#but I am BACK and SOBER and hence: snippet

[laundrybiscuits]

(Hanahaki AU tag)

They pull out of the parking lot in a kind of nearly-comfortable silence, the radio crackling with some Heart song. It’s not Eddie’s favorite, but it’s a hell of a lot better than Madonna or the Bee Gees, so he finds himself humming along. He drums on the steering wheel a little, letting the I-43 take up all of his conscious mind for a spell. 

The road curves, and they’re out of the suburban sprawl, nothing but scrubby green trees and long gray warehouses on either side; it’s a straight shot all the way to the hazy hills on the horizon. Eddie takes a deep breath, and it’s like his lungs are expanding all the way up to the sky, like he can breathe in the slick blue heavens and the road dust being kicked up in their wake all at once, like the whole sun-baked world is flowing through him.

It’s a beautiful day, he thinks, and then scoffs at himself, at how mundane a thought it is. This could be—this is the last summer he’s ever gonna see. Every day had better be fucking beautiful. He’ll wring the beauty out of the world with his last breath.

———

They get far enough out, eventually, that the wildlife starts to look a little different. Eddie’s gotten a lot better at identifying Indiana wildflowers over the last few weeks, but he’s seeing more and more stuff he doesn’t recognize. He always sees black-eyed susans before too long, though. Seems like they grow wild pretty much everywhere he looks, like they’re following him around or something. He doesn’t stop to pick any more, even though the ones in the van—the ones not coated in spit and bile—are starting to get a little funky. It was such a dumb idea to have them around, like that would help at all.

They stop for the night in Salt Lake at a motel for once, because they really can’t go too much longer without showering, and Eddie chucks out whatever plant matter he can find in the van. Maybe he’s ruining the local ecosystem or something, but he doesn’t care.

Steve helps. He’s obviously a little bemused by this development, but he doesn't ask any questions, just fishes rotting stems out of the footwells before they head over to reception. 

The woman behind the desk is probably thirty or so, with a dirty blonde ponytail and an ankle-length skirt; she looks deeply unimpressed with two grubby young men showing up in a beater van around sunset. Too late, Eddie thinks he probably should've sent Steve in alone to work whatever vestiges of charm have survived through the funk of having slept in a van for the last few nights. Even in a pretty innocuous t-shirt, faded enough that the ACCEPT logo and tour dates are barely legible, disreputability wafts off Eddie. The long hair, the visible tattoos, and something indefinably Munson is more than enough to make the clerk's face twist like a skunk just wandered in through the door. 

"Hi," says Steve, bright and oblivious, somehow coming across as clean-cut country club despite the stubble growing in. Definitely should've sent him in solo. "Can we get a room? Two queens, if you've got 'em."

The clerk looks them up and down, taking her time about it. "You boys know where you are?"

"...Salt Lake City?" Steve looks adorably confused. "We're just passing through, ma'am."

"Might be worth passing a little faster. We don't have any vacancies right now."

Steve very obviously leans back to glance at the lit VACANCY sign outside and the utter dearth of other vehicles in the lot. "What, seriously?"

"Sign's broken," she says, cool as ice.

Eddie rubs at the bridge of his nose and pushes in, leaning his elbows on the counter. "Listen, lady, we're just. Two pals on a little roadtrip through these great United States, trying to see some nature and shit, okay? We just want a couple beds for the night, that’s all. Not looking for any trouble.”

He sees the instant the penny drops for Steve, because Steve’s face goes all flushed and scandalized and kinda mad. Eddie kicks his ankle, hard, so Steve doesn’t get all bitchy about it. 

The clerk can’t be more than ten or fifteen years older than them, but she sniffs like she’s some kind of embittered dowager empress. 

“Maybe I can find something,” she says. “But I hear even one single complaint, you two are out. No refunds.” 

"Copy that, yep, won't be anything to hear." Eddie counts out the cash quick before she changes her mind, and steers Steve back out by the shoulder, nice and neutral. 

"What the hell was that?" Steve bursts out as soon as they clear the door. "What was—"

Eddie drops his hand from Steve's shoulder and squints at the chipped number on the keychain. "You see a Room 5 around here anywhere?" 

"Eddie."

"Steve."

"I'm serious."

"So'm I. Gotta pull the van around once we find it."

Steve subsides grumpily, folding his arms and peering around in the growing dusk for the door numbers. The lingering glow of the blood-orange horizon picks out the contours of his face in a hundred warm caresses, brushing copper along his cheekbones and igniting molten honey in the depths of his eyes.

Eddie will say this for Utah: it sure does have some pretty sunsets.

[sylvies-chen]

From Song to Storyline: Comparing Lorde’s “Melodrama” Album to Hailey Upton’s Upcoming Journey

Ok I couldn’t resist, I made a comment about how Hailey Upton is in her Melodrama era (because yes, I’m an absolute Lorde fanatic) and my loving soulmate @sylviebrettsey mentioned Taylor Swift’s Reputation too, but ALSO how she was unfamiliar with Melodrama so you can thank her for this analysis of why I picked Melodrama as Hailey’s season 9 mood! It’s going to be VERY long so I’ll put everything under the cut but I hope you guys like it! (And Sky, I hope you find this Lorde knowledge to be helpful lol. This is going to be very long but I hope it’s worth it and convinces someone out there to give the album a listen)

Reputation is an album that feels inherently vengeful in all the best ways. Songs like “Getaway Car” and “Don’t Blame Me” fit Hailey’s predicament at the end of season 8 very well, especially in relation to Jay. Those two songs as well as the album in general make for a very intense musical journey and Hailey’s been through a lot of intense things so naturally, it seems like they’d fit together. But based on what we’ve seen in interviews, I picked Melodrama for Hailey Upton’s season 9 era because that whole album plays with the idea of what happens after.

Lorde mostly talks about the crash that happens after a party when referencing this “after” but it acts a metaphor for being on a high note (a relationship, life, careers, etc.) and then crashing down. It’s a gritty, heart-wrenching album that holds so many similarities to what Hailey’s feeling. Coming into season 9, we know she isn’t sleeping, she can’t eat, there’s guilt eating away at her over what she’s done and over having to be around Kim constantly while keeping her secret. We know she’s clinging onto Jay with this proposal, know she’s going to have this internal torment because she can’t tell any of them what happened but Jay’s starting to notice something’s wrong with her and catching on to what happened. So, without further ado, lemme just give you snippets of lyrics from various songs on Lorde’s Melodrama album that fit with different parts of Hailey’s journey— as well as the unit’s journey— going into the new season!

1. “Sober”

In Sober, Lorde writes and sings about her experience of getting a panic attack at a party (Hence, the “Oh God, I’m clean out of air // In my lungs, it’s all gone” line) but then having to act normal because of social expectations and adds the “Played it nonchalant” line. In relation to Hailey, this represents her covering her ruse even though it’s killing her inside. Then, when we move further down these lyrics, it talks about being alone with the truth and dancing with the truth— again, Hailey struggling with the truth of what she did. Then, at the end of this first verse it could almost be seen from Jay’s perspective. “I’m acting like I don’t see // Every ribbon you used to tie yourself to me” is SO similar to what Jesse Lee Soffer’s been saying in interviews about Jay not knowing if Hailey’s proposal was genuine, and also what he and Tracy have said about Hailey’s proposal being genuine but also a product of her clinging on to the one good thing in her life.

2. “Liability”

Ah, yes, finally! The best song on the Melodrama album and arguably one of Lorde’s best songs ever! She wrote this in the back of a cab about the struggle of trying to love herself and worrying she’s too much for her friends. If that’s not a Hailey Upton sentiment going into this season, I don’t know what is! Not only is this applicable to Hailey with the Roy situation but it could also be applied to 8x11 when she was scared that her baggage and trauma around being abused by her father meant she couldn’t be with Jay. Also, now that she’s done this huge, massive thing that she has to live with, it’ll make it even harder for her to love herself— and for her to consider the fact that maybe, if she was truthful about that night, her friends would still love her anyway.

3. “Homemade Dynamite”

Homemade Dynamite, according to Lorde, describes “the moment when you meet someone at a party and an explosive night follows”. Again, right off the bat you see motifs of lies vs. truth when she’s saying let’s let things come out of the woodworks. It also technically talks about being blind to rules and dreams which is perfect for the finale: Hailey was blind to her dream (because let’s be real, thinking she could stop Voight was a fantasy), and Voight was blind to the rules. And just like the song says, it’s all bound to blow up on Hailey sooner or later, like homemade dynamite.

4. “Sober ll”

I feel like I don’t even need to explain my thought process behind this one. Trauma, melodrama, gun fights, terror, horror. ALL OF THESE are key words for what Hailey’s been through and will CONTINUE to go through. “They’ll talk about us, and discover // How we kissed and killed each other” is also applicable to the synopsis about how the FBI is potentially getting involved in discerning what happened to Roy. If they do, it could launch an investigation into the entire unit which could uncover a lot— “kisses each other” being the relationship drama that happens within the unit and “killed each other” being what happened with Roy and Voight’s general track record of murdering criminals and covering it up.

5. “Writer In The Dark”

Ok this first line is pretty much the entire reason I put this section of the song into this post. “I am my mother’s child, I’ll love you ‘til my breathing stops” is very strongly representative of Hailey’s past. She was raised in a household where her mother loved an abusive man and continued to love him even through the abuse of her and her children. It’s traumatizing, sure, but it also explains why Hailey’s reaction to shooting Roy was to go home and propose to Jay. She gets that loyalty from her mother, to the point where she could even stay in situations that hurt her (like refusing to leave Voight in the warehouse). But Jay doesn’t hurt her, he loves her unconditionally too which is why Hailey would love him until her breathing stops— or until, as it proceeds to say, “‘til you call the cops on me”, which is applicable in a much more literal sense.

6. “Supercut”

Supercut is probably my personal favourite of Lorde’s songs. The buildup is beautiful and the come-down is slow and gradual. It’s the epitome of pop in my opinion. But Hailey most definitely plays that moment over in her head and in her head, she would have done the right thing that night. And maybe she’s hoping the unit (Jay especially) will forgive her for shooting Roy instead of letting it cause a fight. This whole song is about replaying moments of a relationship in your head and changing the scenario so that it plays out as if you did everything right. You won’t always do everything right though, because we’re human and make mistakes, but it’s more than plausible that Hailey’s trying to capture that feeling.

7. Liability (Reprise)

Last but not least, we’ve got the reprise for Liability! This one’s a little more generic because it’s just the general vibe of the song that fits Hailey and this PD angst so well but honestly “And all of the shit that we harbour // Make all the kids in the choir sing, “Woo-hoo” is very applicable to Hailey because she’s got a lot of baggage going into this new season. “And maybe all this is the party // Maybe we just do it violently” is another line that fits her situation so well. In addition, since Liability is one of the last songs on this album the outro of the song is almost like the absolute rock bottom reached in the journey the album tells. It could easily be compared to if/when Jay finds out about what Hailey did. (Seriously, just imagine Jay saying “you’re not what you thought you were” to Hailey and tell me that wouldn’t make you cry! In a good way OR a bad way!)

Anyway, IN CONCLUSION: Melodrama is a twisted, heartbreaking album that fits into Hailey Upton’s upcoming journey in season 9 with the Roy storyline PERFECTLY! If you have time to listen to the album— or at least the songs I mentioned— then please do because it’s SO worth it. But until then, we’re going to be in for quite the angsty ride this season when it comes to Chicago PD and personally, I can’t wait to see what they do with it!

[tgarnsl]

2, 28

2 x 28: Royal AU x Proposal Fic

This snippet spiralled out of control, hence why it's about two months late. It's a modern AU (or more like a parallel universe AU) in which Horatio is an English prince and Bush is his long suffering friend who Horatio met in the Navy and has been dragging into royal drama ever since, hence the snippet below.

Horatio was pacing before the long windows, his hands clasped behind his back, when Will was ushered into the reception room by one of the palace staff. He was wearing his full dress uniform, resplendent in naval blue and gold, and Will saw for a moment not his friend, but the man who would one day be king. It unsettled him as it always did, but he shook it off; he knew Horatio too well to be awed by his position.

“Lieutenant Commander Bush,” said Horatio, looking up, a tense smile on his face. Will bowed.

“Your Royal Highness,” said Will, returning the smile. He crossed the room to where Horatio stood. “You summoned me, sir.”

“Yes,” said Horatio. His fingers drummed a nervous pattern against his thighs as he looked Will over. “I take it that you weren’t too busy?”

Will laughed. “I expect I’ll receive a right royal bollocking from Calder when I get back to base, but that’s nothing I can’t handle, sir.”

Horatio’s face darkened. “You should sit,” he said, gesturing at one of the sofas. “I can ring for tea, if you like.”

“I’m quite comfortable standing, sir,” said Will.

Horatio met his eyes, but sensing that Will would not be moved, he sighed. “I expect you’re wondering why I asked you here,” he said, reaching for one of the many newspapers that covered the coffee table. “Here,” he said, shoving it at Will.

Will unfolded it gingerly: it was a cheap tabloid, precisely the type Will had long ago warned Horatio never to glance at if he wanted to preserve his sanity. Horatio’s face was splashed across the front page — a paparazzi shot, by the looks of it — and beneath it… Will exhaled unsteadily.

“Prince of Wales to Wed,” he read aloud. Scanning down to where the article started, he read, “Palace sources reveal that Prince Horatio has announced his intention to wed before his thirty-second birthday in July, as is traditional for a Prince of Wales. The archaic law, begun in the eighteenth century in the reign of… and so on.” He folded the paper and set it down. “Well,” he said, a little stiffly. “I suppose I should congratulate you, sir. Who is the lucky woman?” He caught himself before adding ‘or fellow’. He knew Horatio well, but there were some questions he had never fully found the courage to ask.

Horatio’s expression was troubled, and he glanced away from Will for a moment towards the windows. “That’s the trouble,” he said. “There isn’t anyone.”

Will could only stare at him, aware that he should be grasping on to something here but utterly failing to. “I don’t understand, sir,” he said.

A muscle in Horatio’s jaw twitched as he considered Will’s confused expression. “Sit,” he said, and Will obeyed, perching himself on the sofa and feeling not unlike a truant schoolboy being hauled before the headmaster. He watched as Horatio began to pace, never once looking back at Will, his head bowed and his hands fidgeting behind his back.

“The Royal Marriages Act of 1708 states that if a Prince of Wales should ascend the throne, he must take a bride by the age of thirty-two. If he does not, he will be stripped of his title and the throne will pass down the line of succession.” Horatio’s tone was dry and scholarly, but the unhappy set of his shoulders was indication enough of how he truly felt about it all. “It is how my family took the throne after all — Frederick William, Prince of Wales, would not marry, even when his father demanded it of him, and so the title passed on to an obscure cadet branch. If I am not married by July, the throne will end up in the hands of my second-cousin, a man who should not be given an ounce of responsibility.” He turned to William, anguish on his face. “Don’t you see?” he asked. “I have tried to get my father to change the law — I have begged him — but no use. He and all his Tory sycophants in Parliament would see me become no more than a painted figurehead. Well, I won’t do it.”

Bush knew the mad glint in Horatio’s eye too well to not understand what it signified. “You have a plan, sir,” he said, and Horatio nodded.

“I do,” he said. “But I’m sorry, William. I wish I didn’t have to drag you in to the mess. You’re the only man I can trust for this.”

William rose to his feet, straightened his uniform. “Tell me, sir.” Perhaps it spoke to the bond that had grown between them during their years of service together, but Will knew there was little he would not do for Horatio’s sake. Running headfirst into enemy fire, a burning building — he would not think twice if Horatio asked it of him.

Horatio, for his part, had suddenly grown shy. It was an odd thing to watch a man enrobed in pomp and circumstance turn pink around the ears and clear his throat like a boy, and Will frowned, concerned.

“Sir?” he asked.

Horatio’s eyes met his for a brief moment before darting away. “I believe there is a way to delay this, at least for a little while. Perhaps long enough for me to have the law changed.” He glanced up at Will again. “If you and I could — if we could pretend to be engaged, I believe it might be enough to buy me some time.”

The floor pitched suddenly beneath Will’s feet, but before he could stumble Horatio’s hand shot out and grasped him by the elbow.

“You should sit,” ordered Horatio, but Will shook his head.

“I’m fine, sir,” he promised. “Just my leg. You know how it is, sir.”

“I do,” said Horatio.

Will wasn’t listening. He shook his head again, trying to clear it of the lightness that had come over it. “Engaged, sir,” he said, stupidly. “What do you mean?”

“You and I will present ourselves as engaged. Such a thing is legal now, you know.” For a moment a troubled expression crossed his face but it was gone before Will could make sense of it. “I know you do not feel such things for me, but if I could ask this of you — I will be good to you, I promise. I will not ask you for any more than you are willing to give.”

“I don’t understand, sir,” said Will, and Horatio sighed, frustrated.

“Sit,” he ordered, and Will sat. Horatio perched himself on the arm of the sofa beside him.

“It will cause a scandal, sir,” said Will. “Do the papers even know you’re— I mean, sir, that it will mean everyone thinks that you’re—” He could not bring himself to ask such a personal question of the man who would one day become his king.

Horatio had no such compunctions. “Gay?” he asked. “Half the tabloids think so at any rate. I expect that I’ll just be confirming their suspicions.”

“But—” Will’s brain struggled to order itself. “You shouldn’t have to pretend at something you’re not, sir,” he said.

“It wouldn’t be pretending,” said Horatio, staring off into the middle distance. “Not entirely. You understand how it is.”

“I do, sir,” said Will, gently. “Is that why you asked me, sir? You need someone who can act the part?”

Horatio gave him a look. “I didn’t ask you solely because I know you’ve gone out with men in the past,” he said, clearly bristling at the question.

“I’ve done a good deal more than just go out with men in the past, sir,” said Will, and was pleased to see Horatio flush.

“Yes, well,” said Horatio, fingers twitching against his knee. “That’s not the reason I asked you.”

“What then, sir?” asked Will.

Horatio’s eyes met his. “I trust you,” he said. “More than anyone else. And you are the only person I could ask.”

“Maria Mason? Lady Barbara Wellesley? Would they not do, sir?”

Horatio glared at him. “They are members of my household staff. Can you imagine what would be said if I came forward and announced that I was engaged to my principle private secretary? My communications secretary? I will not allow that to happen. Besides,” he said, shaking his head. “The act stipulates that the Prince of Wales must take a bride. I should imagine that my engagement to a man throws a sufficiently sized wrench into the gears. It should buy me enough time to petition parliament to change the law.”

“I see, sir,” said Will.

“But I won’t do it unless you are certain. This won’t be an easy thing, Will.” As he spoke Will saw the fatigue etched into every line of Horatio’s face, a fatigue he had carried all his life. “The press will try to tear you and your family apart. I’ll do what I can to protect them, but…” He shrugged. “There is only so much even I am capable of.”

“How much can I tell them, sir?” Will’s mother would delight in the news that her son was engaged: to only break it off a few months later would break her heart.

Horatio considered it for a long moment. “As much as you wish,” he said. Then, a little awkwardly, he added: “Does your family know…?”

“That I like men as well as women, sir?” Will grinned. “I should think that one was difficult to hide after Mum caught me in bed with the brother of one of my sister’s friends when I was in Year Twelve.” His mother had hauled him over the coals for that — not for being with another boy, but for using her bed instead of his own. It had not been one of his better decisions.

Horatio tried to conceal his smile and failed. “Goodness,” he said, and Will’s grin widened.

“Hopefully that won’t come out in the papers, sir,” he said, and sobering up, added: “Will you need me to sign anything, sir? Non-disclosure agreements, that sort of thing?”

Horatio’s smile faded and he fidgeted awkwardly. “I won’t have you sign anything you don’t want to,” he said. “I’ve never made you sign anything before—”

“Your personal secretary might have other ideas about that, sir,” said Will. “I expect she’ll want Mum and the girls to sign one too.”

Horatio nodded, looking altogether miserable. “I’m sorry, Will,” he said. “I shouldn’t be asking this of you.”

“I know what you’re asking, sir,” said Will, but Horatio shook his head.

“You don’t,” he said. “Not really. You have no idea the pressure the press will put you under. I’ve seen the papers from when my parents announced their engagement. They hounded my mother even before the news broke that my father had proposed — she was starring in a production of The Barber of Seville at the time, and photographers would camp outside the stage door waiting for her. The papers loved her and my father together — the prince and the opera singer. It was a modern fairytale. But—” He rubbed his jaw, uncomfortable. “I don’t think they will spin such a pretty story for you.”

“Because I’m a man, you mean, sir,” offered Will.

There was a tortured look in Horatio’s eyes as he glanced at Will. “Yes,” he said. “I can handle it — the intrusive questions, the speculation, but you—”

“I can weather it, sir,” said Will.

“Can you?” asked Horatio. “Every man has a maggot in his past waiting to devour his future. Can you be so sure that they will not find yours?”

Will shrugged. “I have no secrets, sir.”

“There will people who will try to smear your name for a chance in the spotlight,” warned Horatio. “Exes, old friends, family members… there will always be someone.” He looked down at his hands, clasped in his lap. “I’m sorry. I ask for too much.”

Will shook his head. “You don’t, sir, not in the least. You wouldn’t have asked me if you had any other choice.”

“I do have a choice, don’t you see?” said Horatio, a miserable look on his face. “I could forfeit my inheritance. It’s what I want, after all.”

Will knew better than perhaps anyone that Horatio did not want the position life had thrust upon him. He did not want to be king — he had admitted this privately to Will once, many years ago, when they had both been rather drunk. But Will also knew that Horatio felt a keen sense of duty towards his position: to give it up would be to admit to failing his duty, something Will knew would break Horatio.

“Besides,” continued Horatio. “I could ask someone else.”

“Who, sir?” asked Will, a little incredulous. “Brown?”

Horatio glared at him. “Yes, Brown.”

Will frowned at the thought of that; Brown was a chief petty officer, and a good one, but a chief petty officer all the same. Both Will and Horatio may have counted Brown as a friend, but the division in their ranks was always present, and Brown was too good a non-commissioned officer to ever assume familiarity with his commanding officers. It was unthinkable that both Horatio and Brown would so easily flout their ranks: no one would ever believe it, and even if people did, Brown would never find acceptance amongst Horatio’s sort. He was a non-commissioned officer from a working class family from the wrong part of Essex, who had dropped out of state school at seventeen and had climbed through the ranks in the Navy through hard work and dedication. His story was not so different from Will’s, but people were more willing to overlook the circumstances of a man’s birth when he was a commissioned officer. Will might never be accepted amongst Horatio’s kind, but he would be more accepted than Brown. It was utterly impossible that Brown be the one Horatio announced his engagement to.

“You know that won’t work, sir,” said Will, shaking his head. “No one would believe it. They’ll have difficulty believing that the likes of you would ever fall for the likes of me, sir, let alone someone like Brown.” Horatio’s expression was closely guarded, and Will was aware that he was treading on dangerous ground. “It has to be me, sir. And I’ll do it, too — whatever it may take.”

Horatio only nodded. “It will be the most difficult thing you’ve ever done,” he warned. “The press is one thing, but the palace is another. Do you remember how it felt, those first weeks as a cadet, when your whole world was suddenly topsy-turvy, and you were no more capable or clever than a little child?”

“Of course,” said Will.

“Your first few weeks here in this palace will be worse than that. Everyone will be watching you, judging your every move. I don’t doubt you’ll do well, but it will be difficult, learning protocol and etiquette, and the thousand stupid little rules…” He trailed off, his tone betraying precisely how he felt about palace life. “I’ll do what I can, but I can only be at your side so many hours of the day. Being an officer should give you a certain amount of leeway when it comes to making mistakes — I would imagine that everyone will expect you to be rather bluff and no-nonsense — but even that can only carry you so far. I will have to find someone to instruct you in these things — Barbara perhaps…”

So this was to be it. His life was to forever be changed from this point, for better or worse. Will was suddenly aware that the path his life had taken up until this point had suddenly veered sharply in a direction he had never anticipated. From now until the day he died his name would be associated with Horatio’s. He knew that it should trouble him, and yet it didn’t; he would make whatever sacrifice was required of him. A thought occurred to him and he swallowed hard, a tight knot forming in his stomach.

“Will I be required to resign my commission, sir?” he asked.

“What?” asked Horatio, surprised. “God, no. We’ll see to it that you carry on your duties in a different capacity, as I did.” He took a long, hard look at Bush. “You’ll finally be promoted commander, you know.”

Will shook his head. “I don’t want that, sir,” he said. “I haven’t done anything to deserve it.”

Horatio was unmoved. “It’s overdue. More to the point, you are performing an invaluable service to the Crown,” he said, coldly. “I can think of no better reason for promotion than that. Besides,” he added, his tone more gentle, “It will put us on near-even footing. You won’t have to call me ‘sir.’”

Will laughed at that. “I may not know much about proper etiquette, sir,” he said, “But I do know that I still have to address you properly.”

“In private, then,” said Horatio. “You will have to call me by my name in front of others at times, if we are to appear natural. Overfamiliarity is expected: you cannot call me ‘sir’ all the time.”

Will nodded gravely. “Very well, sir,” he said. “Where do we go from here?”

Horatio rose from where he had perched himself on the arm of the settee and began to pace. “We’ll announce the engagement in about a fortnight,” he said. “You will move to an apartment here, in this palace, and you will spend the first few weeks getting acquainted with your new role. I will speak to someone about getting security for your mother and sisters — they will need it.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Will.

Horatio stopped in his pacing. “You should not be thanking me,” he said quietly. “I am all but throwing you to the wolves myself.”

Will stood and went over to him. “You wouldn’t ask me if it didn’t matter to you, sir,” he said.

Horatio bowed his head. “No,” he admitted. “But I will not have this drag on. Six months is all I ask — from now until October. After that, one way or another, this will be done. You can go back to your life, and I can go back to mine. And if you should ever feel that it is too much — it will be over. I won’t make you sign any agreement — if I don’t uphold my end of the bargain, you can go to the papers and tell them the whole thing.”

“I would never do that, sir,” said Will.

Horatio shrugged, the uncharacteristic gesture speaking deeply to his misery. “I don’t want you to feel powerless in this — this relationship. You needn’t worry about having to be close with me in public either. The palace will want us to project the cleanest and least offensive image possible, and I doubt that their prince kissing another man in public is the image they want. We’ll keep the story simple too: we became friends during our time together in the Service and after I left to return to my duties, two years ago, it became something more. All the times I met you for dinner, here or elsewhere, all those weekends camping or sailing… it would be the easiest thing in the world to fall in love that way, and the whole world will believe it. We can sort out the particulars of the relationship later, but for now…”

Will cocked an eyebrow at him. “For now, I think you have to ask me a question, sir,” he said.

Horatio nodded. “I haven’t got a ring,” he said, his hands twitching at his sides.

“I don’t need one, sir,” said Will.

“No, of course not,” said Horatio hurriedly. “How foolish of me.” His face was long and grave. “Very well,” he said. “Let’s get this over with.”

It was all pretend, Will forced himself to remember. None of this was real, not Horatio’s nervous expression, nor the way he kept glancing up at Will’s face when he thought Will’s attention was elsewhere with something almost wistful in his expression. It was not real, no matter how Will’s stomach fluttered as Horatio hitched up his trousers and slowly, painfully, lowered himself to one knee and clasped Will’s hand between his own.

“William,” said Horatio, his voice wavering. He cleared his throat and tried again. “William Bush, will you marry me?”

“Yes,” said Will, without thinking. “Yes, I will marry you.” He gripped Horatio's hand very tight in his and tried not to think on the strange and unexpected future that suddenly loomed before him. It would all work out in the end.

[artificialqueens]

Working Girl (Sharon/Katya) - Spoky

A/N: A PWP I started after the Aspen-katlaska-incident and recently re-discovered in the drawer. (Shalaska undertones.) One-shot.

Working Girl

According to the well informed opinion of Miss. Sharon Needles, Instagram could be described to be two things: the epitome of self-indulgent narcissism, or alternatively, a window to a person’s often overtly glamorised self-representation. Alaska Thunderfuck’s account was undeniably both, but additionally it functioned as a marketing platform. The fact that her highness had now crossed the line from shameless self-promotion to whoring for love made Sharon cringe. Admittedly, not many would realise Alaska’s faux pas, but to Sharon it was obvious.

She threw the half empty bottle of makeup remover back into her bag and swore under her breath. What had possessed Alaska to publish that video on social media, Sharon would never know or understand. She wiggled out of her dress and kept glancing at her phone, as if expecting the technology to explain her ex’s inconceivable behaviour. Sharon could appreciate the merits of Instagram, but sometimes the visual digital reality proved to be slightly too much for her to handle. It provided information and evidence of occurrences and events she’d rather been unaware of – such as drag on Aspen Gay Ski Week 2017.

Sharon folded the wig she’d been wearing back into its net and kicked her stilettos closer to the suitcase. One glance at the mirror revealed an upset looking man with some traces of purple lipstick on his lower lip. He really needed a better makeup remover.

Whether Sharon had a right to be upset over the Aspen videos was not relevant. He was upset regardless of his rights – or lack thereof – to feel anger, frustration or jealousy over Miss Thunderfuck. He was not in charge of his emotions. He didn’t consciously produce them and hence refused any responsibility in their existence.

He wanted a drink. Needed a drink. After erasing the rest of the traces of Miss Needles on his body, Sharon walked into the club through the backdoor and scanned the audience, which fortunately was way too engaged with the show to pay him much of attention.

“Double whisky and a PBR,” he placed his order with the surprised bartender and pulled out his phone. He couldn’t stop watching it, the video of Alaska dancing in some hotel hallway in a bleach white towel. The recording was old, but just now Sharon had been sent the links. The camerawork was ridiculously shaky. He clicked back to the second video, the more infuriating one, and watched Katya Zamolodchikova giggle as she played with a red, glittery phone and then, Sharon knew it was coming, he heard Alaska’s quiet whisper: “I wanna kiss you … in a hallway in Aspen.” He grimaced and swiped the screen shut before stuffing the damn device back into his pocket. The video was driving him insane.

Sharon grabbed the whisky and downed it, hoping that the burning ethanol would erase the memories of his own first few encounters with Alaska. Miss Thundefuck had developed the habit to begin her flirtation under the pretences of joking very early. It was her brand defence-mechanism, a way to keep the back door open, always prepared for rejection. “I’m joking, obviously.” Because back in those days, Alaska got rejected a lot. A lot. She had never grown out of the habit and Sharon knew it, and now he had to witness it on social media. It was infuriating. “Another?” he called to the bartender and tapped the empty glass.

The whisky was gone almost as soon as the glass hit the bar top, and Sharon’s lip curled as he exhaled what felt like varnish remover. He cursed himself inwardly for not specifying his liquor. He was now sure he was drinking well-whisky, something his head wouldn’t exactly thank him for in the morning. He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.

It was ridiculous to be jealous, and Sharon knew it. That’s what pissed him off. Alaska had every right to be happy and fool around; to do whatever she wanted with whomever she wanted to. But Katya? Sharon just couldn’t see it. Or rather, she could see it. Fucking Instagram. But he couldn’t believe it. Fucking Alaska.

He downed the fourth whisky. Third? And glanced around at the bar. Someone tapped him on the shoulder and asked for a selfie. He made face at the flash and groped the fan’s ass before the man was snatched back into the safety of his stout boyfriend. Sharon let him go without a fight. The boyfriend had probably forty pounds on him of what looked like pure muscle. There would be other race chasers in the venue if he felt like taking that route.  

The bar was getting more crowded and Sharon wondered whether he should just go back to the hotel as he didn’t actually feel like chatting up anyone. Sure, he would’ve liked his dick sucked, but at the same time he was probably too annoyed at Alaska to even get it up. Fucking Alaska. He stood up and as he had to take a step to his left to catch his balance, he realised he had probably had little more than what he had intended to. Grabbing the glass of water the bartender had pushed his way earlier, he slowly took command of his body. Sharon was sipping the water as he made his way through the crowd towards the dressing room. He would need a taxi to get all of his stuff with him and as he pushed the dressing room door open, he spotted a certain Russian hooker in front of the dresser reserved for supporting acts. She was dressed in all red, from the curve of her upper lip to the bottom of her sparkly stilettos. Sharon slammed the door shut behind him and stared at Katya, who startled at the bang. She met Sharon’s gaze through the mirror in front of her.

“Oh, it’s you,” Katya chuckled. She had thought the entire building was coming down. Then again, with Sharon Needles, that was a real possibility. “Yes. Me,” Sharon said and gave Katya a quick once-over. What did Alaska see in her? Sure, her long blond curls framed her beautiful face gracefully before dropping to her shoulders – but when, exactly when, had Alaska started to fancy that? Sharon had always considered himself too scrawny for Alaska’s tastes, and now she was fixated to this compact thing? Sharon couldn’t understand it even as she was examining Katya right now. She was wearing lipstick so outrageously red that it probably matched with the one worn by the downtown nightwalkers. Sharon smirked. Katya really did look like the average run-of-the-mill transvestite hooker – and whores should be treated as such.

He walked behind her and stepped close, trapping her in between himself and the dressing table. He grabbed her long curls into a tight hold at her neck and yanked her head back, against his right shoulder. Katya cried out, half of surprise, half of pain.

“Would you explain this to me?” Sharon asked in low baritone.

“Explain what?” Katya winced. She was confused, not only about Sharon’s words but even more so about the hard bulge she could feel pressing against her backside. Sharon smelled of alcohol and cigarettes, but Katya couldn’t tell how much he had been drinking, just that he had. He seemed coherent enough.

“This,” Sharon said, surprisingly calmly, and took out his phone. He lifted it for Katya to see and played her a collection of videos from Instagram. Katya raised her eyebrows as the video ended. That was it? Sharon was jealous? She wanted to smirk, but kept her amusement hidden. Two could play this game and she had the upper hand; not only was she sober, she additionally had no emotional investments to the situation. Katya had actually had the pleasure to meet the surprisingly average looking Asian guy Alaska was currently fucking, but apparently Sharon hadn’t gotten the memo. Katya certainly was not going to volunteer such snippets of information. Especially not now. It had been a long time since Katya had had the pleasure to engage in this kind of fun, too long time. Infuriating Phi Phi during All Stars 2 had been entertaining alright, but this had the potential of being exhilarating. She just needed to play her cards right.

“Seems self-explanatory to me,” Katya snorted with confidence and stared at Sharon, trying to look unimpressed.  “What do you want?” “Are you fucking her?” Sharon snarled against Katya’s jaw, scratching his teeth against her skin as he tightened his grip on her hair. Katya’s cock was starting to show interest.

“What if I am?” she asked, resisting the urge to grind her ass against Sharon’s crotch. The power-play was arousing, and while Katya had already come to the conclusion that there was potential for her to bottom tonight, she wasn’t willing to serve her ass to Sharon on a silver platter. Not when the man seemed perfectly happy to work for it.

“I want my share,” Sharon said and traced Katya’s jaw with his lips. “We used to share all the time.” Katya was sweaty after the show and Sharon caught a strong whiff of her testosterone-laden body odor. It went straight to his cock. Maybe Alaska was onto something?

“That’s not my decision,” Katya said, squirming.

“Not of her,” Sharon laughed and foisted her hand under Katya’s skirt. She wasn’t tucked. “You.”

Katya swallowed down the moan that threatened to escape from her lips. The same unidentified cologne Katya had come to associate with Sharon Needles clung to the air around them; not quite as contemporary as Issey Miyake or even Jean Paul Gaultier’s “Le Male”. Pierre Cardin?

“I don’t bottom,” Katya insisted and she was serious. She rarely did.

“Oh, but you do,” Sharon said and licked Katya’s neck while fondling her testicles over her panties. “Whores do what they’re paid to do.’ The words made Katya halt. She didn’t know whether the comment was fuelled by alcohol, by Sharon’s jealousy, his anger or his need, but she knew that Sharon wasn’t the aggressive, abusive pig the words made him out to be. She examined his reflection in the mirror while appreciating the flat chest pressed against her back, the strong hold in her hair, the firm, confident hand under her skirt. She was positive Sharon would stop at the slightest sign of objection from her. Please don’t stop.

“You’re angry,” she stated. It wasn’t a question. “Does it make you want to fuck me?”

The sexual charge in the room shifted from mere extant to almost oppressive after Katya’s words. Sharon yanked Katya’s panties down to bare her ass.

“Wait,” Katya exhaled, making Sharon meet her gaze in the mirror. “There’s a couch in the other dressing room.”

The husky cackle of Sharon Needles made Katya groan. So hot. “Lead the way.”

Katya didn’t bother pulling her panties up as she walked across the dressing room. She opened the door and left it ajar for Sharon, who was admiring the view presented to him.

Sharon laid Katya on her back on the sofa and ran his tongue over her inner thighs, damp with sweat. When he got to her crotch, he removed the knickers, allowing Katya to move her legs apart. Scraping his teeth along her balls and ass, Sharon made Katya groan and finally gave a lick to her attentive cock. As Katya wiggled herself into position, Sharon took the cue, grabbed her ankles and pushed her legs high over her head. So flexible. He leaned into her with his hips as she opened up for him. So hot. Sharon listened Katya groan and squeal, muttering him instructions on how to move, and soon enough Sharon was coming, coating generously the insides of Katya.

Sharon pulled back carefully and took a seat at the other end of the sofa, lowering his head towards his chest, scratching his temple absentmindedly. He felt spent. How was it possible that one single video made him so wired-up? Fucking Alaska.

Katya eyed the man in front of her and could feel his sperm dripping from her anus. Sharon looked confused but satisfied. Who wouldn’t after shooting a load into a colleague? She was still achingly hard and it looked like Sharon might need some serious incentive to finish her off. His mind seemed to have wandered somewhere far. Somewhere north. Alaska.

Katya stood carefully up on the sofa and straddled Sharon who seemed to pay her no attention. She looked down to the intoxicated man and gently foisted her right hand into the bleached hair. She grabbed it into a tight hold and then yanked Sharon’s head back forcefully.

“We’re not done here,” she hissed, stepping closer. She took a firm hold at the base of her cock and pressed it against Sharon’s cheek.

“You’re going to suck me off, and you’re going to be brilliant at it,” she said firmly, knowing that Sharon could react to the words in multiple different ways but wanting him to yield, wanting him to grant her completion. For a moment Sharon stared at Katya in shock, having not expected such a change in their dynamic, but eventually an uneven smirk spread to his lips. He found Katya’s new attitude, if not intoxicating, then at least interesting – arousing. A feeling that he had been played, and played well, settled within him. Slowly, never shying away from Katya’s gaze, he turned his head to lick the red, precum covered head of Katya’s cock. Show me what you’ve got. When Katya eventually came into his mouth and her salty spunk was dripping from his lips, he realised she’d never let go of his hair. She’d been in total control of the situation, the rhythm and the pace of their entire encounter, and he felt properly used, almost exploited. Damn, girl.

Katya stepped down from the sofa and stretched in satisfaction. She pulled her skirt lower on her hips to cover herself, grabbed her knickers from the floor and noticed Sharon’s wallet next to the sofa. She reached for it and under the inspecting eyes of Miss Sharon Needles, pulled out all of the cash. She rolled the pile into a neat bundle and stuffed it into her bra before flashing him a wide, toothy grin. “Thanks for the tip,” she drawled in a very Alaskan fashion and threw the empty wallet at Sharon before turning on her heels. Sharon watched Katya walk off in her sparkly, red stilettos, the short skirt barely covering her junk. He was left with no questions over why Alaska might fancy a Russian run-off-the-mill transvestite hooker. No questions what so ever. Fucking Alaska. ______ A/N2: Liked it?