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megalony · 6 months

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One In A Million

This is an Evan Buckley imagine that I had an idea for, I hope you all like it. Any feedback would be lovely. I am trying to work my way through requests and trying to branch out into writing for Bobby too.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem@sj-thefanthefan@hellsdragon@im-an-adult-ish@crazylittlethingg@allauraleigh@onceuponadetectivedemigod@ceres27@avyannadawn@sleepylunarwolf@coverupps@justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyjen @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @stefansalvatoresgf @kyky9103 @wutheringhearts2275 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @gillybear17 @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29

Evan Buckley Masterlist

Summary: While out on a call, Evan manages the unthinkable to save a girl. And afterwards, he can't seem to get her out his head.

Enjoy.

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"LAFD, ma'am we're coming in."

The team followed after Bobby into the apartment, letting their captain lead the way through the living room and ahead towards the balcony on the far side of the room.

They had been apprehensive when this call came through the radio. A young woman was hanging onto a sign on the side of an apartment building. She had fallen off the balcony. They all knew this was going to be a tricky one to get the woman back to safety.

"Chim, set up the winch, Eddie get a harness on. That balcony isn't safe we're not taking any chances." Bobby shook his head to himself when he stepped cautiously out onto the balcony.

Dispatch told them a woman had fallen off her balcony, not that she had fallen through it. The rail had broken. She must have been leaning on the rail when it gave way and she had fallen down. It was lucky that she had managed to fall onto an advertising sign, but it wasn't ideal. They didn't know how sturdy the sign was or if it would be able to hold her for long.

Bobby walked over to the right side of the balcony and leaned over the side without touching the rail, just to be safe. "Ma'am, LAFD here. We're going to get you off there, how are you doing down there?"

"H-help!" (Y/n) tried to tilt her head back but looking up made her feel dizzy and sent her head spinning.

Her arms were trembling from how tense they were. She had landed with a thud on the metal beam supporting the advertising board. It had been a stroke of luck that when she fell, she managed to curl her arms around the beam before she slid off.

She had her legs dangling down in the air, weighing her down as gravity had a tight hold over her lower waist. Her fingers were starting to cut into the metal and her arms felt like they were being shredded to pieces. But she had no choice. If she loosened her arms or let go for a second, she would fall. If she fell, that would be it. Nothing was going to save (Y/n) from that long drop down to the harsh pavement below.

How had this even happened? How was her balcony rail so fragile and unsafe that leaning her hips onto it to water the hanging baskets had broken it? One moment she was trying to water the plants, then she was suddenly falling face-first down towards the sign.

(Y/n) wasn't sure who called the emergency services but she owed them a debt for calling and getting the fire department down here so fast.

"We're going to get you, don't worry just try and stay calm while we get someone down to you."

"I-it's moving," Tears continued to stream down (Y/n)'s face and she pressed her chin into her arm rather than risk trying to look up above her again.

When Bobby realised what she was referring to, he bit his lip and turned to face the team. Chimney was still setting up the winch to get Eddie hooked up who was putting on his hard-hat and trying to shimmy into a harness as as fast as he could.

"Alright, Buck, Hen I want you to go down a few levels, get into any apartment you can and look at that advertising sign and let us know if it's going to hold out or not."

"Copy."

Evan nodded and followed after Hen, bustling out the apartment and back down the stairwell they had just run up with all their equipment. They didn't like the look of this. They had no time to try and get an airbag set up on the ground and with how high up they were, it wouldn't be safe to set it up either. But if that poor girl fell, she wouldn't survive the crash landing.

They went down five floors and found an apartment directly beneath the one they had just been in. They had to stay on the East side of the building so they could see the woman and the sign she had fallen onto.

"Good morning, we're LAFD. Can we go take a look out your window please?" Evan put the brightest smile on his face that he could muster and stood tall when the elderly woman opened the door. The surprise and panic was evident in her eyes. She hadn't called the fire department. She didn't need any emergency assistance.

But the moment she nodded, Evan rushed past her and made a beeline for her window while Hen told her what was going on.

"Eddie's getting hooked up to climb over, are you two downstairs?"

"We're five floors down… that sign doesn't look good Cap, I don't know how long it will hold out."

Evan opened the window and peered out but his upper lip curled in distaste when he looked up. The sign wasn't supposed to hold any weight. It was bolted onto the side of the building, but it was lightweight metal beams and a thin metal frame. It wasn't there to hold up someone's weight and when the woman was dangling in mid-air like that, she was weighing down even more on the frame.

Reaching his hand up, Evan nudged his hard-hat further back on his head so he could keep looking up. His lower abdomen and hips pressed bruisingly into the window frame and his hands gripped the open edge of the window to steady himself. Evan wouldn't want to join the woman and hang out the window or fall down.

He could see Eddie leaning over the edge of the balcony as he tried to hurry and get rigged up to the harness and winch. The plan was to lower Eddie down, let him get a harness around the woman and winch them both back up to her balcony. At least if they got the harness or some rope around her she would have a safety net of some kind.

"We gotta do something… it's gonna break." Evan peered back inside to look over at Hen but he could see the anguish in her eyes.

What could they do? What did Evan expect them to be able to do for her from down here?

"Get me over now!" Eddie waved his hand at Chimney as he climbed up over the rail and tried to edge over the side. He had to get down. He could see the beam was starting to break, she was going to fall. "(Y/n) I'm coming down now. Go, go- fuck!" He jumped over the side but he wasn't quick enough. She had fallen.

A horrible, gut-wrenching scream left (Y/n)'s lips when the beam snapped. There was nothing else for her to hold onto and nothing below her that could catch her fall and hold her up. She was going to fall all the way down to the pavement. She would splatter across the floor like an awful work of art. They would have to peel her off the pavement.

She didn't want to die like this.

"No!"

Panic boiled up in Evan's chest like a wildfire and spread throughout his body. His arms started to shake and his fingertips went numb with anxiety and it took all his effort to keep his eyes open.

He moved before he could think better of it and stretched his arms out in front of him like he was reaching out for the sun itself. Evan felt the girl slide through his arms and she fell a lot faster than he was expecting, as if gravity had been put on triple speed. But when she went through his arms, he pulled and clenched them as tightly as he could. His fingertips scrunched into any part of her body that he could, digging through her shirt and into her chest so much he almost broke through her skin.

Evan's knees bashed into the wall beneath the window and his hips and groin slammed into the window frame causing him to groan. A broken sound left his lips as his jaw clenched and his eyes snapped shut from the pressure that was now weighing on his whole body and pulling him down.

"I- I've got you! Hold on!"

When he felt the woman's hands grasping at his biceps and digging into his shoulders, Evan tried to lean back but he felt like he was about to fall out the window along with her.

"Help!" He screamed, gasping and clawing for breath when the woman started to slide through his arms. He pinned his elbows into her sides and pulled until her chest was meshed into his and her stomach was bashed into the wall.

Someone had caught her.

(Y/n) thought all the firemen had been up in her apartment, she had heard voices up there.

Her mind had been working in overdrive, ready to commit to the thought that this was her last few moments on Earth. This was it. She was going to see everything flash before her eyes seconds before she hit the ground. But a pair of strong arms bolted around her waist a mere two seconds after she started to fall.

Her knees bashed horribly into the wall and her head slammed into the man's shoulder but she tried to move quickly. (Y/n) tried to dig her nails into his shoulders to secure herself against him, unsure how he was even managing to hold her up right now. She wasn't a child or as light as a feather and she had been falling, that would make her weigh more and make it ten times harder to catch her and keep hold of her.

(Y/n) swung her aching legs around and pressed her heels into the wall to try and stabilise herself and support some of her weight because she could tell the man holding her was starting to slide out the window.

A desperate cry left (Y/n)'s lips when she felt the man start to fall down with her. If she didn't let go, was she going to drag someone else to their death?

"Oh God." Evan choked as he buried his face in the crook of the woman's neck and shoulder. He could feel his feet leaving the floor as his body tipped forward.

(Y/n) wasn't sure whether she voiced her thoughts or if this man just happened to know what she was thinking. Because he growled "I'm not letting go." Into her neck with such certainty that (Y/n) was determined he had read her mind. But she would rather him let go and say that he tried to save her than kill himself trying.

"I got you Buck." As fast as she could, Hen bolted over to Evan and wrapped her arms around his lower chest.

She dug her nails into his button up shirt and heaved as she pulled him backwards. Hen lifted one leg up and braced her foot on the wall for added momentum to push herself back and she pulled Evan into her chest as he finally started to straighten up and pull the woman with him.

Another scream left Evan's lips, mingling in with (Y/n)'s horrified yelps and bumbling pleas. Finally, with one last heave, Evan suddenly propelled backwards and barged into Hen before he toppled to the floor on his back. He gasped and groaned as he pulled the girl with him and she seemed to fly through the window before she landed on top of him with a thud.

He'd done it. He saved her. He actually saved a woman falling through the air. He caught her.

He caught her!

"Cap, he- fucking Hell, Buck caught her! We've got her in through the window, you'd better come down." Hen gripped her radio as she pushed up onto her knees and clapped her hand on Evan's shoulder.

How on Earth had he managed to do that? The odds were one thousand to one that he could actually catch her and not let her slide through his hands or fall with her. He had a split second to hold onto her before she disappeared and he'd managed to do it. Hen hoped someone had been recording this.

Evan opened his eyes and tried to catch his breath back as he looked down at the woman laid on top of him. She had moved her arms to bind them around his chest. Her head was tucked up into his neck and she was breathing very shallow and fast like she couldn't take in a proper breath.

He looped his right arm around her waist and pressed his left hand against his temple as he tried to gasp for air.

He found his hand going up and down her back as they both heaved and grumbled, trying to understand what had just happened and what they had managed to do. No one was going to believe this. No one would believe what Evan had done here today.

After a few seconds, Evan felt his breaths starting to slow down so he pressed his palm to the floor to try and sit them both up. His eyes rolled and he went dizzy for a few seconds while Hen rubbed his back and told him to breathe deeply.

"Are… are you okay?" He croaked hoarsely as he began to glide his hand up and down her back again.

"You… how did you… thanks." Words spluttered past (Y/n)'s lips and when she looked up at him, she could barely get her eyes to focus on him. Tears distorted her vision but she could scarcely make out a tender smile that made her stomach turn to mush.

She had no idea how he managed to do that, but she was going to be forever in debt to him.

Evan wasn't sure how he had done that either, but he couldn't stop a beaming smile from lighting up his face. He felt the girl shaking all over and it was causing him to shudder back and forth against her. He began to worry that she was about to pass out from how little air she was breathing in. All she seemed to be doing was panting and wheezing.

When Hen leaned over, about to try and ease the girl from his arms, Evan shook his head. She was frightened- no, she was traumatised. If she wanted to cling to him and reassure herself that she was alive and safe, Evan didn't have a problem with that.

"You're okay, I've got you." He began rubbing his hand up and down her back while he closed his eyes and concentrated on counting each breath he took.

He was sure he heard the elderly woman whisper 'Bless you' when she patted his shoulder and it made him grin. Evan had had a lot of scrapes and brushes with death. But if this miracle didn't secure his place in Heaven, he didn't know what would.

"Let's get you both up and checked over."

Hen held her hands out towards the girl tucked up in Evan's chest and hovered behind her when Evan tried to help her up. He held her hips and shuffled up to his feet, pulling her along with him just as the rest of the team filtered into the apartment.

As soon as she was on her feet, (Y/n) felt all the blood drain down from her head to her toes.

Her hands fumbled to try and hold the man's shoulders but she couldn't get a good grip anymore, everything was turning to jelly. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head and her knees caved in, unable to hold her up. She didn't have the right balance back with gravity yet.

"Wow- okay, okay I've got you." Evan wasn't sure how he managed to hold her up when he felt like he wanted to do the same thing. But he bound his arms tight around her waist and stretched his arm along her spine so his hand could cup the back of her neck and hold her head up. He didn't want her getting a neck injury or hurting herself even more than she already had.

He slowly went back down to the floor, kneeling on the carpet with the girl slumped on his chest and her face smushed into his shoulder.

He was grateful when Hen reached out and helped to turn her around and carefully stretch her legs out. They propped her back up against Evan's chest and he let her head loll against his neck as he weaved his arms beneath hers.

One hand curled into a fist and Evan started to rub his fist up and down her sternum to try and bring her back round while Hen waved the team over as they barged inside.

When Chimney dropped a medic bag beside her, Hen looked around and found a blood pressure cuff and slipped it up (Y/n)'s arm. She watched Eddie slump down into the chair at the table behind Evan and Bobby knelt down beside Evan with a hand on his shoulder and a broad smile. What Evan had just done was reckless, but it had also been brave and he pulled it off.

Bobby dreaded to think how Evan would have been if he risked that again and didn't manage to catch her. If this situation turned out the way they all thought it would, Evan would have been inconsolable if he didn't manage to save the girl and let her slip through his arms.

"W-what's her name?" Evan looked between the team with wide eyes. He had saved this girl, he had caught her mid-air and pulled her through a window and he didn't even know her name.

"(Y/n)."

"(Y/n), are you back with us honey?" Hen gave her hand a light squeeze while Evan carefully cupped her chin and tilted her head out from his neck so he could look down at her.

A quiet murmur left (Y/n)'s lips and when she tried to open her eyes, they danced around the room, unable to focus on anything in particular.

"BP is through the roof, administering blood thinners just to be safe." Hen found some blood thinners in her bag and injected them into (Y/n)'s elbow before she could sense the pain or realise what was going on. The last thing they needed was (Y/n) having a blood clot or risking a stroke.

Bobby waved at Chimney and asked him to go fetch the stretcher before he moved to talk to the apartment owner. He was going to have to do a report about this and talk to the building manager. If that balcony was unsafe, there could be numerous other people in danger of a fall just like (Y/n).

"Okay, honey I'm just gonna take a look at you."

(Y/n) tried to nod but she couldn't manage it. All she managed to do was flop her hand around until she found the man's wrist. She gripped him almost as tightly as he had held her through the window and a smile fluttered across her lips when he patted her hip.

He wasn't quite sure where to put his hands on her in case he hurt her or was inappropriate, but she seemed perfectly fine with his hand on her hip and his other hand near her thigh as she gripped his wrist tightly.

Reaching out, Hen gently lifted (Y/n)'s top up and began examining her chest but when she winced, Evan guessed it wasn't good. "You've broken a few ribs, you'll need an X-ray."

Her harsh landing on the metal beams had definitely broken a few ribs on her left side and maybe some on the right. But she was lucky not to have done any further extensive damage or puncture a lung on impact.

Evan's nose crinkled when he leaned his chin over (Y/n)'s shoulder and looked down at her arms which hen started to examine. She had quite a few deep scratches along her forearms and down near her wrists too. Clearly clinging to that beam had done as much harm as it had done good. She would be littered with bruises in a few days and she would need to be careful that she didn't get those cuts infected.

"No other broken bones. Let's get you on a drip, then we can head down to the hospital."

"H-have I thanked you yet?" (Y/n) flopped her head to the side so she could look up at her knight in shining armour. She smiled up at him and blinked a few times to clear her fuzzy vision and try to get a better look at him.

"You're welcome." He whispered with a sheepish smile pulling at his lips.

He looked up to the left when he felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder and he looked up to see Eddie staring down at him with raised brows. "You, are one lucky bastard."

***

When a wisp of familiar hair caught his eye, Evan turned to the left instead of the right. His lips quirked and his right hand continued to glide up and down his left arm that continued to ache and throb beneath the bandage. Suddenly Evan didn't care about heading back to the emergency room and being signed off by the doctor.

He turned left, ignoring the signs pointing straight ahead to get back to the emergency room he had been sat in an hour ago. And he made his way down towards the X-ray unit after the girl that had caught his attention.

"(Y/n)?"

A shiver bolted down (Y/n)'s spine and she paused in the corridor and spun on her heels so fast her shoes squeaked against the polished floor.

"Oh!" Her lips curved up into a bright smile and something flashed in her eyes and made Evan's stomach jump with adrenaline.

He thought it was her. He thought it was the girl who hadn't been able to leave his mind for the last two weeks. The last time Evan saw her, they had brought her down to the X-ray unit after her fall, but that was where the team had to leave her. They couldn't stay with her; more specifically, Evan couldn't stay with her.

He had to get examined himself and then finish the last five hours of his shift running on an adrenaline high that lasted well into the night. Evan didn't get to see her again after leaving her at the hospital and part of him felt bad.

The other part of him felt cheated. Evan felt cheated that he had managed to save this girl and he didn't get to talk to her or know anything about her. All he knew was that she got to live another day.

"It's you! Are you okay?" (Y/n) felt the sudden urge to reach out and wrap her arms around him, but she held back when she realised his left arm was bandaged up.

He was here. Her saviour, her knight in shining armour was here in the hospital. (Y/n) had such a dreaded feeling that she was never going to see him again after the fire department dropped her off here. She thought that was it, she might catch a glimpse of him on tv, but not in person.

"Yeah, yeah, just a minor burn. How are you… I've been wondering about you." Evan lowered his arm down to his side and moved to lean his shoulders back against the wall so they weren't blocking the corridor.

He smiled brighter when (Y/n) moved to stand in front of him. She was so close that he could almost feel each breath she took and the way she smiled up at him made his knees go weak.

"Honestly, I'm not sure how I am. Did… did you know someone recorded you catching me? The odds of being able to do that are like, one in a million. I cheated death because of you."

Tears trickled down (Y/n)'s face and her lips parted in shock when Evan reached out and brushed them away before he could stop himself.

All she could think about was how he had managed to save her. If that had been anyone else trying to catch her or anyone else falling, it wouldn't have worked. She didn't know how he managed to do that. Watching the video back was even worse because it looked fake, it looked too good to be true.

A camera crew and about four different people on the ground below had recorded it and each version was the same, proving it was true but it still didn't feel real to (Y/n). She almost died. Fate had intervened at just the right time and decided she deserved another chance, and she didn't know why.

"I almost dropped you." Evan murmured quietly while his eyes trained on his feet. He could still feel her slipping through his arms. He could feel gravity clawing at her and trying to drag her away from him.

"I'm so grateful you didn't."

Evan's eyes darted up from his feet to look at her when he felt her hand reach up and cup the side of his face. Her touch made his heart have palpitations and his stomach fluttered with adrenaline that made him go lightheaded.

"Do I get to know your name? Or do I have to start calling you my hero?" She felt him lean into her touch which made her arm tremble but when he smiled at her like that, (Y/n) just wanted to faint.

She didn't even know his name. She didn't know anything about her very own personal saviour. Her firefighter. The man she had to keep calling her hero because she didn't know his name. Despite all the videos up online and the one that the media kept replaying, they didn't name him. They just said one of LA's finest firemen from the 118 station.

And (Y/n) didn't have the nerve to go down to the station to thank him. She didn't know if he would of appreciated it or if she would of been an inconvenience, getting in the way when he was trying to work.

Fate seemed to be on their side, bringing them together again today.

"Everyone calls me Buck, but you can call me Evan."

"Well Evan, thank you, truly. I owe you a debt I don't think I could ever repay." (Y/n) owed him her life, there was nothing she could do that would repay her debt to him or thank him enough for what he had done for her. Even if it had been chance or fate that allowed him to save her, he still tried. At that exact moment, at just the right time, he managed to save her.

She went to drop her hand but stopped when Evan reached out to cup her wrist before she could pull away. He leaned further into her touch and smiled as his thumb stroked across the back of her hand.

"I think you could repay me by going out on a date with me. Fate let me save you for a reason, didn't it?"

A shiver rolled down (Y/n)'s spine and made her knees quake but she was unable to bite back her smile that spread across her lips. Fate had brought them together in a strange, unfamiliar way, and what better way to test out why fate had done that than to go out together.

(Y/n) knew she wanted to get to know the man that saved her, whether that was by going out on a date or just trying to be friends. But a date with someone so kind, modest and sincere felt like the best thing in the world and it was the perfect way to repay him for catching her.

"I suppose I could take my hero out on a date."

#evan buckley #evan buckley x reader #911 imagine #imagine #evan buckley imagine #buck x reader #buck imagine #bobby nash

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sweetsweetjellybean · 5 months

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After the kiss you can't forget about, your past and present with Eddie collide under the glow of the city lights and the glittering stars at the City Beats launch party.

Masterlist Listen to Clumsy Here

What to expect: Second Chance Romance set in 2012 Chicago. Eddie and Steve are in their 30s. Fem!Reader is given a pet name from each of the guys. No other name mentioned. No use of Y/N. No physical description. Reader does have a bit of personality, as I find it nearly impossible to keep her blank for such a long fic. You may find yourself at times making choices that you wouldn't normally make, but I hope you can put that aside and enjoy the ride. Sensitive Content. 18+ Mentions of DV. Smut Guaranteed happy ending. This is my love letter to Eddie Munson.

WC: 11646 beta'd by @superblysubpar

“Stop being such a baby and just let me look.”

The light in Eddie’s bathroom buzzes with a slight flicker, casting a pallid tint over the worn linoleum and water-stained sink.

“I don’t recall anyone asking for your services here, Florence Nightingale,” Eddie grumbles, perched on the edge of the vanity with a blood-soaked washcloth pressed against his forehead. The knuckles on his right hand are swollen and split, and the scrape along his jaw is already turning colors.

You pour a little iodine on a cotton ball you grabbed from the first-aid kit— the one your dad made you keep in your car for emergencies, though this probably isn’t what he had in mind. “Who else is going to patch you up?” you question, shifting until you’re standing in the space between his spread legs.

With a sigh, he lowers the washcloth and tosses it into the sink. Blood wells up in the gash above his brow, the skin around it swollen and purple. As gently as possible, you dab around the cut with cotton.

“Oww.” He winces and leans away. “That shit stings.”

"Sorry." You push up on your tippy toes, drawing closer, one hand resting on his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breath. The scent of his apple shampoo tickles your nose as his hand moves to your hip, anchoring you. You purse your lips and blow gently over his wound to soothe the sting. His chest expands with a sharp intake of breath.

"Better?" you whisper, a flood of butterflies taking flight within you. His fingers press tighter into your skin, your shirt inching upward, eliminating the barrier between his touch and your warmth.

"Yeah." His throat bobs, his gaze roaming your face.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?”

His grip on you loosens as his eyes fall away.

You pick up one of the butterfly strips, pulling back the adhesive tabs. “You said you weren’t going to do anything. I asked you not to.”

The faucet drips into the cracked tub as you press the strip into place. “It was my choice to end things, Eddie. It didn’t feel…it wasn’t going to go anywhere.”

He grabs your fingers, holding them away. “Then maybe you shouldn’t have been running around with him in the first place.”

The anger in his tone has you stepping back until you can feel the towel bar pressing into your shoulders. He stands and faces away from you, shaking his head.

“So what? I’m a slut now?” Your voice is small in the cramped space, bouncing off half-filled bottles of shampoo and shaving cream. Maybe you shouldn’t have told him about losing your virginity to Parker Hayes in the backseat of his mom’s Chevy last weekend. But that’s something you tell your best friend, right? Eddie has certainly never shied away from sharing his sexual exploits with you. Maybe, deep down, you had been hoping for some kind of reaction, but not this.

“No.” His shoulders slump as he turns to face you, the hardness in his stance softening. “I don't think that way,” he explains, his voice growing gentler, “and I'd never think that about you. I want you to date. I want you to have everything. I just want to…” The rest of the sentence dies in his throat as a familiar shadow falls over his eyes, dimming their warmth. “I guess this is what happens when you're friends with a chick,” he chuckles.

“Might have been easier if Gareth had moved down the street instead of me.” You switch gears to match his tone, a familiar move after all this time.

“Yeah, you’re a pain in the ass,” he says, attempting a smile that doesn’t quite make it to his eyes. “Speaking of Gareth, I got a thing.” His gaze drops to his wrist, but he’s never worn a watch. “Lock up when you leave, alright?”

You're still standing in his bathroom when the front door clicks closed.

Your hands smooth down the skirt of your long-sleeved mini-dress. Its modest front sits elegantly at your collarbone, but the back—you twist your head to check the mirror behind you—the back dramatically plunges to just above the curve of your ass.

“Wow.” Steve stands stopped in his tracks at the entrance of your walk-in closet, his eyes drinking you in. “You look like a sunset.” He moves behind you, pressing a kiss to the bare skin of your shoulder as his hand slides over the rose gold sequins covering your dress.

“You’re not too shabby yourself, handsome.” You turn to get the full effect of his designer camel-striped suit with a bright mustard tie. “I always like you in yellow,” you tell him, running a finger down the cool silk.

His smile widens as he grips your hips, spinning you back towards the mirror, wrapping his arms around your middle. “We should do this more often,” he says, holding your gaze in the reflection.

“What?” you ask, crossing your arms over his. “Launch streaming radio services?”

“No, smart ass.” His lips find your temple. “Get dressed up like this and go out. With everyone coming, do you know what it reminds me of?”

“Dare I ask?” You flutter your lashes.

His grip on you tightens in a deliberate firmness that has you tensing. He steals another kiss, pausing for a moment before saying, “Prom.”

“Uck,” you moan, stepping out of his arms and moving to the island to pick up a pair of earrings. “Your parents went to prom? How sad.”

“Come on. Not them.” He shoves his hands in his pants pockets, his gaze tracking your movements. “Everyone else, though. Didn’t you have fun at prom?”

“I don’t remember,” you shrug, attaching the diamond to your lobe.

“Of course not. How stupid of me,” his tone drips sarcasm as he shakes his head, “How could I have forgotten about your Hawkins amnesia.”

The shrill melody of his ringtone sounds from the bedroom, pulling him away before words can escalate. Lately, high school memories seem to invade every conversation, leaving a residue of guilt that clings tighter with each mention. Alone, you face the mirror, taking a steadying breath. He’s under a lot of pressure. This is his night. You plaster a smile on your face, forcing a semblance of calm. You owe him.

With a final glance, you slip on a nude pair of heels and move to the bedroom to let him know you're ready. Steve’s phone is discarded on the bed beside him, where he sits with slumped shoulders and his hands raking through the hair he had just spent time styling.

“Baby?” You keep your voice soft as you sit down next to him, your hand moving to rub circles on his back. “What’s going on?”

He glances up, only now becoming aware of your presence. "It's my parents," he murmurs, his lashes fluttering with rapid blinks as he pinches the bridge of his nose. "They've decided not to come."

“What? But they’re at the hotel.” Your mind races over the possibilities, “Are they okay? Did something happen?”

“Yeah, my dad ran into a client. That’s what happened.” Steve's voice hardens, taking on a bitter edge as he echoes his father's words, “Business is business, Steve. You understand, don’t you, son?”

“I’m sorry, Steve,” you say in a near whisper, covering his hand with yours.

“It’s my fault. I didn’t really want them here, you know? But when I dropped by the hotel this afternoon with the tickets, my dad actually seemed proud of me for once. Fuck. I feel so dumb for getting excited.” He pulls his hand from yours to tug at the messy strands falling over his brow before his eyes find yours again. “Did I ever tell you about my baseball coach in middle school?”

“No,” you shake your head, shifting on the bed to move even closer beside him, offering what comfort you can.

“Coach Patterson.” His eyes fall to his lap. “He tried talking to him once when he dropped me off for a game. He told him that it would mean a lot if he’d stayed and watched me play. But Dad…” Steve's voice falters, “He just looks at me and says, ‘I've got better things to do than watch you lose.’”

“Steve-”

His eyes bore into yours, filling your chest with an ache. “The thing is, we did win, but he still never stayed. He didn’t believe in me. I guess he still doesn’t.”

His phone screen brightens with an incoming call, and he picks it up, silencing it with a push of a button. “I've poured everything I have into this, trying to be perfect, what they—what everyone—expects me to be.” The frustration builds in his voice,“But no matter how hard I try, it'll never be enough. Not for them. And maybe... not for you either.”

You cradle his larger hand between yours, wishing he could see himself through your eyes. “You’ve always been enough.”

“I want to give you everything–”

“Steve, stop. You can’t live for other people. Pursue this because it brings you fulfillment, not for anyone else. Think about everything your dad has given your mom. Do you think it’s made them happy?”

He pulls his hand from yours, a fleeting shadow crossing his features as his gaze drifts to some distant point in the room. “I’d never treat you the way he treats her.”

“That’s right.” Gently, you cup his face, your thumbs brushing lightly against his jaw, coaxing his gaze back to you. “You’re better than him. And if he can’t see that or celebrate your wins, that’s his shortcoming. Tonight is going to go off without a hitch, and Richard is going to thank his lucky stars for having the good sense to have assigned you City Beats.”

Leaning in, you press a soft, deliberate kiss to his lips. “You deserve your success.” His hand rises to cover yours, and your face softens into a smile. “Now, can we go? I need you to dance with me during the slow songs. I’ll even let you pretend we’re at prom.”

The corners of his mouth rise, his chuckle warming the space between you as he leans in, your foreheads touching gently. “What would I do without you, Ace?” The words are gentle as his lips seek out yours. A car horn blares from the street below, breaking the moment. “I think our driver is getting antsy.”

“Well then, handsome,” you say, a gentle determination in your voice as you smooth out an imaginary crease on his jacket. “Let’s go to a party.”

Dozens of spotlights pierce the night, illuminating the iconic Adler Planetarium. Limos and sleek cars roll up, dropping off the who’s who of the city—celebrities, influential politicians, and tech moguls—onto the red carpet-lined stairs. Banners emblazoned with the City Beats logo wave from the art deco building's great dome, set against the dark waters of the lake and the distant city lights.

“Wow,” you breathe as Steve takes your hand and helps you out of the car. The magnitude of the moment takes over. Now it’s your turn to be impressed. “Baby, you did all this!”

Steve’s signature smirk takes over his face, his cheeks tinting with a flush from your compliment. A camera flash pops in your face as you step out onto the red carpet. With a deep breath, you tighten your hold on his hand. The PR team's efforts have paid off. Photogs from all over the city and national publications line the step and repeat. The air is a blend of lake chill and expensive perfumes as you await your turn to be photographed. Steve’s reassuring hand, firm along your ribs, holds you steady as the flashes blind you. His gaze drops to yours, brimming with unmistakable pride, lending you his confidence. A quick squeeze of his hand coaxes a genuine smile as you face the cameras together.

“Not used to being on this side,” you murmur, keeping your teeth on display under the relentless flashes.

He chuckles, drawing you forward. “You're a natural,” he whispers, guiding you to the entrance with a hand at your back.

As you step into the grand foyer, your name being called pierces the hum of conversations. Rihanna waves from across the room, her manicured hand catching the light. She mouths ‘Call me’ before being swept away by her very tall date.

"Was that–" Steve asks, eyes widening.

"I interviewed her last year," you explain, returning her smile with your own as she navigates the crowd.

"Must have made an impression. That was the new point guard for the Chicago Bulls." His eyebrows raise as he watches them disappear into the throng of guests. Leaning in, his breath tickles your ear, “I don’t think we’re in Hawkins anymore, Dorothy.”

Light laughter bubbles from your throat. “Thanks, Toto,” you quip, threading your arm into the crook of his elbow, letting him lead you along.

Abstract designs mimicking sound waves, musical notes set into star patterns, and cosmic shapes elegantly adorn the solarium. The floor-to-ceiling windows extend the celestial theme, allowing for sweeping views of the night sky.

“From Skyline to Bassline: This is City Beats Streaming Radio.”

The DJ's smooth voice transitions the songs playing through the speakers as they live-stream from a platform beside a wall of digital screens alive with a social media feed and a map showing millions of listeners around the world tuning in.

Steve lets go of your hand as he’s swarmed with department heads buzzing with reports and updates. You stand alone, crossing one hand over another as muted conversation hums under the beat of the music. The waitstaff weaves through the crowd, offering trays of fluted glasses brimming with bubbling champagne, and you gratefully accept a glass. Guests interact with kiosks exploring the different channels offered by City Beats, including specific music genres, news, and talk shows, while others move onto the themed lounges or drift out to the terrace for the small bites and views of the city.

“Harrington.” Richard's booming voice sends Steve’s staff scattering into the crowd. “Everything is looking just splendid, son.” He greets Steve with a firm handshake before his voice drops,“Now, how are those numbers?”

You look away, rolling your eyes out of view as you drain the rest of your glass. He can’t give Steve five minutes of peace.

“According to sales, we are easily beating the first round of projections and are slated to hit our monthly target in the next hour.” Steve’s voice is filled with cool confidence, but his palm is damp when his fingers slip between yours.

“That’s good to hear,” Richard says, the tightness in his expression easing as the redness circling his face begins to fade. He leans closer to Steve, his tone firm, “I don't think I need to remind you that Second City has a lot riding on this, which means you've got a lot riding on this.”

Steve's lips press together in a firm line as he stands a little taller and smooths a hand over his tie. Your teeth clamp down on the inside of your lip, forcing your silence.

A waiter glides to your side, stopping to collect your empty glass. You place your flute on his tray a touch too forcefully. The clink with the other glasses is louder than intended, breaking the moment. Richard straightens, his attention drawn to you for the first time. He steps back, the wheels turning behind his eyes as he tries to place you.

His manufactured grin returns as he claps Steve on the shoulder. “Keep up the excellent work, my boy. This is impressive.” He waves a hand, gesturing around the party, “I don’t know what any of it is, but it’s impressive,” he laughs, expecting you to join him. When you only muster a weak smile, his laughter fades, replaced by a brief, awkward silence.

“I’m glad you brought the little lady with you tonight, Steve. She just gets prettier and prettier,” Richard continues, not missing a beat. “My wife’s around here somewhere, probably telling someone how to do their job,” he chuckles, then signals a waitress for more drinks. “Make sure you say hello. She loves gossiping with the other wives.” Handing you both a fresh glass, he adds, “Now, see to it our boy here doesn't work too hard, okay?” With a final pat on Steve’s shoulder and a wag of his finger in your direction, Richard moves off into the crowd.

Steve exhales quietly, the tension leaving his shoulders, as he gently squeezes your hand.

“I don’t know how you stand him,” you fume, “How many years have I worked here, and the bastard doesn't even recognize me.”

“Trust me, you’re better off not being on his radar,” Steve replies, downing his champagne in one go before passing the empty glass off to a passing waiter. “I’m sure he’s going to be on my ass when I meet with the investors.”

“But it’s such a nice ass,” you grin over the rim of your glass, letting the bubbles tickle your lips.

His eyes gleam as he leans in a little closer, but his response dissolves before it's spoken. Warmth heats the bare skin of your back as someone steps close behind you. Your stomach plummets like a rollercoaster, and goosebumps dot your arms—there's no need to look.

“Eddie,” Steve welcomes him with a handshake that shifts to an embrace. “You made it.”

Since the kiss, Eddie has honored your request, maintaining the distance you needed— a display of restraint that the high school version of him might not have managed. But after your talk with Hopper and the shadow of the looming deadline creeping closer, it was only a matter of time before you had to face him. And the clock has just run out.

“How could I pass this up?” Eddie’s gaze darts around the solarium before landing on you. “Doll.” He leans in, placing a light kiss on your cheek before turning back to Steve. “This is some party. Congratulations, man.”

"Thanks for passing the word down your contact list,” Steve says, his tone sincere. “My head of PR mentioned you've made her job a hell of a lot easier."

“Happy to help,” he shrugs, adjusting the gold cufflinks at his wrists. He’s ignored the last few buttons of his pressed black shirt and worn it open-collar, allowing a glimpse of the fine black-inked lines that grace the skin of his chest.

“Do you own a suit that isn’t black?” You ask, eyeing the slim-fit pinstripe, that's obviously been tailored to fit him like a glove. “Or is that a rental?”

“Ace,” Steve chides.

Eddie laughs, the sound rich and easy. “Gotta match with the sweet old tats, don’t I?” The edge that once sharpened your words now fails to cut. His smile blooms into dimples, and it’s contagious. Despite the crackling of nerves and self-made promises, he disarms you. A line creases Steve’s brow as the moment hangs, and your smirk echoes Eddie’s.

A peel of laughter rises above the blend of music and conversation as the party continues. A harried junior staffer pushes through the crowd, bumping shoulders and muttering apologies as she tries to keep a stray lock of hair from escaping her updo. “Steve, I’m so sorry to interrupt,” she keeps her voice low despite her breathlessness. “Ted's already on his fifth bourbon, and he's cornered Harris Blake from Bean City Brews. He's telling that joke about the nun and the circus tent, and I think we are about to lose half of our ad revenue for this quarter."

"Shit," Steve mutters, his fingers raking through his hair. "Okay, let's deal with this." Relief washes over the staffer's face as she quickly turns, leading the way.

Steve pauses, his eyes meeting yours, an apology written on his face. "I’m-”

"It's okay. Go," you reassure with a squeeze of his bicep. His lips lift at the corners before he turns away, disappearing into the crowd as your gaze lingers after him.

The weight of Eddie’s eyes settles on you before you’ve even turned to meet them. “So, is this the part where I chase you around all night until you finally agree to talk to me?” he asks, closing the distance with a step forward.

“Actually, I thought we’d skip that part.” Your eyes dip to your shoes, avoiding his stare. “I want to apologize for what happened. I let my emotions get the better of me. It was unprofessional.”

“Unprofessional?” Surprise lifts brows before his lips press together in a hard line. “Come with me.” His hand closes over yours, pulling you through the solarium without looking back before you can object.

“Eddie-” you start, but he’s already ushering you into the double doors of the sky theater.

He doesn’t stop as he leads you into the darkness, the room illuminated only by the soft rows of small floor lights as the soaring domed ceiling swirls with violet and periwinkle projections of the starry sky. Ignoring the few others milling around, he tugs you into the privacy of the shadows, finally releasing your hand. In the orchid-tinged light, his stare holds a depth that's hard to look away from. “This isn’t business, doll. You mean every–” he swallows, “you’re my closest friend.”

“You don’t even know me anymore, Eddie.” Your head shakes, silently begging him to understand.

His hands move to grip your shoulders. “There are some things that time can’t change.”

“It can’t happen again,” you state in a firm voice, taking a step back and widening the gap between you.

He shoves his hands into his pockets, waiting as a couple meanders past, pointing out Cassiopeia. “Then what do you propose?”

“I’ll finish the articles.”

“And then?”

“And then everything goes back to the way it was. I'm sure we'll cross paths from time to time.” The words emerge on a strained breath, tightness seizing your lungs. “It’s for the best.”

“That’s not good enough,” he counters, the shake of his head cutting through the dim light. “I want you in my life.”

“I don’t know if I can do that.”

“You can.” He inches closer, blowing out a sigh. “Look, it was my fault. Be my friend. Draw that line, and we won’t cross it. I know you’re still pissed at me, but we can work through it.” His voice falters, the earlier resolve in his eyes melting into a plea. “Aren’t you tired of carrying all this around inside of you?”

His question softens the tension in your chest, suggesting a sliver of peace you hadn't known you were seeking. Maybe the scars etched on your heart for so long have also shielded it from joy. You swallow the lump in your throat, offering an almost imperceptible nod.

“Can you try for me?” he pleads.

“I can’t make you any promises,” you nod again, more sure this time. “But I’ll try.”

His thumb gently traces the side of your face before his arms circle you, pulling you close against him—the scent of vanilla and clove clings to his jacket. Under your cheek, the fabric is cool and smooth, tinged with a hint of tobacco, taking you someplace you thought was lost.

“Don’t mark up my suit with that shit you wear all over your face,” he teases, his hold on you not lessening an inch. “It is a rental.”

There is a tentative hopefulness in your newly minted truce with Eddie. Almost as tangible as the pulse of the bass vibrating through the soles of your shoes. His smile, easy and unguarded, lights up his face as he guides you through the sea of finely dressed attendees with a hand resting on your lower back. Stopping to exchange hellos and handshakes with a group of industry professionals who are eager to discuss his Studio opening. He pushes the topic aside in favor of introducing you. With an effortless charm, he leaves no room for doubt about your credentials as a journalist at Stax and suggests the value an interview with you would bring to their clients.

“What?” His eyebrows lift, amusement playing across his features as he catches the pleased look on your face as you tuck a handful of new business cards into your clutch.

“Are you auditioning to be my new publicist?” you tease, your brain already teeming with the new articles his introduction just made a possibility.

The warmth of his laughter is becoming a welcome sound. “I’ll be anything you want, doll,” he offers, the words punctuated by a flirtatious flash of his dimples.

A snort accompanies the roll of your eyes, even as your stomach flutters.

“I’m proud of you, you know? he adds, a soft earnestness in his tone. “I like showing you off.” The tenderness in his expression doesn't waver as he follows you through the solarium. You find your fiancée chatting with a familiar face. A welcome distraction from all things Eddie.

“Dulcita,” Argyle wraps an arm around your shoulders. “Looking bitchin, as always. That dress is killer.”

Laughing, you nod toward his outfit, “Well, I’m just trying to keep up. You look amazing.”

With an exaggerated flourish, he poses with his thumbs stretching the lapels of his periwinkle floral suit before turning to greet Eddie with a handshake.

Steve's hand finds its way to your hip, drawing you near. "I thought I’d lost you. Where'd you disappear to?"

“Just exploring a bit,” you offer, meeting his look with a smile, but his eyes shift past you toward Eddie.

A pretty blonde waitress weaves through the crowd, her tray of fresh drinks catching Eddie's attention. He flags her down with a tilt of his head and a confident wink. “Thanks, sweetheart,” he says, plucking a few glasses from her tray to pass around.

“This event is popping off,” Argyle chimes in, taking a glass and nodding toward Steve. “Congrats, dude. I couldn’t have planned this better myself.”

Eddie extends a glass in your direction. “Doll?”

Steve’s shoulders tense as his stare fills the space between you and Eddie, the sides of his mouth dipping. “Have you eaten?” he asks, his hand tightening slightly on your waist.

For a heartbeat, you just look at him, letting the wave of irritation roll past. Your teeth sink into your lip as you decline Eddie’s offer with a shake of your head.

Eddie's face tightens, a flash of restrained agitation crossing his features as he retracts the glass and dismisses the waitress with a polite nod. Argyle, shifts uncomfortably, his lips pursed into an O as his gaze skitters across the room.

Turning fully towards Steve with a soft expression, you aim for lightness. “Argyle’s right, you know. It all looks perfect, Steve,” you say, channeling warmth into your words, “Everyone’s having a great time. All your hard work is really paying off.”

Half of his mouth lifts as his gaze wanders over the crowd. “Guess we’ll see on Monday when the final numbers come in. Richard is already pushing to take City Beats national.”

Your face falls, “But that’s...that’s a massive undertaking. You’d have to restructure everything, wouldn’t you?”

Steve nods, his expression turning heavy. “Yeah, it would mean a major overhaul, not just in marketing but across multiple departments. We'd likely need to set up satellite offices in other cities, which means a lot of travel for me. It’s ultimately up to the investors, though.”

“Not too shabby, Harrington,” Argyle says, clapping Steve on the shoulder. “You’re going to be running with the big dogs now.”

The conversation becomes muted as worry knots your stomach. Steve doesn’t seem to realize that his decisions impact more than just his own future. The coming months loom large with late nights and lost weekends. The toll won’t be just the dark circles under his hazel eyes but the shared moments slipping away like water through your fingers. His relentless drive for success and approval is edging him closer to repeating his father's mistakes—becoming distant, hollow, bitter. Pouring himself into work to the point of exhaustion, neglecting those he loves, just as he was once neglected. You can't just watch as he loses himself, not when you see the signs, feel the strain.

“Come on, Ace, smile for me. This is a good thing.” Steve says with a soft tone as his lips find your temple.

“I know that, and I’m so proud of you,” you manage, lifting your cheeks in the look of adorement he hopes to see. “You work so hard. I just worry.”

His hand shifts to cradle your jaw, tipping your chin to meet his gaze. “It will be fine, I promise. I’ll take some time before things really ramp up,” he reassures, the corners of his hopeful eyes crinkling. “Maybe for a honeymoon?”

“Sounds like someone is trying to think of excuses to get out of the actual work,” Nancy’s voice slices through the moment, her arrival almost as commanding as the deep plum of her silk dress that clings and flows in all the right places, complementing her sleek dark hair.

“A national campaign?” Jonathan steps beside Nancy, his narrow tie and vintage-cut suit making him look straight from the 1950s. “You might as well give back the ring now. Sounds like he’s already married to his work,” he leans toward you, cupping his mouth like a secret, earning him a chuckle from the rest of the group.

Ignoring him, Steve directs his attention to Nancy with a self-assured smirk. “Thanks for showing up, Nance. Wouldn’t want you to miss the moment Second City leaves Spectrum behind for the history books."

Her eyes narrow as her arms cross over her slender body, “That’s adorable, Steve, really. But the idea that your little radio project outshines a whole TV network? Please..”

Steve lets out a snort as his hands move to his hips. “Last I checked, Spectrum's sprawling empire was one channel.”

“We're thinking of expanding,” her voice is as smooth as silk as she examines her nails.

“With the tech we’re developing for on-demand music, who’s going to need cable?”

“If you can manage–”

“If I may suggest putting away the rulers,” Argyle’s voice rises above their bickering, “It’s Steve’s party, and I think we’ve had enough dick measuring for the evening.”

“Fine,” Nancy agrees as she holds Steve's stare, matching his smug expression, “I’ll concede. Congratulations on your accomplishments, Steve.”

“Appreciated,” Steve says, with a tip of his chin.

“But let's be clear,” Nancy adds, unable to help herself, “my dick is still bigger.”

Argyle groans as Jonathan's eyes roll skyward. Eddie takes a gulp of champagne, trying to stem his laughter.

“Where’s Robin?” you ask, cutting off whatever retort Steve was planning before it has a chance to leave his mouth, “Didn’t she ride with you guys?”

“She took off at the coat check with Jessie J—something about a twerking tutorial,” Jonathan explains, looking confused as he tucks his hands in his pockets.

Nancy's laugh tinkles with mischief. “Trust me, it's a sight. Robin insists she's better.”

“Well, I’m not missing that,” Eddie says, polishing off his drink, “I’ll catch you all later.” He turns and leaves your group, placing his empty glass on a waiter's tray as he walks past.

As he melts into the crowd, Nancy's gaze shifts to Richard making his way toward your circle. Her smile tightens ever so slightly, “Oh god. Is that Richard Kingsley?” she asks Steve. “I thought he’d have retired by now, off riding a golf cart in Florida.”

“No such luck.” Steve mutters under his breath, “Play nice, please.”

“I’m always nice,” she whispers before she plasters on her grin, “Richard.”

Richard approaches with a practiced smile, extending his hand to Nancy. “Nancy Wheeler, Spectrum’s shining star in the digital domain, or so I’ve been told. They’ve certainly sent us their best tonight. How’s the world of content directing? ”

“Actually, Richard,” Steve quickly corrects, his voice firm yet courteous as he positions himself alongside Nancy, “Vice President of Content Strategy. Nancy’s been leading the charge there for over a year now.”

Richard's smile doesn't falter as he turns to Nancy. "My apologies, Nancy. I’m sure it's a well-deserved promotion.” She offers him a polite smile that doesn’t quite meet her eyes as he continues, “Your insights at the conference in New York were…enlightening. It's always good to have industry leaders like yourself in attendance.”

As if on cue, a junior staff photographer weaves through the crowd. Richard snaps his finger at him, seizing the opportunity, "Let's capture this moment, shall we? A picture for the company archives.”

“Better him than me,” Jonathan mutters as the staffer directs the group a few feet away, ensuring the City Beats Logo will frame the background of the photo. Richard positions himself at the center, patting at the shine of his red face with a handkerchief before draping an arm over each of their shoulders.

“That’s depressing,” Jonathan snorts, watching the setup. “Well, I'm off to find a drink that matches my cynicism,” he adds, taking the opportunity to slip away, leaving you alone with Argyle.

“So,” The sweetness of pineapple and weed hit your nose as Argyle leans over your shoulder, his breath warm against your ear, “It looks like you and Eddie sorted out your shit, huh?”

“We’re tolerating each other,” you tell him without turning your head.

“I don’t know, man,” he muses, his eyes narrowing, “Tolerance was not the look on your face when you walked in here with him.”

A huff escapes your throat as you whip around to face him. “I’m interviewing him, remember?” you ask, trying to keep defensiveness out of your voice. “I'm just trying to be…pleasant.”

“You can tell yourself whatever you need to,” he adds, concern written across his face. “But from where I’m standing, you look like you’re in way over your head.”

The words die in your throat as Eddie reappears, weaving through the crowd with the grace of someone used to navigating this kind of affair. In one hand, he balances a plate arranged with an assortment of canapes and sushi, each piece a miniature work of art. His deep brown eyes keenly focused on you. “Eat something, doll,” he suggests, handing the plate over to you.

That feeling wells up in your stomach as you purse your lips, trying not to let your mouth stretch too big in front of Argyle, although he probably has picked up on the heat rising to your face. “Thanks,” you say shyly, accepting the plate.

“I’ll snag one,” Argyle reaches toward your plate with two fingers.

Eddie brows lower. “You can get your own, they’re not charging.”

“Sheesh, I know, dude. They're from my restaurant,” Argyle informs him.

“Then you know exactly where to get more,” Eddie counters.

“Did you find Robin?” you ask, changing the subject. “Was she twerking?”

“Yeah, I caught the tail end of it. And I’ll never unsee it,” his genuine laughter fills the space. “I think it’s burned into my retinas.”

“Mrs. Harrington," comes the voice of a junior staffer materializing beside you with such abruptness that the plate nearly slips from your grasp. "They want you in the photo now.”

“Umm, sure,” you say, glancing to where Steve is standing with Nancy, laughing at something she said. Eddie takes the plate from you, his easy smile from earlier erased by the downturn of his lips.

Smoothing down your skirt, you follow the photographer, consciously relaxing the clench of your jaw over how you were addressed. Steve’s eyes sparkle with warmth as he makes space for you between himself and Nancy, Richard positioned at the end. The clear happiness on his face eases your irritation. His hand finds a place on your ribs, pulling you into his side before the photographer directs you where to look.

“Very nice,” Richard comments with a nod after the flash goes off.

“One for your company Christmas card,” Nancy quips, throwing a look in Steve's direction.

Richard, not missing a beat, turns to you both. “Yes, well, it’s always a pleasure, Ms. Wheeler. I hope you enjoy the party,” he says before shifting to Steve. “Ready to give the investors a tour, my boy? They’ve had their share of drinks. Should be just about softened up for you now.”

“I’ll be right with you, Richard.” Steve waves him off, his eyes softening as he looks down at you, “You going to be okay on your own for a while, Ace?”

“Absolutely,” you tell him, rising to your toes to plant a kiss on his cheek. “You’re going to kill it, handsome.”

The side of his mouth tips up as you use your thumb to wipe away the gloss you left behind. “How did I get so lucky?” he wonders aloud, his gaze locked on yours. Leaning in, he captures your lips with his in a kiss that lingers a beat too long for a public place.

“I'll find you later.” Regret clouds his eyes as he pulls back, slipping on the professional mask he wears far too often. He walks away with Richard in tow.

“I better go find Jonathan,” Nancy tells Argyle and Eddie as you rejoin your friends, “or he’ll end up in a corner talking politics all night, and I made him promise me that he’d dance with me for at least one song.”

“You can sign me up for one too, Wheeler,” Eddie says, popping a piece of sushi in his mouth. “No arm twisting required.”

“I’m going to hold you to that, Munson,” she promises, pointing a playful finger at him before turning to leave, her dress swirling behind her.

“You, Eddie Muson, volunteering to dance,” you tease, your expression mockingly shocked. “Now I’ve seen everything.”

“Play your cards right, doll, and I’ll show you up close and personal,” Eddie says, his eyebrows dancing as he offers you a canapé.

“That’s alright, Eddie. I’ve got my regular dance partner right here, right Argyle?” you say, looping your arm through his.

“Yeah... yup,” Argyle murmurs, his attention momentarily snagged by a tall brunette striding past. She sweeps a waterfall of silky hair over her shoulder, pretending not to notice him, but the extra sway added to her hips says otherwise.

“Solo dame una noche con ese culo y te haré mami, querida,” Argyle calls after her, untangling himself from your arm.

“Traitor,” you accuse, watching him go with a shake of your head as he follows after her without a backward glance.

“Ve por ella, amigo,” Eddie encourages with a booming laugh.

Turning back to you, he rocks on his heels, a smirk playing on his lips. “Looks like it’s just you and me, doll.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t have to look so happy about it,” you chide when his dimples make an appearance, sending the rusted chains around your heart rattling when it jumps under your ribs. Maybe Argyle wasn’t too far off the mark.

A brisk wind cuts across the dark surface of Lake Michigan. The City Beats logo burns bright in yellow neon, its light spilling over the outdoor stage and dancing across the water’s surface in a rotation of colors. Despite the press of bodies, warmth is scarce, with the night air nipping at any exposed skin. Before you can even think of shivering, Eddie drapes his suit jacket over your shoulders, the fabric holding the residual warmth of his body. He stands close beside you, seemingly unfazed by the cool temperature, as Maroon 5 concludes their set.

The crowd sways as one, heads bobbing in sync with the rhythm pulsing into the chilly evening. The spice of Eddie's cologne is a veil around you, drawing you closer into his orbit. Glancing his way, you expect his attention to be on the show, eyes tracking each note and chord. Instead, you find the intensity of his gaze fixed on you.

As the song ends with the band offering their thanks, the MC dashes on stage to announce the next performer. With a tip of his chin, Eddie motions for you to follow him. Together, you squeeze through the crowd, walking along the path at the lake's edge until the sea of people begins to thin, their noise fading into a distant murmur until it's just the two of you left, accompanied by the quiet hush of waves lapping against the bank.

He stops, gazing out over the water, city lights dancing in his eyes. “I almost forgot how your face changes when you listen to music. It’s like the lyrics break right through, lighting you up from the inside.”

“My one true love,” you respond with a wistful sigh, giving him a shrug.

“Oh yeah?” He turns toward you, inching a bit closer to reach into the breast pocket of the suit jacket enveloping your shoulders. He pulls out a tightly rolled joint, eyeing you with a raised brow. “What’s with all the ‘Mrs. Harrington’ business?” he asks, placing the joint between his lips and fishing a brass Zippo from his pants pocket. “Did you get married and forget to invite me?”

Your eyes flash skyward as he lights it with a practiced flick and takes a deep drag. “I don’t know...Steve encourages it. I think it’s his way of reminding me he’s waiting for me to set a date.”

He passes you the joint and blows out a lung full of white smoke that swirls into the night air. “You have left the poor sap waiting for a while.”

“I don’t want to talk about my relationship with you, Eddie,” you say, flicking the ash off the burning paper's end before pressing it to your lips and inhaling.

“Why not?” His gaze probes, seeking an opening, a slip, anything. “Friends talk about their relationships, don’t they?”

You can’t help but cough, the potency of the smoke catching you off guard. “You know exactly why not,” you retort, passing the joint back to him. A soft fog settles over your thoughts, smoothing out the evening’s sharpness. “And you? Volunteering to help with the guest list...” You eye him skeptically, “Trying to ease your conscience?”

He chuckles, shaking his head as he takes another hit, “It was only a couple of texts, doll,” he says, passing the joint back to you, his fingers brushing yours. “Trust me, I sleep just fine at night. What’s between you and me started long before Steve entered the picture.”

"Well, he’s here now," you assert with defiance, your gaze locked with Eddie's as the joint burns down in your fingers.

His fingers wrap around your wrist, guiding your left hand into the streetlamp's glow until the diamond on your finger flashes. "I guess he is. But doll," he steps closer, his eyes holding yours, "so am I."

“Yeah? Let’s wait and see if you stick around this time.” Your skepticism is clear as you bring the joint back to your lips, watching his face fall with your pointed words.

“So this is where the cool kids hang out,” Hopper’s gruff voice cuts into the night, anchoring you back to reality. Eddie takes a step away from you, his hands tugging on the ends of his curls. Hopper’s eyes narrow on the joint between your fingers. “Really think it’s wise to smoke grass at a work function?”

“I promise not to operate any heavy machinery,” you respond in a dry tone, blowing out a cloud of smoke.

The older man’s eyes shoot skyward before he holds out an expectant hand, “Give it here.”

You hand it over, and the burning paper crackles as he takes a practiced drag, “Are you going to introduce me?”

“Sorry. Yeah,” you rub your forehead, “James Hopper, this is my…um, friend, Eddie Munson.” Eddie leans forward, reaching out to shake hands as you quickly explain, “Hopper’s my editor.” The steadiness in your voice doesn’t quite bridge the awkward moment.

Eddie’s brows raise as Hopper’s hand closes over his in a crushing grip. “Hell of a grip,” Eddie comments with a question written across his face.

“A handshake is a good measure of man,” Hopper offers him no other explanation, handing him back the smoking joint before turning to you. “I expect a write-up of the launch on my desk by 10:30 tomorrow for the digital edition. And don’t skimp on the details about the radio service. Downtown is keen on pushing this, so I hope you paid attention.”

“No problem, Hop. I’m on it,” you assure him.

“Now, I’m going home to Joyce. If she gets a whiff of this on me, I’m sending her your way.”

“You’ll be in the clear,” you promise with a soft grin.

Hopper's stern demeanor gives way to something gentler. “Alright,” he says with a nod, “Enjoy your evening, kid.” His eyes dart to Eddie. “But not too much.”

“Jesus, that’s your editor?” Eddie asks once Hopper is out of sight. “The guy missed his calling, he would’ve made a great cop.”

Your laughter accompanies the dismissive shake of your head. “We better go back inside.”

The walk back is steeped in quiet, the night’s emotions a heavy weight that weaves threads of weariness and a dull ache through your limbs. Eddie appears less burdened, wearing an expression of contentment, his hand slipping beneath the fabric of his jacket still resting over your shoulders. The warmth of his palm seeps into the bare skin of your back while his thumb traces soothing circles along your spine. Carried in on a breeze, the earthy spice of late-blooming asters mingle with the vibrant colors of marigolds softened under the glowing canopy of string lights.

As you near the terrace, the murmur of voices grows, and the sparse groups of people along the pathway thicken to a full gathering. The shift from the lake’s tranquility to the party's bright lights and crescendo of conversations is jarring. The solarium overflows with party-goers, their inhibitions loosened by drinks as they flood the dance floor, the music swelling louder and more insistent than before. Despite the sea of people, it takes only moments for Steve’s gaze to lock onto yours across the room as you reenter with Eddie by your side.

Without hesitation, he leaves the conversation he'd been having and moves toward you. The corners of your mouth lift in a greeting that isn’t returned. His forehead creases with a question. The air seems thicker as you slide the jacket off, returning it to Eddie, the tightness in your chest reappearing. Steve's jaw clenches as he reaches you, his arm circling your waist. “I’ll take my fiance back now, Munson.”

Eddie’s smirk sharpens as he hooks his jacket over one shoulder, “Just keeping an eye on her for you, buddy. Couldn’t leave the lady alone with all these musicians wandering around.” He leans closer, his free hand circling his mouth, “They tend to get a little handsy.”

"Thanks, pal," Steve replies, the last word stretched tight as he stands taller. “I’ll take it from here.”

Eddie’s gaze drops to his feet momentarily before his head lifts. Amusement widens his grin, reflecting a confidence that borders on smug. His feet shuffle as he adjusts his posture to match Steve’s. A twist of nerves tightens your stomach as a spark that you know all too well brightens Eddie’s eyes like an echo of the cocky teenager he once was.

“How about that dance you promised me, handsome?” you blurt, cutting Eddie off just as his mouth opens to respond. Stepping between them, you intertwine your fingers with Steve's and tug him toward the dance floor. As if on cue, the music mellows to a slower tempo.

Steve’s stare remains on Eddie as his arms circle your waist. “You know, it’s funny, I never realized what a dick Eddie is.”

Your head turns to see Eddie watching you with hands shoved in his pocket. “You barely spoke to him all night. What led you to that conclusion?”

Robin bops over to meet him, her blue eyes gleaming as she tugs at his arm, trying to coax him into a dance despite his shaking head.

“I don’t know. The guy is just rubbing me the wrong way,” Steve doesn’t hide the irritation in his voice as he turns you so you’re facing away from them.

A burst of protectiveness that has been dormant since high school wells up like a hot spring. The words escape before your better judgment can catch them. “Really. Are you sure it’s not because he’s my friend?”

The mossy green rings of his eyes burn into yours for only a moment before he blows out a soft breath. “Let’s not fight.” His big hand slides down to rest low on your back as he pulls you closer. “I’ve been waiting to get you alone all night,” he says into your ear before his mouth covers yours hotly, leaving you whirling with his quick change. “Where have you been all night, Ace?”

One side of his mouth lifts in a half-smile, but his confident mask slips. Behind his eyes, he’s lost—the familiarity tugs at you. Rising on your toes, you press your lips to his. “I’m right here.”

His expression softens, radiating a comforting warmth as his lips brush your temple. The rhythm of the song wraps around you both like a truce. Burying your cheek into Steve’s shoulder, your gaze follows Eddie as he turns his back and heads for the door.

Steve leans closer to the bathroom mirror, his fingertips shiny with the pomade he's using to piece out the strands of his chestnut hair.

“Don’t forget your glasses,” you remind him, turning away from the open doorway and entering your bedroom.

“Or the tickets,” you toss out, noticing the white envelope on his night table.

“What would I do without you, Ace?” His voice floats from the bathroom, light and teasing.

Settling at the end of your bed, you pick up the novel you started recently, the book's weight familiar in your lap. Seeing Steve so relaxed and happy broadens your smile. He deserves this night out to blow off a little steam. City Beats' launch exceeded every expectation. A success that's finally turned the heads of the old guard at Second City toward the efforts of their youngest executive. Of course, memories are short, and victories are fleeting.

Steve's workload hasn't lessened, and the prospect of taking the platform national is still on the horizon, but you've set aside any misgivings, at least for now. It’s been a week since you surprised him with the Bulls tickets during his birthday dinner at Maple and Ash, Steve’s favorite, surrounded by your closest friends–with one empty chair at the table when Eddie hadn’t shown.

“Sure you don’t want to come? I still have an extra ticket,” He asks, emerging through the pocket doors separating your bedroom from the closet. Securing his Jaeger-Lecoultre watch to his wrist, the scent of Dior Homme follows him.

You glance down at your cozy leggings and cream wrap sweater. “I’ve got big plans tonight, handsome.” You hold up the book against your chest. “Didn’t anyone from your pick-up game want the ticket? Or those guys you play racquetball with?”

“I didn't get a chance to ask until the last minute,” he explains. “Robin called my office about fifty times to harass me about inviting Eddie to the game. It took me all week to get the guy on the phone, and then he turned me down flat.” He shakes his head, walking over to his nightstand to retrieve the tickets.

“I don't think Eddie is much of a sports guy,” you muse, glancing down at your fingers, folding and unfolding a dog-eared page. “He used to say he didn't have time for throwing balls into laundry baskets. He’d go on and on about the unfairness of high school politics.” A quiet laugh escapes your mouth along with the memory. “He could be so dramatic back then.”

When you lift your eyes, Steve's standing frozen in place, the deep line between his brows wiping away his easy demeanor. He's looking at you like he's just found an uninvited stranger in his bed. It’s just a flash before he recovers, his features returning to the affectionate expression he usually carries for you, but it was enough. The parts of yourself you keep hidden loom like an iceberg–he’s just spotted the tip. You draw your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“Yeah?” He pauses, the air between you thickening as a hint of challenge colors his voice. “That’s a little weird considering he got us seats at a Lakers game last time I was in LA.”

The silence stretches just a moment longer. “Guess he’s not the same guy you knew back in Hawkins. But then again, none of us are, right?” He lets the question hover, knowing an answer isn’t coming. “People change,” he shrugs, his gaze intense and probing. “Or maybe we just never really knew them at all.”

He steps closer and leans in, his lips brushing the corner of your mouth in a kiss that punctuates the conversation. His tone, sharp and heavy like a dull knife, cuts deep as he turns to leave. “Enjoy your book.”

“Wait.” You slip off the bed, bridging the gap between you. Your fingers tangle in the material of his shirt, drawing him closer until your lips meet his, adding pressure until his arms circle your waist and he kisses you back. His embrace grows warmer as your tongue slides into his mouth, grazing his before pulling back, making him chase you, and he does. You break away but keep him close, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath a warm whisper as his nose runs along your cheek. “Have fun, okay?” you murmur against his lips as his hands slide up and down your back. “Knock back a few. Yell at the Ref. Get Jonathan drunk enough to annoy Nancy.”

He chuckles, a smile lifting his cheeks. “You got it, Ace.” His eyes close as his lips find yours again. “I love you.”

"I love you too, Steve," you whisper, your fingers uncurling from his shirt as you let him go. He takes your hand as you follow him downstairs. He opens the front door to a car waiting at the curb, the driver hoping out to open the backdoor.

“I’ll see you in a few hours.” He smiles, picking up his keys from the small table.

The cold air rushes in from outside, and you pull your sweater tighter around your neck. Watching him step through the door, you call out, “Happy Birthday, handsome.”

As you close the door, Steve pauses on the landing with a thoughtful look crossing his face. “You know, now that I think about it, Eddie didn’t stop yapping that entire game. Maybe you’re right after all. The guy just doesn’t like sports.”

You give a noncommittal shrug, your fingers tightening around the edge of the door. "What did you talk about?"

“Can’t remember,” he shakes his head, resuming his descent down the steps. You watch for a moment longer before closing the door and latching the deadbolt.

With a sigh, you turn back to the now quiet house. The soft pad of your fluffy socks muffles your footsteps as you drift through the rooms, dimming the overhead lights to let the warmer glow of lamps bathe the space in a comforting light. You head to the kitchen, grabbing the remote from the counter. At the press of a button, the scratch of a guitar and a gravelly voice fill the silence, as comforting as an old friend.

You mouth the lyrics as you reach for a wine glass from the cupboard. With a practiced motion, you uncork a bottle of red, filling your glass halfway, only to keep going until it's right to the brim. The song shifts as you leave the kitchen, glass in hand, taking a sip, the rich flavors of dark fruit and spice mingling perfectly, soothingly. Sinking into the couch, you tip your head back against the cushion, letting the music and the stillness envelop you. Your eyes close, the lyrics weaving a soothing spell, chasing dark thoughts away.

The peace is predictably short-lived. A buzz jolts you. The phone tucked into your leggings vibrates with an incoming call. You try to ignore it, letting it ring to voicemail, but it buzzes again—this time a text. With a resigned huff, you pull it out and unlock the screen with a click.

Missed Call – Eddie

Eddie: Your neighbors don’t complain when you play music that loud?

You blink down at the screen and then lift your gaze to the room's dark corners.

Eddie: Don’t get freaked out. Just come to the door.

Pushing off the couch, you pad through the house to the front door and open it to the chilly November night. A brisk gust of wind blows down your street, swirling dried red and orange leaves around Eddie's black leather boots, where he stands at the base of your steps, bathed in the soft glow of the sconces flanking your door.

His hands are shoved into the pockets of dark-fitted jeans, a cozy half-zip sweater in deep charcoal hugging his broad chest. He looks up at you from under his long lashes, head slightly cocked to the side. “I tried the bell.” His head turns to the street as a passing car splashes water up from the wet pavement. “What kind of sound system is that? I thought Chris was in there with you for a second.”

Wrapping your arms around your chest, your fingers gently rub the fabric of your sweater as you ignore the surrealness of Eddie casually referring to Chris Cornell by his first name. “What are you doing here? Steve's not home.”

“I know. I thought the guy would never leave. How long does it take him to do his hair, anyway?”

“It’s not funny, Eddie. You can’t come in.” You glance down the street to see your neighbor, leash in hand, appear in the circle of light cast by the streetlamp.

“I don’t want to come in, doll. We’re going out. And we're late, so if you could light a fire under it.” Eddie’s lips press into a hard line as your neighbor passes him on the sidewalk, giving him the once-over, the poodle pausing to sniff his legs.

“Evening, Mr. Davis," you acknowledge with a wave as the man continues down the street, shaking his head. You turn back to Eddie, frustration evident in your tone. "I can't go anywhere. I'm not even dressed.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow, assessing your attire. “Those look like clothes to me.”

Your head tilts to the side, your expression unwavering.

He glances at the sky and lets out a frustrated sigh before his gaze returns to you. “You look beautiful, doll. Now, please. Just grab your coat,” he implores, his hands pressing together in front of him. “ I promise to have you back before you turn into a pumpkin.”

Your eyes lower to where your toes are wiggling in your socks, “Eddie, I–”

“Well, I could always just hang out here,” he muses, scratching at the scruff on his chin. “Might get awkward when the game lets out.”

“You're not serious,” you challenge, skepticism evident in your tone.

“Oh, aren't I?” he asks, cocking a brow as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Friends hang out together, don’t they?”

“Fine,” you fume. “But I better be back in plenty of time.” You catch the way his smile broadens as you turn back into the house to slip on a pair of boots and grab an old woolen peacoat off the hook by the door. Stepping out onto the stone landing of your brownstone, you hesitate, shooting him another look of apprehension before turning to lock the door.

“Christ, woman, was that so difficult?” He throws his hands in the air as he crosses the street to a shiny black Audi Q7 parked at the curb. With a wave of his hand, he opens the passenger door, beckoning you to climb inside.

The bare branches of the trees sway with the wind, casting moving shadows against the shining asphalt painted with the last of the fallen leaves. You walk across the road to where he’s waiting and step into the SUV. You sink into the plush seat, the smell of leather, smoke, and his cologne assaulting your senses. It's the same scent that seemed to linger for days after your last visit to CursedSound, the one your guilt tried to erase.

Your hands worry themselves in your lap, twisting the diamond on your fourth finger while you wait for him to round the vehicle. The agreement about keeping the lines drawn is fresh in your mind as he climbs into the driver's seat.

Without warning, he leans over you, the warmth of his body invading your space, the pout of his full bottom lip hovering inches from yours. The sharp intake of your breath echoes loudly in the vehicle's quiet confines.

“Seatbelt,” he reminds you, his big brown eyes dancing with amusement as he drags the strap across your shoulder and clicks it into position at your hip.

Heat rises up your neck, burning your cheeks as he settles himself in his seat, strapping in before pressing the button that starts the ignition.

“Shit.” His face falls as he glares at the glowing numbers on his dash. He turns the wheel, lurching the Audi onto the roadway. Your neighborhood disappears in a blur as he turns and heads north. “And I thought LA traffic was bad,” he mutters, weaving in and out of stagnant lanes.

The congestion loosens as he turns onto Lakeshore Drive, heading uptown. The moon hangs low, presiding over the rippling waters of Lake Michigan that stretch out into the night. A vast, dark canvas that reflects the tapestry of light from the towering buildings across the roadway rises to pierce the skyline.

Music from Eddie’s phone plays at a low volume through the stereo. It serves to fill the quiet between you, but there’s something in the clash of the electric guitar and smooth bass that's an itch in your brain. Familiar like a half-remembered dream, but somehow still new.

Your eyes steal glances to your left. His profile fades in and out of shadow with the passing headlights. The sharp line of his jaw tightens with a clench when he’s forced to slow his speed. The baby softness he used to carry in high school has given way to solid angles and the perpetual growth of stubble. There’s no denying it– he’s only gotten more attractive.

His head turns suddenly, catching your stare. Your throat clears as you reach for the knob, turning up the volume and letting the song replace anything about to be said. His hand moves from the gear shift to his thigh, his elegant fingers flexing against his jeans. Your eyes stay fixed on the taillights ahead as the song moves into its final refrain.

"Wait." You reach out to punch the back button, restarting the song. "This is you."

His eyebrows lift in surprise, his mouth parting slightly. "How did you—"

"I’m right, aren’t I?" you interject, pointing at the dash, focusing on the distinct chord progression and the sound of fingers sliding over frets.

"Yeah, it's something I’ve been working on for a while,” he admits, looking at you with soft eyes. “Still trying to figure out a part that's missing."

"I didn’t realize you still played," you comment, adjusting the volume again.

“I don’t know why you're surprised,” he says, reaching back to place his hand on your headrest as he smoothly backs the SUV into a space, turning the wheel to align with the curb. “I don't give up on the things I care about.” He shifts into park and turns off the ignition. “Come on.” His hand lands on your knee in a gentle squeeze. “We’re here.”

Exiting the car, you step onto the empty side street. Ambient light filters down from the high windows of the brick buildings lining both sides of the street. A nondescript bus with blackened windows and a few other cars sit parked at the curb. This is exactly the kind of place you'd normally avoid after dark. Sighing, you round the car to where Eddie is waiting. His hand finds its way to the small of your back, guiding you across the street to a lone, unmarked steel door. With a closed fist, he raps out five quick knocks followed by two slower and turns to you with a grin.

“What are we doing here?” you ask, shoving your hands into your coat pockets and looking up and down the street.

“I’m apologizing.” His words are cut off by the scraping sound of locks, followed by the door swinging open. Bright light spills out, casting a silhouette of a very large, bald man holding a clipboard, nearly obscuring the doorway.

“Can I help you?” booms the man’s voice, reverberating off the surrounding brick.

“I’m on the list,” Eddie says, undeterred.

“Name?” the doorman asks, retrieving a pen from behind his ear.

“Munson,” Eddie responds, glancing at the clipboard. “Edward and guest.”

The man sizes up Eddie with a thorough once-over, his gaze flickers towards you briefly before allowing you both to enter.

Following Eddie, you step inside, the brightness of the overhead fluorescents bouncing off the cinder block walls, causing you to squint after the dimly lit street outside. Flight cases and amp stacks clutter the small vestibule of the venue's loading area. The muffled thrum of a bass line vibrates through the walls and high ceilings.

“You’re cutting it close,” the man grunts, his staff shirt stamped with the Riviera Theater’s logo pulling tight across his chest as he hands Eddie two lanyards with plastic tags.

The sweet sound of a cascade of delicate strings drifts through the air from down the hall opposite you, drawing your attention like a moth to a porch light.

“Is that violins?” Turning toward the sound, tiny sparks ignite in your chest as Eddie slips the lanyard over your head.

“You know the way?” The doorman snaps his clipboard, ignoring your question.

“We’ll find it,” Eddie assures him, his fingers closing around your elbow as he tugs you toward the hallway.

The smile stretching your lips is automatic. Tingles of energy zip through your veins as anticipation builds, like being a kid at Christmas. As the stark fluorescents give way to dimmer bulbs, a murkier haze settles around you, mirroring the anticipation building in your chest. Their soft glow catches the shine of the dark curls resting on Eddie's collar as you trail after him down the maze of narrowing corridors.

Passing by closed doors and bulletin boards tacked with production notes and schedules, you step lightly to avoid the cords snaking across your path. The worn wooden floorboards creak with each step like they are responding to the growing clarity of the strings that now reach your ears, no longer muffled but rich and full.

The baseline of Dreams smooths into its final notes, and applause thunders from the audience. Eddie pauses, his hand resting lightly on your back, guiding you to a halt. You step between him and the canopy of curtains gathered at the stage’s edge, the sounds of the crowd's approval dissipating into the cavernous space. The polished instruments rest in the orchestra’s hands, poised for their next cue. Your hand flies to your mouth as the sight of The Cranberries at center stage fully registers. Dolores O’Riordan’s head turns, catching Eddie’s gaze. With an exasperated look, she taps the watch strapped to her wrist. He mouths a “Sorry,” his head tilting slightly towards you. At that moment, her brown eyes connect with yours. A hint of a smile graces her face before she turns back to the audience, her voice resonating in the stillness, "I was saving this one."

The first sigh of the violin expands with your breath, an arrow soaring through the air, piercing the center of your chest. A thrum of a calloused thumb brushing over the strings of an acoustic guitar accompanies the “Ahhs” of her lilting voice. The harmony is echoed by a cello, then a viola, and another violin, each repetition weaving into the next like a ripple of raindrops on calm water until it all fades into a hush, leaving your stomach swooping in its wake.

The silence shatters with the bold strum of the guitar. The air leaves your lungs in unison with the crashing bassline, the full swell of the strings washing over you like an ocean wave.

If you, if you could return

Don't let it burn

Don't let it fade

In the auditorium's darkness, the audience vanishes until only you and he exist. Eddie stands close, his warmth seeping into you as he presses into you with his shoulder. Clove and tobacco mix with the tang of iron and polished wood. The back of his hand grazes the soft skin of your own, but it’s the stage that holds your attention, pulling you in deeper.

Is that the way we stand?

Were you lying all the time?

Was it just a game to you?

The accompanying musicians close their eyes, becoming extensions of their instruments. Dolores tilts her head, her voice clear and strong, pouring from her slight frame. The music rises through the aged floorboards, tremors of notes climbing your legs and bursting within your chest. Stirring emotions so immense it threatens to spill over as tears sting behind your eyes.

Oh, I thought the world of you

I thought nothing could go wrong

Your head turns and you find Eddie has been watching you the entire time. His throat bobs as he swallows, the bright lights reflecting the shine in his eyes, and now it's you who can't look away. The soft expression he wears is tender and novel. The black lines that have always connected you pull taut, tugging at your heart. Lines that you thought were severed by anger and loneliness.

But I was wrong, I was wrong

But somehow, they’ve remained. Tattered and a little frayed but enduring all the same. At his core, he is who he’s always been, and so are you.

Things wouldn't be so confused

And I wouldn't feel so used

But you always really knew

I just want to be with you

Two souls found each other in the darkness, singing the same song. He brought you here for a reason—he's telling you he's sorry without words, reaching for you through the melody in a way you can't ignore—in a way that matters.

And I'm in so deep

You know I'm such a fool for you

Everything falls away, but the music and your shared heartbeats. Memories flicker, like pages of a faded scrapbook caught in the wind—sunlit and shadowed. The heavy musk of aged velvet curtains shifts into the fresh scent of cut grass and summer nights, the cool touch of lakewater, and the honeyed warmth of sunshine lingering on his skin. Hummed lyrics, shared laughter, the comfort of being by his side. You liked the version of yourself reflected in his eyes.

Recollections you locked away come back in a deluge. Past moments, both sweet and sharp, weave together, softening the edges of old wounds. Each verse, each look from him, peels back layers of hurt you’d clung to. The bitter shell around your heart begins to crack, dislodging the shards within. Lighter now, your wounds can start to mend. The remaining scars are reminders, but a warmth begins to unfurl in their place, reluctant and bewildering. It’s not forgiveness yet, but the possibility is closer for him and for yourself.

You got me wrapped around your finger

Notes spiral upwards, threading through the shadow-laden lattice of ropes and rigging until they dissipate into the darkness above. Under the glare of the stage lights, the harmonies that once defined you rekindle, sparking to life. Your fingers find his with intention, intertwining with deliberate grace, palm to palm, sliding, locked together. Warmth spreads through the both of you. It's unexpected the way lyrics unravel you, making room for something new. Your gaze leaves his, returning to the performance, but you lean into Eddie, your head tipping to rest on his shoulder. The breath releases from his chest in a shuddering sigh. And he feels an awful lot like home.

Do you have to let it linger?

Do you have to, do you have to, do you have to let it linger?

Listen to the acoustic version of Linger here Rest in peace, Delores. Ni bheidh a leitheid ann aris.

Big, huge, giant, hugs and sloppy wet kisses for sticking with me. I know the wait was long. Your encouragement got me through it. Especially Leighanne and Taylor who had to put up with me whining.

All your song suggestions have made this fic so fun to write. Please keep 'em coming.

We are about halfway through, kittens. It's about to get bumpy.

For updates follow @tornupdates

#steve harrington #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #stranger things #eddie munson smut #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson fanfic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington smut #stranger things fanfic #torn series

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poppadom0912 · 2 years

Text

Money, Money, Money

Characters: Connor Rhodes x Reader, Maggie, Will

Warnings: Canon-typical injuries, overbearing/toxic parents, lots of violence, pregnancy.

Summary: Having money doesn't entitle you to anything. Why don't your parents understand that?

A/N: Haven't written for Connor in a lonnnggg time so here I am. I have mixed feelings about this but enjoyyyy. Posting this today in commemoration of my twin cousins turning one.

*****

Today was just so jam-packed in the ED that it was ridiculous.

One minute, your treating a woman whose half conscious from a car accident and the next your being handed a John Doe who is better off dead than hooked to a bunch of expensive machines.

You were always on your feet, not even having a second to yourself to sit down on a chair at the nurses station. It also really didn't help that Med had been handed a fresh new bunch of students who were all around the place, not knowing what they were doing.

Ripping off your gloves you deeply exhaled, closing your eyes as you stood in the middle of the ED. Everything around you was still a mess but all you needed was two minutes to collect yourself before-

"Doctor Rhodes, Doctor Y/L/N, you're on!" Maggie shouted from across the emergency room, sending you her most apologetic smile while she shrugged, having no control over what happened which you knew and definitely didn't blame her for.

Hastily grabbing what felt like your millionth pair of latex gloves, you assisted the paramedics and Connor wheeling the stretcher into a treatment bay, transferring on his count.

Everything was as it usually was, working together to stabilise the patient who was only half alert. From a mile away, you could smell the stench of alcohol, letting everyone know of what led the man to his current situation. Rolling your eyes, you stepped away from the gurney, allowing a few nurses and orderlies wheel the now unconscious man for an mri.

Aggressively, you ripped of your gloves, chucking it into the bin, Connor following suit, chuckling at your sour face. The only good thing you had going for you right now was having a five minute lie in with your fiance early this morning. Five minutes wasn't long at all but it was all you and peanut needed to fuel you for the long 24-hour shift ahead of you.

Right, you still had another 18 hours left till you could go home. Just flipping perfect.

You felt like collapsing, your body exhausted but the sickly people of Chicago relied on you. With a quick departing kiss on the forehead, squeezing your hand several times, you watched with warmness in your chest as your very attractive man ran off in those very nice black scrubs.

*****

It was an honest to god miracle that everything slowed down. You finally got to sit down, even managing to have a quick snack before checking in on patients. There was also the regular conversation over your baby, all the doctors and nurses betting on the gender while your closest friends pretended they weren't up for potential godparents.

You decided to do a quick round, going around to see if your patients were up and moving, if not then you'd offer your service somewhere it was needed.

At some point during the day, you lost track of how many people came in meaning you forgot who had what and who they were. With a tablet in hand, you scrolled through the man's chart, humming to yourself as you familiarised yourself with both his medical history and his current state, remembering what happened when you saw his blood alcohol levels.

What you failed to notice, too busy reading, was the man who you now know was called Nick was slowly coming to. Not a peep came out of him, blinking as he looked around the room, you being the last thing he noticed.

It all happened so fast from what you could recollect. All of a sudden, he sat up, not even groaning in pain from the several injuries he sustained while drunk and high.

"Nick, I'm a doctor, your in a hospital. No one's going to hurt you." You tried assuring him, jumping back when he lurched forward, forcing himself to stand, his unstable legs holding all of his weight. "You hurt yourself okay? You mind getting back into the bed?"

Despite your gentle and understanding tone, your bedside manner being top notch, Nick didn't even consider listening to you. You could almost see the flaming red flash across his eyes but before you could do anything, he came towards you.

With such a fury, his hand gripped your neck tightly, pushing you against the medicine cupboard that only this room had. Repeatedly, he pushed you into the glass door which shattered upon impact.

Gasping, you tried kicking your feet out but unfortunately for you, your short stature was not helping you were held inches above the ground. Scratching at his hand, your nails digging into his skin, he wouldn't let go.

You were incoherent, not even managing to shout or scream from the extreme pressure against your throat. Inhaling through your nose, you screwed your eyes shut when you saw a blurry fist flying towards you.

Everything was happening so fast but all of a sudden, you could breathe, air entering your lungs like a tsunami but before you could recollect yourself, not even letting your brain register that you were dropped to the floor, you were once again picked up and smashed against the sliding glass doors.

The glass broke on impact, shattering into small shards almost like crystals. Your cries were broken, the punches rolling one after the other.

*****

After having a quick surgery consult, assuring a patient that this surgery would happen, Connor was content. It was finally his lunch and he wasn't needed anywhere which meant that he could see his beautiful fiancée. Hopefully, you could spare a few minutes and he could check up on you and his baby.

The ED was much more quiet, almost too quiet in comparison to the chaos it was drowning in over an hour ago. Whistling, he leaned his arms against the nurses desk, giving Maggie his most dashing smile that all the girls of Chicago swooned over.

"Your fiancée is in six, give her five minutes." She said without taking her eyes off her brick, knowing exactly what the surgeon wanted without him even having to ask.

Before Connor could thank the charge nurse, he was interrupted by the deafening sound of glass shattering, his head whipping around to the source of the sound.

It was when it flashed in his mind that the room with the now shattered door was treatment six that Connor ran towards the mess.

Will and Ethan also came running forward, the two of them pulling Nick away from you while Connor shielded you as best as he could from any further harm.

"Y/N? Honey, you with me?" Connor asked, taking note of your fluttering eyelids and your cracking groan. He held you in his arms, feeling around the back of your head, his fingers coated in your blood.

Lifting you onto a gurney without any help, you were wheeled into a separate treatment room, Connor not once leaving your side and no one tried to pry him away knowing that it would only further anger him.

"Connor?" You tried calling out, struggling to keep your eyes open. "The baby..."

"Is fine, wasn't hurt at all." Connor sighed in relief, handing back the ultrasound wand to a nurse once he was happy with the sight of your baby who was alive and kicking.

Will nodded at Connor, letting him know everything that he needed. Picking up the railing on the side of the gurney, Connor wasn't leaving your side, wheeling wheel you up for an mri.

"You're going to be just fine."

*****

Coming to was more painful than you wanted it to be but because of the growing life inside your womb, you could only take so much medication which you knew and understood but you couldn't help curse out whoever was up there watching everything.

"The baby?" Was the first thing that came out. Your voice was hoarse, your throat aching as it strained from each syllable.

"Is alive and kicking." Connor nodded with a tight-lipped smile, helping you drink some water. "The lack of oxygen only hurt you, not peanut."

"Good, that's good." You closed your eyes, nodding in relief that no harm came to your baby because you wouldn't be able to live with yourself if they were hurt.

"You scared me." Connor whispered, enveloping your hand in both of his, not bothered by how cold you felt. "Don't ever do that again."

"I can't make any promises." You replied with remorse, wanting nothing more than to promise him but medicine was unpredictable, especially when mixed with drugs and alcohol. "I'll try my best though."

"And that's all I ask for." Connor smiled, pressing several kisses on your knuckles.

"Uh, you've got a few visitors anxiously waiting for you outside, what do you want me to do with them?" Your fiance asked, chuckling as he remembered the gaggle of doctors waiting outside in anticipation. They were all pretending to work but found themselves staring at the treatment room you were in.

But before you could answer with a yes, wanting nothing more than to see your friends, you cut off by the loud shout coming from outside the room, at the entrance of the ED. Unfortunately for you, you knew exactly who that voice belonged to.

"Where is my daughter?!" The voice near screamed, oozing with so much urgency that it made you feel sick. It was all so fake that even a stranger could see it.

You could only hear just how much of a commotion was being created outside your room, you and Connor shared a knowing glance, both of your mirroring the others annoyance.

Maggie's desperate attempts of steering the newcomers away from your room was useless. The doors and curtains were pulled opened and you were met with the apologetic faces of your friends and the furious faces of your parents.

"Oh my God, what happened to your face?!" Your mother said in alarm, rushing to your bedside as fast as she could in heels, her slim fingers gripping your chin to inspect all the visible damage to your face.

"Ow! Ma, that hurts!" You winced, pushing her hands away from your face, not wanting her to touch you anymore. "I'm fine, thanks for asking."

Your mother huffed, her dull eyes looking over at Connor, rolling her eyes at him before looking back over at you. "Where's your supervisor? You getting hurt isn't enough for your boss to come check on you?"

Before anyone could retort back, more than prepared to defend your boss, you were all stopped by a new presence that wasn't there before standing in the door.

"I'm glad that you could make it Mr and Mrs Y/L/N. I was worried you wouldn't make it taking into account your busy schedules." Ms Goodwin said, the sass dripping off her words, her smile welcoming but also smug. "If you could come with me to my office and we could talk specifics if you'd like?"

"I'd be perfect to do it right here actually." Your mother said, puffing out her chest with confidence she always had surrounding her. "You'll find our lawyers at your doorstep tomorrow morning with a lawsuit."

"What?!" You exclaimed, sitting up straight, ignoring your bruised and battered body screaming for you to stop moving. Despite all the pain, you were ready to throttle your parents.

As gently as he could, Connor pushed you back down without further causing your any pain. Ignoring your rolling eyes and your pout, he was relentless and succeeded in his doings. After doing so, he stood and glared at your parents.

"You mind if we talk outside, just the four of us?" Connor asked but it wasn't so much a question than it was a demand. Without waiting for a reply, your fiance held the door open for your parents and Ms Goodwin, sending the couple a tight lipped smile when they passed him.

“You have no right to be here.” Connor got straight to the point, not wanting to mess around when it came to you. Your parents were spoiled and entitled, thinking they could do whatever they wanted to whoever just because they had more money.

You’d long distanced yourself from them, no longer wasting your time wanting their approval and constant validation for every little thing you did. After years, you were free of their shackles but they always found a way to crawl back in.

This was one way they planned to become part of your life again.

“You will walk out of here, you will get rid of the press that I’m sure is waiting outside and you’re never going to show your faces here again because if you do, I’m not going to be as cordial.” Connor warned your parents, towering over your mother even with the heels she wore.

Your mother tutted, slowly shaking her head in disappointment. She was fully aware of the audience they had, all consisting of your true family and you boss standing to the side but some Rhodes man wasn’t going to get in the way of her achieving her goal.

“You are in no position to tell me what I can and can’t do. That’s my daughter, I gave birth to her.” Your mother fought back, not afraid to get into Connors face.

“Mrs Y/L/N, step away from my doctor.” Ms Goodwin said with authority, gently pushing Connor back. “Your not welcome in my hospital if your going to treat my doctors which such disrespect.”

Your mother scoffed, shaking her head in disbelief about they way she was being treated with such hostility. Something was clearly wrong here with how people took orders and did what they pleased.

“Now if you please leave, it’d be greatly appreciated.” Miss Goodwin said with finality, a smug smile on her lips when she realised she was getting her way.

Huffing, your mother burned holes into Connor, openly glaring at him, not hiding that she hated him. Scanning the room, her glare remained strong as her eyes landed on each doctor and nurse.

Giving Connor one last look from over her shoulder, you mother stormed out the ED, your father trailing behind her like the lost puppy he practically was at this point.

Everyone could breath easier, the air feeling lighter and less contaminated the second your parents left the ED. It was the biggest relief.

“Doctor Rhodes, please get back to your fiancée.” Miss Goodwin turned to the surgeon, giving him a very simple order that he wouldn’t object to.

Connor silently thanked his boss, smiling at her before coming back into your treatment room where you still sat, patiently waiting for your fiancé to come back.

“Do I even want to know what happened?” You asked, a small smile resting in your lips as you urged Connor to come forward and give you a hug.

“You’ve got nothing to worry about baby. Everything’s been dealt with.”

#connor rhodes #chicago med #onechicago #one chicago x reader #connor rhodes x you #connor rhodes x reader #connor rhodes imagine #chicago med x reader #conner rhodes #connor rhodes oneshot

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girderednerve · 1 month

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i have been reading: a book

i'm most of the way through the audiobook of eric klinenberg's heat wave: a social autopsy of disaster in chicago. my audiobook is of the second edition, which has the kind of lengthy & somewhat self-congratulatory preface that second editions of academic monographs tend to pick up; the first edition of the book came out in 2002, and was the product of klinenberg's doctoral research. broadly, i like this book, and i find its general orientation useful: as the subtitle suggests, klinenberg's project is to determine what social factors caused the 1995 heat wave in chicago to be so deadly (excess death for that week was more than 700), to whom, and why. most of the people who died during the heat wave were isolated, low-income seniors; the highest rates of death were among black seniors. klinenberg pulls this trend apart; a popular narrative at the time insisted that these vulnerable people died because of a failure in social networks, outside the government's purview (mayor daley's office pushed this view, for obvious reasons), but klinenberg looks instead at social ecologies and urban landscapes as structural factors. the city was in a great reform swing towards both community policing (making cops responsible for connecting people to social services, using a huge pot of federal money from the 1994 crime bill; this model does not work but they were all-in on it) and what klinenberg calls an 'entrepreneurial' style of management, which i think could more clearly be called neoliberal austerity, cutting funding for social services and redistributive programs (these include the funding for the city's elder services department, public housing, and energy cost support from the state & federal government, among others).

a good chunk of his analysis is about how so many seniors came to live such isolated lives, and a lot of the answer he finds has to do with the fear that they experienced because of high crime rates in lower-income parts of chicago in 1995. i struggle with this explanation; he spends a lot of time on the policy of opening up city housing developments intended for seniors to also include disabled people, which (i guess?) meant that a lot of addicts moved into senior communities & destroyed them. i don't love this narrative, although i have no information to disprove it. his sources for it are police crime rates and reports from seniors themselves, which seems to me to leave an obvious gap. he acknowledges that these kinds of fears exceeded the actual crime rate significantly, a trend which has obviously continued, but he doesn't spend much time on e.g. the limited available accessible housing stock in chicago (maybe that wasn't a thing in 1995? but i feel like it was, and he even spent time with a senior who left her apartment rarely because she lived in a third-floor walk-up), or the lack of public policy requiring landlords to provide air conditioning (still a huge problem!), and mentions only off-handedly that black seniors were more likely to have been cut off from their families as children and grandchildren were forced to leave deindustrialized & abandoned areas or were incarcerated. he does point out that the privatization/contracting out of city social services left departments wildly under-resourced to actually develop robust connections with seniors, and the only department that had anything like the appropriate money and staff to do it, the police, were uninterested in this project, and, in more impoverished parts of the city, spent far more time responding to emergency calls than developing any kind of community connections (he rode along with some cops to see).

i found the sections about the actions of local government less frustrating. from the opening frame of the book, klinenberg spends time on how disasters are constructed in the public consciousness, which involves all kinds of actors. edmund r. donoghue, the medical examiner for cook county, acted quickly to establish criteria for attributing a death to heat, which was rare at the time & for all i know still is, & he stuck to his guns when the mayor went on television & said he thought the death counts must be inflated. as we know, disaster death counts are generally too low, as some people are not initially counted, which is why excess death is such an important statistic. the defining image of the 1995 heat wave is the lines of cop cars and local meatpacking vans waiting to drop off bodies at the county medical examiner, which was overwhelmed, with staff working 28 hour shifts & inmates from the local jail pulled in to help. hospitals, too, were overwhelmed, and an already too-low number of ambulances had to circle through the city and out into the suburbs to find open emergency rooms. the fire department, responsible for triggering emergency processes, including pulling extra emergency staff back on-duty or from nearby municipalities, was slow to act, in part because department leadership discounted the concerns of on-the-ground paramedic teams & in part, klinenberg suggests, because of pressure to keep costs down.

the discussion of emergency response was particularly interesting to me because i have been trained in the standard incident command system (all this stuff is free online if you're curious, but it's pretty dry), because all library workers in my first library system are required to serve as disaster response staff, and to receive FEMA reimbursement for our time, the county had to train us in the FEMA system (NIMS/ICS). ICS is the standard for all kinds of emergency management, from relatively small & routine incidents (e.g., traffic accidents), to large-scale planned events (e.g., the copa america or a t*ylor sw*ft concert), to extreme disasters (e.g., hurricanes, the ones my training focused on, or terrorist attacks, the ones that emergency management heads love to get weird about). ICS is regularly updated with input from people involved in large-scale emergency management, and it's very interesting the kinds of work it includes, in addition to fairly obvious asset deployment stuff: planning before a disaster, including laying in supplies; communication, between emergency staff and with the public; recovery efforts; assessment after the fact. actually, a ton of it is about communication, clear chains of command, plain-language communication (no 10 codes!), public relations. none of that stuff worked correctly in chicago in 1995, obviously, and ICS has long been updated with whatever lessons the FEMA guys took away from it, but one thing i thought about a lot during my boring time in FEMA training is that while the outline of what you're supposed to do & the order you're supposed to do it in is so clear that it all feels obvious while you're learning it (have a guy in charge. rotate the guy in charge so everyone can sleep. know how you're going to communicate with guys in the field. know how much stuff you have. make sure you tell the public what's going on, but you don't need to share everything. know what community groups you can work with. &c.), it is actually very difficult to do! it's certainly better to talk about it ahead of time instead of trying to improvise in the moment, but it's also clear that no one actually sticks perfectly to an emergency plan when the disaster is large or uncommon. i don't say this to excuse to the city of chicago in 1995, but to suggest what is obvious from ICS training: it's best to mitigate the disaster ahead of time, with infrastructure changes & robust social networks, because actual disaster management is so fucking hard. anyway, i thought about it a lot, & i thought a lot about what it was like to work through a hurricane. in a county that insistently does a lot of staff training around working with elderly people (that population pyramid is upside down!), the emergency management stuff put astonishingly little thought into the particular needs of elderly & disabled people. maybe i shouldn't have been astonished.

my main complaint about this book is that klinenberg is not a communist. i mean, i'm kidding, but that really is it; he references nicaraguan farmers calling their president a murderer after an earthquake, but only to say that this framing isn't common. okay, but social murder is an existing & useful term! surely the marginalization by the government, along multiple factors, that he carefully traces out might qualify one to use it! the whole preface is about how climate change is a pressing social problem which will render these kinds of disasters increasingly common, but there are simply no high-level forces or actors that we might implicate. okay, bro! what are we supposed to do with this information, then? well, maybe that's in the conclusion, which i haven't gotten to yet, but my hopes are pretty low.

anyway, if you have read interesting things about emergency services, disaster management, or environmental history, please recommend me things! especially if they have audiobooks :)

#booksbooksbooks #am i capable of reading a book without posting a five-paragraph ramble arguing with it? um. signs point to no

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lboogie1906 · 3 months

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Dr. Thomas Sowell (June 30, 1930) was born in Gastonia, North Carolina. His family moved to Harlem. He dropped out of high school in the tenth grade, worked at various jobs, and obtained a high school degree in an evening program. After two years of service with the U.S. Marines receiving training as a photographer, he entered Howard University before transferring to Harvard University. He graduated magna cum laude from Harvard and earned an MA and Ph.D. from Columbia University and the University of Chicago.

He began a university teaching career which included Rutgers, Howard, Cornell, Brandeis, and UCLA. His positions with government and the private sector included the Department of Labor, the Urban Institute, and the Hoover Institution. He was the intellectual leader of an emerging group of African American neoconservatives in both government and academic circles.

He has written over 25 books. His earliest work, Economics: Analysis and Issues, appeared in 1971. His most recent work, A Conflict of Visions, was released in 2007. Race and Economics, the book that established his reputation as a major conservative economist, was published in 1975. His autobiography, A Personal Odyssey, was released in 2002. He won the Francis Boyer Award from the American Enterprise Institute. He was awarded the National Humanities Medal for innovative scholarship which incorporated history, economics, and political science.

He contributed to scholarly economic journals, as well as numerous newspapers, news magazines, and other popular periodicals. Contending that laissez-faire “free market” policies are more effective in solving economic and social inequality, He has argued for more than three decades that race-based social policies such as affirmative action inhibit opportunities for African Americans. Cultural differences, he concludes, rather than racial discrimination, account for differences in socioeconomic advancement among racial groups and thus are the principal cause of inequality. Thomas Sowell was a Rose and Milton Friedman Senior Fellow at the Hoover Institution at Stanford University. #africanhistory365 #africanexcellence

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saturdaynightghostclub · 1 year

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Highway Hypnosis

Chapter 9: Cicely

I met an old woman in a movie theater queue in Chicago right after I graduated college. She was there alone, like me, trying in vain to make her day mean something. I noticed her immediately; in a sea of denim and cotton, she was in a sundress and sandals, the kind you wear to wade through a river when you’re hiking. She noticed me too, though I’m not sure what it was that stood out about me. She asked me where I was from; for some reason I didn’t strike her as a local. I leaned into it, just for a secret to keep, and told her I was from Seattle. And what a coincidence, she was too. “In my past life,” she explained, “I was a mermaid. It kills me to be out here with no water.” I reminded her of Lake Michigan, and she just shook her head. It wasn’t the same.

That woman stuck with me. Maybe I was projecting onto her, but I swore from that moment that I could feel her living deep inside the throes of my body, with her fist curled around my spine, dictating my every move with a benevolence I resented. I grew restless, too big for my mother’s home and entirely too small for whatever lay beyond its front door. There was an inevitability to the woman’s words; she and I would make it back home. Maybe we’d go somewhere and be mermaids together, just jump into the freezing northern waters and reject the world that had brought us up.

As I emerge from the Evergreen river’s icy current, I wonder if this counts. Is it that you can’t be a mermaid in freshwater, or is it more a matter of affinity? Regardless of how the movie theater woman would answer, I think she’d be proud of me. For some reason her hypothetical opinion of me matters more than I’d like to admit.

Jasper’s sitting on a large rock on the river bank, letting the late afternoon sun evaporate whatever cold water is left on his skin in transcendent drops of gold. He spent the night at my place last night, high on life after cracking the library code mystery. There have been remarkably few times throughout my life when I’ve been completely, genuinely at a loss for words, but waking up in his arms this morning was one of them. His face is turned toward the sky, and then suddenly it isn’t. I swim leisurely toward him as his gaze focuses on something on the beach towel to his right—my cell phone, I realize, which must mean it’s ringing. By the time I reach him and haul myself up onto the rock beside him, it’s almost too late. I don’t bother with the caller ID in my hurry to pick up the call, and the regret that washes over me immediately after the damn thing goes live is palpable.

“There you are! Thank goodness, Andie, do you know how many times I’ve tried to call you?”

“Mom? What’s going on, is something wrong?”

“Is something wrong?” My mother asks, incredulous, as if I should already know. “I have called you eight times, Andrea. Eight! And you haven’t picked up once. Care to explain?”

I don’t, but I’ll try. “Service is spotty up here, I honestly didn’t realize you’d even tried calling,” I say, followed by a weak “sorry, Mom.” I realize I’ve unconsciously pulled my knees to my chest, a position I often assume when talking to my mother. A therapist I once saw said it was part of a fawn response, which I suppose is understandable aside from the fact that it happens even during the most benign conversations.

“I don’t want your excuses, it’s not why I called,” she snaps. I figure it would be better to just let her talk, as anything I have to say past this point will be under the lens of her scrutiny, so I wait for her to continue. “I’m coming up to visit,” she says, “on the first of September. I’m staying four days, and I’ll need a ride to and from the airport.”

“Okay,” I say, cautiously, “will you send me your flight details in a text so I know what time to come get you?”

“They’re in your inbox already,” she replies, sounding exasperated. Once again, I guess I should have read her mind. Silly me. I inhale, sitting up straighter as Jasper slides an arm around my waist, his hand coming to rest on my hip. I’m not sure if he can hear anything more than my side of the conversation, but he seems attuned to my stress regardless. I cover his hand lightly with my own, resisting my body’s urge to move closer to him.

“Okay, I mean—,” I start. I can’t exactly tell her not to come; I can’t even lament that she didn’t warn me further ahead of time as, per her own testimony, she tried. “—Okay. I’ll see you soon, I guess.”

“Don’t sound so eager, it’s only your mother,” she replies sharply.

“Okay, I’m sorry,” I sigh, “I’ll see you in a week. Can’t wait.” She hangs up the phone without saying goodbye. Manners only matter when it’s mine that are lacking. I set the phone down, staring straight ahead for a moment as I close my hand around Jasper’s, lacing my fingers through his.

“Your mom?” He asks after a beat, in his soft way which, infuriatingly, makes me want to simultaneously tell him my deepest secrets and break down sobbing in his arms. How on Earth does he do that?

“Mhmm,” I hum, deciding on a dime to keep the conversation light, “she’s coming up in a week. She didn’t tell me why.”

“Sounds like a real piece of work,” Jasper says, leaning in to kiss my temple before I finally look at him.

“Yeah,” I nod, “you could say that.”

I don’t know if it’s residual teenage rebellion or the fact that I know inherently that my mother will hate him or what, but in this moment, looking at Jasper, I’m hit by a wave of Something that knocks the breath out of me completely. He is truly, completely perfect.

It occurs to me that I’ve been staring at him a moment too long when, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead, he says “What?”

I kiss him, and his small noise of surprise is submerged in a current of that sweet, slow darkness that envelops me whenever we’re together.

Jasper and I, in a rare moment of extraverted unison, have agreed to spend the evening with Joshy and Janie at her apartment above the cafe. It was Janie’s idea—she said it would be fun to have “couple friends,” but I get the distinct feeling she’s just curious about what exactly a relationship with the infamous Moss might look like—and, while she vaguely mentioned card games, I know for a fact she’s made no plans beyond sitting around on the floor and passing a bottle of gin back and forth. It’s a refreshingly low-stakes concept; in Chicago, if I wanted to socialize with anyone I needed to go to at least three bars and one late-night taco truck before we settled down for the night. I don’t think I’ve done the old “split a bottle of gin” routine since senior prom.

For some reason I expected Jasper to be nervous about the outing, but he’s not. He’s actually anything but. He even snagged some snacks from the general store on our way to Janie’s because “you can’t show up empty-handed, who raised you?”

The door to the apartment is unlocked, and upon opening it I’m met with an almost-tangible wave of sound. Music, laughter, pots and pans banging around in the kitchen.

“Hello?” I call, “We’re here.”

“Coming!” Janie responds, shortly before rounding the corner with two cocktail glasses hanging from her right hand. “Nice tat, Andie,” she grins devilishly, and after a moment of confusion my hand flies to my neck. I spin to look at Jasper, swatting him with the back of my hand.

“Oh my god, did you give me a hickey?” I hiss, a spark of satisfaction overcoming my embarrassment as his face flushes red.

“Sorry, sorry—ow, Jesus!” He mumbles, stifling laughter and backing away from my attacks until his legs hit the arm of Janie’s couch. “Okay, okay!” He says, finally allowing himself to laugh fully. “Okay, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again, I swear.” He’s holding out his pinky finger and, with a raised eyebrow, I link mine through it. As long as he swears.

Janie has disappeared back into the kitchen, replaced by Joshy, who’s apparently been banished for burning the popcorn. “Boys,” I say in lieu of a goodbye, sweeping into the kitchen to let them entertain themselves while I endure Janie’s inevitable bout of relentless teasing.

“I cannot believe he did that,” I mutter softly, coming to stand beside her, “I’m going to kill him. You know my mother’s coming to town in a week? Kill him for me, Janie.”

She laughs. “Spoons are in the drawer closest to the fridge,” she says. I understand her meaning; anyone who’s been the unfortunate victim of a hickey is familiar with the cold spoon trick. I search the drawer for the biggest metal spoon I can find before submerging it in a glass of ice water. Janie’s stirring a jar of something gorgeous and purple. She turns to me and says, “Honestly, I’m impressed. I didn’t think he had it in him.”

I roll my eyes. “I don’t think anyone’s given me a hickey since high school. What’s that?”

“Gin, I infused it with this blue tea stuff. It’s supposed to be good, we’ll see. So, have you…?” She asks casually.

“Yep,” I reply, trying to match her tone so she doesn’t shriek in response. It’s no use.

“Yes!” She squeaks, “How was it? Was it good?”

I feel myself flush and press the cold spoon into my neck in the vain hope that it’ll bring me back to a normal temperature. “Janie, I don’t even have the words to describe how good it was.”

“Really? Oh my god, Andie! Tell me everything, I can’t believe you didn’t text me immediately,” she says, bringing her tone back down to a whisper-shout that’s no less suspicious than her high-pitched shriek.

“It literally happened last night!” I whisper-shout in response, unable to keep the grin from my face.

“No excuse!”

“Fine, fine! ‘Kay, so first of all, he has a tattoo above his knee—,”

“Ladies?” Joshy asks from the doorway, eyebrow quirked in an amused expression. Shit.

“Coming!” Janie answers brightly, shooting me a look that says plainly “we’ll talk about it later.” I almost wish it was just the two of us tonight, just Janie and I. There’s nothing like a debrief between girls, between friends; I knew I missed having non-men around, but now that I know I have at least one to count on, it's like forbidden fruit. I don’t want to hang out with the boys, I want to dish with my friends. I make a promise to myself, then: I’ll call my college friends tomorrow. I’ll tell them everything. I won’t let go of my adolescence just yet.

#highway hypnosis #writers on tumblr #this chapter brought to you by the time-honored ritual of the Girly Debrief #and the butterfly gin i made for my best friend’s birthday #it’s delicious y’all #Spotify

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beardedmrbean · 10 months

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Migrants in Chicago huddle on the floors of police stations and sleep in city buses kept running overnight to block out the cold. In Massachusetts, where the emergency shelter system hit capacity earlier this month, the state is converting office space into shelters and at least one local group is stockpiling sleeping bags.

And in New York, where shelters are also full, the city has taken the extraordinary steps of providing migrants one-way plane tickets to as far away as Morocco and have contemplated handing out tents to newly-arriving migrants so they can sleep in parks.

Northern cities and states that have been overwhelmed by a surge in migrants are now out of room to house them just as the weather turns cold — a potentially life-threatening situation that’s inflaming local political tensions as the Biden administration largely leaves these Democratic strongholds to fend for themselves.

“The state that took my ancestors in fleeing from pogroms in Ukraine will not allow asylum seekers to freeze to death on our doorsteps,” Gov. JB Pritzker said last week, referring to his family’s immigration to Illinois.

The dual crises of lowering temperatures and a lack of shelter space are forcing some jurisdictions to tighten long-standing policies that previously ensured people without homes would have a place to stay — and in some cases, confront simmering racial divides.

Federal Homeland Security officials have held legal clinics in all three states to help process thousands of migrants’ work permits more quickly. It’s a step local and state officials say is key to helping migrants provide for their families — and move out of the city and state-run shelters where they’ve been living in some cases for more than a year. The White House also included $1.4 billion for grants to local governments and nonprofits providing services for recently arrived migrants as part of a larger spending bill for Israel and Ukraine.

A DHS official not authorized to speak publicly said about $800 million has been allocated for temporary shelter and other services through various emergency food and shelter programs.

But that’s not enough for Democratic mayors and governors who have been publicly and privately pleading with the Biden administration for help bolstering and expanding their maxed-out shelter systems, calls that are taking on new urgency as winter sets in and temperatures drop below freezing.

Pritzker said at least $65 million of the new $160 million the state is investing to address its migrant surge will go toward a “winterized soft shelter site” to house up to 2,000 migrants.

Pritzker repeated his concern that the migrant crisis is an issue requiring broader federal coordination and said Chicago officials haven’t “moved fast enough” to deal with it: “We’re stepping in here to try to help and accelerate this process.”

It’s an unprecedented problem in northern cities and states that, unlike their southern-border counterparts, are unaccustomed to dealing with tens of thousands of migrants.

Officials in New York City, which now houses more than 65,600 migrants, acknowledge that it’s out of space and in October issued 60-day notices to families with children to find new accommodations. Adults without kids have only 30 days to find housing outside the city shelter system — unwelcomed pressure to find their own housing as winter settles in.

Mayor Eric Adams’ administration is continuing to press the Biden administration to provide more help — as it has done for months.

“As the temperature starts to drop, it is crucial — now more than ever — that the federal government finish the job they started,” Adams’ spokesperson Kayla Mamelak Altus said in a statement. “We need meaningful financial help and a national decompression strategy. New York City cannot continue to manage a national crisis almost entirely on its own.”

Some advocacy groups are concerned about whether New York City’s massive tents that can sometimes hold 2,000 people will hold up through winter.

Murad Awawdeh, executive director of the New York Immigration Coalition, said recent flooding created an unhealthy situation at some locations, saying there needs to be more permanent solution for people.

“I think for us it really is everything coming to bear at a time when the weather is really cold,” Awawdeh said.

Chicago’s looming frigid winter is pushing lawmakers to get migrants indoors — but the effort has exposed a divide between city officials and Black and brown residents, who have resisted the city’s attempt to build heated base camps for migrants in their neighborhoods. That in turn has delayed the process to get migrants out of the elements.

“There’s a huge urgency, and it’s been a challenge because of the emotions,” Jason Lee, the top adviser to Chicago Mayor Brandon Johnson, told POLITICO.

Parts of Chicago’s South Side, known for its large Black community, are particularly uneasy about the attention to caring for migrants.

“Residents are seeing that after all this time of promising something for us, nothing has come of it. Now you have folks who have just come to this country, and they’re being serviced,” said South Side Alderperson Ronnie Mosley.

Chicago is also imposing a 60-day limit for shelter stays, mirroring New York, and working to construct two camps for the winter that can house migrants currently sleeping on floors or in tents.

More than 24,000 asylum seekers have arrived in Chicago since August 2022, with about 2,200 of those new arrivals huddled on the floors of police stations and at O’Hare International Airport waiting to get into a shelter.

Time is key in Chicago and other northern cities preparing for winter.

The efforts, however, are complicated by the racial dynamics of Chicago. Traditionally underserved Black and brown communities are sensitive to the plight of immigrants on the streets, but they are also upset when they feel their needs, such as jobs and housing for people in their communities, are being ignored.

“We know that people are people and anyone coming to seek refuge here shouldn’t be turned away or told that we can’t help,” Alderperson Andre Vasquez, who heads the Chicago City Council’s Committee on Immigrant and Refugee Rights, said in an interview. “Neighbors on the ground understand it, as complex as it is.”

In Massachusetts, migrant families could also face nights in the streets. The state is supposed to guarantee many homeless families and pregnant women are sheltered under its “right-to-shelter” law.

But Gov. Maura Healey instituted a 7,500-family — or roughly 24,000-person — capacity limit on the state’s emergency shelter system because the first-term Democrat said the state is out of space, money and providers to safely house anyone else.

The state hit that cap on Nov. 9. Now, migrant and homeless families seeking emergency assistance are being put on a waitlist for housing — an unprecedented move that has drawn backlash from homelessness-prevention advocates and an unsuccessful lawsuit from a nonprofit civil-rights advocacy group to stop it. The state estimates that about half of the homeless families being housed under the program are migrants.

Families arriving at the state’s “welcome centers” are now being screened for medical and safety risks — such as high-risk pregnancies or exposure to threats of domestic violence — and, if there’s no shelter space available that day, turned away and told to return to the “last safe place” they stayed.

The Healey administration seeded the United Way of Massachusetts Bay with $5 million to mete out to faith-based and community groups to open up temporary overnight shelters. The first site, for up to 27 families, or around 81 people, launched this week.

But there were none operational for nearly two weeks after the waitlist went into effect, leading at least one Boston-based service provider to stockpile sleeping bags in case families needed to sleep in its office. Migrants, including children, were taken to Logan Airport only to be told they couldn’t sleep there, either.

On Monday, Healey administration officials temporarily converted office space at a state transportation building into a shelter for up to 25 families a night. But the shelter is only expected to operate for two weeks.

The move comes as the Biden administration has so far rebuffed the governor’s pleas for help standing up a larger group shelter for waitlisted families. Federal officials have, however, partnered with the state on a legal clinic to more quickly process migrants’ work permits, serving more than 1,000 migrants last week as it runs through month’s end.

With additional federal dollars largely out of reach, Healey has instead been forced to return to state lawmakers — who already infused the shelter system with $410 million this year — for another $250 million.

But two months after she requested it, the money remains mired in an inter-chamber battle between a Democratic-controlled House and Senate that can’t agree on whether to specify how Healey can use the funds. Advocacy groups have taken to the State House in recent days to protest lawmakers’ lack of a deal.

“There is obviously a huge concern about the health and safety of people who are going to have no place to sleep and no place to turn,” said Andrea Park of the Massachusetts Law Reform Institute that does housing advocacy work. ”I think that we’re going to see some very desperate situations.”

#nunyas news #welcome to sanctuary cities

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rabbitcruiser · 4 months

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National Heat Awareness Day

National Heat Awareness Day is observed annually on the last Friday of May, which falls on May 31 this year. National Heat Awareness Day is an effort by the Occupational Safety and Health Administration (OSHA) and the National Weather Service to alert workers, employers, and the public at large about the (preventable) health dangers related to heat, in order to reduce the overall rate of illnesses and deaths caused by it. This day was specially founded as a reminder that many outdoor workers or laborers are at risk of serious heat-induced conditions like heat exhaustion, dehydration, heatstroke, and even death. We bring you tips on how spreading awareness about these conditions and their prevention can help mitigate such unnecessary medical emergencies.

History of National Heat Awareness Day

National Heat Awareness Day was founded by the Occupational Safety and Health Administration and the National Weather Service, an agency of the U.S. Federal Government. While there is no record of its first observance, the importance of this day and what it stands for is why we are including it.

The reality is that every year, in the U.S. alone, people suffer and die from heat-induced illnesses, which could easily have been prevented with the right protective measures and intervention. Groups that are especially vulnerable to heat are outdoor workers (like farmers and manual laborers), young children, elderly adults, people with chronic medical conditions, and pregnant women. Heatwaves have been on the rise over the past few decades, with a definite correlation to climate change and the crisis of global warming. In the U.S. itself, recent history shows the shocking death toll due to heatwaves. While various measures are being taken to adapt to rising temperatures and humidity, there is a need for awareness to be spread in order to mitigate the losses.

Therefore, this day was created in order to spread awareness to overcome the high-temperature-related issues. This day is also observed to encourage the consumption of water to avoid heat-related illness. Americans seem to still underestimate the health risks related to conditions of extreme heat or temperatures, even though it’s the deadliest weather condition in the country. With factors like pollution causing temperatures to rise earlier each year, the onslaught of the heat of summer is coming faster every year. For this reason, it is imperative that the nation at large begins to sit up and take notice of the fact that there are many groups in need of protection from an unexpected killer.

National Heat Awareness Day timeline

1600s The Term ‘Heatwave’ is Born

The term heatwave originates in America.

198o Heatwaves Turn Deadly

A heatwave kills 1,250 in the U.S.

1995 Chicago’s Killer Heatwave

A heatwave in Chicago kills 700 people.

2003 Worst Heatwave in Europe

A heatwave across Europe becomes responsible for over 50,000 deaths.

National Heat Awareness Day FAQs

What are three signs of heatstroke?

Symptoms of both heat exhaustion and heat stroke include fatigue/weakness, headaches, and confusion or dizziness. However, in the case of heat exhaustion, your heartbeat slows down, muscles can cramp and there is excessive sweating accompanied by intense thirst. In the case of heatstroke, your heartbeat quickens, you can experience shortness of breath and your skin feels hot, with decreased sweating and urination. In both cases, the person affected should be moved to a cool, shaded location, given sips of water to drink and their skin needs to be cooled with water or ice (until medical help arrives).

Why is heatwave dangerous?

“Heatwaves can kill via the dehydration caused by heavy sweating; the altered sodium and potassium concentrations in the blood confuse both heart and nerve cells, and so breathing or heartbeat may suddenly stop,” according to DownToEarth.

What is the highest heatwave ever recorded?

The National Weather Service recorded a temperature of 130℉ in Death Valley National Park, California, in 2020. This could be the highest temperature ever reliably recorded on earth!

How to Observe National Heat Awareness Day

Chug, chug, chug that H2O

Commit to protecting the vulnerable

Get the word out

Dehydration is one of the most preventable things, which, if left ignored, can lead to more serious health issues. Therefore it is recommended by experts everywhere that eight glasses of water a day is a good standard to maintain. Not only does your body stay hydrated, but water also helps flush toxins out of the body.

There are many online campaigns and grassroots petitions being signed to support the need for outdoor workers to have adequate laws to protect them from heat and other work- environment-related health hazards. Read up and get involved, because every voice does matter!

With powerful tools like social media at our disposal, we can rally our communities (both virtual and real) to spread awareness about the very real risks of heat-related medical conditions that could affect anyone at any time. Train yourself and someone you know to recognize the signs and take action — a little bit can go a long way.

5 Tips On Beating The Heat This Summer

Stay hydrated

Keep your fashion light and breezy

Slather on sunscreen

Avoid going outdoors in peak times

Limit your activity

The manifold benefits of drinking enough water and fluids cannot be stressed enough.

Wear loose-fitting and lightweight clothing, made with breathable fabrics like cotton.

The importance of sunscreen as protection against the sun is never going to get old.

Avoid stepping out into the sun during its peak hours, especially without protection.

Leave the intense workouts for early mornings or nights, and take it easy during the midday heat.

Why National Heat Awareness Day Is Important

Lobbies to protect the vulnerable

It educates us on prevention methods

It resonates with people everywhere

Several years ago, OSHA began a Heat Illness Prevention Campaign to spread awareness about the dangers of working in conditions of extreme heat. Their petition for change could be boiled down to three simple demands for workers — shade, rest, and water. The onus falls on employers to ensure that their workers are receiving these basic requirements and are being protected from extreme heat and other hazardous conditions.

By reinforcing such basic preventative measures, National Heat Awareness Day brings the reality of things we take for granted (like water) to the forefront and makes us more mindful of our own health.

Heatwaves and heat-related health issues are on the rise all over the world, thanks to climate change. Therefore the message of National Heat Awareness Day is relevant to people across the globe, especially as many nations do not even have access to resources like drinking water and electricity. It opens one’s eyes to the larger realities of social injustice and climate change.

Source

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if-you-fan-a-fire · 11 months

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The terms “suburbs” and “suburbanization” often bring to mind the period after the Second World War, defined by rows of bungalows on tree-lined streets. Another image of the suburbs are the more recent stucco McMansions in far-flung areas of the city with garages standing guard over sidewalk-less streets.

In fact, the process of suburbanization emerged far earlier in Canadian cities and was deeply tied to the emergence of the streetcar as a revolutionary form of public transpiration.

Up until the late 19th century, there were no effective means of mass public transit and most people’s main form of transportation was walking. The lack of transit set real limitations in terms of where people could live. ...

The period saw Winnipeg as the main industrial and wholesale base for western Canada. With three railways crossing the city and the grain exchange being moved from Toronto to Winnipeg in 1890, Winnipeg was considered the “Chicago of the North.”

In 1910, Winnipeg accounted for 50 per cent of all manufacturing in western Canada. A massive industrial working class was created in Winnipeg, and those workers needed to get to work somehow.

Yearly streetcar paid fairs increased from 3.5 million passengers in 1900 to 60 million in 1913. The areas of the city that gained the most new residents in this time were west and south Winnipeg.

Streetcars were not only the most effective option for public transport but also used as a tool for land speculation that drove the creation of new developments and suburbs.

In many cases, streetcar lines were built into less-developed areas to spur on development and used as a promotional tool to attract homebuyers.

Land and subdivisions that had basic municipal services, paved sidewalks, sewers and piped water, were still the most desirable to homebuyers and developers – but by 1900, streetcar service was a requirement." - Scott Price, "The streetcar emerges," The Uniter. Volume 78, Number 06. October 19, 2023.

#winnipeg #streetcars #street railways #mass transit #public transportation #canadian history #land development #working class culture #suburbs

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mariacallous · 2 years

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Later this year, Congress is set to reauthorize the Federal Aviation Administration (FAA), which opens up the opportunity to modernize and reform the nation’s airports and airlines. While Congress has passed a flurry of unexpected aviation policies in the past few years—including a $25 billion airline bailout and $25 billion in new airport capital spending—FAA reauthorization is the primary legislative process to address long-standing industry issues such as airspace navigation, tax structures, and passenger fees. This year, federal lawmakers should add one more issue to their list: protecting our airports and their passengers from short- and long-term climate threats.

Airports play a central role in our national economy, from expanding our information and tourism industries to connecting people to their loved ones. The problem is that the country’s airports are under threat from a changing climate, including rising sea levels, extreme heat, and other weather-related events. Compounding this problem is the lack of any major policy response, including a lack of federal programs dedicated to building resilience at the country’s commercial service airports. Federal and local leaders must do more to protect these national economic assets.

Lawmakers should use the upcoming FAA reauthorization as an opportunity to align our economic security with our environmental security. First, Congress should incentivize airport authorities to develop resilience plans that will guide how their facilities adapt to emerging climate realities. Second, Congress should launch a pilot program to strengthen existing assets and build resilient infrastructure at a small number of major commercial airports. If adopted, these two programs could start the country on a course to a more dependable and safer aviation system for generations to come.

An outsized share of passengers relies on a relatively small number of airports

America’s commercial aviation system is an essential driver of national economic competitiveness. Even with the emergence of video conferencing and other digital network technologies, businesses still demand face-to-face meetings among clients and colleagues. Moreover, aviation is the lifeblood of the nation’s tourism hubs, as households plan their holidays and leisure trips around flight availability. And demand is robust: After hitting rock bottom during the COVID-19 pandemic, passenger levels are already now close to their 2019 heights.

While commercial aviation benefits every corner of the country, some airports are simply more important than others. Since airline deregulation in 1978, America has increasingly relied on a hub-and-spoke system to move commercial airline passengers across the country and the world. The result is that the country’s 30 busiest airports moved 71% of all passengers in 2019, many of whom only used the airports to transfer to their final destination. In other words, the entire country relies on a relatively small number of airports.

This becomes especially clear when these airports can’t operate at their full capacity. In 2022, major summer and winter holiday storms caused sweeping waves of flight cancellations and stranded travelers. When airports like Atlanta’s Hartsfield-Jackson, Chicago O’Hare, or Phoenix Sky Harbor can’t operate at full strength, the impacts spread like a virus, touching passengers in every corner of the country.

Commercial airports must adapt to new climate realities

America’s commercial airports are essential to a modern economy, but they also are under threat from a changing climate. To keep planes flying on time and to keep everyone safe, airports need their runways to be clear, their skies to be navigable, and their facilities and other equipment to be resilient to the elements, including protections for workers. Yet the past few years have proven that airports can no longer count on all three elements.

One of the biggest concerns relates to geography: Many airports are located alongside bodies of water, yet as sea levels continue to rise and extreme storms increase in frequency, these airports could soon be dealing with chronic flooding. While scenarios vary locally, the contiguous United States is projected to face between 1.03 and 1.71 feet of sea level rise by 2050. Using data from the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration’s (NOAA) Sea Level Rise Viewer, we analyzed the potential flooding impacts of up to 2 feet of sea level rise on 145 large, medium, and small hub airports.

The results are deeply concerning. With just 1 foot of sea level rise, four airports will face significant flooding on over 10% of their land. With 2 feet, the count rises to seven airports. Even with just 1 foot of sea level rise, some, such as New York’s LaGuardia Airport and Philadelphia International Airport, will face frequent flooding in low-lying areas, impacting 21% and 13% of their land, respectively. In total, 24 airports will experience some level of flooding with 1 foot of sea level rise; these airports carried 26% of all passengers in 2019.

Beyond flooded airport grounds, flooded runways would have significant impacts on airport operations and safety. Eleven airports—carrying 15% of all 2019 passengers—will experience runway flooding with 1 foot of sea level rise. And other, less visible factors can increase the vulnerability of certain airports to sea level rise. For example, many airports are built on “reclaimed” land—artificial land created by fill material. When combined with rising sea levels and earthquakes, some reclaimed land is vulnerable to “liquefaction” or instability. These airports must develop adaptive strategies that address not just visible flooding but compounding risks as well.

We can see this scenario playing out on two different sides of the country. If sea levels rise by 1 foot by 2050—a conservative scenario—then the runways at San Francisco International Airport and low-lying areas of Fort Lauderdale-Hollywood International Airport in southeastern Florida would see constant flooding. The latter may look safer by comparison, but the shifting baseline of chronic flooding conditions has negative implications for the airport’s ability to weather more severe flooding associated with acute events.

A more immediate threat are extreme weather events. The rising frequency and intensity of superstorms threaten airports in regions more prone to hurricanes, including most of the major coastal airports from Houston to Miami, and up to at least Charleston, S.C. But it’s the more chronic challenges such as high heat days, major rain events, or high winds that can impact almost any airport, inland or coastal. Last summer’s cancellation of flights at London’s Heathrow Airport due to heat-related runway damage serves as a global warning. With extreme weather events growing in frequency, all signs point toward greater threats ahead.

Kick-starting a federal approach to airport resilience

While the environmental threats to commercial airports have risen for decades, the federal government still does not compel airport authorities to harden their assets. There is no requirement that airport authorities draft resilience plans focused on adaptation, which limits their understanding of both individual climate risks and the potential costs to address those risks. The FAA’s Aviation Climate Action Plan recognizes this planning gap: “FAA is considering reinitiating [the Airport Sustainability Planning] program with an emphasis on resilience planning to address climate and extreme weather risks to airports in relation to sustainability.”

Likewise, there is no significant FAA capital program exclusively dedicated to investing in resilient airport infrastructure. Instead, the federal government relies on disaster recovery efforts—if anything at all—after impacts occur. To promote interstate commerce, it’s in the federal government’s best interest to address this policy gap.

The federal policy gap is matched by a general research gap. As Fiona Greer, Jasenka Rakas, and Arpad Horvath note in their analysis of 108 peer-reviewed journal articles, “The resilience of airports to climate change impacts is a significantly under-researched subject.” A lack of recent and overall publications by the National Academies’ aviation research division, the Airport Cooperative Research Program, affirms this finding. This research gap has practical implications too: We simply know too little about the range of needs and costs in the airport adaptation space.

Fortunately, airport authorities and their federal partners have time to devise long-term strategies. We recommend two courses of action, both of which can inform more permanent solutions in the future.

First, Congress should incentivize airport authorities to develop climate resilience plans that will guide how their facilities can adapt to emerging environmental conditions. Much like the resilience-focused planning requirements within the PROTECT and WaterSMART programs (or ongoing adaptation planning underway at the Department of Defense), this new planning program would help airports formally understand their climate threats, possible interventions, and the costs to implement them. The FAA can develop standard guidelines, and the program should be large enough to fund plans at multiple large, medium, and small hub airports. The guidelines should include a standard reporting feature that can inform an FAA database of typical project needs and costs. In the long term, lessons from the initial planning effort can inform a more permanent planning requirement and grant program for all airports who receive FAA Airport Improvement Program awards in the future.

Second, Congress should launch a pilot program at the FAA to build resilient infrastructure at a small number of major commercial airports. With little resilience-focused construction underway at commercial airports, the FAA needs to experiment with different approaches to protecting these national economic assets. We recommend focusing on a mix of climate threats, such as flooding events at one airport and extreme heat at another, and their related interventions. Airports should be selected based on demonstrated climate need and preparedness to invest, including local fiscal resources. In designing the program, legislators and FAA staff can reference the Airport Environmental Mitigation Pilot Program. While many necessary adaptive interventions are likely to be costly (see San Francisco International Airport’s $590 million Shoreline Protection Program), early investment is our best chance to prevent even more expensive service disruptions and disaster recovery efforts in the future. In the long term, Congress and the FAA can use the lessons from the pilot to determine the best size for a more permanent program and the federal aviation taxes that could be secured to fund it.

Combined, these two pilot programs represent a careful first step to hardening the country’s airports. They promise to expand on some of the environmental research efforts already underway across the federal government, such as within the FAA’s Airport Technology Research and Development branch and the Volpe Center. They also promise to create referenceable use cases for other airport authorities looking to protect their assets.

There is a permanent tension between the need for Americans to fly and the threat our airports face from a changing climate. Federal airport resilience programs are critical for keeping the country safe and on the move for decades to come.

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drkcnry67 · 2 years

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That was the best night of my life...

Title: that was the best night of my life

Pairing: Jensen x reader

Spn kink sq: wedding night

Rating: 18+

Tags: loss of virginity, cock in pussy, screaming in pleasure, cum in pussy, laying in newly wedded bliss for hours, guy not pulling out after release, maybe more not sure but along those lines!

Summery: not telling

Created for @spnkinkevents

Announcer: and now if everyone will please line up its time to send our lovely newlyweds off to their honeymoon!

You and jensen were waiting for the people to line up before coming out to all your friends and family. The ceremony done, the reception done, now your wedding night!

Yn: I cant believe this happened!

Jensen: how did I get to be so lucky?

Yn: well lets see was it the night in the club or me showing up at the studio the next day to be your hair and makeup artist!

Jensen laughs as he slither his arms around your waist!

Jensen: both... now I think they are ready! Shall we?

You take his hand and you both run out the doors... your dress flowing behind you as you both kiss and hug your best friends and make sure to wave at everyone before getting into the limo.

Jensen: driver airport please!

Yn: Jay, we are going to live happily ever after right?

Jensen: of course! But first we get to the resort then we can get out of these wedding clothes! Your amazing body is alluring and that dress is sexy and delectable!

Yn: we are taking the private jet right?

Jensen laughs pulling your chin so you and he lock eyes!

Jensen: yes and we are going to have the perfect start to our honeymoon!

You both watch the lights go by then you guys were at the tarmac... the limo driver got out and opened your door...

Jensen: have the attendants bring the luggage onto the plane. My wife and I need a few minutes.

Driver: of course sir, right away...

The driver leaves the doorway and jensen gets out first to help you out of the car... once your out of the car he dips and kisses you right on the tarmac...

Giggles and laughter slip from your lips. As you both walk to the plane Jensen let's you go first so there would be no chance of chickening out.

Jensen: pilot give us 2 minutes and then take off...

Pilot: sure thing Jay! Always happy to be at your service!

You and jensen were getting settled into your seat, it was a conjoined couch seat where you and Jensen would be comfortable.

Jensen: attendant please bring us some sodas and tell the pilot we are ready to go...

Attendant: right away sir.

After buckling up you clung to jensen as the jet began moving, jensen knew of your fear of flying but also knew you were at peace when he was there.

Jensen: i know this day is magical and to make things even better you and I are staying at the same resort where I had proposed to you, where our friends threw us our own incredible engagement celebration.

Yn: are you saying we are going to be staying once more at Margheritaville?

Jensen: yes my love... now relax it is just a few hours before we get there...

Yn: I'm so adrenalized right now tho... I can't relax, the only thing relaxing me right now is you..

Jensen leaned into your neck trailing soft kisses along your neckline, down your shoulder, sliding his fingers along your forearm...

This earned soft moans from you... as his hands roam your body...

Jensen: babe, I love you so much and umm don't plan on sleeping tonight we will have our wedding night properly.

Yn: so naughty, we haven't even gotten there yet...

Jensen kept kissing your neckline not yielding eliciting soft moans from you... it was a while later when the pilots voice came through the speakers...

Pilot: Jensen, yn I'm so sorry but it seems we have an engine leak we are making an emergency landing in Chicago airstrip... I'm so sorry about this guys!

You and jensen look at eachother and then Jensen presses the button for the intercom..

Jensen: it's fine it happens... I guess we will get into something less wedding more touristy...

You go into your duffle and pull out a casual dress and runners while Jensen pulls out a pair of jeans a tee shirt and his Jean jacket and his runners...

Both of you in seperate bathrooms changing and returning to face eachother like you hadn't been seperated..

Yn: husband this could be like an adventure of sorts.... right

Jensen: ya of course... and yes we can shop while here too... we could also get some food if you want...

You shake your head!

Yn: husband have I taught you nothing you need to be smart, never shop on an empty stomach... food first then we shop...

After the landing happened, you and Jensen shopped ate and were back in the air on the way to Disney in 3 hours.

After 1 very quick taxi ride to the resort you guys were in the room and getting settled but jensen locked the door and came over to pick you up as he started kissing you, he tore at your dress eliciting giggles from you.

Jensen broke the kiss only to remove his own clothing. As he sat you on the kitchen table, he traced your breasts slowly and seductively.

Jensen: so beautiful... I'm glad we waited... now I get you all to my self..

Jensen pinched your nipples and lined himself to your dripping wet pussy, he rubbed against you a bit before thrusting into your dripping wet core.

Jensen: mmmm so tight baby, we are gonna christen this entire house by the time we leave here, multiple times.

Jensen picks up the pace, his thrusts becoming faster and faster his hands holding you to the bed, he was becoming more unstable as he shot a load into you before Pounding into you again.

after another 4 loads and a few hours later, You both found your releases at the same time. your body trembling Slightly at the feeling of this last release.

Yn: oh my gods, that was amazing!

Jensen nuzzles his nose against your own...

Jensen: I hope your pregnant by the end of our honeymoon. Cause that will make me even more happy than I already am if that's even possible.

Yn: well at least we would have a head start on the family part..

Jensen: ya but let's rest, recharge and we can go for round 2 in the morning.

With that you both passed out... bliss and all.

~that's all for now...~

#spnkinkbingo #jensen x reader #supernatural

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megalony · 7 months

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Ballet Dancer

This is an Eddie Diaz imagine, requested by anon. I'm sorry for how long it's taken me to write this for you I hope you will all like it. I'm working my way through some Eddie requests as I'm in the mood to write for him at the moment. Any feedback is always lovely.

Eddie Diaz Masterlist

Summary: The team never knew how into ballet Eddie was... or the fact that he is married to a ballet dancer. Until they get called out to an accident at the theatre.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eddie tipped his head back against the seat and closed his eyes while his hands moved to clasp together between his thighs. He brushed his thumbs over the back of his hands as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to level out the unease and panic in his system.

He didn't like where they were going on this call out.

He knew exactly where they were going; Eddie had been here over ten times during the last month alone, but never on a call out. Never with anyone from the team alongside him. And he had never been here whilst he was on duty.

It had to be a coincidence. There were going to be hundreds of people here tonight. That gave Eddie a good chance of not having his wife be one of the people they were here to attend to. He prayed his wife wouldn't be one of the casualties they had to patch up. There chances were slim when compared to how many people worked here and would be here visiting to watch the performance.

When the truck pulled to a stop, Eddie stilled himself and took a deep breath, trying not to act too eager to get out. He let everyone else filter out the truck first before he hopped down and grabbed one of the medic bags and slung it onto his shoulder.

"Well this is a new one." Hen slung a medical bag on the gurney and wheeled it down from the back of the ambulance. She moved to follow Bobby onto the pavement and all of them took a second to glance up at where they now were.

A theatre.

"Man, I wonder what they're performing?" Evan tilted his head back and looked up towards the midnight sky where the top of the theatre stretched up like it could reach the stars.

This place looked fancy. Old brick building, stone statues outside. Large marble steps leading up to the main doors and staff stood at the doors to keep people from entering late. It had been a long time since Evan had been anywhere like this; if he was watching a play, it was usually on the tv, not in person.

"Romeo and Juliet."

Eddie internally cringed when he spoke before he had chance to think. He tightened his hand around the bag on his shoulder and jogged up the steps with the rest of the team in his wake. He didn't have to say anything. The staff on the doors opened up for them immediately. They knew an accident had happened and they were waiting for the emergency services to arrive.

"I didn't know you were into ballet." A smile pulled at Hen's lips as they all filed inside, past reception and over to the doors beneath the Main Hall sign.

"Oh, you have no idea."

There hadn't been enough time when they arrived for Eddie to scour through the posters outside and find the dates and calculate which play was on tonight. He must have known already, which one was being performed.

"Romeo and Juliet's a play, not ballet."

"It was a play first, Buck, but it's been styled into ballet too." Bobby clapped a hand down on Evan's back as they matched pace with Eddie who was already through the main doors and walking down the darkened corridor.

Eddie turned towards one of the attendants when he reached the end of the corridor and came out into the hall. The lights were on, basking the large dome hall in brightness so people could see and remain or move from their seats. He moved towards one of the attendants stood at the last row of stalls in the ground circle.

He took a moment to glance behind him at the higher seats that went as far back as the eye could see until the very back row would have but a minimal view of the stage ahead. Most of the crowd were still in their seats. They hadn't gotten up to leave or gone for a drink or acted like this was the interval. There was a lot of chatter though, and Eddie tried not to pay any attention to whatever rumours were spreading around.

"What have we got?" Bobby placed his hands on his hips as he stood beside Eddie and looked over at the waiting attendant.

She was stood with her hands clasped in front of her and an anxious, but now relieved look on her face when they arrived.

"A dancer fell, and knocked into another, who fell onto another… we had to draw the curtain but we couldn't move anyone for the understudies to come on stage."

"The domino effect," Bobby muttered quietly. "Okay, show us where they are."

They had just finished another call out and had been redirected to the theatre instead of back to the station. Another ambulance was on the way as they were told they had a few casualties to get checked over and possibly take to the hospital.

But Eddie was glad they were the first ones on the scene. He had been hoping it would be someone in the audience who had had some sort of accident or problem. Knowing it was a performer only made his adrenaline spike and increase the frantic worry circulating throughout his system. That increased the chances of it being his wife who was one of the casualties.

Confusion plastered on Bobby's face when Eddie sped ahead after the attendant, overtaking Bobby who usually led the way since he was captain. Was Eddie a big fan of ballet? Was he interested in seeing which performers were hurt and who he could attend to? Why was he in such a rush?

Eddie internally cringed when a round of applause sounded as the team weaved around the outskirts of the aisles towards the steps that led up to the stage. They weren't part of the act. They were the first responders, they were here to help. These people shouldn't be cheering, they should sit quietly or go and take a break as they waited to see if the performance would continue or be rescheduled.

The attendant parted the blood red curtain and made enough of a gap for the team to squeeze through, along with their stretcher.

"Fuck." The word spat through Eddie's lips and he felt his shoulders tensing up and quaking when he looked around the mess.

He had been on this stage quite a few times during the last month, even Chris had been prancing around on stage and roamed the theatre when it was empty. He had watched the performance, both from the stalls and from a backstage view of rehearsals.

He shouldn't be behind this curtain in uniform.

He darted around the casualties, all laid out on the floor in various areas of the stage. Eddie knew a few of them by name, but there was only one he was looking out for and that one person was, sadly, one of the people sat on the floor in agony.

His eyes zoned in on his wife and he made a beeline for her.

(Y/n) was sat just to the left of the centre of the stage. Her body was jittering and trembling back and forth and she tried her best to smile when she looked up and locked her eyes on Eddie. But her smile didn't calm down his raging nerves because he could see the tears streaked down her face.

He assessed the way she was sat. Leaning to the left with her right arm curved tight around her chest and her hand splayed out on the left side of her chest.

"Mi amor. What happened?" Eddie slumped the bag down at his side and knelt down beside (Y/n)'s thigh.

Suddenly, he didn't care that the rest of the team were here and freely able to see him become affectionate. It didn't matter. All that mattered was that this was his call. This was his wife and she was the only one Eddie was going to put any focus and attention on. He wouldn't be dealing with anyone else but (Y/n).

He reached his hand out and cupped her chin between his thumb and finger, tilting her head back so they were level. His eyes narrowed and his head leaned forward as he scrutinised every inch of her to see what injuries she had and why she was crying.

(Y/n) moved her trembling hand from her thigh to cup Eddie's wrist and her lips curved into a tepid smile when she looked up at her husband. She could see Anna, one of the girls in the theatre group, smiling over at her. She had guessed that Eddie might just get wind of this call and make his way down here. (Y/n) didn't think so. She thought the team would be busy somewhere else, with a different call or a more demanding call. (Y/n) didn't think they would be here, she thought a few ambulances would be sent out. Not the fire department.

"W-we were doing the lift… I don't know what happened, Thomas stumbled and let go, I knocked Lia on my way down…" (Y/n) winced in discomfort and closed her eyes, trying to lean into Eddie's touch but she opened her eyes again when she felt him move.

"You dropped her?!"

A shiver tore down (Y/n)'s spine and she latched both hands around Eddie's wrist when he looked towards Thomas who was sat a few feet behind (Y/n). She could sense Thomas shuffling back and muttering apologies he hadn't stopped saying since the curtains closed.

"Sorry Eddie."

It had been an accident, although (Y/n) didn't know who had stumbled or tripped first or why. One moment she was being lifted, getting ready to twist and lean to jump into Adam's hold, then the next moment Thomas was falling and his hands were no longer on her hips.

She had only been a few feet high but it felt like she had fallen from the heavens when she crashed down to the harsh wooden floor. On her way down, (Y/n) collided with Lia who then pushed the domino effect and caused another three dancers to cause some kind of injury. (Y/n) wasn't sure what went wrong, but their entire performance was now ruined.

They didn't have the time to switch roles and get enough understudies dressed and prepped ready to continue the show. They would have to stop for tonight and refund whoever was in the audience.

Moving her hand from her side, (Y/n) reached her fingers out and danced them across Eddie's jaw until he pulled his eyes back to her. Rather than staring daggers into her dance partner who was supposed to look after her, not drop her.

"It hurts," She mumbled quietly, trying to stop herself from shaking but for the last ten minutes all she had been able to do was cry and tremble back and forth like a leaf in the breeze. Her hand retracted from Eddie's jaw and she brushed the back of her hand beneath her eyes to wipe away the stray tears.

"What does, mi amor?"

(Y/n) hovered her hand back over her side just below her arm but she couldn't bring herself to touch the area of pain. She had landed roughly on her left side and spasms and jolts like electricity rolled through her. For the first few minutes, (Y/n) hadn't been able to move. She laid, gasping and wheezing and crying until someone managed to sit her up.

Leaning up on his knees, Eddie kissed (Y/n)'s temple before he moved his hands out to try and assess her chest.

He pressed over the right side of her ribs first, just to check there were no scrapes or bruises or fractures there. But when he tried to touch the left side, he felt (Y/n)'s nails scratching into his arms and she cried out. Her head tipped forward until her face was buried against Eddie's shoulder.

"Okay, I've got you. Try and stay still for me, baby." He spoke quietly against her hair while his left arm curved around her back and his hand placed between her shoulders.

He continued to press his fingertips down the left side of her chest, counting two possible fractures and some swelling that was already starting to get worse and strain against her thin top.

"Two ribs are definitely fractured or broken, you'll need an X-ray." Eddie moved his hand round to cup the back of (Y/n)'s neck and his lips smothered the top of her head when she whimpered into his shoulder. This would set her back a few weeks. She wouldn't be able to perform now. (Y/n) would have to take a few weeks off and switch to being the understudy until she was cleared by the doctor.

Perfect timing. Right in the middle of their new show.

At least they weren't on tour. (Y/n) hated touring. She hated being away from home, having to get used to new stages and venues and changes in direction when they were dancing. New changing areas and rushing around in an unfamiliar setting when they had costume changes.

She didn't like being away from her boys either. That was why she had signed up to this theatre group. They stayed at this theatre and every two months, they would learn a new show and routine and switch up the roles and perform something different, but stay in the same venue. It meant the group didn't have to change or be on the road and do a different venue every three or four days. And (Y/n) didn't have to leave home, she could still go back to her boys at the end of the night after a performance.

"Stay still a moment," Eddie mused quietly as he unravelled one arm from her so he could find the stethoscope in his bag.

He listened to her heartbeat before he moved it to press against her back and listen to her breathing. He sighed and nodded to himself when he heard her lungs take deep breaths. The broken ribs hadn't splintered into her lungs which was a big relief.

"Shall we get you up?"

"No," (Y/n) shook her head against his shoulder before she lifted her head just high enough to perch her chin on his shoulder.

Tears began to fall from her eyes again and she felt Eddie's hand move to cup her arm. He smothered his lips against her temple and reeled her more into his chest as he dropped the stethoscope back into the bag.

"Why not, baby?" They couldn't exactly stay here for the rest of the night. As much as Eddie wanted to sit and console her and comfort her, he needed to get her to the hospital. "I'm not leaving you, you know. I'll be right here," He kept his voice quiet enough so only (Y/n) could hear what he was whispering against her ear.

Eddie dared to look around the stage and see what glances he was getting from the team. Evan kept looking over at him with a strange, unusual smile and Hen shook her head when their eyes locked. They were all trying to focus on sorting out the other dancers, but they couldn't stop looking back over at Eddie.

He never told them his wife was a ballet dancer. He never said what his wife did for a living and none of the team had met her. He talked about her often enough and so did Chris because he now started to call (Y/n) his mum. Eddie just wanted to keep his life a bit more private, just for the meantime. He wasn't used to sharing his life with the people he worked with.

"My knee…"

A frown pulled at Eddie's lips and he gently unravelled from (Y/n) so he could turn to the side and look down at her legs. She had been cradling her side when he arrived, he didn't think she looked like she was in pain with any other injuries.

(Y/n) moved her hands to her thighs, digging her nails through her pale cream tights until she created ladders in the material. Her chin perched down on Eddie's right shoulder and she tried to stop herself from crying and hold steady as he knelt in front of her legs and looked at her left knee.

It was swollen already and the mere touch of Eddie's fingers pressing down on the joint made (Y/n) cry out and drag her nails up her thighs to hold herself steady.

"Mi amor… it's dislocated. Can I put it back into place?" Eddie couldn't go ahead and do it without asking first, but he knew the answer. He knew (Y/n) would much rather he do it for her than wait for a doctor or a nurse at the hospital to set it back for her.

(Y/n) didn't have the words so she simply nodded and sank her teeth down into her lower lip. She didn't want anyone but Eddie to look after her. She'd never dislocated or broken anything before. Despite the vigorous training she had done over the years to get herself to this point in ballet, she had only ever pulled muscles or tendons. She hadn't broken anything until now, and she never thought it would happen during a performance with an audience like this.

"Afraid I need to tear these."

"Wouldn't be the first time," (Y/n) whispered, trying to force herself to smile when Eddie scrunched up her tights around the middle of her thigh. He had torn enough of her tights over the past few months, this wasn't anything new.

She watched his lips form a daring smirk that showed his teeth before he easily sank his nails into her tights and stretched the fabric until it ripped apart like a tissue beneath his hold. They were fancy, but they weren't thick or made of any strong material which made them easy to tear apart.

Eddie refrained from tearing them right up to the hilt and giving himself a view of his wife's underwear. He ripped the material down the other way until it was torn apart down towards her ankle. He needed a clear view of her knee and this saved her the embarrassment of taking off her tights in front of colleagues and his team.

His fingers curled around the top of her knee and his other hand moved to prod and assess the joint, wincing each time it made (Y/n) lean back or twitch and groan.

"Close your eyes mi amor."

She did as instructed, bracing both hands down beside her on the stage floor and she tilted her head back and kept her eyes tightly closed. She didn't want to see Eddie put the joint back into place and she didn't want to know when he was about to do it. The blood pulsed through her ears so loudly it was deafening and her breath held deep in her lungs when Eddie's hand moved to get a good grip on her lower leg.

A tortured scream pierced the air, almost as deafening as the horrid click that told Eddie he had put the joint back into place. His fingers dug into her thigh and he kept tight hold of her lower leg, keeping her leg resting over his lap when her leg started to jerk and tremble.

"Shh, all done. All done, I'm sorry baby." Reaching his hands out, Eddie hooked an arm around (Y/n)'s waist and shuffled her across the floor until she was sat level with his thighs and he carefully eased her leg back onto the floor. His arms coiled around her and reeled her into his chest so he could kiss the top of her head.

He looked down in the bag by his side before he looked across at Hen who was just finishing up an assessment on one of the other girls.

"Hen, do you have some morphine in your bag?"

She fished out a packaged needle of morphine and slid it across the stage towards him. Eddie tore the packet open with his teeth and looked down at (Y/n) before he pressed the needle into her thigh.

"That'll help with the pain, baby. Any more injuries I should know about?" His hand moved up and down her arm while his lips went back to kissing the top of her head.

"Just sickness," (Y/n) kept her eyes closed and buried her face into Eddie's chest, scrunching his shirt up in her grasp. The pain had given her a horrid headache and now she felt like she was going to throw up. But other than that, she didn't have any other injuries. Thankfully.

"Let's get you in the ambulance then."

Eddie glanced his eyes around the stage, seeing that Evan was finishing up patching up Lia who had gotten away with cuts and bruises and Evan talking her ear off. Hen and Bobby were waiting with two other girls who needed assessing in a hospital. And Chimney had one of the men on the gurney who had broken his ankle and jammed up his shoulder and he was on his way backstage.

It would be easier to go backstage past the dressing rooms and get out to the truck that way than go back past the crowds and let everyone be oogled at.

"Dispatch, this is Captain Nash. How far out are those further to ambulances? We look to need a third one sent our way."

"Y-you won't leave me, will you?" (Y/n) couldn't bring herself to pull away from Eddie's chest. Her face stayed tucked into the middle of his chest, her nose squashed against the buttons as she panted through his shirt and tried to breathe in his scent.

She didn't want another team coming over and trying to take her away from Eddie. She didn't want Eddie to have to go back in the truck and leave her with strangers.

"I'm not going anywhere without you, mi amor." He smiled into her hair before he turned to look at Bobby over his shoulder. "Cancel that last ambulance, (Y/n) can ride in the truck with us."

Eddie saw no point waiting around for another ambulance to be redirected their way which would take a further ten minutes or longer. They could send the two other dances in the two ambulances that were on their way. And Eddie could carry his wife and take her in the truck with them. Eddie was going down to the hospital anyway, he wasn't straying far from his wife and she needed an X-ray and an assessment.

(Y/n) kept her arms hooked around Eddie's neck as his hands moved down to her hips. He carefully pulled her up with him and stayed on her left side to prop her up. She had her knee bent and her foot held just above the floor, unable to put it down as it added pressure and agony onto her knee.

His hand squeezed her hip every now and then and his other hand moved to cup her arm that was looped around his neck. Eddie let his eyes dart across to Evan who was packing up his bag and moved to stand beside them.

"Right this way, Mrs Diaz."

(Y/n) had never been in a fire truck before.

***

Leaning her head to the side, (Y/n) pressed her face into Eddie's abdomen and curled her arm around his back, keeping him close. She let her eyes fall closed and found herself smiling when she felt his hand rest on her neck with his thumb brushing up and down across the side of her jaw.

She was ready to go home. The morphine had worked to take away the throbbing edge in her knee and had dulled down her headache, but now she felt dizzy and tired and spaced. She wanted to go curl up in bed and try to get some sleep.

For the next few weeks, (Y/n) wouldn't be doing very much. She wouldn't be training or getting up early for rehearsals or going down to the theatre. Her time would be spent trying to push herself into recouperating and playing video games with Chris.

Eddie leaned down and kissed the top of (Y/n)'s head before he drained the last of the rather bland coffee he'd got from the machine in the hall.

"How you feeling?" He murmured quietly while he set down his cup and placed his hand in his pocket.

The team had dropped them off along with their other casualty and whenever they were ready to leave, Eddie just needed to give the team a call. Bobby had cleared it so Eddie could take (Y/n) home, his shift was officially over and he had the next few days off to be home with her and Chris.

"Ready for bed." Her response made Eddie smile and he hummed, darting his eyes over to the door when it opened.

The doctor they'd seen when they arrived walked into the room, a calm smile on her face and a file in her hand which Eddie guessed was the X-ray results. (Y/n) had had both her knee and her chest X-rayed when they got to the hospital, as well as having some bloods taken just to be on the safe side.

As long as the breaks weren't damaging or dangerous, all (Y/n) would need would be to have her chest bandaged and they could go home. Her knee was already in a foam brace since Eddie had saved the doctor a job and put it back in place.

"How are we in here?"

"Tired." (Y/n) kept her arm latched around Eddie's lower back and stayed leaning into his torso with a tepid smile. She liked the feeling of Eddie's fingers running up and down the side of her neck before his hand moved to rest on her shoulder instead.

"Well, I've taken a look at your X-rays. The fourth and fifth ribs are broken, clean breaks though not fractures which is a good thing. In three weeks I'd like you to come back just to check they are healing properly. And your knee will heal within a week or two, no lasting damage there."

That was some good news. (Y/n) didn't want fractured bones, they were harder to heal and didn't always repair themselves in the right way. At least a clean break was easier for her body to repair. Not that she wanted them to be broken, but she knew from the moment Eddie assessed her that they had definitely snapped in some way. This just cemented the fact that she wasn't going back to work anytime soon.

"Can I take her home?" Eddie kept his hand tucked into his pocket while he looked over at the doctor. That was all good news and he couldn't see a reason why they couldn't leave now.

"Well, the nurse took a blood sample on arrival, just to rule out any infections and I had to run a further test when I got the results back."

(Y/n) could feel her face falling and her teeth sunk down into her lower lip as she glanced up at Eddie. Somehow, that didn't sound very good. The doctor's smile wasn't calming compared to what she had just said. Was something wrong? (Y/n) felt fine. She had been fine until the fall tonight, that was the only reason she was here. Nothing else was wrong with her apart from her knee and her broken ribs.

She could feel Eddie's hand tightening on her shoulder and he tensed up beside her as his brows furrowed. What did that mean?

"It seems you're pregnant. Congratulations."

(Y/n)'s jaw loosened but she couldn't find any words.

Pregnant. They were going to have a baby. Now she well and truly couldn't return to work. Once her ribs and her knee were healed, she wouldn't have long before she started to show and she wouldn't be able to perform once that happened. She would have to switch to helping direct the shows and give the dancers their cues and pointers rather than joining in the performance.

When she tilted her head up to glance up at Eddie, her parted lips formed into a smile when she saw the way he was looking down at her. His eyes looked brighter and he was already grinning down at her, trying to bite his lip to stop his smile from spreading so wide.

His hand left her shoulder and moved round to cup her chin and he leaned down, brushing his nose against hers before he captured her lips in a kiss.

His fingers danced across her cheek and (Y/n) reached up to hold his wrist as she grinned against his touch. They hadn't exactly been trying, but this was a very welcomed surprise. They were going to have a baby. Chris was going to have a brother or sister.

"I guess we should be happy tonight wasn't opening night, huh?" Eddie mumbled quietly against her lips, barely pulling back enough to speak before he devoured her lips again.

At least (Y/n) had already had two weeks worth of performing this new play. It wasn't opening night that had gone horribly wrong and she had had the chance to perform as Juliet. Now she was going to have to take a step back. Maybe she could get away with one or two more performances before she had to stop when her bump started to show.

"Hm. So you're happy?"

"Are you kidding? Wait 'til I tell the team."

#eddie diaz imagine #eddie diaz x reader #eddie x reader #eddie diaz #imagine #911 imagine #pregnant! reader #evan buckley #bobby nash

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