh and slides a hand up to the base of Eddie's neck, feeling and tangling his fingers with the soft hair there. “I’d ask you right now to move in if it wouldn't make me look fucking insane.”

Eddie's expression instantly goes slack with shock, and fuck, Steve's done it again, hasn't he? Said too much, too soon, and lost something good before it even had a chance to go anywhere. He starts to pull away, wanting to give Eddie some space, but he's stopped by two hands settling on his waist, practically clutching the bare skin.

“My lease is up for renewal in three months,” Eddie says, and Steve blinks in surprise. “So maybe at that point we can see where we are? Because you're right. I don't think I've ever just clicked with someone like this before. It feels like- like fucking destiny or something. And I also really, really want to see where this goes.”

Steve gives in to the urge to pull Eddie forward into a kiss. It’s intense and passionate and a bit sticky, the maple syrup making their lips tacky and causing Eddie to giggle into Steve's mouth.

They’re interrupted by the sound of Steve’s phone ringing with a video call, and he knows who it is before he even looks at the device. He answers with a “Morning, Robin,” and is met with a manic “You’ll never guess what happened this morning!”

“I would hope something with Chrissy, but I’m guessing it’s something with Vickie-”

“Vickie called! Jack fucking proposed to her last night!”

Oh shit. “And she said..?”

“They’re on good terms right now, so of course she said yes!”

Steve takes a sip of coffee and hums. “Sounds like it’s time for you to put on some big girl panties and ask Chrissy out on a real date.”

“Steven, you know I hate that word.”

“I will record it and set it as your ringtone if you don’t make some kind of move, Robin. Before Chrissy gets tired of waiting for you to make a decision and makes one herself.”

She groans pathetically and Steve watches her scrub a hand over her face. “I hate it when you make sense. Can we stop talking about me, please? Distract me with something else.”

“Oh, well, uh,” Steve glances up at Eddie who has been watching the interaction with an amused smile. His heart swells with affection and he blurts out “I have a boyfriend.”

Eddie beams at him as Robin blinks, most likely processing before she says “You just told me yesterday that your dating life was practically nonexistent, and now you have a boyfriend? How did that happen?? And moreover, how long have you liked men??”

She sounds incredulous - rightfully so, honestly - and Steve shrugs. “At least twenty-four hours, but it could realistically be closer to something like thirty-six. I downloaded a dating app the night before last and met Eddie on it. We went on a date last night, he stayed over, and I asked him to be my boyfriend this morning.”

“You asked me to move in this morning,” Eddie says, and Robin must catch it because she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. 

“You’re gonna put every U-haul lesbian in this city to shame,” she mutters before looking at Steve again. “Are you not like- freaking out? I mean, in the near decade I’ve known you, you’ve only dated girls, and now you’re dating a guy? Just like that?”

Steve shrugs and reaches out to take one of Eddie’s hands. “I guess so. You know I’ve always been a roll with the punches kinda guy. And Eddie is- Special. He’s special.”

Eddie is looking at him with those big, brown eyes, wide and a bit awestruck, and Steve can’t resist reeling him close for a quick kiss.

“I am so happy for you,” Robin says, pulling Steve’s attention back to his phone, “but also incredibly upset because now I know I have to follow your advice about Chrissy. Which is just absolutely terrifying.”

“You should have been listening from the beginning. Seriously though, go get your girl, Rob. You deserve to be happy.”

They say their goodbyes after another moment and Steve focuses back on Eddie. “Did you have anything to do today?” he asks as he collects their empty plates and takes them to the sink. Eddie follows, draining the last of his coffee before he replies “Not today. Why, did you have something to do?”

Steve grins and takes Eddie’s mug, setting it on the counter before he scoops the man into his arms. “Other than you?”

Eddie barks a laugh at the line and shakes his head fondly. “Jesus Christ, how did I get my hands on such a dork?”

“Just lucky, I guess,” Steve replies, and tugs Eddie into another sticky kiss. 

Much love to @bramble-berries for brainstorming this with me! (Even if she didn't know it at the time lol.) Also thank you to @sidekick-hero for cheerleading me through the last bit of writing on this! You're an absolute dear! <3

#steddie #mentioned rockie and buckingham #steddie fanfic #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #steddie fanfiction #people who subscribe on ao3 got this fic 6 hours early #just saying #joey writes

[somethingusefulfromflorida]

World War Z was published in 2006, but takes place in 2009 at the earliest.  Late in the book, astronaut Terry Knox states that the International Space Station took over 10 years to complete; it started construction in November 1998, and Chief of Staff Karl Rove Grover Carlson says that the Republican party barely eked back into power after a disastrous 2-termer who started a “brush fire war” in the Middle East (George W. Bush).  He mentions an election year, but he doesn’t specify if it was the new president’s first or second term, so it’s either set right after 2008 or 2012.  This was written before the Nintendo Wii was announced, but one chapter mentions that people brought their GameCubes with them as they fled their homes in search of safety in the frozen Canadian wilderness.  This same chapter also mentions that they didn’t know how to pick survival gear; a park ranger finds a SpongeBob SquarePants sleeping bag frozen in the mud because its owner didn’t know the difference between a child’s indoor sleeping bag for slumber parties and a real insulated survival bag for camping.

The new president is never named, he’s just told be be pro-big business and anti-regulation, pushing a placebo zombie vaccine through the FDA to jumpstart the economy.  When shit hits the fan, he is “sedated” and his vice president takes power; we’re never told what happened to the president, whether he was bitten or had a stroke, just that he was “sedated.”  His Vice President is directly implied to be Colin Powell; he’s former military with family in Jamaica and black.  He appoints Howard Dean to be his vice president to form a bipartisan coalition; he is never referred to by name, but it is clearly supposed to be Howard Dean.  He was a rising star in the Democratic party from Vermont whose wife is a doctor and whose career imploded after he had a passionate outburst.  In 2004, Howard Dean gave a speech where he started passinately screaming about how he was gonna start sweeping state primaries and ride a wave into the White House, punctuating his point by going “HHEEUEAHHGH!!”  This was political suicide in 2004, and he was laughed out of the race.  In the book, he is referred to only as “the Whacko” because of this.  It is implied that he was Powell’s second choice for VP, his first being Barack Obama; the Whacko says that the Democrats wanted somebody else, somebody of the same skin color as the president, but that the country wasn’t ready for that.  In 2004, Obama was a candidate for senate in Illinois, so popular and so well spoken that he gave a speech at the Democratic National Convention before he even won his seat; then and there, pundits already had him pegged as the first black president, they could see the writing on the walls.  The Whacko becomes president when Powell dies of stress, but he is consistently referred to only as the wartime Vice President, out of respect for his boss.

Also, the Attorney General is implied to be Rudy Giuliani; all that is said about him was that he was the mayor of New York and once tried to give himself emergency powers to stay in office after his term.  Giuliani did exactly that after 9/11.

Other real life figures mentioned in the book

Fidel Castro; a ton of Cuban Americans flee the continent and return to the island during the zombie war, and he jumpstarts the economy by putting them to work as cheap laborers and slowly integrating them back into Cuban society.  He rehabilitates his image by stepping down as dictator and democratizing the country, voting himself out of office before the “nortecubanos” could hang him for decades of war crimes.

Nelson Mendela, referred to by his birth name Rolihlahla, the father of modern South Africa, he personally invites Paul Redekker, a former apartheid era political analyst, to solve the zombie problem; in the 80s, Redekker created a plan for the white minority government in case the black majority ever rose up against them.  In real life, Mandela lowered the temperature when he was elected president, saying that revenge against the apartheid government would do more harm than good.  In the story, Mandela uses this as justification to reuse the apartheid era plan to handle the zombie outbreak instead.  Redekker is so overcome by his compassion and forgiveness that he has a mental episode and dissociates, believing himself to be a black South African.

Kim Jong-il, the dictator of North Korea, he withdraws all troops from the DMZ and shuts the entire country down.  After months of radio silence, it is revealed that the entire country’s population has vanished; all satellite imagery shows a desolate wasteland, no zombies, but no humans either. He presumably moved everyone into subterranean bunker systems where he not only control their lives as on the surface, but now their access to food, water, and air.  He presumably became the god emperor he always wanted to be; either that, or the entire tunnel complex has been overrun, turning every man woman and child in North Korea into zombies.  The South Korean government refuses to send a expedition into the North to figure out what happened, lest they open up one of the tunnels and unleash millions of zombies onto the surface.

Martin Scorsese, mentioned in passing only as “Marty,” a friend of world famous film director Roy Elliot, who himself is a thinly veiled pastiche of Steven Spielberg.  Interestingly enough, the audio book features Martin Scorsese doing the voice of the conartist who created the placebo vaccine

One chapter has a ton of vapid celebrities hole together in a fortified mansion on Long Island, and takes great care to show each of them getting torn apart not by zombies but by regular people who storm the facility because they were stupid enough to broadcast their location on reality television.  A redneck with a “Get’er Done” hat (Larry the Cable Guy) and some bald guy with diamond earrings (Howie Mandel) blow themselves up with a grenade.  Rival political commentators, an annoying guy who talks about feminization of western society and a leathery blonde (Bill Maher and Ann Coulter) have end-of-the-world viking sex as the facility burns to the ground.  A dumb starlet (Paris Hilton) is killed by one of her handlers and her little rat dog escapes on foot.  A radio shock jock (Howard Stern) actually survives the war and restarts his show.

Michael Stipe of REM joins the army to fight the zombies

Another war veteran mentions how his brother used to have a bunch of Mel Brooks’ old comedy skits on vinyl record, and how he and his squad acted out the “Boy meets Girl” puppet skit with some human skulls.  Mel Brooks is author and narrator Max Brooks’ father.

Queen Elizabeth II, refuses to evacuate England when the island is overrun by zombies.  She intends to remain in Buckingham Palace “for the duration,” mirroring the fact that her parents refused to evacuate to Canada during World War II.

Vladimir Putin declares himself Tsar of the Holy Russian Empire, an ultra-orthodox religious state that has armed priests execute political dissidents under the guise of mercy killing people who have been bitten by zombies.

Yang Liwei, the first “taikonaut” (Chinese astronaut) has a space station named after him

While the main conflict is about government responses to the zombie pandemic, we see glimpses of a greater war torn planet.

A major plot line involves a Chinese Civil War which sees the entire communist politburo nuked out of existence by a rebel sub commander, as well as an attempted “scorched space policy” where the government planned to blow up their space station with scuttling charges to cause a cascade of space debris to encircle the Earth and prevent any other countries from launching missions in the future (this is known as Kessler Syndrome in real life, and was featured as the inciting incident of the 2013 movie Gravity).  The People’s Republic becomes the United Federation.

Iran and Pakistan destroy each other in nuclear war; everyone thought it would be India and Pakistan, but they had very close diplomatic infrastructure in place to prevent such a catastrophe; Pakistan helped Iran build a nuclear arsenal, but as millions of refugees fled from India through Pakistan to the east, Iran had to blow up some Pakistani bridges to stem the flow of zombies, which led to a border war and eventually total nuclear retaliation.

Floridians flee to Cuba, Wisconsinites flee to Canada, the federal government flees to Hawaii.  Everything east of the Rockies is abandoned and ruled by warlords until the government sorts itself out and mounts an expedition to clear the continent of zombies by literally marching an unbroken line of soldiers stretching from Canada to Mexico across the wasteland to the Atlantic.

Israel withdraws from Gaza and the West Bank to become super isolationist, building a wall around the entire country to stop the zombies getting in (they were the first country to respond to the pandemic, and the most successful), but the religious right rebels against the secular left in a civil war that sees Jerusalem ceded to a unified Palestine.

It is an amazing, multifaceted story with so much going on that nobody recognizes.  It was written as a response to the end of the Cold War and the start of the War on Terror.  It’s about a geopolitical shift, a change in the status quo, a disaster from which the world never recovers; America before 9/11 was a very different place than American after 9/11.  Iraq and Afghanistan changed everything, and we’re still feeling their effects to this day; the story uses the zombie apocalypse as the next big international disaster the world must adapt to.  World War Z is World War III with zombies, and I think it would do a lot better if it were published today, now that we’ve had several decades to respond to the fall of the Soviet Union and the endless wars in the Middle East and a global pandemic.

#world war z #wwz #max brooks #book #novel

[hotchley]

“i think, deep down, we’re all capable of unspeakable things”

morehotchcontent day six: rocky relationship (kinda forgotten anniversary/a big fight)

tagged: @ablogofthecriminalmindsvariety

she knew just what marriage meant to aaron. he’d grown up in south virginia, where tradition was everything. where marriage was everything one could ever hope for. she had grown up in brighton, where people really did not give a flying fuck about any of that. it had never meant much to her, but to aaron it meant everything.

his proposal was so much more than a proposal. it was the final sign that he’d moved on from haley. that he truly loved her. and a part of him would always love haley, there was no point in saying he wouldn’t, but this- this was him saying thank you, i love you, i won’t leave, i trust you, i want to see you in the morning and make you my own all at once.

“i can’t marry you,” she whispered.

keep your tissues handy. that’s all i’m saying.

warnings: implied/referenced child abuse, references to george foyet, mentions of minor character death, cheating

read on ao3!

Everyone viewed Aaron Hotchner as cold and emotionless. Someone who was constantly stoic and unattached, who saw the horrors that came with the BAU and didn’t even flinch. But what most of them didn’t realise was that the man they saw at work and in the field wasn’t Aaron. That man was Hotch. He knew how to compartmentalise, how to pretend that he wasn’t falling apart, how to keep the tremble out of his voice when all he wanted to do was fall apart.

Aaron was a different man. Aaron would play pretend with his son for hours on end, just to keep him happy and make him smile. He woke up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat and breathing heavily as his body shook and tears streamed down his face as the monsters of his day haunted his night. He would dance with Penelope because he could never say to her.

He was a helpless romantic.

Eleanor- Ellie to her friends, and SSA Birch to local police departments- knew this first-hand.

She had first met Aaron Hotchner during the liaison programme with Kate Joyner. Kate had been unimpressed by everyone there, because the last time she’d done it, they’d all acted like they knew so much better than her. Eleanor had met Aaron first, and immediately wondered where everyone like him had been when Kate first did it.

Because Aaron was lovely. He held doors open, he listened, he smiled at everyone, and he phoned his girlfriend- not his wife, even though they’d been dating since high school and he was now twenty-eight- during every single break they had, regardless of the time difference.

Then she’d fucked up and kissed him. They had both been drunk. A case had gone shit, and she needed something good. But then he called her Haley. And she’d immediately sobered up. He had looked at her with such shame that she almost cried. For some reason, she knew his passcode. The moment he ran to the bathroom to throw up the alcohol, she unlocked it. Phoned Haley. Said that her boyfriend was going to blame himself for what had happened but it wasn’t him it was her.

And Haley… had been lovely. She’d said that she knew Aaron loved her. And that Eleanor seemed like a lovely person but she understood that need for comfort. Eleanor had wondered how people were still so good. She didn’t tell Aaron about the phone call. He left the next day. The programme was finished. She thought that would be the end of it.

Then she transferred over to the BAU. She hadn’t known he was Unit Chief. David Rossi did her interview. It was incredibly awkward at first. She wasn’t used to hiding from her teammates but Aaron had panicked when he first saw her and started pretending he’d never seen her. Her only option was to play along. Haley had just left him at this point.

Kate Joyner obviously recognised her. That was a conversation she never wanted to have again. She thought she’d jeopardised both her place on the team and her dynamic. Then Kate died, Hotch lost his hearing temporarily and she was the only person that Reid would let touch him after the fiasco with Benjamin Cyrus.

She liked Spencer. He was almost like the son she never had.

It was Eleanor that had stayed behind with Aaron after Haley’s funeral and dealt with the phone calls. She told herself it was because she was trying to be a good person and repent for what she had done. Truthfully it was because she knew he was going to fall. And she didn’t want the burden of catching him to fall to the others who had already supported him through so much- Adrian Bale, Vincent Perrotta, Haley leaving.

They’d been getting to a good place. Not quite dating, but not quite friends. She knew he was watching her; there was a reason she was a profiler. He knew she still loved him, but he was grieving Haley. It wouldn’t be fair to her if he suddenly changed their whole dynamic.

But then he faked Emily’s death and it was like they were right back at square one: she would undermine everything he said because she was angry, and he was there, and it was easy to blame him. Her emotions had always been her greatest strength and her fatal flaw.

And then he’d turned up at her apartment, soaked through from the rain, eyes wide and glistening with unshed tears. She’d been too shocked to close the door on him. He’d immediately started rambling about how he couldn’t live the way he was, and how he just needed to know that she trusted him because everything was falling apart and he just needed her.

Not knowing what else to do, she’d kissed him. It had been messy, and wet, and nowhere near as romantic as either of them liked to pretend it had been. But it had been their first actually sober kiss, so it held a special place in her heart. And after that, it was like everything just fell into place.

Which led to the present moment. She knew what day it was. She knew her present to him was still safely tucked away in the bathroom behind her pads and his spare shower gel which he wouldn’t need for another twenty days. She knew he was excited, because for once, he could guarantee that he would be home.

After his surgery, he realised that he couldn’t keep doing what he was doing because sooner or later it was going to kill him. He hadn’t wanted to place the burden of keeping everyone together on Morgan though. So Emily came back. Her and Dave split the paperwork for lead profiler, and Morgan took over as unit chief. It had been difficult for him, those first few months.

But he’d pulled through, and was now living a much more stress free life as a law professor at the local college. It meant he could go to Jack’s school events and be there for him. It let Jessica have more time to herself.

It also meant he planned nice things for days like these. And Ella knew it was unfair to keep him waiting, but she just couldn’t bring herself to get up and go home, choosing instead to focus on the casefile in front of her. The bullpen was quiet: JJ had her own office and had gone home anyways, Reid had gone to see a piano concert thing- she’d tried her best to follow but had just gotten lost- and Anderson was out of town.

So instead of it being lively and loud, it was just her. And her casefile. Which she’d been looking at for the past ten minutes without any of the information going into her head.

With a groan, she slammed it shut and pushed it away.

“Shouldn’t you have gone home by now?” Dave asked, appearing at either the best or worst possible moment depending on your view, just like he always did.

“Probably. But I just- I can’t bring myself to do it,” she confessed.

Dave sighed. “You need to. Aaron will start to worry if you don’t. And we all already told him that there are no cases, so don’t even think of using the paperwork from that as an excuse.”

She sighed. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you still sound like you grew up in Buckingham Palace.” He picked up the case file. “Nothing’s happened here for six months. I’m sure one night won’t hurt. Now go.”

Eleanor packed her stuff up, giving him a small smile as she closed the door behind her. It immediately faded as soon as she’d turned away from him and her stomach started to twist into knots. She didn’t know if the team knew and weren’t saying anything, or if they were actually following the no profiling rule. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know either.

When she unlocked the front door, there was a distinct lack of noise. It made her feel even worse. Hotch had obviously organised for Jack to go and stay with his grandparents because she remembered that Jessica had a date, which would’ve been awkward enough for him, and here she was, two hours late, not because she’d forgotten, but because she hadn’t wanted to go.

“Hi El,” Aaron said as she entered the living room. He was sat on the couch, reading glasses sliding down his nose as he graded papers. “Just let me write this final comment and then I’m yours.”

“Hi,” she replied, feeling uneasy.

Aaron looked up. “You’re supposed to say: I can’t wait that long and then come over and give me a kiss.”

She rolled her eyes but obeyed nonetheless, legs feeling wobbly as she sat on him, smiling when he let out a soft sound of surprise. She tilted his face so she could kiss him and for the moment where their lips met, everything was fine. Then he pulled away, and she just wanted to get away. But his hand was stroking her hip in a comforting gesture and she wasn’t ready to give that up, so instead she ran her hand through his hair.

“What’s this one about?” she asked.

“They’re supposed to be critiquing and suggesting reforms for the law surrounding murder. I gave them a tonne of advice and access to all the relevant articles but some of them still didn’t even try and word it in a way that sounds like their own essay style,” he said, sighing.

Eleanor smiled slightly and set the paper down on the table. “I’m sorry for being late. But I’m here now. So why don’t you show me how all out you went this year?”

Aaron looked into her eyes and she was once again taken aback by how soft and gentle they were. Sometimes it was difficult to remember that he had once beaten a man to death. She tried to remove that thought from her head. It just was not the time.

“You never have to apologise for being late. I used to do your job, remember?”

She nodded. “How could I forget?”

“Do you want to change whilst I reheat dinner?” he asked.

“Sure.”

Their conversations hadn’t sounded that forced since she had first joined the BAU and had been adding sir onto almost all of her statements in an attempt to rile him up.

As she went upstairs to change into something more casual, she also took the time to wipe off her make-up and splash some water on her face. She only intended to take five minutes. But then she started staring at her reflection, trying to see whether or not her actions were as obvious as she thought they were. But then she became aware of the clock ticking- Aaron hated digital clocks because of the flashing numbers- and realised how long she’d been stood there for.

“I was beginning to worry,” Aaron said. A normal comment. But an invitation to tell him what was wrong.

She shrugged. “It’s our anniversary. And although I technically didn’t forget, I was late and I wanted to make that up to you, which meant going through the wardrobe and finding this dress.”

“The fact that you still say wardrobe will never fail to make me laugh,” Aaron said.

He’d made chicken and mushroom pie. Her favourite. She wanted to be sick. It was just a few hours. She could get through a few hours. Aaron was a half-decent person. He listened when people said no. Then she could go to sleep, and everything would go back to normal. Nobody would know but it wouldn’t hang over her head the same way it was when he was sat opposite her, staring with such adoration.

They ate in relative silence. She didn’t want to explain why she was late. She wanted to let him believe that it was purely because time had gotten away from her and that the meeting she’d had with Cruz about the last case had run over. She didn’t want to explain that she’d deliberately walked slowly so she would miss the train. She couldn’t.

“Your present is something old this year. I hope that’s okay,” Aaron said when they had both finished eating. There was a glint in his eye. One he only got when he was about to do something very romantic.

Eleanor frowned. Something old. Where had she heard that?

He got down on one knee.

She gasped.

“My Ella. You continue to love me day after day and for what reason, I don’t know. We didn’t pass on the best terms. But then you came back into my life when I didn’t even realise I needed you, in this massive explosion of passion and love and hope. You were there for me when I didn’t think I’d be able to survive. And you never once doubted me. I know that I’m far from perfect, and there are times where I get angry instead of being understand. And I know that I’ve upset you, but you helped me realise that as a couple, we don’t have to be perfect. We just have to try. I love you. I love you so much that I can’t even begin to put it into words. So I’ll put it into a question. Eleanor Birch, will you marry me?”

She knew just what marriage meant to Aaron. He’d grown up in South Virginia, where tradition was everything. Where marriage was everything one could ever hope for. She had grown up in Brighton, where people really did not give a flying fuck about any of that. It had never meant much to her, but to Aaron it meant everything.

His proposal was so much more than a proposal. It was the final sign that he’d moved on from Haley. That he truly loved her. And a part of him would always love Haley, there was no point in saying he wouldn’t, but this- this was him saying thank you, I love you, I won’t leave, I trust you, I want to see you in the morning and make you my own all at once.

“I can’t marry you,” she whispered.

The box fell from his hands. He moved back into his chair, hands folded neatly in his lap.

“Okay,” he said.

That shocked her back into awareness. “I- what? You just proposed, I said no and all you have to say is okay?”

“I don’t know what you want me to say. I don’t know what I want to say. I want to say that Jack won’t have a problem- in fact, he has and always will be my first priority so I wouldn’t have done this without his permission- but you already know that don’t you?”

She nodded. “I do.”

They both cringed at her choice of words.

“If it’s about changing your surname, I may have grown up with traditional views, but you don’t have to do that. Not if you don’t want to. We can combine them. We could be the Hotchner-Birch’s. Or you could just keep your own. I don’t really mind.”

“It’s not that either.”

“Jack isn’t expecting you to be his mother either. He’ll probably still call you El, just like I do.”

“It isn’t Jack.”

“That was my mother’s engagement ring. She gave it to me when I told her I wanted to propose to Haley. She said that hopefully it would bring me better luck than it had bought her. At the time, I hated the damn thing because it had come from my father. So I didn’t give it to Haley. Now I’m older I understand why she gave it to me. So the girl I married would always be able to have a piece of the woman that made me who I am. But if that weirds you out, we can go look for another one.”

“Would you stop being so good and kind for one fucking minute?” Ella snapped, unable to take anymore.

Aaron flinched, even after all the years that had passed. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Ella ran a hand through her hair. “God, no. Please don’t be sorry. This isn’t your fault. None of this is your fault. It’s just- I can’t. I can’t marry you and it’s nothing you have done. It’s got nothing to do with Jack either. I love that kid. And I’m so proud of how far he’s come. But I just- I can’t.”

“You’ve told me that. Multiple times now. Just tell me why. Tell me what happened and we can work through it. Because I love you. And I want to spend the rest of my life with you. And if anything happens to me, I want custody of Jack to go to you. Not the state.”

Aaron had never told her that before. They’d spoken at great lengths about children and both agreed that they didn’t want anymore. Jack was enough for both of them. And they’d talked about what would happen if for some reason, Ella had to care for Jack for extended amounts of time. But never like this.

He dropped his gaze when he saw the look on her face. “I’m sorry. You just said you don’t want to marry me, and here I am, dropping bombshells like that on you because that awful part of me wants you to feel guilty. Look, whatever you did, what happened, tell me. We can get through it.”

She hoped that he could abandon his morals long enough for her to not have to say the words. “Aaron, look at me. Please. Please, I need you to look at me.”

Tears were already forming in her eyes when he finally managed to meet her gaze.

“No,” he whispered.

He had seen that look twice in his life. Once when his mother turned to his father and asked why a young lady had phoned asking to speak to her husband. Once when Haley’s mobile had rung and she hadn’t been able to provide the reason behind the call. He knew what that look meant. He knew, and he wished he didn’t because he wasn’t sure he could handle it all over again.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I am so, so sorry and if I could take it back, I would but I can’t and all I can do is apologise and say that I regret it and I had never felt worse than in that moment.”

“Who was it? Was it someone I know?”

“God no. They would never.”

“Did they look like me?”

“Why are you asking me that?”

“Because I need to know. I need to know who this man was. I need to know why you were so willing to throw our entire relationship away for one night of pleasure. Or was it more? Has this been going on for a while? Am I just a joke to you? Is that what it is?”

“No! And it was a one-time thing, I swear. It only happened once. And if you really must know, yes. He looked like you. Are you happy now? I don’t want to have to relive that night because it was one of the worst nights of my life.”

“Of your life? I was going to marry you Eleanor. When- when even was this? And why?”

Eleanor’s emotions always got the better of her. “You want to know when? It was that case. That case where all the boys turning up dead and mutilated looked exactly like Jack. Like our son. And then the unsub got away. And I phoned you. I phoned you at least five times that night, but not once did you pick up, because you were at a faculty dinner, even though you promised me that you would always be there, no matter where you were. I needed to hear your voice telling me everything would be all right. I needed you, and you weren’t there.”

Aaron gripped the table tightly, all the colour in his face immediately vanishing. He remembered that night. He too regretted it. When he saw Eleanor’s first phone call, he’d started to excuse himself to answer it, knowing there could only be a few reasons for it. But then one of his colleagues had made a snide comment- one he couldn’t even remember now- and he’d put his phone on silent before tucking it away.

When Dave told him about the case because Eleanor couldn’t, he’d felt like the biggest piece of shit to ever exist. He still did. How had he fucked up so badly that Eleanor had slept with someone else?

No. That wasn’t on him. He’d screwed up, but she, and she alone, was responsible for her actions. It had been her decision to sleep with someone, not his.

“So you slept with someone else? Why not go to one of the team and tell them instead? Why did you have to sleep with someone?”

“I don’t know! I can’t explain what I did and I can’t justify it but I- you were the one that said we could move past this. You were the one that said, whatever I had done, we could work out together because you loved me. I still love you. I never stopped, not even when you went back to Haley all those years ago. We could make it work.”

Aaron laughed, but there was no humour. “No. No we can’t. Because that case was a month ago. You had a month to tell me, and you’re only telling me now because I asked you to marry me. What was your plan? Just not say anything till either I worked it out myself or you stopped feeling guilty?”

Eleanor didn’t have a response.

Aaron ran his hands through his hair, tugging it. Ella wanted to pry his hands away from it so he didn’t pull it out but that wasn’t her job anymore. It never would be again.

“I feel like such an idiot. You know, when you first kissed me, my first thought was: don’t do this. Because the first time you kissed me, you knew I had a girlfriend. And I was just as responsible because I didn’t pull away immediately, I know. But you kissed me. And in the back of my mind, I knew that there was every chance you would do the same again. I just never thought you actually would because I thought you’d grown up. I guess you haven’t.”

That was the problem with profilers, Eleanor thought to herself. They always knew exactly where to strike in order to cause the most pain. She just never thought Aaron would be the one doing it to her.

“I’m sorry,” she said, because what else could she say?

Aaron shook his head. “I don’t want to hear you say that anymore. You can- I’ll sleep in the guest bedroom until you find an apartment. But once you have, I never want to see you again. I’ll spare Jack the finer details of what happened, but it’ll be his choice whether or not he carries on talking to you. But never refer to him as your son ever again. He isn’t. Not anymore.”

Eleanor did not want his kindness. She wanted Aaron to make her pay. She wanted him to be angry, to hurl insults at her and tell her to get out, that he never wanted to see her again and that she would never be allowed within six feet of his son again.

But Aaron wouldn’t. He was too scared of what would happen if he lost control. He had been since Foyet. And she could mention that. She could mention every fear, every secret, every dream he’d ever shared with her.

She didn’t. She had already hurt him enough.

“I have friends not too far from here. I’ll pack enough for a week and that should be enough time to sort out something more permanent.”

If Aaron heard her, he didn’t say anything.

It only took her ten minutes to pack, which was one of the advantages of living with him. Everything had to be perfectly organised, which meant it was very easy to find things. When she entered the living room, he hadn’t moved. He was still staring at the ground. The ring was on the floor by the dining table, shining despite the darkness of the room.

It was rather ironic, this thing that had led to so much destruction being so beautiful.

“Goodbye Aaron,” Eleanor said, placing her keys on the coffee table.

Only when the door closed behind her for what would probably be the last time did Aaron Hotchner fall to his knees and sob, for the second woman he had loved and lost and for the mother Jack would never get to have.

#morehotchcontent2020 #day six: rocky relationships #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch hotchner #hotch #hotch x ofc #original characters #original female character #david rossi #jack hotchner #tw child abuse #cheating #angst #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #basically i was tired of hotch always being the one cheating #he wouldn’t do that

[joon-ipersgirl]

O4 - “serendipity”

genre: strangers to lovers!au, angst, fluff

pairing: jimin x reader (f)

summary: they say home is where the heart is. you’re convinced yours was taken the day your father died. until you meet jimin. 

you believe in love but after watching men cycle through your mother’s arms, rocky relations with ex-boyfriends, and broken friendships, you no longer see it in your future. so much so, you never settle in one place long enough to create ties and call it home, choosing a job where you’re always on the go and on your own. 

on a chance encounter on a flight from new york city to bali, indonesia, you meet. flustered by jimin’s flirty advances but understanding and good-natured tendencies, you start to fall. what starts off as a work-trip soon blossoms into a budding romance, but will jimin’s secret destroy the relationship before it’s had the chance to truly begin?

word count: 5.5k

warnings: cursing, lots of fluff lol

a/n: part 4 wow! this is my favorite part i’ve written so far. it was a little difficult to edit but we made it. i hope you guys enjoy it. it might be a while before the next part is posted because i have to finish writing and i’ve had major writer’s block lmao, but i’ll try and update my updates page as often as i can. thank you guys for your comments and likes. as always, they are very much so appreciated. thank you to vi for listening to me rant about my stories. enjoy everyone!

full masterlist // series masterlist // previous // next

Jimin looked drained by the time his conversation was over. His hair was out of place from the numerous times he had run his fingers through it out of frustration. Even his eyes looked like they had lost their usual glimmer, instead clouded with anger and exasperation. Though you hadn’t known him for long - in fact,  you’re sure it had really only been 40 hours - you knew something was wrong from the downturn of his lips.

“Ready to go?” Jimin asked as he shoved his phone into his pocket.

“Is everything okay?” you asked as you stood and pocketed your own phone, your own happiness taking a backseat to check on him.

“Yeah, yeah.” He ran his fingers through his hair again and looked away from you. “Just some stuff back home.”

“Work stuff?” you suggested with a wry smile. He returned it.

“Yeah, work stuff,” he said with a laugh.

As you headed back in the direction of the hostel, your thoughts drifted back to Milo. Seeing his photo made your heart pound in your chest in the best and worst way possible. He still looked like your little brother, but you knew time had brought changes you weren’t around for. Though Adele said she had given him your number, it was quite possible that he wouldn’t want to speak to you, not after you left him at the worst possible time. It would be a miracle if you could fix what was broken. What you broke.

“Y/N?”

“Hmm?” You blinked up at Jimin.

“I asked if you were hungry?”

“Oh, yeah. Sure. Food sounds good right now,” you replied.

“Great, because I owe you a meal anyway,” he grinned.

“Oh, you mean for not finding me breakfast at 2:30 in the morning?” you teased. He rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment.

“Yeah, that,” he mumbled and slipped his hand in your as he tugged you through the streets of Hong Kong.

Jimin maneuvered through the bustling crowd with ease, their chatter filling the spaces between you. The evening was still as hot as the daytime and your hair started clinging to the side of your face. You knew there was a fine sheen of sweat present on your skin; you could feel it. You passed by numerous food places, but none of them were up to Jimin’s standard. All the while, his hand never left yours. You were actually starting to like it even if you didn’t want to admit it to yourself.

“Yeah, this looks like the spot,” Jimin commented as you stopped abruptly in front of the establishment.

Mingsu’s was a quaint little restaurant nestled between some larger chains. Four sets of plastic tables and chairs sat on the sidewalk under a clear awning. The smell of food wafted from the open front door and your stomach grumbled. Yeah, this was definitely the spot.

“Your seat m’lady.” Jimin pulled out your chair and you sat carefully in it; these were the kind that would lay you on your ass and not think twice about it.

“Why thank you, kind Sir.” You bowed your head as a lady would curtsy. He sat across from you looking like he really could be the son of a mighty Lord during the Anglo-Saxon time period come home from the hunt, his hair sticking to his forehead.

It didn’t take long for your waitress, a middle-aged woman who looked to be just as hot as you were, to come and take your order. You listened in awe again as Jimin translated your orders. To think that it would be just your luck to be stranded in a foreign country with a man who also happened to speak the native tongue. God really looked out for you here and you couldn’t be more indebted.

“So how exactly did you learn to speak Cantonese?” you asked, swirling your straw between the ice cubes in your glass full of water, the condensation sliding down the sides. Your curiosity had finally gotten the best of you.

“My dad, actually. He taught me Korean and Cantonese simultaneously,” he replied, sipping on his Coke. “It wasn’t that fun in the moment, but I guess it comes in handy every now and then.”

“Like when you’re stranded in a foreign country because your plane got fucked up?”

“More like when you want to impress a pretty girl.” He grinned as he rested his chin on his palm while he stared at you. You blushed under his gaze.

“I can only imagine how flirty Mr. Park senior is,” you said with a laugh.

“Actually, he’s not. All the traits of me you find quite insufferable -” he added air quotes around the word “- are from my mom. Dad always thought we were ganging up on him when I was a kid, but Mom and I just have the same sense of humor,” he said with a shrug.

“Your mom and you are closer then I assume?” You couldn’t fathom being close with Adele, not after all of her shit, but it was nice to hear that someone enjoyed their mother’s company.

“As close as you can be when she lives 4,242 miles away,” he chuckled. You gasped. Before you could continue your conversation, your waitress returned with your roasted pork buns, stir-fried beef and flat noodles, steamed sticky rice, and an array of side dishes. Your mouth watered at the sight and you and Jimin wasted no time tucking in.

“Wait, I thought you were a vegetarian?” you asked after swallowing. Jimin glanced up at you with a mouth full roasted pork bun like a deer in headlights.

“Not really. Well, I guess that isn’t correct. I do my part to reduce my meat intake when I’m at home, but when I’m traveling, I like to indulge a little in the local delicacies of the world,” he answered.

“And that doesn’t fuck your stomach up?” You grimaced at the thought.

“Why? Are you worried about me?”

“No, I’m worried about that cramped bathroom we have back at the hostel.” Jimin laughed. “Especially if you decide you need to -”

“I promise you Y/N, I’ll be okay. Trust me.” you continued to eye him warily as you chewed some noodles. You hoped he was right.

“Does your mom really live 4,000 miles from you?” Jimin nodded but told you to hold that thought as he called your waitress over. Throughout their brief conversation, you thought you heard the word ‘sake’ being mentioned and you panicked slightly at the thought of drinking with Jimin. You didn’t know how you would act. Hell, you weren’t sure how he would act if drunk words were sober thoughts.

“To answer your question, yes. She does. She lives in the United Kingdom. Has done for the past 11 years. We text a lot and talk on the phone whenever the time difference permits.”

“Wow, your parents must love it there!” you exclaimed, picturing the London Eye, the double-decker red buses, and Buckingham Palace. London had been on my list of places to travel for a long time, but it had never worked out.

“Mom does, Dad didn’t. He’s back home now, home being Korea. No, they aren’t divorced or separated,” Jimin said, answering your unasked question after noticing your wide eyes. “They have a long-distance relationship and fly out to see one another every couple of weeks.”

“Sounds expensive,” you muttered.

Jimin graciously accepted the teapot and two porcelain white cups your waitress brought over, somehow finding space for them in between the various plates. He poured you a full cup and pushed it in front of you, waiting for me to accept his challenge as he raised his own glass, his usual mischievous glimmer back in his eyes. You carefully picked it up and watched the wispy tendrils of steam evaporate in the air.

“Sip, don’t toss it back,” Jimin guided you. “A toast! To friendship. And to love,” he tacked on playfully. You smiled as you clinked glasses and sipped the clear rice wine. Though it looked like water, it definitely didn’t taste like it.

“And it is expensive,” Jimin continued. “But they do it because they love each other.  I guess you could call it an unconventional marriage. They realized they work a lot better apart than being in the same space. They tried to do it the traditional way, Dad convincing Mom to move back to Korea with him while she was pregnant with me and the two of them getting married. She did it for a while too until she just physically couldn’t. She loved my Dad, but she loved herself enough to be honest with him when things weren’t working and they figured it out together. Now, they’re extremely happy,” he ended with a laugh and finished the remainder of his drink.

“So you were born in Korea?”

“Yes.”

“But you live in the United States?”

“Is that so hard to believe?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

“No, I just -”

“Is it because I don’t speak in accented English?”

“No!” you cried out in embarrassment. “That’s not what I meant at all!” Jimin’s unrestrained laugh rang out and it was only then that you realized he was teasing. Again. You tossed back the rest of my drink, unsure of whether your face was burning because of the alcohol or him.

“Relax, Shutterfly. I’m not offended. Dad took me to the U.S. after Mom moved back to the U.K. I lost my accent when I got to high school because you know, teenagers suck and they like to bully you when you’re different.” You nodded in complete understanding. The harsh whispers of girls older than you and with the memories of them shoving you onto the ground because you were smaller and looked like you were easy to pick on trickled down from the deep recesses of your mind. “Enough about me though,” Jimin said as he refilled your cup, “How about you? What’s your family like?”

You paused as he waited for you to answer. You toyed with how much you would say to him, how much he really deserved to know. Jimin could afford to be open with you; his family sounded normal, cool even. Your family was a little bit more fucked up than his. you sighed and pushed your fingers through your hair.

“You know, the usual. Dad’s dead, mom’s a bitch, brother hates me,” you replied, your words blending into one another as you waved off the subject with a hand. Jimin stared at you evenly as he processed what you had just said. He cleared his throat before asking if you wanted to elaborate.

“Not really, but it’s okay,” you answered.

“No, Y/N,” he placed his hand on top of mine. “If you really don’t want to talk about it, we don’t have to.”

“Seriously, it’s cool. It’ll probably do me a lot of good to finally let it all out,” you said with a sigh. “My parents’ love story isn’t like yours. I mean, it kind of started off the same, but it definitely didn’t end that way.” Jimin nodded as he chewed in silence. Your own plate was now left untouched.

“So my dad named me. I was his little girl, his princess. He wasn’t from the best side of town and often got into it with a lot of the local gang members. He saw a lot of shitty stuff and so he left as soon as he turned 18. He landed in California and that’s where he met Adele. Her family had just moved there and she decided to be rebellious and hook up with my dad, acting out because she didn’t want to leave her old life behind. She ended up pregnant with me 2 years later at 18 after they ‘fell in love’,” you said, adding the air quotes around the phrase.

“Being the honorable man that he was, he decided to marry my mother and moved her to New York where he thought he could take better care of her. More job opportunities as and what not. Two years later, my brother came along and things were going pretty good, except when Adele started demanding more and more shit. Dad tried to provide, working longer hours, but it was never enough. Eventually, it was too much. He died of a heart attack when I was in high school. I was sixteen,” you finished. You didn’t look at Jimin as you drained your sake.

“Thank you for sharing that with me even though you didn’t really want to. I appreciate it,” he said solemnly. “Do you mind if I ask you a question?”

“No, it’s fine. Only fair.”

“I don’t think fair is in this equation,” he chuckled and you laughed along with him. “Why do you think your brother hates you?” he asked after a beat.

“Because I left him,” you responded. “I left him alone and ran away from all my problems as soon as I turned 18.” Regret bubbled in your chest as you remembered purposefully ignoring the wave of text messages he sent you and carried on with your new life, focusing on your new man.

“I don’t think he hates you, Y/N.” you laughed bitterly. “Where’d you run away to?”

“California.”

“You sound a lot like your dad,” he replied with a smile. “Viva la revolución right?”

You groaned and covered your face in your hands. “Please don’t tell me you speak Spanish too.” you muttered a string of curses in the language before clamping your hands over your mouth in case he could hear and understand you.

“I don’t, but I see you do. You never told me you could speak Spanish,” he commented as he sipped more sake.

“You never asked,” you teased, your smile humorous as you stared at him from over your own cup.

Jimin’s cheeks had a pretty pink hue from the alcohol. In addition, the alcohol seemed to amplify the gleam in his eyes further as he teased you throughout your conversation. Under the low lighting of Mingsu’s, his skin glowed, a thin sheen of sweat present that you found oddly attractive on him. You closed your eyes gently as you willed the troublesome thoughts away. This was not the time nor the place for them to pop up, not with more than a few ounces of sake under your belt.

You finished the rest of your food, Jimin eating much more than you, and chatted more. You found out he was a freelance museum curator that was under contract for a few different small museums in New York City. A huge downplay on his part, but it explained how he knew so much about art and had all these artsy friends. He was well-educated with a Masters in Fine Arts, a concentration in Art History, and you felt intimidated as you’d barely managed to scrape together an Associates degree.

“Hey look!” Jimin turned his phone screen to you after it chimed. “Looks like we really are leaving tomorrow. Joy even got us seats next to each other like she promised,” he said.

“Of course she did,” you mumbled, remembering Joy’s enthusiasm over Jimin.

“What was that?” he asked as he cupped his ear with his hand.

“I said ‘Yay! Joy managed to get us to sit together. How fantastic. Now we can sit together again’,” you lied with fake zeal.

“Hmm. That’s what I thought you said. Though for a minute there I thought you were jealous of the attention I was getting from other women.” You could tell the nonchalance in his voice was just as fake as the enthusiasm in your own.

“Me? Jealous over you?” You snorted at the thought. Jimin held his chest, his face falling in a look of fake disappointment.

“Damn Y/N, all you had to do was say you didn’t like me -”

“I never said that!”

“Ah, so you do like me then?” He wiggled his eyebrows as he leaned across the table.

“I never said that either!” you giggled and pointed your finger at him. He pretended to bite it and you pulled it away squealing. Jimin laughed at your reaction as the waitress came over. He pulled out his wallet and you scrambled to take out your own until you realized you’d left your own wallet back at the hostel. You blanched.

“Jimin I can’t let you pay for all this!” The mountain of empty plates a reminder of just how much you had eaten.

“Of course you can,” he said as he handed over his card. You scrambled for something to say, to make him return his card, but it was already too late. You shook your head furiously.

“I can pay you back, seriously. This was a lot of food. And then the drinks!” you squeaked. Alcohol was expensive and you had consumed two full teapots of sake. “Please, Jimin,” you begged.

He held his ground as he signed the check and the waitress began removing the dirty dishes. “Absolutely not, Shutterfly. I still owe you an actual breakfast and think of this as me showing you what it’s like to be wined and dined. Mr. Park senior taught me never to let a woman pay for a meal, and I won’t start now, especially not with you.” He stood up and came to stand in front of you, holding his hands out as if he knew you could potentially wobble from the alcohol flowing through your system. “Let someone take care of you for once, yeah? Let me take care of you.”

You stared up at him, surprised at his words. It had been a long time since you’d heard anything like that. It had been a long time since you had let anyone come close to caring for you, determined that you would do it for yourself. Jimin was truly worming his way under your skin and you didn’t like it. You closed your eyes at the thought of Jimin really being there for you and it shook you to your core. Letting out a shaky breath, you placed your hands gently in his as he helped you to your feet, accepting his offer. On one condition.

“Only for tonight,” you whispered into his chest, not daring to look up into his deep brown eyes, but he forced you to as he dragged his lips tenderly against the back of your knuckles.

“Okay,” he agreed. His eyes never left yours and you started to squirm under his intense gaze. He pulled you into his side, tucking you under his arm. “Come on, I want to show you something,” he whispered into your hair as if the words were a secret only meant for the two of you. A shiver ran down your spine as his lips brushed against your temple though you were hotter than before from the alcohol in the humid night.

Jimin took you down the streets of Tsim Sha Tsui, pressing you close to him as you walked along leisurely. Little street vendors lined the sidewalk selling sweet treats that made you wish you hadn’t eaten as much so you could try one. You inhaled the scent and tried to commit the smell to memory, wanting to always remember how untroubled you felt though so many things had gone wrong, wanting to really remember how many things had gone.

“We’re here,” Jimin said excitedly and removed his arm from around your shoulder, settling for just holding your hand. You immediately missed the warmth of being against his side.

Here was a hole-in-the-wall restaurant and lounge called Switch!. Its outer brick walls contrasted with the smooth window panes of the establishments next to it. A heavy wooden door rattled as the thumping bass echoed off it. There were a few stragglers standing outside smoking cigarettes as they laughed and joked with one another. Jimin turned to you and grinned, excitement etched across his features.

“Jimin,” you said with uncertainty. “It’s getting kind of late,” you trailed off.

“It’s only a little after ten, Y/N. Come on. This place is really cool,” he insisted. You chewed your lip, not sure whether you could make it a minute longer. Between the alcohol in your bloodstream and the cigarette smoke starting to swirl in your lungs, you were feeling a little out of your element. “Please, Shutterfly,” he pouted. “I promise to have you back home by midnight and before your carriage turns back into a pumpkin.” You rolled your eyes but remembered Michael’s words about enjoying the moment.

“Fine,” you huffed and pulled open the hefty door. Jimin followed closely after.

Switch! resembled your favorite grunge dive bar. It was extremely dark, the only source of lighting being a few strips of LED lights lining the floor and ceilings, and some weak yellow light bulbs. The bar itself was long and made with beautiful redwood that somehow managed to shine in the dim lighting. An extensive alcohol collection sat on the numerous shelves behind the bar. Next to it was a corkboard that was nearly filled with little polaroid pictures of previous patrons. A live band was the source of the thumping bass you had heard outside and you let it wash over me, vibrating the very core of your bones. It seemed like Jimin had a knack for choosing great places.

The two of you headed over to sit in one of the small booths, a waiter appearing immediately to take your order. Jimin asked for two sake bombs to start you off, something about keeping the trend of the night, and leaned forward to rest his elbows on the rickety wooden table. You watched him start to lose himself in the music as he kept time with the beat, his head swaying slowly. His posture exaggerated the broad expanse of his back and you stewed silently behind him, almost cursing his parents for creating a man as attractive as this. You crossed your legs at the knee.

Your waiter returned with your drinks and Jimin yelled a thank you over the loud music. Internally, you were grateful that it was too loud for you to continue your conversation as you were sure Jimin would continue his fervent flirting and you weren’t sure how much more you could take. Not after accepting his offer of letting him take care of you for the night. You took a large sip of the alcoholic mixture. Jimin leaned back and turned his head to you, his hand resting on your bare thigh.

“Do you like it? Are you having fun?” he asked loudly. You winced as his voice pierced through your eardrum.

“Yeah! This is cool. The band is really good!” you yelled back and he grinned, his smile a little lopsided no doubt from the alcohol. His eyes continued to sparkle as he stared down at you. With his hand on your thigh and his face seeming to move closer, all the air felt like it was sucked out of the room. Your heart pounded in your chest as his eyes drifted down to your lips -

“Excuse me?!” Your head snapped around to the individual yelling at you just as Jimin had closed the distance between you, his lips brushing the corner of yours. You could feel his lips stretch into a smile against your cheek as his nose pressed into your skin. You were quite positive he could feel the burn radiating off your cheeks. “Would you guys like to take a picture for our polaroid wall?” the man yelled again. In his hands was a teal polaroid camera.

“Is it free?” you yelled and tried to create some distance between you and Jimin. The photographer laughed and nodded his head.

“Can we get a copy of them to keep?” Jimin asked.

“Sure! I can take a few extra for you guys,” he replied with a shrug. “You guys ready?” Jimin nodded and slipped his arm around your waist, his hand resting on your hip with the other still resting on your knee. He smushed your faces together as the first picture was taken. The photographer took an additional three more after determining your smile wasn’t wide enough in the first one.

“I’ll leave these with you to develop. When you choose the one you guys want us to hang up, just drop it off at the bar. Thanks again!” He disappeared as quickly as he had arrived.

“I’m going to go use the bathroom!” You didn’t wait for Jimin to respond as you eased your way out of the booth and scurried off.

Locking yourself into the single-stall restroom, you tried to catch your breath. You and Jimin had nearly kissed. It wasn’t something you’d dreamed about in an alcohol-induced haze. He had really leaned in like he wanted to kiss you. You pressed your hands to your face to stop the smile from bursting across your cheeks. You covered your face with your hands as you recognized the familiar tick in your chest. A crush. You giggled to yourself as you pushed your hands through your hair. You had a fucking crush on Park Jimin and you were a teensy bit okay with it. A knock at the door burst your bubble of revelation and you quickly washed your hands, apologizing to the other woman as you slipped by her.

“So I think we should give this one to them,” Jimin suggested, pushing the four photos over to you as you sat beside him again. He was pointing to the second one of you where we were both grinning like mad men as he had pressed his face against your own. “The other ones are too cute.”

He was right. The third was Jimin kissing your cheek and you covering your mouth in shock at his actions. The final one was him smiling into your cheek, caressing the other side as he pulled you against him and you smiled with your eyes closed and rested your hand against his arm. This one was your favorite.

“Yeah, you’re right. These came out a lot better than I thought they would,” you said, the bar much quieter as another band got prepared for their set.

“Why wouldn’t they turn out great?” he asked confused.

“You know, the lighting and stuff. Plus my hair and we’ve been drinking so I know my face is all -”

“Stop. You look amazing. Look!” Jimin held the pictures up for you though you were already looking at them; it seemed he was a little more drunk than you were. “Absolutely beautiful,” he added. You smiled softly at him as he placed your favorites into his wallet. “Okay, I’m going to go give them this one. Do you want another drink?” You shook my head no, still nursing your first, and watched him meander his way through the crowd gathered to hear the band. They started up a moment later, a smooth rhythm of R’n’B playing out through the speakers. The beat was infectious and you closed your eyes, dancing in your seat. It felt good to not be concerned with anything, though work still plagued the back of your mind.

“I didn’t know you could dance!” Jimin yelled over the music. You hadn’t noticed his return and his voice startled you.

“I don’t dance!” You said with a laugh.

“But you just were!”

“I really wouldn’t call that dancing, Jimin.”

“Well, show me what is then.” He held his hand out to you. More people had started to dance as well, the change in the atmosphere quite apparent. “Don’t you want to see what dance moves we have stored in the Park family?” You laughed and nearly fell out of the booth trying to imagine Mr. Park senior getting down at the family parties. You were quite intrigued.

“Okay, okay. Let’s go.”

You grabbed his hand after taking another generous mouthful of beer and led him onto the makeshift dance floor. Jimin spun you around to face him and guided your hands around his neck while his hands rested on your lower back, the two of you swaying in time to the song. It was gentle and sweet and you hid your face in his chest as he spun you around. Jimin looked happy as you danced hand in hand, laughing when you stumbled from being inebriated. You hoped that his phone call was as far back in his mind as you physically were from the United States.

You danced for God knows how long until your feet started to hurt and the two of you were almost wet with sweat, lost in the music and the soft touches of one another. Jimin made good on his promise and had you back at the hostel before midnight. If anyone had been downstairs, you would have looked like any lovesick teenagers sneaking home in the dead of night. You were grateful that William and Sonia hadn’t decided to wait up for you as you giggled your way to your room, you hushing Jimin as he unlocked your door.

“Thank you for taking me there, Jimin. I had a really good time tonight,” you said as you kicked off your sneakers and grabbed your sleep shirt and toothbrush.

“It was no trouble at all. I’m glad you enjoyed yourself. I had a really good time too,” he replied as he tugged his shirt over his head. Your eyes widened as you took in his smooth torso, the sprinkle of hair starting at his belly button and disappearing into his shorts that he was currently removing -

“Okay! I’m gonna go wait outside while you change! Let me know when you’re done,” you squeaked out and winced at the force at which you closed the door. You could hear Jimin chuckle from the other side. It was becoming quite tiring being flustered around him.

After receiving the all-clear from Jimin to re-enter, you slipped into the bathroom to change and brush your teeth. It was stupid at how happy you were to see your toothbrushes sitting next to each other in the little holder. Tugging the shirt down as far as it would go over your hips, you poked your head around the door to see Jimin already under the covers, one hand holding his book and the other tucked behind his head. So much for getting into bed without being seen. You folded your shorts and shirt, placing them on top of your backpack as you mentally prepared to face Jimin.

“I hope you don’t mind me not taking a shower. I didn’t think it was a good idea with the amount that I had to drink and I definitely don’t think you’re strong enough to pull me out of the shower if I fell,” he said, still not looking at you.

“Hey! I could probably manage!” you yelled, slightly offended that he thought you were weak.

“A naked me? Y/N, you can barely look at me with clothes on,” he snorted and set his book down on the nightstand and looked at you. You blushed as your eyes fell on the gold chain around his neck; he had decided not to wear a shirt to bed tonight. You watched him take in your figure, his eyes roaming over on your bare thighs for a few seconds longer than necessary. “But, if you think you can, I can go -” he started pulling the covers back but you cut him off.

“Nope!” you yelled and held your arms out as if you could magically force him not to move. “It’s fine, really. We can just go to sleep. Wouldn’t want you to get concussed or anything before our flight,” you mumbled. Double-checking the door was locked, you flicked off the light. You stubbed your toe just as you were about to climb in and Jimin laughed.

“Not as fun when it happens to you, right?” You punched his shoulder as you settled under the covers facing away from him, pretending to be mad. “Ah Y/N, come on.” Jimin shifted so he was cuddled up behind you, his hand thrown over your waist. “You’re not really mad at me, are you Shutterfly?” He pressed a chaste kiss to the back of your neck and you shivered. You could feel his grin against your skin again. Truly the bane of your existence.

“No, I’m not mad at you,” you mumbled.

“Good,” he replied and gave you a squeeze. “Thank you for telling me part of your story, for trusting me with that. Thank you for also letting me take care of you tonight. I hope you let me do it again,” he said as he pulled you closer against him and you sighed.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” He punctuated his sentence with a kiss against your cheek, his lips lingering once again.

“Goodnight, Jimin,” you whispered back as he buried his face into your shoulder.

That night, you dreamed of museums, Mingsu’s, and live music.

full masterlist // series masterlist // previous // next

ⓒ joon-ipersgirl, 2020

#jimin fanfic #jimin x reader #jimin fluff #BTS jimin #bts fanfic #bts fanfction #fic: bitter and beloved

[michelleplayswithfire]

US Hot 100 Bubbling Under 1980-1985

Songs worth mentioning that didn’t make it to the Hot 100:

1980: Phyllis Hyman -- You Know How To Love Me (#101 -- Feb. 2) AC/DC -- Touch Too Much (#106 -- Feb. 2) The Inmates -- The Walk (#107 -- Feb. 16) Pearl Harbor and the Explosions -- You Got It (Release It) (#108 -- Feb. 16) The Gap Band --  I Don’t Believe You Want To Get Up And Dance (Opps, Up Side Your Head) (#102 -- Mar. 29) Gary Numan & Tubeway Army -- Are ‘Friends’ Electric? (#105 -- Jun. 28) Paul McCartney -- Waterfalls (#106 -- Aug. 30) Gary Numan -- I Die: You Die (#102 -- Sep. 27) Roxy Music -- Oh Yeah (On The Radio) (#102 -- Oct. 4) David Bowie -- Ashes To Ashes (#101 -- Oct. 25) Roxy Music -- In The Midnight Hour (#106 -- Nov. 8) Jim Carroll Band -- People Who Died (#103 -- Nov. 29) Robert Palmer -- Looking For Clues (#105 -- Nov. 29) Devo -- Freedom Of Choice (#103 -- Dec. 20)

1981: XTC -- Generals And Majors (#104 -- Jan. 21) Talking Heads -- Once In A Lifetime (#103 -- Feb. 7) Any Trouble -- Second Choice (#108 -- Mar. 14) Gino Soccio -- Try It Out (#103 -- May 30) Grace Jones -- Pull Up To The Bumper (#101 -- Jun. 6) Kraftwerk -- Pocket Calculator (#102 -- Jun. 6) Split Enz -- One Step Ahead (#104 -- Jun. 27) The A’s -- A Woman’s Got The Power (#106 -- Aug. 8) The Producers -- What’s He Got? (#108 -- Aug. 22) Billy Idol -- Mony Mony (#107 -- Sep. 26)*** The Tubes -- Talk To Ya Later (#101 -- Oct. 10) Devo -- Beautiful World (#102 -- Nov. 14) Kraftwerk -- Numbers (#103 -- Dec. 12) ZZ Top -- Tube Snake Boogie (#103 -- Dec. 26)

1982: The Manhattan Transfer -- Spies In The Night (#103 -- Jan. 16) Let’s Work -- Prince (#104 -- Jan. 30) Chic -- Stage Fright (#105 -- Jan. 30) Chas Jankel -- Glad To Know You (#102 -- Feb. 20) Devo -- Through Being Cool (#107 -- Apr. 24) Tom Tom Club -- Wordy Rappinghood (#105 -- May 15) Buckner & Garcia -- Do The Donkey Kong (#103 -- May 29) Split Enz -- Six Months In A Leaky Boat (#104 -- Jun. 5) Junior -- Too Late (#102 -- Jun. 12) Imagination -- Just An Illusion (#102 -- Jul. 3) Squeeze -- Black Coffee In Bed (#103 -- Jul. 10) Tommy Tutone -- Which Man Are You (#101 -- Jul. 24) Shalamar -- I Can Make You Feel Good (#102 -- Jul. 24) Haircut One Hundred -- Favourite Shirts (Boy Meets Girl) (#101 -- Aug. 28) Soft Cell -- What! (#101 -- Sep. 18) Vanity 6 -- Nasty Girl (#101 -- Oct. 2) Bow Wow Wow -- Baby, Oh No (#103 -- Oct. 2) Zapp -- Do Wah Ditty (#103 -- Nov. 6) Devo -- Peek-A-Boo (#106 -- Nov. 6) Grace Jones -- Nipple To The Bottle (#103 -- Nov. 13) Bananarama -- He Was Really Sayin’ Somethin’ (#108 -- Nov. 13) Billy Idol -- White Wedding (#108 -- Nov. 27)*** Madonna -- Everybody (#107 -- Dec. 25)

1983: Devo -- That’s Good (#104 -- Jan. 15) Rush -- Subdivisions (#105 -- Jan. 15) André Cymone -- Kelly’s Eyes (#107 -- Feb. 5) ABBA -- One Of Us (#107 -- Feb. 12) Indeep -- Last Night A D.J. Saved My Life (#101 -- Feb. 26) George Clinton -- Atomic Dog (#101 -- Mar. 5) The Fixx -- Red Skies (#101 -- Mar. 12) Chilliwack -- Secret Information (#110 -- Mar. 12) Q-Feel -- Dancing In Heaven (Orbital Be-Bop) (#110 -- Mar. 26) Peter Godwin -- Images Of Heaven (#105 -- Apr. 2) The English Beat -- I Confess (#104 -- Apr. 9) The Cure -- Let’s Go To Bed (#109 -- Apr. 9) Dire Straits -- Twisting By The Pool (#105 -- Apr. 16) Randy Newman -- I Love L.A. (#110 -- Apr. 16) Bananarama -- Na Na Hey Hey Kiss Him Goodbye (#101 -- May 7) The English Beat -- Save It For Later (#106 -- May 21) Mary Jane Girls -- Candy Man (#101 -- Jun. 4) Roxy Music -- More Than This (#102 -- Jun. 4) Spandau Ballet -- Lifeline (#108 -- Jun. 4) The Isley Brothers -- Between The Sheets (#101 -- Jun. 18) Marshall Crenshaw -- Whenever You’re On My Mind (#103 -- Jun. 18) Robert Hazard -- Change Reaction (#106 -- Jun. 18) U2 -- Two Hearts Beat As One (#101 -- Jul. 2) Heaven 17 -- We Live So Fast (#102 -- Jul. 9) Yello -- I Love You (#103 -- Jul. 16) Juluka -- Scatterlings Of Africa (#106 -- Jul. 16) Gary Myrick -- Message Is You (#103 -- Aug. 6) “Weird Al” Yankovic -- I Love Rocky Road (#106 -- Aug. 6) Mary Jane Girls -- All Night Long (#101 -- Aug. 13) Zapp -- I Can Make You Dance (Part 1) (#102 -- Aug. 20) Ministry -- I Wanted To Tell Her (#106 -- Aug. 20) The Coconuts -- If I Only Had A Brain (#108 -- Aug. 27) Sissy Spacek -- Lonely But Only For You (#110 -- Aug. 27) The Gap Band -- Party Train (#101 -- Sep. 10) Billy Idol -- Dancing With Myself (#102 -- Sep. 10) Tom Tom Club -- The Man With The 4-Way Hips (#106 -- Sep. 17) Freeez -- I.O.U. (#104 -- Sep. 24) Miquel Brown -- So Many Men, So Little Time (#107 -- Oct. 8) Robin Gibb -- Juliet (#104 -- Oct. 22) Grandmaster Flash & Melle Mel -- White Lines (Don’t Do It) -- (#101 -- Nov. 19)

1984: New Edition -- Popcorn Love (#101 -- Jan. 21) Debbie Harry -- Rush, Rush (#104 -- Jan. 21) Was (Not Was) -- Knocked Down, Made Small (Treated Like A Rubber Ball) (#109 -- Jan. 21) The Cure -- The Lovecats (#107 -- Feb. 11) Ozzy Osbourne -- Bark At The Moon (#109 -- Feb. 11) George Kranz -- Trommeltanz (Din Daa Daa) (#110 -- Feb. 25) Endgames -- Love Cares (#105 -- Mar. 24) The Art Of Noise -- Beat Box (#101 -- Apr. 7) Alisha -- All Night Passion (#103 -- Apr. 7) Pat Wilson -- Bop Girl (#104 -- Apr. 7) The Alarm -- Sixty Eight Guns (#106 -- Apr. 14) Peter Brown -- They Only Come Out At Night (#102 -- Apr. 28) Break Machine -- Street Dance (#105 -- Apr. 28) Nena -- Just A Dream (#102 -- May 5) Russ Ballard -- Voices (#110 -- May 12) Ultravox -- Dancing With Tears In My Eyes (#108 -- Jul. 7) The Art Of Noise -- Close (To The Edit) (#102 -- Aug. 18) The Time -- Ice Cream Castles (#106 -- Aug. 18) Howard Jones -- Pearl In The Shell (#108 -- Aug. 25) Janet Jackson -- Don’t Stand Another Chance (#101 -- Sep. 8) Alfonso Ribeiro -- Dance Baby (#104 -- Sep. 8) The Staple Singers -- Slippery People (#109 -- Oct. 27) Dreamboy -- I Promise (I Do Love You) (#106 -- Nov. 17) Lindsey Buckingham -- Slow Dancing (#106 -- Nov. 24) Sade -- Hang On To Your Love (#102 -- Dec. 8)

1985: The Gap Band -- Beep-A-Freak (#103 -- Jan. 12) Vanity -- Mechanical Emotion (#107 -- Jan. 12) Whodini -- Freaks Come Out At Night (#104 -- Jan. 26) Klymaxx -- The Men All Pause (#105 -- Feb. 2) Jenny Burton -- Bad Habits (#101 -- Mar. 9) Roxanne Shanté -- Roxanne’s Revenge (#109 -- Mar. 9) General Public -- Never You Done That (#105 -- Mar. 16) Run-D.M.C. -- King Of Rock (#108 -- Mar. 23) Nik Kershaw -- The Riddle (#107 -- Apr. 13) Wang Chung -- Fire In The Twilight (#110 -- May 11) Skipworth & Turner -- Thinking About Your Love (#104 -- May 18) Run-D.M.C. -- You Talk Too Much (#107 -- Jun. 8) Cheyne -- Call Me Mr. ‘Telephone’ (Answering Service) (#106 -- Jun. 15) Bryan Ferry -- Slave To Love (#109 -- Jun. 15) Talking Heads -- Road To Nowhere (#105 -- Jun. 22) Rick James -- Glow (#106 -- Jul. 27) New Order -- The Perfect Kiss (#109 -- Jul. 27) Sheila E. -- Sister Fate (#102 -- Aug. 3) R.E.M. -- Can’t Get There From Here (#110 -- Aug. 17)

#80s #1980s #80s music #bubbling under #billboard #topforty

[rsfannan]

Day Three: Royalty Check

Today was Royalty day. I will not dwell on my feelings about the whole “Royal Thing’ except to say that how it has hung around so long boggles the mind. That said, after our English Breakfast (eggs, toast, bacon, sausage, coffee or tea and baked beans, but no tomato nor mushroom), we headed off for Buckingham Palace.

First stop on this adventure was the Queen’s Gallery, where we were lucky enough to be here to see the exhibition of Leonardo da Vinci’s drawings. It seems that Charles II acquired a single bound volume of 550 of da Vinci’s drawings sometime during the 1600’s. 200 of these were on display. In a word, tremendous. Most were working sketches of just about everything. Preliminary work for The Last Supper and his ill-fated bronze horse project, as well as anatomical studies of humans, dogs, and plants. Details of swirling eddies of water, human embryos in the womb, city maps, hands, horse’s feet, folds of clothing; everything seemed to interest this man. The notion that he could have accomplished these works at all is impressive. That he did it with pen and ink, primitive pencils, or just a crumbling bit of charcoal is nothing short of astounding.

Next stop was The Royal Mews. This is the stables that house the horses and the carriages that carry around the Royal Family and other dignitaries from place to place for ceremonial occasions such as weddings, coronations, funerals, etc. Mews, as the story goes, and who am I to dispute it, comes from the French “muer - to moult” reflecting the original function to confine hawks and other hunting fowl while they moulted. The Mews that we saw date to 1820. These are indeed working stables, as the Royals do love their finery and heritage. As you can see from the photos, they are certainly top of the line carriages.

Last on our list at the palace was Buckingham Palace itself. Palatiale, to say the least. Originally built for the Duke of Buckingham in 1703, King George III acquired it in 1761. Enlarged by architect John Nash, it became the London residence of the British monarch when Victoria ascended the throne in 1837. It has been that way ever since. 775 rooms, 19 state rooms, 52 bedrooms, 188 staff bedrooms, yet “only” 78 bathrooms. Hmmm.... My favorite room was that housing the Royal Collection of Art, the largest private art collection in the world. Of the over 7,000 paintings, several hundred are on display at the palace on a rotating basis. The ones we saw were mainly of the Dutch masters, The Music Lesson by Vermeer being my favorite. (Oddly, this painting was originally thought to be a work of Frans van Mieris for over 100 years because of a misinterpretation of the signature). All and all, a memorable glimpse of what can be done with unlimited funds.

On to what was the best part of the show. Westminster Abbey is nothing short of breathtaking. An Abbey has been on this site since the year 1060, with the construction of the present church starting in 1245. It would be astonishing to build something like this now with modern techniques, much less more than 750 years ago. The stonework, ceilings, stained glass. The dimensions. All unreal. And dead kings, queens, and prime ministers, we got ‘em! It is quite a strange vibe to be walking on the graves of Newton, Darwin, Stephen Hawking, Dickens, Chaucer, Robert Browning, not to mention Sir Lawrence Olivier. The list goes on and on. AND, the audio tour features the voice of Jeremy Irons. Perfect. It is indeed a tourist attraction not to be missed.

What a nice day. And we topped it off with a trip to the theatre to sit in the upper nosebleed section to see the musical, “Waitress.” The audience was full of young women who basically knew the musical by heart. Every single song I had never heard before they knew word for word. A bit of a Rocky Horror Picture Show vibe. Quite delightful.

Another dayfull, to be sure.

[grimvenus-blog]

hey everyone! i’m pip and this is my icelandic princess venus! i’m really excited to be here and rp with all of your lovely muses. i’ll have a lil list of possible connections and of course like this post if you’re interested in any or want to plot at all! i’ll slide into those dms with super speed x

- ̗̀✰ •【 MAIA MITCHELL / FEMALE / 21 】announcing the arrival of her royal highness, ( VENUS GRIMSDÓTTIR ), the  ( CROWN PRINCESS ) of ( ICELAND ). I’ve heard that she is ( UNSENTIMENTAL ) & ( AIMLESS ) but can also be ( COURAGEOUS ) & ( YOUTHFUL ). ( VENUS ) is arranged to marry ( SEBESTYEN ZÄPOLYA ). Rumor has it ( SHE THINKS REALITY IS A DREAM ). We hope you enjoy your stay at London!

Venus was born on August 17th in Reykjavik, Iceland, to a king and queen terrified of bringing a child into the chaotic world. Because of this they were inspired to name her after a planet symbolizing grace, charm, and beauty. They wanted her to bless their troubled realm with her sophistication and help weave a better place for others around her. Here are a couple of notes on Venus:

She did not live up to their standards.

Since as young as nine, she has felt in spurts as if the world she is living in isn’t her own to explore and manipulate, but rather a constant dream where she is a patient and lingering observer.

Her childhood wasn’t strained by this factor, however, having lived her innocent years in ignorant bliss of her condition and even learning to adapt to it and work it in ways to benefit her whenever episodes would occur.

Venus didn’t grow up in a large building with countless rooms, but rather in her aunt and uncle’s cottage; a space of numbered quarters and a quaint garden to roam about.

There she was taught true etiquette as her parents busied themselves with government work and kept her mind off of the Summit for as long as possible.

At fifteen, she returned to Reykjavik to be broken the news of her future betrothal. She wasn’t fazed, her emotions often numbed as a side effect of her unwavering daydream state. They picked up on this and sent her to a doctor for an exam.

Venus was diagnosed with depersonalization disorder at sixteen. She received treatment for it up until she turned twenty-one, when she refused further service before going to Buckingham.

She attended the University of Iceland and acquired a Bachelor’s in Film Studies. The only place she’s ever really felt comfortable and in control is when she’s preoccupied and brought into the pace of movies and tv shows. She has a great interest in becoming a director one day, though she doubts these dreams and has decided to focus on her marriage and status as princess for now.

She’s lived so long with her disorder that she is extremely desensitized to it and does not see the harm that it brings her and others. She can sense that she has a lost sense of possession and gravity when it comes to material items and even people, but she’s reluctant to do anything about it, an internal fear of deep emotional pain driving her away from the idea of continuing treatment.

Now she is betrothed to Sebestyan Zäpolya of Hungary and feels nothing but a sweet, distanced acceptance toward her situation and future marriage.

CONNECTIONS !

Friendships  |  Despite Venus not taking to attachment too quickly, this doesn’t mean she would mind a couple of friends. She enjoys making the most out of her life through her illness and does her best to maintain her friendships through particularly rough episodes. She would likely have someone who was clued into her illness and either supports her decision to refuse treatment, is on the fence, or frequently mentions it to her for her own well being.

Old Flame  |  The seven years spent at Reykjavik and exploring the globe on fancy, first class summer vacations before traveling to Buckingham have endless possibilities for flings and slightly rebellious hook-ups. But this person would have touched Venus in a way unlike others, would have tried to understand her illness, was most certainly her first love, and possibly inspiring a bit of a crush within her to this day despite her betrothal.

Back & Forth  |  This friendship would be extremely rocky; with either the other person being insensitive or possibly unaware of her illness and taking her odd behavior as an offense, and other times finding it entertaining and fun to drag with to a party. Gossip will always be exchanged, but it will also always vary between outsiders and one another.

Lost Soulmate  |  Venus, naturally, traveled a bit as a teenager. During one of these vacations, she met a wonderful person who she believed to be her soulmate - not necessarily in a romantic sense, but as a human she found this character to be extremely interesting and had some of the best nights of her life by their side; whether it be venturing out into the city (or the countryside), drinking beneath the stars, or simply staying awake ‘til 4 AM talking. They did their best to keep in contact before eventually losing their numbers, emails, or other form of communication.

#buckingham:intro

[justwravel-blog]

Historical places in Gujarat The state of Gujarat has played a significant role in history. The lands of Gujarat witnessed some brave kings and their rich heritage. Gujarat is also the birthplace of Mahatma Gandhi, the father of the nation, who initiated out various movements for India’s independence from here. The city of Ahmedabad, which is the heart of Gujarat has been recently titled as ‘World Heritage City’ by the UNESCO. Here are some of the places of historical importance and which one must visit and which would give you the feel of the rich ancient heritage and the struggle of Gujarat. Somnath: The Somnath temple is believed to be the first among the 12 Jyotirlingas of Lord Shiva. The shivling at the temple is believed to be ‘swayambhu’ or self-born, manifested in the temple. This temple was destroyed six times and rebuilt every time. The current structure of the temple, seventh reconstruction, is a magnificent edifice built in the Chalukya style of architecture by the master masons of Gujarat, known as Sompuras. Soma, the Moon god, is believed to have lost his luster due to a curse, and he bathed in the Sarasvati River at this site to regain it. The name of the town Prabhas, meaning luster, as well as the alternative names Someshvar and Somnath ("The lord of the moon" or "the moon god") arise from this tradition. You can also visit the beach, and the museum, close to the temple, which exhibits 1638 pieces from 7th to 15th century. Palitana: Located atop the Shetrunjai Hill, Palitana temple is one of the most sacred Jain temples in India and is known for its 3000 brilliantly carved temples. According to the records, there are approximately 108 large temples and 872 small shrines with about 7000 images total that have been built over 900 years from the 11th century by the Jain community. To reach the temple, one will have to climb 3800 steps. For the elder, palanquin (palki) service is easily available. The panoramic view of Palitana unfolds itself as one progresses to the temple. From the top of the temple, you can see the panoramic view of the Gulf of Cambay and countryside. Note: Devotees usually start their climb early in the morning and make their descent by evening as staying at night is not permitted. Dholavira: 250 km from the Bhuj district of Gujarat nestles an ancient town, Dholavira; that throws the light on the Harappan culture and its magnificent civilization. Second largest in India and fifth largest in the Indian sub-continent, this Harappan site the only place that marks the presence of Harappan culture from 2900 BC to 1500 BC. On a trip to Dolavira, you walk can pass through the sun-dried buildings, 5,000-year-old stepwell, ancient reservoirs. To reach Dolavira, you will have to drive for six kilometers from Ahmedabad. Accommodation options are very limited in Dolavira so; you can stay in Ahmedabad or head to Bhuj for the great Rann of Kutch. Laxmi villas palace: Built in 1890 as the private residence of Maharaja Sayajirao Gaekwad III, Laxmi Vilas Palace is indeed one of the grandest structures in India. Sprawling over an area of 700 acres, the palace is believed to be nearly four times the size of Buckingham Palace and features many buildings like Moti Baug Palace, Makarpura Palace, Pratap Vilas Palace and Maharaja Fateh Singh Museum building. It took Robert Fellows Chisholm, the head architect, twelve years to build this grand building. The property also has a Navlakhi stepwell, Maharaja Fatehgarh museum, and a small zoo, which was resting ground crocodiles. Ahmedabad: Finest creations or should I say the major tourists attractions in Gujarat are not only the efforts of years year rulers but also there is a little bit contribution of the citizenry as well. Pols are distinct residential areas that are unique only to Gujarat, and one can find their significant numbers in Ahmedabad. Ahmedabad has been titled the first “Heritage city” in whole India by UNESCO. There are nearly 174 pols in Ahmedabad, each featuring finest lovely wooden windows, brackets, magical balconies, khidkis, and chowks. Earlier pols were the preferred residence across the different sections of Gujarat society for the feeling of society and identity they evoke. Time has bestowed beauty to pol architecture of Gujarat, making them an ornament of world building. Gandhi ashram: Located on the banks of Sabarmati River, this abode of Gandhi is also known as Sabarmati Ashram. This Ashram, originally called Satyagraha Ashram, holds a special mention in the archives of India as a number of freedom movements were planned here between 1917 to 1930. Mahatma Gandhi also trained activists here to join his movements like Swadeshi movements, non-violence and civil disobedience. Gandhi’s poignant, Spartan living quarters are preserved in Sabarmati Ashram, and there’s an open-air museum that presents an informative and moving record of his life and teachings. The Sabarmati Ashram was also the starting point of the very famous and important movement of history, The Salt March to Dandi which played a significant role in leading India towards independence. Sun temple: Built in 1027 AD, Sun temple is one of the surviving Indian shrines dedicated to God Sun and stands as an epitome of the exquisite Hindu temple of Solanki dynasty. The temple is divided into three parts, which are perfectly aligned from east to west, in accordance with the deity passage of the sun. Inside the temple complex, you can see a suryakand or stepwell, prayer hall (also known as Sabhamandapa) supported on 52 pillars and another room (Gudhamandara) that leads to inner sanctum called Garbhagrah. The temple is a sight to behold during the Modhera Dance Festival. Sun temple is located in the Mehsana district of Gujarat, and one can reach by car or bus ride from Ahmedabad. Polo forest: The temples of Polo, located near Vijaynagar, were built between 10th and 15th centuries under the Gurjara-Pratiharas and later the Rathores as a hiding place from enemies, citizens, angry wives, and even from the sun. While there are number of medieval temples in the polo region of this period, the most notable ones are Sarneshwar temple (still in use), Lakha Dera Jain temple and Shiv Shakti Mandir. Structure and design of the temples reveal Islamic traces in the use of domes and lattice screens; it also follows the layout of Traditional Hindu temples. To reach the temples, you can take a bus or private taxi from Ahmedabad, which is hardly 160 kilometers away. Jeeps are also available from Idar, a town in Sabarkantha, which is 56 km from Vijaynagar. Jeeps would take you till the Polo campsite only; thereupon you will have to trek in the forest to explore the temple. There is only one homestay available at the Vijaynagar. Lothal: Somewhere like Dholavira, Lothal is also a significant site of the Indus Valley civilization excavated in India. Here, you can see a tank, which is believed to be a dry dockyard and is connected by the channel to the old course of the Sabarmati River. To know the place better you can also visit the museum, which showcases 5089 products unearthed from the evacuation like terracotta ornaments, shell and ivory objects, replicas of seal and sealings, tools and potteries yielded from excavations, copper and bronze objects animal and human figurines, weights, etc. To reach Lothal, you can hire a taxi from Ahmedabad and go for a long day trip or travel by train till Gandhigram and thereupon take a bus. Champaner: The deserted city of Champaner, a UNESCO world heritage site, is located in the foothills of Pavagadh. With some area perched on a rocky hilltop and bristling with forts, mosques, temples and palaces, Champaner-Pavagadh Archaeological Park looks like something out of a children’s storybook when it’s seen from afar. A major part of Champaner lies in ruins today, with the remains of many old mosques and palaces reflecting a blend of Islamic and Jain tradition. Also here you can find many Chalcolithic Indian Sites from the Stone Age era. Here one can find eleven different types of heritage monuments belonging to 16th century like tombs, gateways, mosques, temples, fortresses and walls, palaces, and pavilions, helical wells, custom houses. Kevda Masjid and Cenotaph, Jami Masjid, Lila Gumbaj Ki Masjid, Pavagadh fort, Lakulisa temple, and Helica Step-well, are some of the famous places to visit in Champaner-Pavagadh Archaeological Park. The Champaner complex is hardly 50 km away from Vadodara, thus, can be a good option for a weekend gateway. Rani ki vav: Rani ki Vav- as the name says this step well was built by Queen (Rani) of Bhimdeva, Udayamanti. Constructed in the 11th century to preserve ground water, Rani ki Vav came into limelight in 1972 when the area was fully earthed. The main highlight of the stepwell is that its walls that are profusely ornamented with figurative motifs and showcases images of various god and goddesses and their consorts from the Hindu Pantheon. The central part of each storey contains the primary sculpture. Winter is the best season to visit Rani ki Vav as you can enjoy the light shows, cultural events and exhibition at the Rani ki Vav Festival. Dwarkadhish temple: One of the four Dhams (divine abodes of India) and Sapata Turis (seven sacred cities), Dwarkadeesh Jagat Mandir doesn’t need any introduction. The word ‘Dwarka; is made of two words- ‘dwara’ meaning road, and ‘ka’ implying eternal significance. Going by the mythological records, Dwarka was the kingdom of Lord Krishna, and he stayed there for quite an extended period. This five storey temple stands on 72 pillars, which according to the science of archeo-astronomy, is some immense significance. The sandstone plinth and walls of the temples are embellished with panels depicting dancers, elephants, musicians and celestial beings. Along with Jagat Mandir, you can also visit the nearby temples like Bet Dwarka, Okha, and shrines dedicated to Rukmini (Lord Krishna’s Wife), Mirabai, Narsinh Mehta and Shank Narayan. Contact justwravel to plan your itinerary for your trip into history. "Kuch din to gujaro Gujarat mein"

[anavoliselenu]

Complete me chapter 6

“You weren’t,” Justin says, “and it’s going to bite him in the ass. Maybe not because of this girl, but because he’s living in a fantasy world, and eventually reality is going to catch up to him.”

“I know,” I say. “Ollie’s always been a master of denial.”

The limo arrives and the valet holds the door open while the bellman moves to the end of the car to load the trunk with our luggage. Justin lingers to tip the staff, but I go ahead and get in, my mind still on what he said about reality. Because he’s right. Eventually reality catches up with everyone. The only question is, can you survive when it does?

The moment Justin gets into the limo, I can tell that he knows what I��m thinking. His expression softens, and he settles in next to me, silently taking my hand. He doesn’t say anything until we are off of the city streets and on the A9 heading toward the airport. The gap in the conversation doesn’t matter, though. I understand exactly what he’s talking about when he turns to me and says simply, “Different realities, Selena. You and I are together, and we can withstand whatever the world throws at us.”

I draw in a deep breath, forcing myself not to ask the question that seems lodged in my throat, begging for release: Are you sure? Can we survive? Can we really make it after the bubble bursts?

Justin goes on, either unaware of or ignoring my unspoken words that seem to me like such an elephant in the room. “Ollie has the chance to have what we have. To be part of something special. But he’s scared and now he’s sabotaging his own happiness.” He reaches out and strokes my cheek with the back of his hand, the gesture so sweet I am certain that I will cry. “I’m not scared,” he says. “Not about that. And neither are you.”

I nod, because he’s right. There are still a lot of things that I am afraid of, but being with Justin is not one of them.

“What did Lisa have to say?” Justin asks, and I have to once again marvel at how perceptive this man is. I am not afraid of being with Justin, but I still have sharp bouts of fear with regard to running my own business. And as a business consultant, Lisa is not only a friend, but also a potential colleague.

“She says one of her clients is moving to Boston and wants to sublet a space in Sherman Oaks at a pretty steep discount.”

“That’s excellent news,” Justin says.

“Maybe,” I say. “I’m still not sure I need it.” My start-up business has been a frequent topic of conversation between Justin and me throughout our time in Germany. Not only did I legitimately want his thoughts—after all, who better to take business advice from than a self-made billionaire?—but talking about my entrepreneurial adventures kept the focus off the trial.

Justin is convinced that I should go ahead and set up shop somewhere and hire myself out as an app designer for small businesses while I work on larger projects. I see his point, but that doesn’t mean I’m not nervous.

“At the very least, you should meet with her and talk about the possibility. She’s sharp and has a good reputation and a solid client base. She can help you.”

I make a face, but I know he’s right. I know, because we already had this argument after he told me that he had his office run a background check on Lisa, just to make sure she was legit. I’d aimed a few choice curses in his direction and told him that I’d handle my own goddamned due diligence. He told me to say thank you for taking that burden off my shoulders.

The night had ended in a bath with candles, but that didn’t mean I hadn’t been irritated.

The bottom line, though, is that I like Lisa. The times we’ve talked, we’ve hit it off. And I’m new enough to Los Angeles to crave the addition of a few more friends to the small circle I’ve gathered since I’ve moved to LA. Resolved, I email back that I’d love to meet with her. Then I drop my phone in my purse and try not to hyperventilate.

Beside me, Justin laughs. “You did good,” he says. “I’ll even take you out to lunch to celebrate. How do you feel about fish and chips?”

“Fish and chips?”

“I need to make a stop in London.”

“All right. Sofia?”

“Do you mind?”

“Of course not.” I don’t know much about Sofia other than that she had a rocky childhood, and that she and Justin and his friend Alaine were tight during his tennis days. I know that she’s been in and out of trouble recently, and that Justin has been frustrated by her inability to get her shit together, as he puts it.

I also know that she was the first woman he slept with, but they’ve been only friends for a long time.

“Is she okay?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” he says, then runs his fingers through his hair. “She’s missing again.” He looks ripped, but he reaches for my hand, and I squeeze it tight.

“Whatever you need,” I say. “Anytime, anyplace.”

I have never been to London, and I can’t say that I’m seeing much of it on this journey. We went straight from Justin’s jet to his limo to his office. During the course of that ride, I saw traffic and people and buildings that are significantly older than any we have in either Texas or Los Angeles. But I didn’t see the Tower Bridge or Buckingham Palace or even a British pop star. In a way, I’m glad. This is hardly a vacation stop. On the other hand, who knows when I’ll be back this way again?

Now we’re at the London office of Stark International. It’s located in the Canary Wharf business district, and Justin’s office takes up one half of the thirty-eighth floor. The building is ultra modern, as is the furniture. Justin spent most of the short plane ride at my side, organizing a plan for locating Sofia while I made some notes about a smartphone app I’ve been pondering and sent Jamie and Evelyn both emails telling them we were on our way home and mentioning that I am—gasp—seriously considering leasing office space.

Now, I’m alone. I stand idly by the window and stare out into this dreary, overcast day. I have a view of the Thames, but not much else, and even that famous river doesn’t really draw my attention. My thoughts are twisting and turning when Justin comes back to his office, flanked by two efficient-looking women carrying electronic tablets and taking diligent notes.

He dismisses the one on the left and continues the conversation with the remaining woman. She’s in her late fifties, tall and slim and with the look of someone very capable. He introduced me to her earlier as Ms. Ives, his permanent London assistant. As far as I can tell, one of her primary duties is acting as the liaison between Sofia’s residential treatment facility and Justin.

I’m still fuzzy on why such massive resources are devoted to Sofia’s mental health. I understand that she’s a friend, but as far as I know, Justin doesn’t assign assistants to keep tabs on all of his friends.

“Let me know the moment you get through to Alaine,” he says to her. Alaine is now a chef in Los Angeles, but since he and Sofia and Justin were tight in their youth, Justin is hoping that he’s heard from her. He moves behind his desk and glances down at the neat piles of paper. “And since I’m in town anyway, bring me the projections on the Newton project.”

“Of course, Mr. Stark.” She pauses in her exit to nod at me. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Fairchild. I’m sorry the circumstances couldn’t have been more pleasant.”

“A pleasure to meet you, too,” I say. I remain by the window until the door shuts behind her, then I move to Justin’s side. “Any luck?”

“Unfortunately, no. She checked herself out of the most recent rehab facility about a week ago, and no one’s heard from her since.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

He grimaces. “It’s not the first time, but usually she turns up after a few days back in her apartment in St. Albans, drunk or stoned off her ass and ready to go get dried out again.”

“How old is she?”

“Twenty-nine. A year younger than me.”

I nod, digesting the information. “And she’s in rehab voluntarily? I mean, a judge didn’t put her there?”

“Sometimes I think it would be easier if one did,” he says flatly. “But no, it’s voluntary.”

“I see,” I say, but of course, I don’t. His desk is the size of the bathroom I share with Jamie, and made of chrome and glass and polished teak. I hop up on it, letting my legs dangle as I think about what he’s told me—and about what he hasn’t. “I get that you’re worried something happened to her,” I say. “What I don’t understand is why. She’s an adult and she checked out legitimately. Maybe she just decided to travel. To go hang with some other friends. They said she was almost dried out, right? Maybe she wants to prove to herself that she can operate sober on her own.”

I expect him to shoot me down. To tell me—rightfully—that I don’t know a thing about this girl. Instead, he seems to seriously consider my words.

“She may have done just that,” Justin says. “But if you suddenly couldn’t find Jamie, what would you do?”

Considering that happened not so very long ago, he knows exactly what I would do. Completely freak out. “Point taken, Mr. Stark.”

“There’s another reason, too,” he says. His voice is casual, his movements equally so as he moves to the window where I was standing only moments before. I join him, and we both look out over this industrial section of the city. But it’s not the view that has captured my attention. It’s the reflection of Justin’s face in the glass. His voice and manner may be casual; his expression is not.

I don’t say anything, and after a moment, he continues. “She and I had an agreement. I’d foot the bill, and she’d finish the treatments. I don’t like having my conditions ignored.”

I nod. Knowing what I know of Justin, what he is saying makes perfect sense. The only thing I don’t understand is why, and though I’m almost certain he will shut me down, I decide to voice the question. “Why are you paying for the treatment? And not just this one round. There’ve been others, too, right?”

The silence that hangs after my question seems unusually heavy, and I am not sure how much longer I can stand the weight of it bearing down upon me.

When he finally speaks, the words are soft, but there is a harshness to them that I don’t understand. “I’ve been paying Sofia’s way for as long as I’ve had the money to do so.”

My question is once again “Why?”—and it bursts past my lips before I can think better of it.

I am looking at him now, not at his reflection. But Justin is still looking through the glass, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s seeing the city or the past. Is it me that he is standing beside? Or is Sofia next to him?

I squeeze my hands into fists, because I do not want to be jealous of a ghost, and yet I feel those tiny green seeds begin to sprout inside me.

Justin still hasn’t answered my question, and I think that perhaps I have gone too far. But then he finally speaks, and I am suddenly cold—chilled to the bone for Justin, and for the innocent girl who was his friend.

“She was Richter’s daughter,” Justin says. “And he didn’t leave her a dime.”

It takes me a minute to fully comprehend what he is saying. “Sofia is Richter’s daughter, but he left all of his money to you?”

“He did,” Justin says.

“So that’s why you take care of her? Why didn’t you just sign the money over to her?”

“That wasn’t an option,” he says. “For one thing, she had issues even back then. She’s brilliant but impulsive, and she doesn’t make the best choices. So I set up a trust. She can access money for her needs. I bought an apartment for her. I pay for her treatment. The bottom line is that she has a life and property because I didn’t give her that money. If I had, she probably would have died from an overdose. At the very least, she would have either drunk, injected, or snorted it away.”

I nod because that all makes sense.

“But the truth is that I would have helped her even if there had been no inheritance.” For the first time since he has started speaking, he turns to face me. “She knew about what he did to me. Her friendship helped keep me sane.”

“Oh, God.” I’m not sure if he can hear the words through the hand that I have pressed against my mouth. But I am certain that he can see the horror—and the sadness—in my eyes. “She knew what kind of a monster her father was.”

“She did,” he says. “And we survived him together. In the end, I was better suited at survival than she was. But dammit, Selena, she was there for me.”

I am nodding, tears trickling down my cheeks. “Alaine, too?”

Justin shakes his head. “He didn’t know anything. I value his friendship, of course. But my relationship with Sofia runs deeper.”

I take his hand and hold it tight. Those tiny green tendrils have completely shriveled up. There is no jealousy. Instead, I am as desperate to find this woman as Justin. This poor girl who shared what little strength she had with Justin, and suffered through her own kind of hell simply from knowing that the blood of a monster flowed through her veins.

“You’ll find her,” I say. “When have you ever not gotten something you want?”

As I had hoped, that draws a small smile to his lips. He pulls me into his arms and holds me tight.

“The trial must have been hell for her,” I say. “Her father. You.” I keep my cheek pressed against his chest as his reply rumbles through me.

“We didn’t talk about it. She didn’t like to think about the fact that Merle Richter was her father. I spoke to her a few hours before you arrived in Germany, actually. I kept expecting her to bring it up. She never did.”

I don’t know what to say next, so I am relieved when Ms. Ives’s voice comes across the intercom, telling Justin that she has Alaine on a video call, and does Justin want her to put it through to the wall screen?

Justin tells her to go ahead, and immediately a decorative mirror on the far side of the room turns opaque, then blue. And then, suddenly, I see Alaine’s face.

“Justin,” he says, “I was so pleased to hear about the dismissal.”

“Thank you. You remember Selena?”

“Of course. It is a pleasure to see you again, Selena. Hopefully next time it will be in person with a glass of my best wine.”

“I’d like that.” When I met Alaine, I hadn’t been able to place his accent. Since then, Justin has told me that he grew up in Switzerland. It’s still not an accent I would recognize easily, but listening now, I can hear the influences of both French and German.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t available when you called earlier. Your message said it was about Sofia?”

“She’s gone again,” Justin says. “Checked herself out a few days ago and took off. I haven’t been able to find her, and I thought she might have called you.”

“You are in luck, my friend,” he says. “I know exactly where she is.”

I meet Justin’s eyes and see the flash of relief. “Where?”

“Shanghai.”

“Shanghai?” Incredulity laces his voice. “Why? When did you talk to her?”

Alaine’s brow furrows. “Three, no four, days ago. Do you remember David, that drummer she was intrigued with a few years back? Apparently his band is booked for a week in a club there. She said she might be in Chicago, too, if a job the band is hoping for comes through.”

Justin presses his fingertips to his temple. His expression is an odd mix of softness and concern. It’s a paternal expression, the kind I imagine I’d see if he was worried about our own kids one day.

Our kids? I stiffen, but in surprise, not fear. The thought came unbidden, but it is not terrifying. On the contrary, it’s soothing, as if I’ve been given a sneak peek into the future, and it is a future with Justin and a family.

“She called you?” Justin asks Alaine. “I’ve been trying to reach her by cell, but it just rolls over to voice mail.”

“It was a video call,” he says. “I asked if she’d talked to you, but she didn’t want to bother you during the trial. I’m surprised she hasn’t called you now that it’s over, but knowing Sofia, she hasn’t seen the news.”

“Can you conference her in through the account she used?”

I see Alaine’s eyes shift up, as if he’s examining the various options on his computer monitor. “I think so. Hang on.” Alaine’s image stays on the screen, but a smaller box appears in the corner. It’s a snapshot of a girl with spiky black hair tipped with red. She has a multi-pierced ear filled with tiny silver rings. Her elven face is small and delicate and her skin is unnaturally pale. Her deep brown eyes are ringed with pitch-black kohl. The only color comes from her lips, which are wide and full and striking with bloodred lipstick. It’s hard to tell her age, but even though Justin said that Sofia is almost thirty, she looks barely twenty to me. Then again, I have no idea how old this image is.

“I think this will do it,” Alaine says, then almost immediately adds, “Well, damn the girl.”

It takes me a second to understand what has happened, but then I see that a red X has appeared as a watermark over the image. “What is that?” I ask.

“She’s closed her account,” Justin says. “You don’t have another contact number?”

“Other than her cell phone? No.” Alaine’s mouth is curved down into a frown. “I swear I don’t know what she’s thinking half the time. But she said she’d call after Shanghai and let me know where they’re going next.”

“Tell her to call me, too. For that matter, hook me into the call.”

“Will do. And, Justin, don’t worry. She will turn up. She always does. And we both know that she is a mercurial soul.”

“She’s a disturbed soul,” Justin says.

“Aren’t we all?” Alaine says, but there is a sparkle in his eyes, and it’s obvious that he doesn’t understand the fundamental truth of his words.

As soon as the screen goes blank, Justin calls Ms. Ives back in and gives her a list of instructions, including searching the file for David and then tracking his current band to Shanghai. She takes meticulous notes and promises to contact him the moment she has information. As soon as she’s left, Justin folds me into his arms.

“Are you okay?”

“Frustrated,” he says. “But I’m fine.”

I see the worry etched on his face, but when he looks at me and smiles, it all seems to fade.

“Thank you,” he says.

“For what?”

“For everything.”

My answering smile is so broad it’s almost painful. “Anytime, Mr. Stark.”

“I think I’m done here for now,” he says. “You’ve never been to London, have you? Do you want to stay the night? We could go to Harrods. Catch a show in the West End. See a few sights.”

“No,” I say. “I just want to be with you. I just want to go home.”

“And that’s another reason that we are perfect together,” Justin says. “I want exactly the same thing.”

Chapter Ten

“Welcome aboard, Mr. Stark, Ms. Fairchild. Would you care for a glass of champagne?”

“Yes, thank you,” I say, taking the glass gratefully. Justin and I are seated side by side in the rich leather recliners. There’s a polished table in front of us and equally shiny wood trim throughout the interior of the very large cabin. The seats are so comfortable I’d happily have them at home. The flight attendant is tall and slim, with a mass of curls piled on her head in a way that manages to look both cute and professional.

I sip the champagne, sigh, and have to admit that there’s something to be said for the billionaire lifestyle.

“What happened to the other plane?” I ask Justin. We’d flown from Munich to London in a small jet, similar to the one he keeps hangared in Santa Monica. While comfortable, it pales in comparison to this one.

“This is the Lear Bombardier Global 8000,” he says. “We’re crossing the Atlantic, remember? Not to mention all of the United States. I thought traveling in a plane with sufficient fuel capacity made sense. Plus it’s easier to get work done with an actual office. And sleep in an actual bed,” he adds, trailing his finger lightly up my leg and giving me shivers.

“This thing has an office and a bed?”

“There’s a bed in the stateroom,” he says.

“Wow.” I want to get up and explore, but the attendant has already asked that we fasten our seat belts as the plane is now taxiing toward the runway.

Now, she’s standing next to the jump seat. She’s speaking into a headset, presumably communicating with the pilot. A moment later, she hangs up, then walks toward Justin and me. “Mr. Stark, you’ve had a telephone call from Mr. Maynard. He tried to reach your cell, but apparently the call didn’t connect. When he realized you were on board, he called the tower and asked that we get a message to you to call him at your earliest convenience.”

“Can we hold on the runway?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ll call him now,” he says, then pulls his phone out of his pocket. I watch from beside him, frowning as he’s put through to Charles. I can’t imagine why Maynard would be calling—could the court have changed its mind? Is it even allowed to do that?

I study Justin’s face, but his expression gives me no clues. It’s gone completely blank and totally unreadable. A boardroom expression designed to give nothing away to competitors—or to me.

After a moment, Justin stands, and though I reach for his hand, he doesn’t reach back. Neither does he meet my eyes. He heads to the back of the plane and disappears into what I assume is the office.

I try to focus on my book, but it’s impossible, and after I’ve read the same page over at least three dozen times, Justin finally returns. He nods at the attendant, who radios the cockpit, and by the time Justin has fastened his seat belt again we are once again readying for takeoff.

“What happened?” I ask.

“Nothing to worry about.” He stills wears that bland, corporate mask and I feel my heart constrict, as if a giant fist is squeezing it tight.

“But I am worrying. Charles wouldn’t radio the tower unless it was important.”

He smiles, but it seems forced, and I see no corresponding humor in his eyes. “You’re right. He wouldn’t.”

“Then what is it?”

“There’ve been some time-sensitive developments on a couple of matters that I’ve been chipping away at.” His voice is level, his words perfectly reasonable. I, however, don’t believe a word of it.

“Don’t shut me out again, Justin.”

“I’m not,” he says firmly. “Not everything is about us.”

I tense, the sting of his words as potent as a slap. “I see.” I finger the book in my lap. “Well, never mind.”

“Selena . . . ” His voice is no longer cold.

I tilt my head to look at him, my own mask firmly in place. “It’s fine,” I say.

His eyes search mine, the near-black one seeming to see so deep into me that it is almost dizzying. I hold his gaze for as long as I can before I have to look away or else risk him seeing too clearly that I’m certain his words are all bullshit. What I don’t understand is why.

I turn my head, ostensibly to look out the window as the plane gathers speed, rushing forward to its inevitable climb. And as the wheels lift off, I can’t help but think that we have reached the point of no return, Justin and I. Like this plane, we will either continue to move forward, or we will crash.

There are no other options.

And as I glance sideways at Justin with his papers spread out and his face a mask of secrets and fears, I cannot help but be very, very afraid.

I’m sitting cross-legged on the narrow bed in the stateroom, feeling hollow. I brought the empty champagne flute back with me, and now I hold it like a baton—one hand on the base, and one hand on the rim, the fragile stem stretched out between my hands.

It would be so simple, I think. Just a contraction of muscles. One quick movement and—snap.

One second, maybe less, and I’d have the stem in my hand, its top raw, the edge of broken glass as sharp as a knife.

My skirt is hitched up so that I can sit like this, and beneath the material that is stretched taut across my legs, I can see the marred flesh of my inner thighs. I can imagine tracing the stem along the edge of the most jagged one. The pain as I press the glass into soft flesh. The release as I tug it down, my skin yielding and the horrible pressure in my chest finally lessening as the valve is open and all this shit that has been building can finally explode out of me.

I want it—oh, God, I want it.

No.

I squeeze my eyes tight, desperate for Justin’s hand. But he is not here, and it is just me, and I am not certain that I can do this alone.

Slowly, I run the rounded rim of the flute against my thigh. Just one snap—just a little pressure—

No, no, goddammit, no.

I will not do this, and I lift the glass, prepared to hurl it away from me, but a firm tap on the door startles me and I jump guiltily. I don’t expect it to be Justin—he returned to the jet’s office as soon as we reached altitude two hours ago, and I haven’t seen him since. Instead, I assume it’s Katie, the flight attendant, who promised to wake me when dinner was served.

“I’m not hungry,” I call. “I’m going to sleep a little longer.”

But then the door bursts open and he’s right there. Justin.

And there I am holding the goddamn flute.

I shift my position so that I’m sitting with my legs out and my back against the polished wood siding. I casually put the flute on the nearby table, hoping that he doesn’t realize the dark direction in which my thoughts were traveling.

He stands there for so long, I fear he isn’t going to say a word. His face is firm, his eyes sad. “You should have called me out for bullshit,” he finally says, and I allow myself the tiniest bit of relief. He didn’t see the glass; he didn’t realize what I was thinking.

“Of course it’s about us,” he continues. “There’s nothing in my life that isn’t about us. How could there be when my world revolves around you?”

“Don’t,” I say, still unbalanced and edgy. “Don’t shift the focus by plying me with romantic platitudes.”

I see the spark of anger fire in his eyes as crosses the stateroom in three long strides, the door clicking shut behind him. “Platitudes?” he repeats, his tone hard. “Jesus, Selena, are you telling me you don’t know what you mean to me?” He reaches out to touch me, but stops with his fingers only inches from my face. “Haven’t I told you every single day that we’ve been together?”

I can feel the heat rolling off him. A violent passion. A sensual need. I close my eyes and draw a shuddering breath as my blood pounds through me in response. Oh, yes. I know how he feels about me; I feel the same way. Alive in his arms. Lost out of them. He is everything to me.

And that is why I am willing to fight so hard.

Slowly, I open my eyes and tilt my head to look at him. “I know,” I say. “But that doesn’t make it relevant. Maynard didn’t call about stock prices or your corporate logo or what they serve in the goddamn lunchroom at Stark Tower.”

He’s staring at me as if I’ve gone mad, and maybe I have a little. But dammit, I want him to understand.

“We’re not attached at the hip, Justin. Everything’s not about us. And that’s fine. Hell, it’s good. I don’t want to steal your autonomy any more than I want to hand you mine. But I have memorized every line of your face, and I recognized the shadows I saw in your eyes. So don’t trivialize something that really does affect us by making it sound like some minor irritation that’s going to require us to reschedule dinner next Thursday.”

He raises an eyebrow as he looks at me. “Well,” he says, and that simple word holds both surprise and acknowledgment.

After a moment, he takes the last step toward me and sits next to me on the bed. He gently takes my hand and uses his fingertip to trace lightly upon my skin. He says nothing, though, and the silence hangs heavy between us, full of both questions and hope.

I remember my thought as we took off—that we are either going to keep moving forward, or we are going to crash. Finally, I can take it no longer. I reach for him, then stroke my hand down the side of his cheek. “I love you,” I say, though the words seem too big for my throat.

“Selena.” My name sounds as though it was wrenched from him, and when he pulls me close and holds me tight, I close my eyes, wanting—no, needing—to hear the words back. He has not said that he loves me since my first week in Germany. Not since the trial prep began in earnest and the attorneys warned him that he was risking jail and his future if he didn’t testify.

I need to hear it now, though. I desperately need him to say those three little words. Not because I doubt that Justin loves me, but because I cannot shake the fear that we are on a collision course with the real world, and that those words are our only shield once our shiny, protective bubble shatters.

He says nothing, though. He simply holds me, his arms closing tight around me as if that is all the protection I need.

When he does speak, his words surprise me. “The press has been going hot and heavy suggesting that I bribed someone to get the charges dropped.”

I stiffen and pull back so that I can see his face. “Those fucking bastards.”

The corner of his mouth lifts. “I agree completely with your assessment, but the truth is I’ve been accused of worse.” I search his face and see nothing of my own anger. Whatever is bothering him, it isn’t this ridiculous accusation. That’s just one part of the story.

“Okay,” I say. “Go on.”

“Apparently the prosecutors and judges weren’t thrilled with the allegations. The prosecution released an official statement that the charges against me were dropped after additional evidence was brought to the court’s attention.”

Considering that’s exactly what happened, I’m still not seeing the problem. But I say nothing, content to wait.

“Now the press is pushing to see the evidence.”

Oh . . .

I squeeze his hand tight. “Justin, that’s—” I cut myself off, because I don’t know what to say. Horrible? I think of how wrecked he was after the dismissal and try to magnify that a million-fold if those photos are released to the whole goddamned world. My chest constricts and my skin feels prickly merely from the thought. I can’t even imagine how Justin must feel—or how brutally the release of those photos will rip him apart.

I suck in air and try again. “Surely they won’t. The evidence is sealed, right? What did Maynard say?” I’m babbling, but I know nothing about the law, and even less than that about the law in Germany. Does the press have a right to see the evidence? Will the court or the prosecution turn the photos over to save its own reputation?

“Vogel is on it, and Charles is staying in Munich to work with him. He’s optimistic, but it’s too early for me to have any real sense of the outcome.”

“I see.” I want to tell him that it will be okay, but I can’t quite bring the lie to my lips. Because if those photos are released, it will rip him apart. And, yes, Justin is strong, and I know that he will heal. But like the cuts on my thighs, that wound will never go away. Part of him will have died, and nothing will be the same again.

“I’m sorry I hurt you,” he says as he brushes the pad of his thumb across my lips.

I open my mouth, drawing him in, then close my eyes and savor the taste of him. “Aren’t you the one who told me that pain and passion go hand in hand?” I murmur when I finally release him.

I watch as his eyes darken, then gasp as he pushes me back onto the narrow bed. Desire—hot and heavy—slams through me with such force and power it makes me dizzy. I need him—I need his hands upon my breasts and his body against mine. I need his tongue in my mouth and his cock deep inside me.

I need to feel the connection between us. I need to revel in it, to bathe in it.

I need to feel what I already know—that Justin is mine, and that I am and always will be his.

His hands are holding fast to my wrists, keeping my arms stretched above my head. He holds me tight, and I wince from the pain of my skin twisting in his grip, then cry out again when he violently kneads my breasts through my thin cotton shirt. “Do you like that?” he asks.

“Yes, oh, God, yes.”

He lowers his mouth to my breast, suckling through my shirt before shoving it up, then tugging my breast free from my bra. He is straddling me at the hips, and I am breathing hard, unable to move as his hands hold me down and his mouth closes over my now bare breast. He draws the nipple in between his lips, sucking so intensely that I arch up, then cry out when he bites down, his teeth drawing tighter than the little silver rings from the night before.

He pulls away, tugging the nipple with him, and I arch up, wanting more—wanting that sensual bite, that seductive sting.

“Tell me what you need,” he demands.

“You,” I say. “I need you.”

“Goddammit, Selena,” he growls, “that’s not what I mean. Tell me what you need.”

And that’s when I realize—of course he saw the flute. Of course he knew what I was thinking. Justin knows; hell, he always knows.

“I need you,” I repeat hoarsely. “That’s all I need. I wasn’t going to do it, I swear. I thought about it, but I wasn’t going to do it.”

“Oh, baby.” His mouth closes over mine, and he is kissing me, wild and hungry and with so much fervency I feel as though we will both get lost in it. His hands move over my body and I writhe under his touch, every sense firing. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I brought you there, and I’m so fucking sorry.”

“No,” I say. “It’s me. Only me. And you’re what keeps me strong. Oh, God, Justin, please,” I add, because I cannot have his hands on me and have this conversation at the same time. “Now, please, I need you now.”

“Selena.” My name is an anthem as his fingers thrust aside the negligible material of my thong and his fingers sink deep inside my already dripping cunt. “Oh, baby.”

I shift my hips and struggle against his hand that still holds me fast. Whatever anger or hurt I’d felt moments ago has completely evaporated. This is Justin, the man that I love. The man that I need, and I want him inside me. I want him touching me. I want—dear God, I simply want.

He releases his hold on me to unfasten his pants and free his cock. I tilt my head up, then suck in air when I see him, thick and hard. I shift my arm, my fingers itching to stroke him.

“No,” he says, and I have to bite my lower lip to hold back my cry of disappointment as I comply, keeping my arms stretched high above my head.

“Hurry,” I beg. I spread my legs wider, desperate for him. I am liquid flame. I am hedonism personified. I am lust and need and passion.

And then he is above me, his mouth upon mine, wild and wet even as the head of his cock slides over my sex, cruelly teasing me but never entering me.

I arch and writhe, begging him with my body, and when that doesn’t work I nip his lower lip with my teeth and demand, “Now, Justin, fuck me now.”

And then I moan as he thrusts hard inside me. My skirt is around my waist, my thong shoved to one side. He balances with one hand beside our joined bodies. The other hand is twined with my fingers above my head.

The plane hits a pocket of air, and I cry out in alarm and pleasure as we free-fall, then slam back at altitude, the motion thrusting Justin even deeper inside of me. I want my hands to be free—I want to cup his ass and push him hard inside me—but he is giving me no leeway. He breaks the kiss and as he balances above me, he looks deep in my eyes. Our bodies are touching only where his hand circles my wrist and where his cock is thrusting so enticingly in and out of me.

“That’s it, baby,” he says, going deeper with each stroke, his body rubbing my clit with each motion. “I want to watch your face as you explode. I want to know that I’ve taken you to the brink, and then I want to go over the edge with you.

“Come on,” he urges as the storm rises like a wellspring of colors inside me. “Come on, baby—oh, yes,” he groans as my body explodes around his. The orgasm ripples through me, making me arch up and cry out and writhe with a wanton desperation. I’m not sure if I’m trying to escape this riot of sensation or if I’m trying to make it go on and on. All I know is that Justin has not stopped thrusting and the muscles of my sex are still spasming around him and I am clawing at the cover on this bed and arching up and trying to breathe and—

“Oh, God,” I cry as one final, violent jolt of electricity cuts through me just seconds before Justin finds his own release. I collapse, limp, onto the bed and though my eyes are heavy, I cannot pass up the joy of watching pure sensual satisfaction play across his face. Then he smiles at me, his expression so tender that I can think of nothing more than curling up next to him.

As if in answer to my thought, he lowers himself beside me, and the hand that just a few minutes ago held so fast to my wrist now traces lazy strokes down my arm.

“Welcome to the Mile High Club,” he says, and I burst out laughing.

I roll closer and nestle against him, sated and satisfied and happy. “You are what I need, Justin. You’re all that I need.”

I have surrendered to this man completely, and now, once again, it feels wholly right. Between Justin and me, sex is as necessary as conversation. It is our method of discovery. Our sharing of trust. And our ultimate surrender.

It is, I think, his “I love you” spoken with his body, if not with his words.

I’m drifting, neither awake nor asleep, when Justin’s words bring me fully back to myself. “No matter what the German court decides, there’s a good chance those pictures are going public.”

There is no emotion in his voice, and that chills me more than anything. I don’t move. We are spooned together, my back against his chest, his arm draped over my waist. I keep my eyes closed, as if that somehow makes the words less real. “Why would you say that?”

“I think your earlier thought was right,” he says. “I think my father might be the one behind this.”

“Justin, no.” I roll over now—I have to see him. “Do you really think so?”

“It makes sense. If I go to jail, his asset stream dries up.” Despite the fact that Justin’s father makes my mother look as sweet and cuddly as the Easter Bunny, Justin has continued to support the man.

“Even if you’re right, that only explains how the court got the photos. Why on earth would you think that he’d make them go public?”

He rubs his fingers together, symbolizing money.

I shake my head, not following.

“Tabloids. Internet sites. So-called news programs. They’ll all pay a lot for information if they think it will sell ad space or papers.”

“Shit,” I say, because he is right, and that pretty much sums it up. “Maybe it’s not him.”

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[cityutopiadystopia]

History of Parks in Chicago (Abbie)

In 1837, Chicago was officially incorporated as a city and chose the motto “urbs in hort”, meaning “city in a garden”. Despite this apparent commitment to nature, public parks in Chicago started out as just a few sections of lakefront land and some squares of undeveloped land meant to increase property value in neighborhoods. The speculator John S. Wright envisioned a Chicago surrounded by a ribbon of parkland and pleasure drives, and the city took its first steps toward this fantasy in 1869 when it established the Lincoln, South, and West Park Commissions. As the years went on, Chicago founded more park commissions as it annexed more territory. During this time, the creation of parks was deeply linked to greater social issues - for example, Dr. John H. Raunch helped eliminate a public health hazard when he converted cemetery land into what is now Lincoln Park, claiming that parks were “the lungs of the city”. Around 1900, Daniel Burnham was contracted by the South Park Commission to construct parks in overcrowded tenement areas. He saw parks as spaces that could provide access to important social services as well as recreation. Frederick Law Olmsted, the nation’s most famous landscape architect and Burnham’s colleague in planning the World’s Columbian Exposition, saw parks as democratic sites. Burnham agreed: following the model of the settlement houses that were popping up around Chicago at this time, he designed parks to include large “field houses” to house social programs as well as facilities like libraries and public showers that could be utilized by anyone from the surrounding community. Burnham’s conception spread across the city and the country, and became the model for public parks. However, not all of Burnham’s dreams for Chicago parks were realized: he planned to make the Chicago lake shore into a chain of lagoons and canals to rival “the Thames, the Seine, and the canals of Venice”, but this never happened.

During the Depression Era, many of the park commissions in Chicago went bankrupt. To save them, the Park Consolidation Act of 1934 combined the various commissions into the Chicago Park District, which received funding from the Works Progress Administration during the following decades. Chicago added many new parks in the 1940s and 1950s. Today, the Chicago Park District is the largest in the U.S. and governs more than 580 parks.

Parks of Chicago (Luke)

Humboldt Park

Named after Alexander von Humboldt, a German scientist and naturalist who spend much of his career exploring the landscapes of the Central and South America, Humboldt Park remains very much tied to its surrounding migrant population. Opened in 1869, Humboldt Park and its unique ‘prairie style’ spans 219 acres and features three historical landmarks: the field house, the boathouse, and the historic stables.

Jens Jensen, superintendent and chief landscape architect of the park during the early 1900’s, wanted to create a park that reflected the Illinois’ Midwestern nature- which has been increasingly covered over with an ever-growing urban landscape. Saying that, “If the city cannot come to the country, then the country must come to the city”, Jensen designed Humboldt Park with a prairie river, two rocky brooks, and a natural flower garden- reflecting the nature he experienced on his trips to the countryside. The prairie style Jensen implemented gained popularity in the early 20th century, an organic style documented to be a reaction against both the inherently European Greek and Roman architecture found at the Columbian Exposition, and the rising industrialization in the Midwest.

Humboldt Park remains heavily tied to its large, but decreasing, Puerto Rican population. The park is host to the Latin Jazz Festival and Puerto Rican Festival, and its historic stables are currently home to the only National Museum of Puerto Rican Arts and Culture. In 2012-2014, Humboldt Park hosted the punk-rock Riot Festival, which gained as many as 160,000 attendees before concerns of community-wide gentrification cause Riot Festival to be relocated to Douglas Park.

Lincoln Park Conservatory

Designed by Joseph Silsbee, the Lincoln Park Conservatory, or the ‘paradise under glass’, consists of four Victorian glass display houses which display exotic, tropical plants year-round. Built in 1895, Silsbee’s concentration on plant life was a result of the growing concerns of industrialization and mass production, which were beginning to take over cities in the American Midwest like Chicago. This cultural hesitance over industrialization sparked the creation of many plant conservatories across the America, with the Lincoln Park Conservatory being no exception.

Maggie Daley Park

A 20-acre subsection of Grant Park, Maggie Daley park was founded on December 13th, 2014. Unlike other parks mentioned in our atlas, the design and features of the Maggie Daley Park were heavily influenced by the residents of Chicago: numerous public meetings, discussions, and focus groups with stakeholders gave the public a chance to shape the park they would interact with.

The park was designed with two ‘axes’: the park axis and the play axis. The park axis’s emphasis was on highlighting Chicago’s natural topography and plant life, the surrounding city, and Lake Michigan. The ‘play axis’ hosts many activities and features which both residents and tourists of Chicago, and specifically children, can enjoy: an ice rink, mini gold course, and many buildings and structures designed, according to the Maggie Daley website, to booster children’s exploration, learning, and fun.

Grant Park

Established by the residents of Chicago in 1844, Grant park has witnessed most of downtown Chicago’s upbringing, whose existence as an open park was defended and ultimately preserved by Chicago entrepreneur Montgomery Ward. Although Michigan Avenue landowners at the time were promised in the 1836 legislation mentioned above to remain “forever open, clear and free”, this promise was broken during the early 1900’s, as a post office, exposition center, armory, and other civic buildings were built by the city in Grant Park’s grounds- elements of Burnham’s vision of Grant Park in Plan of Chicago. Montgomery Ward, fighting for the open public access of Chicago’s lakefront, fought and won four supreme court battles in order wipe Grant park free of any buildings- with the exception of the Art Institute.

The other notable features in Grant park include Crown Fountain and the Jay Pritzker Pavilion- which both avoided deconstruction by being classified as works of art- Maggie Daley Park, Millennium Park, and Buckingham Fountain.

In addition to its tumultuous history, Grant Park has been the host of prominent cultural, political, and sports-related events. The Taste of Chicago, Grant Park Music Festival, and Lollapalooza highlight chicago’s food and music culture, while 10,000 protesters gathered in and occupied Grant park during the 1968 Chicago DNC protests. Grant park also hosts many of the victory celebrations of Chicago’s sports teams.

Parks of Chicago (McKenzie)

Jackson Park/Midway Plaisance

Jackson Park and Midway Plaisance were opened in 1869 and 1871 respectively. The Midway Plaisance connects Washington and Jackson parks, and I’ve included it with Jackson Park because of the role these both played in the 1893 expo. These three parks were together conceived initially as “South Park” by Paul Cornell, a real estate magnate who founded Hyde park, as part of his plans for the Hyde Park/Kenwood/Woodlawn area as a “resort community”.   The parks were designed by Olmsted & Vaux. The proximity to the lake played a large role in Olmsted & Vaux’s design, and they wanted to incorporate “water elements” including a long canal thru the midway. After the Columbian Expo, Olmsted, Olmsted and Eliot transformed the area back to parkland. In the 1930s May McAdams, a landscape architect, designed a perennial garden at the East end of Midway. This inspired the 2005 Allison Davis Garden by Peter Schaudt on West end of midway (Allison Davis was the first tenured African American Professor at UChicago). Few elements of the Columbian Expo remain. The MSI, formerly the Fine Arts Palace during the Expo, did not burn down. The “Golden Lady” sculpture is a smaller version of Daniel Chester French’s Statue of the Republic. The Norway Pavilion survived the fire but is now in a museum in Wisconsin. The Osaka Garden (now Garden of the Phoenix) was reconstructed as it appeared originally.  

Jackson Park was the site of the Columbian Expo, and Olmsted and Burnham worked together to develop the area for the event. The Midway had mainly restaurants, “foreign villages”, and ethnological exhibits, and made a substantial portion of the profits from the Expo. It also had the world’s first ferris wheel which was extremely popular. The Midway portion of the Expo was run by Sol Bloom, a theatrical entrepreneur. Attractions on the Midway were a mix of educational and fake. There was a clear agenda to promote American and White superiority in the attractions: for instance, Africans in ethnological exhibits were depicted as cannibals.                                  Part of Jackson Park contained a Surface-to-Air Missile site during Cold War. In the 1950s, plans to lease part of Jackson Park to the army were prevented due to protests. In 1965, plans to shrink Jackson Park in order to widen lake shore drive were again impeded by protests. Construction was halted halfway through. Jackson Park is the site of future Barack Obama Presidential Centre.

Washington Park

Opened in 1870 in conjunction with Jackson Park and the Midway Plaisance, Washington Park was also designed by  Olmsted & Vaux. Washington park’s stables and roundhouse, and later the Conservatory and Sunken Garden, were designed by Daniel Burnham. The DuSable Museum of African American History was also designed by Burnham and Root, though not originally as a museum. Washington Park was designed to be part of Chicago boulevard system: it intersects garfield, midway, and drexel boulevards). The Fountain of Time, depicting a cloaked “father of time” staring at people across the water  (inspired by Henry Dobson’s poem Paradox of Time) was designed by Lorado Taft. The park was expanded in the 1930s due to a lack of community recreational facilities.

The Washington Park community has been historically African American since WWI. The transition from a mostly-white “resort community” resulted in some tensions during this transition. Also originally it had sheep and cows to keep the grass trim, which was disallowed in 1920. According to the Encyclopedia of Chicago, “Many blacks who tried to use the park reported threats and intimidation, primarily from white gangs. Still, black semiprofessional baseball teams played each other on the baseball fields at Washington Park through the 1920s.”

Calumet Park

Calumet Park in the Eastside neighbourhood was designed by the Olmsted Brothers in the early 1900s, but was not completed until the 1930s. The area around Calumet Park grew rapidly around time when the park was being built, mainly due to european and mexican immigrants who came to work at steel mills and rail yards. This lead to the park commission to decide to increase the size of the yet-incomplete park.  The etymology of the word Calumet is unclear, but is likely linked to a French interpretation of a Native American word/object. The UChicago Calumet Quarter for environmental studies/science majors explores the history and ecology of calumet area, and involves weekly field trips to areas in Calumet, including the park.

Douglas Park

Located in North Lawndale/Pilsen, Douglas park was designed by William Le Baron Jenney, as part of plan for a West park and boulevard system which included Humboldt and Garfield parks in 1869. By 1905, the park had become run down due to corruption, and was revived by Jens Jensen, a Dean of the Prairie style landscape architect. His improvements included a garden shelter called Flower Hall, which was constructed near a busy intersection as a barrier between the intersection and the park’s interior. In 1928, a fieldhouse was built by Michaelsen and Rognstad.

Ogden Park

Opened in 1905 in Englewood, Ogden Park was designed by the Olmsted brothers along with ten other parks in an effort to “provide relief to Chicago’s overcrowded tenement districts” (chicagoparkdistrict.com) by providing social, recreational, and educational services to inhabitants of the communities.

Marquette Park

The development of Marquette park in the Chicago Lawn neighbourhood  was supervised by J Frank Foster. The park was built by Olmsted Brothers in 1905 as part of the same plan as Ogden park, which was expanded to a total of 14 parks. The park contains Ashburn Prairie, a volunteer-run remnant prairie containing hundreds of native plant species that was transported to Marquette Park for preservation, and whose native species inform conservation efforts in the Midwest. The park also contains monument to lithuanian-american pilots Steponas Darius and Stasys Girenas, early transatlantic aviators who died in a crash.

Marquette Park was the site of protests in 1966 led by MLK and the Chicago Freedom Movement, whose aim was for open housing in the surrounding all-white neighbourhoods. The peaceful protest eventually devolved into riots as a result of Southerners who were trying to disrupt the marches and who threw rocks and other objects at the protesters. Marquette Park was also site of neo-nazi anti-black protests in 1970s .The leading demonstrator was Frank Collin, coordinator with the National Socialist White People’s Party and founder National Socialist Party of America/American Nazi Party. He demonstrated in Marquette park but was later prevented from doing so by the Chicago Park District, who demanded that he pay a large insurance bond due to concerns about violence and damage to the park. Collin then  planned to march in Skokie (a predominantly jewish area) in uniforms with swastikas but was met with same ordinance. These rules were overturned by supreme court after Collin went to ACLU, based on first amendment rights. A compromise by ACLU meant that Collin would continued to demonstrate in Marquette Park, but not in Skokie.

McKinley Park

McKinley Park preceded creation of South Park Commission parks, opening in 1902 near the Chicago Union Stockyards. It was a test case - at the time, that area of the city was dense and dirty, there were very few parks or green spaces in the area. McKinley Park was near the industrial, steelwork, manufacturing, and meatpacking districts, which as we know were very dirty, marshy, and foul-smelling. J Frank Foster, the leader/inciter of the South Park Commision, wanted to build parks with a social as well as aesthetic function. The massive popularity of McKinley Park encouraged the creation of many more parks. The park was so popular that it was expanded in 1906.

Ping Tom Memorial Park

Ping Tom Memorial Park, opened in Chinatown in 1999, contains many Chinese design elements. The park was named in honour of Ping Tom, a civic leader of the Chicago Chinese community who expanded Chicago’s Chinatown by buying and developing 32 acres, and who was a founder of Asian American Coalition of Chicago. The park was built in response to strong community pressure for recreational facilities and open space, which to that point were almost entirely lacking in Chinatown: many former parks in the area had been demolished to make way for the Dan Ryan.

Burnham Park

Burnham Park, along Chicago’s lakefront, was designed by Daniel Burnham and opened in 1920 to link Jackson Park with the downtown area. Montgomery Ward, a Chicago-based entrepreneur in mail-order retail, was instrumental in fighting to protect Chicago’s lakefront so that it would be free and accessible to the poor. He sued the city several times for not keeping the park  "forever open, clear and free" (as mandated by an 1836 legislation). Museum Campus (including the Field Museum, Adler Planetarium, and Shedd Aquarium), Soldier Field (designed by Holabird and Roche and opened 1926, named for WWI veterans), and Northerly Island are all more recent additions.

Burnham Park was the site of the second World Fair in 1933, though only the Northern half of the park was open at that time. The 1933 Century of Progress World fair featured the landing of Italian pilot and Fascist, Italo Balbo, marking the completion of his transatlantic flight from Rome. As a result of this event, Mussolini sent Chicago a 2nd Century Roman Column as a gift, which still stands as a monument in the park. In the 1950s, Burnham park was the host of the Project Nike Air Defense System missile site, which was dismantled at the end of the cold war. The park was the landing site for Marine One when President Obama visited his home in Kenwood.

link to bigger version of map: https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B7Bc5U4uwL1LSGJ3Qm9meC1WWm8/view?usp=sharing