#first gentleman of canada

[raurquiz]

#Happybirthday @OfficialGere #richardgere #actor #americangigolo #chicago #prettywoman #OhCanada #Longing #MaybeIDo #ThreeChrists #Norman #thejackal #anofficerandagentleman #TheCottonClub #FirstKnight #RunawayBride #AutumninNewYork #ShallWeDance #Hachiko #ADogsTale #TheSecondBestexoticmarigoldhotel

[bunnys-kisses]

Hey bunny love , i heard some great things about your bakery so i decided to come and try too , i would like a butter tart with a milkshake please oh and make it nice and sweet with lando norris (💗)

barkey menu!

if you want your own order! check out the original post and i can bake somethin' up for ya! thank you for those lovely request!! did you know that butter tarts are actually from the region of canada i'm from!

additional message from sender: Hey bunny love HELP you see the order that i’ve done i forgot to clarify that i need it in a best friend inexperienced reader x lando , SORRY AGAIN (💗)

butter tart ("let's ruin ourselves for anyone else.") + milkshake (size kink) served by lando norris (formula one)!!

cw: smut/pwp, inexperienced!reader, size difference/kink, friends-to-lovers, missionary, romantic/mushy, gentle sex, marriage pact

you and lando had a deal. by the time you hit twenty-five you two would get married. the two of you had been lifelong friends and at the time thought that no one would actually want to date you two.

so the pact was made.

you had honestly forgotten about it years later. it was a pact you made when you were both dumb teenagers and lando's career as a racer hadn't taken off. by this point you had expected him to find some super hot model to date. not the best friend he's had for years!

until after you twenty-fifth birthday you received a text message.

it simply said, "will be home in a few days, where did you want to have our first date?" and before you could question him about what the hell he was talking about. you remembered his boyish smile when you linked pinkies with him.

lando was beyond relieved to see you. you picked him up from the airport and drove him back to your flat. you had laughed as you merged onto the highway.

"so a date, huh?"

"well, yeah. i mean i wasn't going to show up with a ring!" he laughed, "did you forget or something?" he almost seemed a little hurt.

"no, no." you said, "i just thought you would've found someone else by now! i mean you're surrounded by pretty girls all day."

he shrugged, "yeah, yeah. but none of them are you. i was honestly worried that you would've found someone too! i mean i can't date you if you're already with someone." he laughed once more.

being on a date with him was like hanging out with him in your youth. expect every time he wanted to kiss you, he asked. and when he kissed you. you felt a spark in your gut.

you were just at a local pub you had always gone to. there was no need for fancy first dates. eventually lando had his arm around you while you sat in the booth and the two of you watched the football game.

when you were teens you were especially into it. but over time he made you cheer for the team he cheered for. in exchange you forced him to like your favourite cheesy movie. (which he would admit now, wasn't that terrible!).

"I want to keep kissing you." he said honestly in your ear.

you picked up a fry and fed it to him. when he swallowed it, you turned to kiss him on the lips, "you don't have to ask me, norris. i've seen every mole on your ass."

he laughed and leaned in for another kiss. but before he did, he said, "i want to be a gentleman."

that sentiment lasted all the way to the bedroom. you had wished you had tidied up a little bit more of your bedroom, but you might have just been over thinking everything as you took off your t-shirt.

"lando... please be gentle, it's been like a million years since i last had sex." you admitted as you played with the t-shirt between your fingers nervously.

he looked at you with a curious glance, "who was the last person you slept with? when did this happen?" there was a small curl of jealousy in his gut.

you replied, "i mean like, not since the one, one-night stand i had in my first year of uni... since then it's been a dry spell."

he nodded, he understood. but part of him really wanted to be your first time. but hey, he had an entire lifetime to make up for it! he noticed how you gazed at him when he took his shirt off. "like what you see?"

you chuckled, "yes. you've always been handsome, lando. too handsome for me!"

he shook his head and took off his belt, "no. just handsome enough for you." then pulled down his shorts before he got into bed with you, pulling you down onto the floral printed covers next to him.

he looked nice in just a pair of black briefs. you couldn't believe this was really happening. to have your legs tangled up in his, his lips on yours. hands roaming each other's bodies.

it was something that would've made sixteen year old you blush.

"wait, wait.' he said, "give me a second." then got out of bed, he left the bedroom to go to the living room where all of his belongings still there. he came back with the shiny foil of a condom. he beamed at you, "have to play it safe." before he climbed back into bed with you.

he loved the sight of you. you were so pretty, ever since you two were younger. he always thought you were the prettiest girl at school, even if you didn't believe it. now, he'd just have to tell you every day how pretty you were.

he got his briefs off and the condom on before he put you on your back and got between your legs. he knelt between them with his cock at full attention. he admired the sight of you.

"i can't believe you kept true to your word." you chuckled and rubbed your face as if to wipe the blush off.

he smiled at you, "why wouldn't i? i made a promise." he leaned in towards you and kissed you on the cheek, "i was practically counting down the days. it was hard to keep it all inside, not when i was constantly thinking about you."

"i hate that i'm inexperienced."

"don't care. i have a whole life time to show learn everything with you." his voice was tinged with romance and you felt what you could only describe as love bloom in your chest.

you always had feelings for him, and see them returned made you only feel hot in the face. he kissed at those same cheeks and palmed your breasts.

"someone's into those." you chuckled.

"i always thought they were so pretty." he said almost breathless, "in those stupid dresses you wore in university. remember when i threw my hoodie over you, it was because i didn't want anyone else looking at you."

you remembered them, you were trying something new at the time. and those dresses really made you breasts noticeable. you chuckled, "god, i remember that. or that time you took off your rain jacket and zipped it up to my chin."

"i just thought you were so painfully pretty." he took his cock and rubbed it up against your wet pussy. he used to have dreams about it. he always wanted to sink himself into you and just fuck your sweet cunt.

you held onto the covers under you as you tensed for a moment in anticipation for lando's cock. you held you breath as he slowly sank in. you let out a sharp noise and lando eased your mind with kisses on your lips.

"that's it." he praised with sweetness on his tongue. he thought you looked so beautiful under him, like you always belonged there, "are you okay?" he asked.

you nodded, "yeah, i'm doing great. just... not used to it." you took a deep breath.

lando held onto you and said softly, "don't worry, i'll go gentle. don't want to hurt my wife on the first try."

you looked at him and chuckled, "and what if i'm not marriage material in a year?"

lando shook his head, "i don't wanna hear it." then sealed it with a kiss as he used your hips to rub your against his cock. the movements were small, but slowly building up in a decent peace. he wanted to make sure that he didn't hurt you.

you held his face and continued to kiss him. when he eventually pulled away, you were both soon panting. he rutted up into you and moved your hips at a similar pace. he loved that your expression was starting to change to one filled with pleasure.

he thought you were beautiful even then.

"i've thought about this for years. i always wondered what you'd look like under me, or on top, or anywhere really. i just dreamt about having you."

"you could've asked me out sooner, norris." you smiled at him. you felt a swell in your chest.

lando blushed a little and replied, "i couldn't find the words. but then when i remembered, i knew i had to jump at the chance to have you."

you wrapped your arms and legs around him and said, "well mister lando norris, you have me. now and forever."

he broke out into a grin, it was so cheesy. even though he had his cock inside of you. but he loved it. he loved you. he kissed you again before he started to thrust a little heavier.

the intimacy between you two was strong, but the actually movements were softer. lando's lips felt so nice against your neck and along your jaw. every kiss felt like worship.

his hands explored your sides, almost making you giggle loudly. you could hear your heartbeat in your ears from the pleasure in your veins.

the bed creaked under your movements. you felt the lust warm in your gut. you clutched onto his shoulders as he kept his steady pace. you panted heavily, "i'm close, fuck, lando. i'm close!"

"i know, i know. me too." he groaned as he moved. he was so big compared to you. and you felt so small, but in a good way. he was just perfect for you and you were for him.

you always felt protected by him.

you two kissed once more and you moaned into the kiss. he was panting through his nose as he pressed his cock into you as deep as it would go.

you tensed up around him and his cock twitched inside of you. and together you both came, pressed against on another as orgasm gripped you.

it felt so good.

you could get used to this. the movements slowed to a stop and you broke the kiss to catch your breath. you panted heavily as you tried to pull yourself together.

"so good." he laid on top of you for a moment, embracing your warmth below him. you wrapped your arms around him tightly and kissed his sweaty temple.

you both laid there. it felt nice. maybe you wouldn't mind keeping to the marriage pact you made when you were a teen. it wouldn't be bad to be married to your best friend.

he yawned before he moved off of you, "i gotta get you a nice ring. something as beautiful as you."

-

you didn't get married at twenty-five. it would take about three years before you had your special day.

his fingers interlocked with yours and he held them up towards the stream of morning light through the window. "you know." he said, "i used to write your name with my last name when we were kids."

you chuckled and looked to him, "the crush was that big."

he nodded, "yeah, i mean, you ruined all other girls for me. but i'm glad. let's ruin ourselves for anyone else anyway." he laughed before he threw an arm around you and kissed you deeply.

[matchaverse]

pierre gasly x figure skater reader or lance stroll is an idea i havee

skate around my heart | LS18

pairing: lance stroll x fem!figure skater!reader

summary: when lances dad brings him to a figure skating practice, lance couldn’t help falling for one the skaters his dad sponsors.

type: smau (with some writing)

faceclaim: none, pictures from pinterest

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

“why are we at a ice rink?” Lance asks his dad as they pull up to a huge arena for ice sports.

“we’re here to support y/n, i’m one of her sponsors and she’s training for the Olympics” Lawrence replies as he parks the car.

“i didn’t know you sponsored figure skaters”.

“trying something new son”.

lance stroll posted a story

caption: i see why my dad invests in ice skating now

replies:

username: welcome to the world of figure skating!

username: who is your dad sponsoring?!

yourusername: it was nice seeing you and your dad!

lancestroll: no thank you! you are very talented!

[instagram] yourusername

liked by lancestroll, yourbff, and 638,826 others

yourusername | has been a wonderful training season this year! cannot wait to start the Olympics this weekend!!

username: ugh you’re so pretty!!

username: so talented!! can’t wait to see you bring home gold!! 🙌🙌

lancestroll: let’s gooooo!!!

yourbff: gonna bring back winnings for CANADA!!! 

you posted a story

caption: 9:35am, first event of the day in less than an hour

replies:

username: GOOD LUCK!!!

lancestroll: i’m pulling up now!

yourusername: can’t wait to see you!! 🥺

[instagram] yourusername

liked by lancestroll, yourbff, and 937,629 others

tagged | @/lancestroll

yourusername | great weekend!! won gold and spent time with my number one fan 🫶🏻🫶🏻

lancestroll: YOU DID GREAT DEAR🥺

yourbff: NUMBER ONE FAN?!?

yourusername: sorry!! 🫣🫣

username: y/n and lance?!

username: wait that’s kinda cute

[instagram] lancestroll

liked by yourusername, fernandoalonso and 739,794 others

tagged | @yourusername

lancestroll | still cannot stake to save my life but y/n is teaching me 🫶🏻

yourusername: you’re getting better baby!!

lancestroll: don’t lie to me 🥲

yourusername: fine, you suck

username: the first pic?!?

username: lance is so sweet!!

username: a true gentleman

username: this couple is so cute

a/n: very short since i dont know much about figure skating and ive been busy with work 🫣

[lady0ctavia]

Hetalia Kiss Headcanons (Allies)

Headcanons on how the Hetalia characters would kiss their S/O, as well as who I think would initiate your first kiss as a couple~

America: Alfred is the kind of guy who gets all giddy and smiles whenever you kiss. You can feel his lips curling into a goofy grin upon yours. His kisses are a little more forceful and abrupt from being fueled by his impulsive "do or die" mentality, causing you to feel a little lightheaded, needing a moment to register what just happened/what is happening. Because of his mentality, your first kiss was 100% initiated by him. He probably kissed you when you were going about your day and the thought of kissing you just came to his mind. He's also not opposed to attacking you with kisses as soon as the two of you are alone.

England: Arthur is a gentleman, alright? As such, PDA is kept to a minimum, and this includes kissing. There's a difference between how he kisses you in public vs. in private. Kisses in public are restricted to kisses on the hand, typically as a form of greeting or just when the mood strikes him (the latter of which is rare). Kisses in private are far more casual but are still sweet and gentlemanly. His kisses take place at random moments throughout the day, such as a peck on the cheek when you're making breakfast. Depending on his mood, his kisses on your lips can range from tender and chaste to firey and intense. There's no in-between. I think he'd be the one to initiate your first kiss, but he'd respectfully ask to do so beforehand.

France: Do I really have to write anything here? Francis is the personification of one of the most romantic places on earth. You can bet your life his kisses are nothing less than the best. Romantic, emotional, passionate, and, depending on his mood, full of desire. Kisses from Francis always manage to leave you breathless and lightheaded. He'd hold you in his arms or hold your hands as he kisses you, doing so as if no one is watching. Shockingly enough, he'd wait for you to initiate your first kiss as a couple. Sure, he's flirted with the idea of surprising you with a passionate kiss for your first. But he wants to make sure you're comfortable.

Russia: Ivan's a great big teddy bear of a man, so of course his kisses are going to reflect that same level of warmth. His kisses are soft, almost barely there, as if afraid he'll accidentally hurt you. He'll kiss you on the top of your head or forehead more often than on the lips or cheek. And when he does kiss your lips, it's so gentle you swear he's barely touching you. Because of his size, he's afraid of accidentally hurting you, so you'd have to reassure him that everything's fine. Because of his shyness, you'll be the one to initiate the first kiss. However, you'll have to stand on your tiptoes to do so.

China: He may seem young on the outside, but internally he's an old man. Yao would resign him to mere kisses on the cheek to show affection. Kisses on the lips are reserved for when you wake up in the morning and when you go to bed at night. His kisses are usually quick but never underestimate the meaning or emotion behind them. He's fairly reserved with affection, so these gestures, while small to others, mean a lot to him. These small kisses are full of affection and love. Despite being more reserved, the first kiss was initiated by him. Being around for so long has allowed him the ability to easily read other people, so he'd be able to figure out if you wanted to kiss him or not.

Canada: Matthieu is, as we all know, exceptionally shy and soft-spoken in public, and so his kisses reflect this. And, much like England, his kisses will differ depending on whether or not the two of you are out in public or not. In public, he'd be the kind of guy to give you a kiss on the cheek or side of your head. But in private... Let's be real here, this guy was raised by Francis. Now, I'm not saying his kisses in private are to the intensity of his father, but he will show an uncharacteristic display of passion and love, holding you tight as he ravishes your mouth (when he's more comfortable with you, anyway). But, regardless, you'll have to be the one to initiate. He's too afraid of messing something up.

Kiss HCs for the Axis can be found here!

[cat-in-a-mech-suit]

Transmasculinity Throughout Time: Dr James Barry

Part 2! Here we go. James Barry was the first European doctor to successfully perform a C section where both the mother and child survived, which is cool to me because I was born via C section. He was born in 1789, but lied that he was younger on documents in order to pass - people described him as young looking and soft featured with a boyish voice, but never questioned in his gender. Despite adamantly stating he was a man for his whole adult life and only being revealed as transgender after death, he is still referred to as a “a woman ahead of her time” in the Guardian in 2016 and argued to have only presented as a man to enter the male-dominated medical field. In his wikipedia page, he is only referred to by his last name, not he/him pronouns. This is another example of the transmasculine erasure done by cis feminist historians that I mentioned in my last post in this series. Instead of doing this, cis feminists, here is what you can do: accept and include transmasculine experiences as a part of feminist narratives, not in contradiction to them, and if you can’t do that, at least actually do some research on the women who were practicing medicine at the time, and acknowledge their accomplishments instead of stealing and erasing transmasculine history! To all students of history, and especially anyone who cares about queer/trans history: stop erasing trans men (and all trans and nonbinary people) and explaining us away. Come face to face with our existence. Can you do that?

Alright.

Barry was a British imperial surgeon. When he was 19, he expressed longing to be a soldier, and he later joined the British army. Eeh, I know. His official title quickly ascended to Colonel Medical Inspector. If it wasn’t for his privilege, his gender transgression would likely have not been so easily forgiven and explained away through infantilization and feminist narratives during and after his life. However, he still faced great challenges.

In his profession, he was unlike others because he spent time around and advocated for the most marginalized in society - prisoners, mentally ill, lepers, poor people, and enslaved people. He did this even though it made him vulnerable and eccentric to those around him. His bluntness and need to make change made him extremely challenged and unpopular among his fellow officers, and he survived on his professionalism and bravado alone, enduring an accusation of “conduct unbecoming of the character of an Officer and a Gentleman” for a clash with another surgeon, of which he was acquitted thereafter. He also got into a pistol duel and won against Captain Josias Cloete of the 21st Light Dragoons. Generally, he was described as both rude and unafraid to speak his mind, as well as sometimes overly polite, with a good bedside manner. People were confused by him because he didn’t fit into society, and they constantly speculated on his life and tried to diminish him and the advocacy that he did.

He was first appointed to his position and was able to keep it despite challenges to his authority because of his “close friendship” with the Governor, Lord Charles Somerset (we all know what close friendship means when historians say it). In 1824, he was slandered, put on trial, and investigated when someone said that they “detected Lord Charles buggering Dr Barry.” James Barry is an important historical example of transhomophobia. Unlike what TEHMs and their ilk believe, queer trans men in fact have been experiencing homophobia all this time. James Barry experienced the same homophobia as a cis gay man would at the time, with the additional pressure of being a trans man who had to pass as a cis man to live as himself: transhomophobia. As a queer trans man, thinking about what he must have gone through makes my stomach hurt.

In 1857, he was appointed to be the Inspector of Hospitals in Canada, and he made significant improvements to sanitation and care for prisoners and lepers during his short time in that position. He was forcibly resigned against his will after only two years, because of his supposed poor health.

Before he died of dysentery in 1865, he asked for his person to not be examined at all. His wishes were disobeyed. He was outed as trans and subsequently, his life was either erased or stolen from him and written as that of a woman. To avoid a scandal, all army records of him were locked for 100 years, until in 1958, a biography of him was written by a cis woman historian, who wrote about him as a woman pretending to be a man and erased his transness. Barry’s own doctor said after his death that “it was none of my business whether Dr. Barry was a male or a female” and suggested that he might have been intersex.

Interestingly, he was also known for an incident in which he scolded Florence Nightingale for poor sanitary practices, which she complained about after he died, saying he was “the most hardened creature I had ever met.”

[merbear25]

Can you do Hetalia Axis x female reader x Allies? They are all figthing for the reader's love.

Hello! Even though this is more than the 3 character limit, I realize it would kind of defeat the fun and purpose of the ask to limit it. Instead, I decided to put them on a scale of most to least competitive with blurbs. Hope you like it!

CW: SFW, fem!reader in mind but nothing specific mentioned

Most to least competitive with a shared romantic interest (Axis and Allies)

Most

Italy: He'd constantly be around, chatting with you, being touchy feely, and overall hard to ignore. This might be his greatest advantage: you would have constant exposure to his silly ways which would make him hard to forget.

France: It was hard deciding if he'd be more or less competitive than Italy, but his means of getting your attention are far less of a resemblance to spamming. He'd rely heavily on romantic gestures, which may just do the trick.

England: In spite of his moments of self-loathing, he'd be confident enough to pursue you. He couldn't bear the thought of any of the others being with someone as lovely as you. You deserved a gentleman, and he'd be good and ready to fit that.

Germany: Even though he's more reserved and quiet, he's a go-getter. If he wanted something, he'd go by whichever means to get it ―this would include you. He'd be thoughtful about how he got your attention but would still be super nervous about his feelings for you.

America: Despite dominating nearly every conversation he's apart of, he wouldn't have the easiest time maintaining your attention. Sure, he'd be one of the first to come chat you up, but he wouldn't be the most suave with his flirting. He'd try but it may be a hit or miss.

China: Not nearly the loudest of the first half but the loudest of the last, he'd be insistent on working in time to see each other. He'd go the most mature route when it came to actually getting your attention, but when amongst the others his overall patience would run thin.

Japan: Self-assurance is something that has never been an issue for him. He wouldn't be the most successful when getting your attention in a group setting, since he's more reserved. If he was able to find you off by yourself, he'd feel confident going up and exchanging pleasentries.

Russia: He'd be slightly hopeful at first based on your interactions with him, but he'd ultimately lose steam as the others practically bulldozed their way to you. If he felt strongly enough towards you, and if you reignited his hope, he'd be ruthless. However, that'd be a big 'if'.

Canada: Unfortunately, his only real hope when competing for your love and attention would be if you were similar to him: the quiet and soft-spoken type. His confidence, when compared to the others', does not measure up in the slightest, leading to him discouraging himself.

Least

[bluestar22x]

Finding Eden: Chapter 2

Summary: You and Zach make your trek towards Canada

Pairing: Zach Wellison x F!Reader

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Fowl language, mention of reader needing period products, mentions of violence/blood

Word Count: 5,700(ish)

Author's Note: I'm annoyed with myself that it took so long to get this chapter out but it's done, yay! This chapter is mostly set up for the future. Going to have a lot more action coming up real soon. I'm excited.

xxx

To say you were curious about Zach would've been an understatement. The truth was you were downright intrigued.

First he'd saved you, then he'd proposed that you travel with him to the safe haven he was searching for. A perfect stranger.

You couldn't quite comprehend it. Yes, you'd had plenty of experiences where people had been kind to you for the sake of it before the war, but that had quickly become a bygone after the riots broke out. Ever since then your survival had pegged on your family ties and what you could do to convince others to spare you.

It was different with Zach.

You were certain he had a motive besides just being nice, but you were also sure it wasn't anything sinister. There was nothing about his behavior and tone during your first conversation that suggested he was being anything but honest with you.

You trailed behind him and Athena through the forest, pondering over the why. What it could be. An extra set of eyes? Companionship? Both?

Both were why you'd personally agreed to the journey you'd embarked on. You fully believed in group survival. The strength in numbers. You'd had a fascination with wolves as a kid. You knew lone wolves had it rough and many didn't survive long enough to form another pack. You did not want to be a lone wolf any longer than you needed to be.

Zach had to have been feeling the pressure to find someone else too. Sure, with his military training he was bound to have far more survival skills than you, but it also meant he had to be almost constantly on alert. Athena was probably the only reason he looked fairly well-rested. Able to get some sleep each night because her large, pointed ears heard everything.

You had an urge to ask him a million questions about himself after that thought but you had no idea how tolerant he'd be of unnecessary chit chat, so you settled on observing him instead.

Of course you couldn't see Zach's face from your position behind him, but you could watch his back.

His very broad back. For a man his height and weight Zach had a wide set of shoulders, so wide they threatened to tear the seams of the brown and tan plaid shirt he was wearing if he flexed too much. It was an impressive sight on a man you'd quickly labeled as slim.

Less impressive was his nearly flat ass that barely held up his jeans, but that had a different kind of appeal. It was cute. It reminded you of a boy you'd dated in high school. The one you went to prom with who had been nothing but a gentleman with you despite his age. No prom night sex with that one. No, that had come months later, and you'd initiated it. You'd probably have married him if only the long distances between your colleges hadn't torn you apart.

Zach's brown eyes reminded you of him too. Though you obviously couldn't see them at the moment, you recalled them in your mind, dark, shiny, and expressive, more so than the rest of his face. What really stuck in your mind though was that his were still gentle looking despite the state of the world, the horrors he'd certainly seen and had probably done. They were in part why you'd trusted him enough to team up with him.

The similarities ended there though. While Zach still had some boyish features, his jawline was nothing but man. The same for his strong, sloped nose. You imagined he must have had an awkward faze in his youth due to their prominence, but at his maturity (late thirties, you'd surmised) they suited him perfectly.

Your cheeks heated up at your wayward thoughts about him, as if you'd spoken them out loud. You knew you hadn't, but it still felt inappropriate enough that you were sheepish about it. You'd just met him, after all. Not having had a boyfriend since a year before the apocalypse started was not an excuse to think about him like a piece of meat, analyzing every part of his body that peaked an interest in you (except for one in particular that you respectfully avoided with all your willpower).

Zach glanced back at you occasionally, on and off, for about an hour before your eyes locked by accident and you nearly stumbled over a rotten tree stump.

He's just checking in on you to make sure you're not lagging behind, nothing more, you reminded yourself. Cool your jets. Don't make a fool out of yourself over nothing.

Anyone who had a privy to your thoughts without having seen you first could have mistaken you for a teenage girl with a crush.

You weren't normally like this. Especially not after the country fell apart. But Zach was the first decent guy you'd run into the last few years who wasn't related to you, and he was definitely your type. At least physically, anyways. You weren't going to pretend you actually knew him enough for it to be anything else but basic attraction.

"You alright?" he inquired, hiking up an eyebrow as he did so.

"Yeah," you squeaked, flustering at your unusually high voice, even more so when you realized he was referring to your trip. "Don't mind me."

He nodded and continued on like you weren't behaving like someone half your age, but you decided then that silence wasn't the best idea for you anymore. It was better to risk annoying him to distract yourself and to actually get to know him than to continue to regress.

"Sooo...where are you from?" you began, walking faster to catch up with him.

"We're doing small talk?" he asked with some disbelief as you matched his pace and kept shoulder to shoulder with him, nothing but Athena between you.

"Sorry, are you busy?" you retorted with a huff, expression serious.

His eyes darted towards you, obviously surprised by your comeback, and he chuckled. "Got me there. Small talk it is. I was in Los Angeles. You?"

"Born and raised in Culver, Oregon," you stated plainly. "It's a small farming community. I went away to college in Seattle for a few years, but I returned afterwards. Found an accounting job with a local restaurant."

"That's funny," Zach mused, pursing his lips.

You frowned. "Why?"

"I worked as a building manager before everything went to shit, but for a brief time I worked for a friend's brother at his restaurant," he explained. "Nothing major, just washing dishes and helping the cooks out a bit, but it got me out of a bind, and I was considering going to college to be a chef before -."

"Everything went to shit," you quoted him flatly.

He sighed and glanced around at the trees surrounding you, looking for a distraction. "Yeah." You could hear the heavy regret that saturated that one word.

For the one millionth time since the bombs fell you thought about how unfair the world was. You'd do anything to be back looking through the books at Angel's Great Delights and you wished Zach had been able to pursue cooking like he'd planned to. It wasn't right you both had to pay for the mistakes of others.

"My cousin called it the preventable apocalypse," you informed him, tilting your head to the right, away from him. "I argued that most apocalypses in fiction were preventable. People just refused to pull their heads out of their asses. It was the most realistic part of those kinds of stories."

Zach laughed again. "Couldn’t have put it better myself.”

"So where were you when it all began?" you pressed on.

You could see it in his eyes, the way he withdrew into the memory. "I was at work, saw the news on the lobby's flatscreen TV. Washington D.C. was gone. It was surreal. And then after the riots began, it wasn't. LA was in the thick of it. I fled the city and lived in a trailer after it became too much. You?"

"I was alone in bed," you recalled, furrowing your eyebrows. "I was recovering from a severe flu. My boss had sent me home. Said he'd rather see me the next day or so when I wasn't half dead and ready to puke on the paperwork."

"Solid boss," Zach remarked.

"The fact that he could be considered solid just because he let me have a sick day when I was hardly in any shape to work, further proves how awful society was before."

"As opposed to now?"

It was your turn to chuckle. "What society?"

He hummed in agreement. "Why don't we talk about anything but the events that led to the current status of the world?"

"Okay, but the ones I have in mind are going to sound super trivial," you warned.

The edges of his mouth twitched up. "Perfect."

So that was how you both spent the rest of the day, talking about your favorite movies, music, animals (his was dogs, big surprise) and anything else that came to your minds intermittently (there was plenty of stretches of peaceful silence in between).

It was nostalgic, and for a time you could both just pretend you were hiking with each other on a day off from work. Like you'd run into each other in less dire circumstances.

Though only time could ever truly allow you to get to know someone, learning the basics was a start, and with every piece of personal information he entrusted you with you felt more and more comfortable in his presence.

It was pleasant, you thought. Zach wasn't super chatty, but he also wasn't aloof either. At least he wasn't with the things that didn't hit any sore spots, but that went for you too. Who would want to talk to a stranger about the painful memories they buried deep inside themselves? Even those who sought therapy didn't blurt out their deepest darkest secrets to their therapists until they had built a trusting relationship with them.

Your old trusty digital wristwatch read six eleven at night (probably inaccurately considering you hadn't touched it since you had to abandon your hometown) when Zach decided to stop for the day and set up a makeshift fire pit with some rocks, dried leaves, and old broken branches. You were so impressed with how neatly he'd stacked the wood and how easily he'd lit a match he had on him and got the fire going that you forgot to try to pretend to be useful. You did look for more branches and some logs to feed the fire for when it slowed down later on while Zach started pitching his forest green and tan tent.

"You should get yours up too," he told you when you came back from your third round of fire fuel hunting. He was busy zipping the entrance up. "Judging from the clouds, it might rain tonight."

You tipped your head back to stare up at the dark, angry clouds covering most of the sky above you and sighed. You hadn't wanted to ask Zach for any favors so soon, but if it was going to rain you had no choice.

"I don't have one," you admitted to him. "My cousin had a tent in his pack. I've been sleeping in whatever shelter I could find ever since his death."

"Well, you can share with me if you want," Zach offered without any hesitance. "It'll be a tight squeeze, but it's supposed to be a two person tent."

You didn't know much about tents, your parents had never camped out with you, but your cousin's had been a three person and it definitely had not felt like it had actually been made for three. You were sure a two person tent for two people wouldn't be any better.

Why did that make your heart jump a little?

"Sure, yeah, thanks," you said in return. "It's better than sleeping without anything over my head but the trees."

They were sparsely leafed due to the season and weren't particularly well bunched together where Zach had decided to set up. You knew if it downpoured you'd get drenched and that wasn't appealing with how cold the nights were starting to get.

You walked over to him and helped him finish setting up the tent, shoving and kicking the spikes that would keep the securing ropes taunt into the firm ground. You at least knew how to do this.

Once you both were finished you sat down cross legged by the fire, pulling out cans of old vegetables you both had in your backpacks. Yours was sliced carrots, his was green beans.

"I wonder how long we can eat these before we're recklessly risking our lives?" You peered at the label curiously, like it would tell you anything beyond the expiration date that you were already well past.

"Guess we'll find out," Zach stated dryly as he tipped his can's contents into his mouth, green bean juice spilling from the corner of his mouth.

You did the same with your can since you didn't have any utensils either. You missed utensils. But even if you found some again, they'd be a waste of space in your backpack. Essentials only.

You grimaced as you chewed and swallowed what you could fit into your mouth. Eating cold canned vegetables was getting real old.

"We really need to find a cooking pan," you decided.

"I have one," Zach said, feeding Athena the contents of the bottom of his can before tossing it into the fire after.

You blinked at him incredulously. "Then why didn't we use it?"

He shrugged and leaned back against the black cottonwood tree behind him. "I was hungry. Forgot to mention you could use it. Sorry."

You sighed and slouched forward like a wilting flower. "It's alright. Next time."

"At the risk of sounding like an old man, I think I'm going to turn in," Zach decided a few seconds later as he peered over at the distant mountains the sun had disappeared behind during your meager meal. "I'd like to head out at first light."

"I might as well too then," you figured. "I don't want to lose any sleep I can get. It's rough enough waking without coffee."

He groaned a little. "Ah, I miss coffee."

"Same."

You both straightened your legs out then pushed yourselves into a stand and went through your bedtime rituals, yours a lot shorter lately, now that you didn't have any luxuries like face washes and lotion. You simply brushed your teeth with only water from your drinking bottle and removed your belt. Zach also did the former, but not the latter, slipping into the tent as is. He didn't even take off his boots until he was inside, to your dismay.

You took your sleeping bag off your pack and unrolled it before also crawling in barefooted, doing what you could to flatten it out beside his.

You brushed shoulders with him when you crawled into it. "Yep. This is definitely tight. Are you sure this is okay?"

You weren't sure what compelled you to give him a way out of your new sleeping situation. You really didn't want to sleep out in the rain.

He nodded, eyelids already at half-mast. "I promise it's fine. Sharing a tent with you is much better than some of the guys I had to share tight spaces with in the military. You smell a whole lot better, for one."

Your stomach fluttered. You knew he was just stating facts, but Zach thought you smelled good. Or at least better. You'd gladly take the compliment.

You were still absorbing it when Zach whistled and Athena came charging into the tent. "Hope you don't mind sharing with her too."

"Of course not," you said, giggling when the dog nosed her way between you and wedged herself into the small gap between your sleeping bags.

He grinned at your laughter and how you fondly scratched at the base of Athena's ear after she settled down. "Make yourself at home as always, girl."

"Typical dog," you added, shaking your head before rolling onto your side to face them both and closing your eyes. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," Zach returned, slinging his left arm over his stomach, getting comfortable too.

It wasn't long before you both drifted off to sleep.

x

The next morning you heard and felt Zach moving around beside you before you were even conscious of the nippy air seeping into the tent.

You wrinkled your nose, trying to get back feeling in the numbed tip of it as you blinked up at the inside of the tent top.

It was barely dawn, but it was light enough to see everything around you, which meant that it was time to go.

You crawled out of the tent as Zach began to pack up his belongings and you searched for a private spot to pee. You only had to wander a few yards away to find a big enough spruce tree to squat behind.

When you returned Zach was sitting by a newly lit fire, Athena lying by his feet, her head resting on her front paws, ears twitching with the sound of him opening another can of vegetables, this time peas, with the multi-tool that he kept in one of his back pockets.

You quietly sat down a few feet from them and opened your second can of carrots, using the tab already provided on the top.

"I'm not eating cold again," you said, glancing at Zach's backpack, which was right behind him. "Can I use that pan now?"

"Sure." Zach reached for and rummaged through his pack, pulling the pan out from the bottom it. "Do you want to throw our food together; peas and carrots?"

"Sounds good," you replied. "Just don't expect to get a bigger portion out of it."

He raised a hand palm up in a pledging gesture at you. "I solemnly swear it'll be split right down the middle."

Satisfied with his promise you dumped the contents of your can in the pan and he did the same with his before placing the pan over the fire. After several minutes he removed it to check how cooked the food was, sampling a few peas.

He smiled. "Perfect."

He quickly split the pile of vegetables in the pan in two and dumped your share onto the plastic plate you always carried around.

It was the best meal you'd had since your cousin had gotten himself killed and left you with only the supplies you'd been carrying on your back.

After you and Zach had scarfed down your portions and both shared a palm full with Athena, you packed up and resumed your trek north.

It was still cloudy out, but the clouds were a light enough gray that you did not think it would rain again anytime soon, thankfully.

Unfortunately it meant you'd need to use landmarks instead of the sun's position to guide you, or so you thought until Zach pulled a compass out of his coat pocket.

"Of course you know how to read a compass."

He twisted his body to look at you as he continued to walk. "You don't? What have you been using to find your way on days like this?"

"The mountains, mostly," you answered.

He huffed. "Good way to get lost."

"Well, it's not like it mattered before," you told him. "I didn't have a destination in mind then."

"Want me to show you how it works?" he offered.

You shrugged. "You can try."

"It's easy," Zach promised, invading your personal space so he could show you the face of the compass. "See the white end of the needle?" He pointed it out. "That always points south. And the red end always points north. If you make sure the needle stays steady, adjusting the path you take when you need to, you won't wander aimlessly."

"And this is always accurate?" you questioned doubtingly.

He hesitated. "Usually. Sometimes they can be thrown out of wack, but I check this one regularly and it hasn't failed me yet. In any case, it's better than going off scenery alone."

You nodded. You weren't much of an outdoorsy person before, but you had heard plenty of stories of hikers getting lost because they only used their sight to guide them. It was easy to get turned around in a forest. Your rational side knew that a compass was a lot more reliable, and fixable if something ever screwed it up. You hoped Zach knew how to calibrate one.

Zach pocketed the compass and continued forward, Athena ever glued to his side, rarely wandering more than a few feet away from him to sniff at something or do her business.

Occasionally you observed him scratching her head or stroking her back in passing and it made you smile.

You liked people who liked dogs. You'd been raised around them, and while they weren't perfect at letting you know who you could trust (sometimes they did trust the wrong people), you firmly believed dogs were at least a pretty good first indicator. The fact that Athena was so relaxed around Zach, and that he made an effort to give her affection, reassured you that you'd chosen your partner well.

"There's a highway ahead," Zach announced as afternoon neared, surpassing the twenty-four hour mark since you'd teamed up with him. "We should follow it a bit. Check to see if the closest town is safe to scavenge. I'm running low on supplies."

"Me too," you admitted. "But I'm not going to go into town if it's going to be a fight."

"I won't force you to put yourself in danger," he vowed. "If there's still people there and I believe I can slip past them but you're nervous, you can stay hidden. I'll share whatever I find."

You blinked at him in surprise. "Really?"

"Of course," he replied.

"You're not going to label me a burden?"

He pursed his lips. "I've been labeled that before. I would never do it to someone else. We all have different strengths and weaknesses, a team works with them."

That made you curious. You couldn't figure out why someone would call Zach a burden when he'd been anything but since you'd met. You supposed it was different times before, but still. He seemed so goal motivated and had so many skills, what would drive someone to suggest otherwise?

You approached the road slowly and Zach tentatively stepped out of the cover of the trees to study the sign alongside it. "There is a town nearby," he informed you as he ducked back into the trees to stand beside you. "It's a mile out from here. It's out of our way, but it might be worth it."

You sighed. "Well, that's not too bad. With it being so close we've got to at least see it for ourselves."

He nodded in agreement and started to walk parallel with the road, keeping just out of view of anyone who might be dumb enough (or had enough ammo) to be strolling down the highway without a care in the world.

To your relief, when you finally passed the town line nothing changed. There were no working cars in the road, no voices, no signs of life. You could feel the emptiness of it, even though the road was littered with abandoned vehicles and other items, none that would be useful to you, unfortunately.

You and Zach left the safety of the forest and carefully made your way into town, his hands cradling his shotgun, ready if he needed to shoot to protect you both if the situation changed.

"We should head to the supermarket," he suggested.

"That's always the first place picked clean," you argued before gesturing towards the town library that stood next to the town hall, both buildings once painted white, faded yellow and chipped since. "The library would be the best place to try. The one in my hometown had food and a bathroom, drinks too. It's worth a shot."

He scoffed. "Nobody raids libraries."

"Precisely," you said, smirking. You were pretty confident you'd find at least a few useful items.

He chewed his lip, silently debating, weighing the risks and potential benefits. "Fine, we'll check out both. Then we head back out. Don't want to overstay our welcome."

"Fine with me."

A part of you was tempted to make an attempt to convince him that checking out every business and house possible would be worth it, but you understood why he was clearly set on only a couple places. A town like this was valuable. Anyone traveling nearby would likely want to pass through just as they were, and running into a large group would be disastrous.

One man with one gun could only do so much. Same went for a dog with no protective gear and a woman with a limited set of survival skills.

Zach lead you over to the local supermarket first, using a crowbar that a previous raider had left behind to pry the sliding doors open enough so you both could squeeze through.

Once inside you both scanned the shelves up and down for anything useful.

As you'd predicted, the store was pretty barren. There were some non-survival items scattered about - a variety of novels, toy animal figurines, and different brands of pet stain remover - but none of those items would be beneficial to your survival.

You passed the pet food aisle and even those shelves were wiped out. You knew it wasn't because so many people were worried about what their pets ate. No, they were definitely eating the food themselves. Just thinking about people doing it made you gag. You understood the concept of desperate times, desperate measures, but oh did you pray to high heaven you'd never be forced to eat any kind of dog food.

The next aisle was themed health and beauty and you wandered down it with Zach in hopes of finding a toothbrush to keep as back up for your current one, but had no such luck.

You were about to enter another row when you noticed Zach had lingered behind and looked over your shoulder to see him on his knees, stretched fully out, reaching for something in the very back of one of the bottom shelves.

When he pulled back and sat on the heels of his hiking boots he had a five pack of men's disposable razors in his right hand.

"Yeesss!" he exclaimed triumphantly, expression gleeful, before he studied the package. You grinned, infected by his enthusiasm.

It was the first time you'd gotten a glimpse of the boy he once must have been.

"I take you don't like letting your beard grow out."

Zach rocked himself back onto his feet and shook his head at you. "It's not my preferred look. Honestly, it grows in kind of patchy. But the real issue is it gets itchy after more than a week of growth. Drives me crazy some days, and anti-itch cream is hard to come by nowadays."

You hummed in understanding, cutting off when you noticed a small bottle on a nearby middle shelf.

You had to reach all the way back for it, like Zach had with the razors, but you managed, and for your grunts of effort and overstretched muscles you were rewarded a bottle of Tylenol.

"Now, this made the trip worth it," you declared.

Zach chuckled. "See? Not completely wasted."

You sighed dramatically, for show. "Yeah, yeah, you were right. Now, can we hurry up so we can hit the riches at the library?"

"Sure."

Six more aisles later you left the store with only the razors and the pills, but at least you and Zach had both gotten something out of it.

You exited cautiously, Zach leading with Athena as per usual, but for once they could not ease the anxiety you felt being in a place that used to be populated with people again.

All you could think about was the sharp crack of a bullet, the last split second you saw your cousin and his wife alive before they'd slumped to the ground so suddenly lifeless that you'd frozen like a deer in headlights while their bodies leaked blood into the cracks of the worn asphalt. Helpless to do anything but stare in horror as their killer dragged their bodies into a pile on the side of the road like they were just another dead animal to clear out, until you finally felt your legs again and bolted.

Civilization was no longer a place that comforted you.

Zach broke into the little library by shattering the glass of the front door with a sharp, heavy stone and turning the lock blindly. As soon as it clicked open he stepped aside so you could enter first.

You choked on the dust and had to cover your mouth with your jacket sleeve, but you pushed forward, determined.

Luckily the building had a lot of frosted windows so you were able to maneuver around easily without the lights.

You started at the main desk, searching every drawer. All you found were a few pens, which Zach pocketed.

Next you tried the janitor's closet. "Oh, well, now this will certainly be a luxury."

You pulled two rolls of individually wrapped toilet tissue off one of the shelves and threw one to Zach, purposely trying to catch him off guard. Impressively, he still caught it. He laughed. "Okay, so we're already even scored. Think you can find more stuff?"

"For sure."

You headed into a corner that had once acted as a little self serve café, littered with rotten food and a reeking coffee machine. You found four unopened water bottles still in the cooler by the back of the space and nearly jumped with joy.

"Never doubt me again," you said as you handed Zach two of them.

He made the motion of crossing his heart at you and you smiled.

"One last place to check."

As Zach shoved his bottles into his pack you slipped into the unisex bathroom adjacent to the coffee corner alone and glanced around. There wasn't much in the room besides the sink and toilet, not even a window, so it was hard to see, but you found one more roll of toilet tissue and a half used bag of pantie liners you could use for when your period rolled around. You hid them both in your pack and rejoined Zach.

"Any luck?" he inquired.

"Just another roll of toilet tissue," you lied, not feeling comfortable talking to him about period products even in passing. It wasn't just because you grew up around men who didn't want to hear a thing about it, who preferred to live in ignorance over the female cycle. It was also because Zach was still just an acquaintance, and that just wasn't something you typically talked about loosely in front of people you hardly knew, no matter their gender.

"I'll share if you admit the library was the more productive stop," you added with a smirk.

"I can't deny it," he said.

"I actually want to look at the books for a second if that's okay?"

Zach nodded. "Hurry up though."

You raced over to the how-to section, scanning them almost desperately for a book you had in mind. You found it on a top shelf, a book on North American plants for survivalists.

You were plucking it from the shelf when Athena barked suddenly and you flinched.

"What's up, girl?" Zach asked her, warily turning in a circle in hopes of seeing what set her off.

She was staring at the back window, suggesting she'd alerted to a shadow or sound from that direction.

Athena wasn't a barker. You'd only known her for a day but it was long enough to know if she was barking there was a reason. That knowledge made the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

"Follow me," Zach whispered.

You nodded quickly and slowly made your way to the front with him, creeping out of the door as soon as he gave the hand signal to do so.

You didn't breath properly until you were a good quarter of a mile back into the forest, back on track north.

You kept up with Zach. "Do you think she heard people?"

"Her warning bark is the same for people and animals so I have no idea," he said. "It doesn't matter. In either case, we got away safe. And if it was a false alarm, somehow, well, it's not like we weren't already leaving."

"True."

You turned the book you'd carried out in your arms over and skimmed the information on the faded back cover. The book had been published in 1985, but that was alright. Plant survival books didn't tend to get outdated too often.

"What's the book about?" Zach asked you when he noticed you studying it.

You told him and he looked pleased. "Great idea bringing it. I know about a few edible plants, but probably not as many as there actually are."

"All I know is berries are usually okay, and never eat the mushrooms," you said. "Even experts used to poison themselves eating wild mushrooms sometimes. Mushrooms look too alike and the risk is too great to be worth it."

"Noted."

You took a moment to stop and slide the book into your pack before running to catch back up with Zach again. "Are you nervous about the crossing?"

"We're still probably a few days out from that," he told you, "But yeah, I've been nervous from the start. Day one. I've heard as many rumors about the Canadian border patrol as you have. Micah said they have a zero tolerance for Americans crossing over. They will try to shoot us if they see us."

He halted to face you. "Are you still okay with this plan?"

"No," you said firmly. "Of course I'm not, I never was, but if I don't go with you to Alaska, I have no future."

He nodded, understanding what you meant. Entering Canada would be dangerous, but not necessarily more dangerous than staying behind, and if you wanted any sort of peaceful living you had to risk it.

Alaska here I come.

xxx

Tagged: @harriedandharassed @love-affair-with-fandoms @morallyinept

xxx

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

xxx

[fortheb0ys]

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTLV4q5eW/

Heyyy pookie butt 🤭

How's everything going 👀👀

-🥭

AHHHH JEFF I LOVE YOU SM😭

NUMBER 2: DEAR FUCKING GOD IT WENT SOOO WELLL🤭🤭LET ME EXPLAIN THE BEST NIGHT OF MY LIFE!!

So I go drop by my friend's work place and when I say his boss had the BIGGEST smile on his face when he saw me🥺

We're chatting and stuff, he's laughing at all the random shit I say. We kinda talked about hooking up before and I was like I have to think about. He was completely understanding cause of the whole my friend's boss thing.

I told him in was free tonight clearly hinting that I was finally down to fuck. He's like "What made you make up your mind?"

I told him that I asked some people on the internet. He asked if it was one of those reddit posts. I told him it was worse and it was Tumblr. He's like 'That's all pretty much porn, right?' He told I got to make you guys proud.

He said even though we're just having fun that he was a gentleman and had to take me out for a drink first hsjsjxbxhzh I CAN'T EVEN HES TOO PERFECT!!😭

Went to his place and our hands were IMMEDIATELY on each other! I bottomed first cause he was a bit hesitant and I respect that.

After the first round, we took a little break. Sat on his couch and played some COD and walked his dog🙏 After a bit we started making out and he asked if he could bottom this time. Said he wanted to try before but his ex laughed in his face when he brought up the idea.

I TOOL THIS MAN'S ASS VIRGINITY AND IT WAS AN HONOR🫡 He was sooo nervous, he couldn't make eye contact.

Little detail about him is he's from Alberta and apparently they're like the cowboys of Canada which UGH I LOVE LOVE LOVE😫

I used a lot of pet names to ease his nerves and OMG I CALLED HIM COWBOY AND I FELT HIM MELT BENEATH ME!

I had to leave early in the morning and he was a little sad but said he had an amazing night and would like to do it again. He also said he'll like to try new things.

Once I was leaving he's extends his hand was like "Do men like shake hands or fist bump after sex or something?" ACTUALLY FUCKING SOBBING HE'S ADORABLE.

Ok that's all :3

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

All Along the Watchtower (Chapter 17)

[Can also be read on AO3]

Pairing: Captain John Price x Fem!OC (3rd person POV)

Word count: 3.3 K

Warnings: Minors DNI - suggestive dialogue, sexual tension, flirting, smoking, canon typical violence

Summary: Rory and Price enjoy the morning after with one another at the end of their mission, and Rory is given a gift from Laswell to gain some closure from her past

Only one chapter left to go!!

A/N: Rory Sinclair is a dual citizen (both Canada and the UK) who's been living in the UK since she was 14. She is 28 at the time of this fic, Price is 32. This series is set in 2017 before the events of the first MW game. Rory's thoughts are bold and italicized, other italics are used for emphasis

November 3, 2017 07:12 - Al-Hasakah, Syria

Rory sat outside the tent, watching the sun rise above the horizon, streaking the sky in gold and pink. She found herself lost in contemplation, appreciating that certain harmony that came with the morning, and the sense of pride washing over her after successfully completing another op. Reaching up, she tugged on the brim of Price’s boonie hat sitting on her head and adjusted it to keep the sun out of her eyes. Arms wrapped around her knees, she felt the warmth start to kiss her skin and she couldn’t help but grin, her thoughts drifting back to the night before as she placed her cigarette to her lips, the tip of it matching the burning star up above. 

A quiet wind rustled what little greenery there was on the sandy overlook, covering the sound of the tent flaps moving as Price exited their humble abode for the night. A low chuckle escaping him at the sight of her in his hat enjoying her morning cigarette. “Mornin’, Sergeant.”

The thick growl of his voice upon first waking up caused a light bubbling laugh to leave her as she exhaled smoke. “Good morning, Captain .”

“Good night last night?” He asked knowingly, a cocky grin on his face as his sure strides brought him to stand by her side. A guardian presence she had welcomed into her life, one that she knew would stop at nothing to keep his promise to her, to keep her safe at all costs, to keep her his . 

She hummed and took another drag of cigarette. “Oh, you could certainly say that.”

His warm, rough hand came to rest on the back of her neck, giving it a tender, possessive squeeze. Eyes scanning the surroundings – always at the ready, never truly settling. “Nik’ll be here soon.”

“Suppose I should give you this back then, eh?” 

She went to grab the hat from her head to return it to him, but his hand grabbed her wrist, stopping her. His fingers squeezed against her slender wrist, powerful in his grip of her. A strength she got to appreciate while in his arms inside that tent. 

“No. Think I like it right where it is. Suits you.”

“You know I am aware of the hat rule, yeah?” Rory sighed, looking up at him with a raised brow.

“That’s just f’cowboys, not soldiers – I’m more of a gentleman than that.” He gave her one of his patented smirks and then sighed contentedly, overly pleased with himself and the previous night’s encounter as he gave a little bounce of his heels and a thrust of his hips. 

She couldn’t help but snicker. “Of course you are, darling.”

His eyes darted sideways towards her, catching that very clear use of a pet name from her for the first time, his smirk only getting wider, creeping up his cheeks and crinkling the corners of his eyes. Saying nothing more on the matter, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the side of her head. “My girl,” he purred against her. 

Rolling her eyes, she couldn’t help but smile. “Your girl,” she murmured before placing the cigarette back to her lips. 

He checked his watch once more and gave her neck another squeeze for good measure. “You stay right where you are, sweetheart, and I’ll pack up.”

“Leaving me forever indebted to you, eh?”

“Somethin’ like that.” Giving her a little nod, and with a twinkle in his eyes, he took an extra moment to look at her and then began to pack up what remained of their campsite. 

She turned to watch him work, the flex of his muscles as he took down the tent and the way his brow furrowed, and his lips pursed while he was focused on his task. “Tell me, John, did you have Nik take a little longer this morning to come get us in hopes of getting a little morning delight in?”

Her comment broke his concentration and half-grin curled his lip. “Can’t confirm or deny that, love.”

Rory laughed and butted out her cigarette in the sand beside her. “Truly the man with the plans, aren’t you? Just knew I’d give in eventually, yeah?”

“Everyone’s got their breaking point.”

“Spoken like a man who’s had his SAS interrogation training. All it took was making me feel safe, hmm? Just that extra little push.”

“Little bit of praise went a long way too.”

Rory bit her lip, sucking on her pout, stopping herself from talking back as much as she wanted to. She would only dig a deeper hole and John had her number. “Well, aren’t we quite the pair, I just have to keep impressing you and you’ll give me everything I want.”

“Everythin’ and more, darlin’.”

She could feel the blush slowly creeping up her cheeks, the heat overwhelming her face. Rubbing the back of her neck, the warmth spread there like a memory of his touch even as the cool morning wind blew against her. 

“Could have Nik circle and give us another twenty?”

“As tempting an offer as that is, John, I think I’d really rather get back to England and a proper bed.”

His gaze roamed over her, looking her up and down. “Desk duty’s made ya soft,” he teased.

“Didn’t hear any complaints from you last night about me being soft. In fact, I think you really rather enjoyed it.”

That hungry glint in his stare returned once more, eyeing her like a meal. Biting his lip as his scruffy adam’s apple bobbed with a heavy swallow.

“Are you going to continue staring at me like that, or are you going to pack up as was promised?” She stood and her hands came to rest on her hips, brow cocked, once more standing up to him.

“Stop lookin’ so goddamn temptin’ then.”

“Or you could simply control yourself, Captain .”

He growled low in his throat, returning to the task he had been working on prior, shifting the weight he carried on his hips, clearly readjusting himself. 

“And I’ll continue to ogle you like you’re a handsome workman and I’m a rich heiress.”

Steely powder blue eyes shot back towards her. Rory already knew he was going to get her back for that later and she couldn’t help but laugh.

Scoffing, he shook his head. “Already fantasizin’ ‘bout me, yeah?”

“You’re a man who has clearly never skipped leg day, I’m merely appreciating the view while you bend and lift. Besides, I'm your girl now, aren’t I allowed to do that about my man?”

Moving to her side, his voice was a rumble as his hand came to her chin, tipping back her head to look up at him, his thumb rubbing over her lower lip still kiss-bruised from the previous night. “Oh, that you most certainly are.” He snatched the hat from her head and put it back onto his, leaning down to whisper in her ear, his voice low and hoarse. “Gonna get you back for being a bloody tease, though.”

A cheeky grin spread across her lips, mischief in her eyes. “I look forward to it.”

“Just you wait…” The danger returned to his stare, leaving her with an open-ended statement that was either a promise or a threat. His breath fanned over her as his lips slowly lowered to hers, capturing her in a kiss. 

The sound of a helicopter’s rotor spinning thundered in the sky, traveling across the sprawling desert below to reach them. A black speck in the sky, moving towards them and the two lovers parted as Price finally finished packing up with Rory’s help. 

Within minutes, Nikolai’s helicopter hand landed and tossing their bags inside, Price and Rory boarded the aircraft. Looking back from his seat, Nikolai scrutinized his two passengers through his dark sunglasses. After a moment, he spoke, “Captain, you look… relaxed .”

Price snickered as Rory gave a heavy sigh, moving to shut the door behind them. “Feel it too, Nik.” He looked over at her and smirked, giving her a little wink as he flexed his broad shoulders. 

Rory’s cheeks burned with a hot flush, turning bright red. Refusing to make eye contact with the Russian pilot or Price, she took a seat in the back while he sat up front with Nikolai. 

The mobile in Price’s pocket began to ring, breaking the sound of the helicopter’s engine that filled the cabin. Slipping it from his pocket, he answered it quickly. “Laswell.”

“ Congratulations on the successful mission. I assume you’re on the way back ?”

“Just took off.”

“ I need a word with the Sergeant .”

“Rory,” he called her over, raising his voice above the din.

Making her way to the front, she took the phone from him. Holding onto the back of his seat to settle herself as she spoke with the CIA Station Chief. “Laswell.”   

“ Looked into Walker’s reports, thought you might be interested in something, Sergeant .”

Rory hummed, “What would that be?”

“ The location of one Abdullah Al Ghulam .”

Her stare darkened. She ached for the day when she would never have to hear that name again. “Where is he?”

“ Under protection in Dubai, has a charming little penthouse suite with his wife .”

Her jaw clenched tightly, and she spoke through gritted teeth, “Wouldn’t happen to have that address, would you now?”

“ I would .”

Fingers tapping on the leather of the headrest, her grip slowly tightened on the seat, indenting the crescents of her nails into the material as her stomach twisted. This could be the final closure she needed, dealing with the one that got away. “Thank you, Laswell.”

“ You did good work, it’s the least I can do .”

November 6, 2017  11:17 - Dubai, UAE

Traffic raced back and forth, luxury vehicles everywhere the eye could see driving along palm tree lined roads. Buildings of glass stretched up towards the bright blue sky above, reflecting the sunlight back into the marina, shimmering on the aquamarine rippling water. In a quiet cafe on the corner of the promenade, Rory sat at one of the tables under the shade of a white linen umbrella, flapping in the breeze and letting diffused dappled light through to dance on the glass tabletop. 

Watching the traffic and people stream by, she sat back in her chair, the shemagh tucked over her hair fluttering in the warm breeze at her back. Hazel eyes surveyed the crowds as she brought the cup of freshly brewed chai to her lips and sipped, decorated china tinkling as she returned the cup to its saucer, listening to the voice in her ear. 

“ Target’s just arrived on site .” Laswell’s voice came in clear through the earpiece. “ Ready to go when you are, Sergeant .”

“Copy.”

Sipping the last of her tea, she slid the cup and saucer away from her along with a few notes of Dirham for a tip. Reaching to the side of her chair, she lifted the handle of her small, hard bodied luggage case and stood up, dragging it behind her as she carried on down the promenade towards a sky-scraping hotel. 

With marble floors, fountains, and art adorning its interior, the hotel was clearly a place for only the wealthiest elite of tourists and travelers. Dressed as anything but a soldier, wearing designer fashion straight from the pages of Vogue, Rory moved through the scattered guests as if she belonged there and immediately made her way to the elevators, by-passing the front desk completely. Entering along with a group of several other guests, she happily took a spot in the back corner and quietly stood there, blending in as the other guests got off at their respective floors. Unassuming as always, they’d forget her as much as they would what they had for breakfast that day. 

Riding up floor after seemingly never-ending floor, she reached the very top and moved carefully through the halls until she found the roof access door. Climbing up another flight of stairs, carrying the case in her hand, she bypassed the lock on the exterior door and pushed it open. That much closer to the sun, surrounded by glass like an ant under a magnifying glass, the heat became almost unbearable, but she was willing to suffer whatever was necessary to see this through. She was so close, her trigger finger itching. Justice was in her grasp, it would never resolve the horrors in her head or the things his victims went through, but God, would it make everything that happened seem a little more worthwhile. Al Ghulam wouldn’t be another cruel man getting away with his monstrous acts because of money, power, or networking. Nor would he be serving out some pathetic sentence in more comfort than the average person had. He would be taken care of, a stain cleaned, scraped off like gum stuck on the sole of her shoe. 

Crouching down to take a spot behind the cement wall that bordered the roof for cover, she unclicked the latches of her luggage and flipped open the lid to reveal the spongy foam interior gently cradling the parts of her rifle, her scope and her rounds of ammo. Dexterous hands slotted everything together with ease, long fingers twisting the barrel on and cleaning the scope before attaching it. Giving her weapon one last appraising check, she glanced over the barrier wall at the soaring tower of condos across from her, the penthouse suite within her sight line. 

“ Are you in position? ” Laswell asked.

“Affirm. Exfil on standby?”

“ Ready and waiting .”

“Copy. I’ll be down shortly.” Rory slipped on her dark aviators and placed her rifle on the wall, placing her arm under the stock for stability and aimed through the scope to line up her shot. 

Behind glass that reflected the beating sun in a flare back at her, Al Ghulam paced back and forth inside his suite with a cellphone to his ear. Completely unaware. Living in luxury a man like him should never have been afforded after the way he had treated countless people. Safe for all this time, but no longer. The wolf was ready to snap her jaws around her prey. 

Taking a deep breath, she listened to the whistle of the wind, the low roaring past her ears as her head covering started to whip about, the airspeed faster with her elevation and little protection around her. Rory’s hand trembled the longer she watched him through her scope, anger building inside her, her blood heated in her veins as it rushed in her ears. Tightening her hand into a fist, she clenched her fingers tightly, letting her nails dig into the flesh of her palm. Letting all the rage and the guilt flow through her, having had it fester inside for long enough, she wanted to feel that pain now, to accept it, as her therapist had told her to do as part of overcoming her trauma. It would be a long road; this was just a single step – one that might help her sleep a little better at night. 

With her finger placed on the trigger, she took one last deep breath and waited for that perfect moment. Passing by the window, Al Ghulam paused his pacing, and appeared heated as he continued speaking on the phone. Hands shifting and moving wildly. 

Inhale . Holding the breath prisoner in her lungs, she squeezed the trigger. The bullet whizzed through the air, and within a second glass cracked and shattered, popping like a champagne bottle. The entrance wound. The exit wound stained the carpet below Al Ghulam in red as his body hit the ground, dead instantly, his eyes still open and with a hole left between them. 

Exhale . A slow stream of breath passed over her lip as her lungs finally cleared the stale air inside them. It was over. Done and dealt with. Her hands wiped clean of a burden that she had carried with her. A failure she wasn’t sure she could ever forget, but at the very least she might be able to forgive herself for one day. 

Wiping her brow of the beads of sweat that had formed there, she started to take apart her rifle, piece by piece. “Got a tap on who he was chatting with?”

“ His wife ,” Laswell replied.

Rory hummed. “That’s a pity.”

Placing each piece of her weapon neatly back into her luggage so it sat snug and safe, she treated it more like a child or a prized possession. It was her skill with the weapon that got her attached to working CIA black missions in Iraq to begin with, it was the reason she had ever been in contact with someone like Al Ghulam, and for all the nightmares it brought her, her accuracy with her rifle was still something she was proud of. The lives she had taken, the blood spilled, it all felt worth it in that moment. 

Following the same route out of the hotel, she gave no one any doubt of her reason for being there. Watchful eyes didn’t land on her, security didn’t stop her strut out of the foyer. As far as anyone needed to be concerned, she was a guest – nothing more. One with a trail of blood and bodies that followed in her wake. 

Upon exiting the building, a black luxury SUV with tinted windows pulled up. The back door opened immediately, and without question Rory stepped inside, taking her seat across from Laswell. The Station Chief had that same serious, no nonsense look about her she had had during their first meeting at Stirling Lines, even if this was an off the books assignment gifted to the Sergeant, Laswell was still all business. 

“Good work out there, Sinclair.”

Giving a little nod of the head, Rory crossed her legs and sat back in the plush leather row of seats, appearing far more relaxed than during their first meeting. “I appreciate you giving me this opportunity.”

“He was a threat that needed to be dealt with.” Laswell picked up the tablet from the spot beside her and passed it to Rory. “Now you can focus on bigger fish.”

“Al Qatala?”

“Al Qatala.” 

The tablet contained several confidential files and photos from recon, including one of the leader of the terrorist group. Her brow furrowed as she stared down at the screen, taking in her newest enemy’s appearance. “Who’s this?”

“Calls himself ‘The Wolf’.” Rory’s hardened gaze lifted to meet Laswell’s. “I figured you wouldn’t like that name much.”

“He’s the one in charge?”

Laswell nodded and continued, “AQ represents a threat to any and all western powers in the region. After twenty years of civil war in Urzikstan, they appear to want to strike back. Get even.”

Rory chewed her lip as she scanned through the rest of the files, flicking her finger over the screen. “Can’t have that, can we?” she muttered, knowing full well that despite being the enemy they likely had every right to want to take their country back for themselves.

“Glad we’re in agreement.”

“I assume he’s my primary interest going forward when I return to Stirling Lines?”

“You already work anti-terrorism in conjunction with MI6, you’ll be my go between. I’ll scratch your back if you scratch mine.”

“You trust me with this?” Rory lifted her brow skeptically, apprehensive about the deal being made with yet another member of the CIA.

“I do. Which says a lot, considering our line of work.” Pausing, Laswell added, “Also means you’ll be working closely with John.”

Lifting her eyes, she could pinpoint the nearly imperceptible smirk that pulled at Laswell’s mouth. She knew Kate was dangerous, that she would figure it out, never having even needed to be told. 

“He speaks highly of you. He likes working with people he trusts, and if he trusts you then I can as well.”

“Having blackmail over our careers probably helps to get things done as well, yeah?” Rory smirked back, understanding Laswell’s motives clearly. 

“Whatever it takes.”

Huffing out a laugh, she pulled the shemagh from her shoulders and ran her fingers through her hair, brushing through the short, tousled waves. “Whatever it takes.”

[blowflyfag]

WORLD WRESTLING ENTERTAINMENT/FEDERATION MAGAZINE: DECEMBER 1992

STOP THE PRESSES!

BRET “HIT MAN” HART BEATS FLAIR FOR WWF TITLE

As this issue of WWF Magazine went to press, a shocker occurred as Bret “Hit Man Hart took the WWF TItle from Ric Flair. We stopped the presses to bring you this astonishing news–and to mention that now the confrontation between Hart and Shawn Michaels at the Survivor Series will be for all the marbles. Hart is wild with happiness over winning the title, but so is Michaels because he has what he has always desired, a shot at the big one. 

Bret Hart has become the first man to ever hold all three World Wrestling Federation titles: Tag Team, Intercontinental and the WWF Title itself. Furthermore, he is the first Canadian WWF Champion. 

It was only fitting that Hart triumphed for the WWF Championship Belt in Canada, specifically in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, in the province adjoining his native Alberta. Moreover, many members of Hart’s family, including his father, the ring great Stu Hart, were there to see Bret achieve his greatest accomplishment in the ring. And it occurred on Canada’s Thanksgiving.

The win couldn't have come at a better time and place for Bret, not at a better stage in his career. He had just lost the Intercontinental Title at SummerSlam to his brother-in-law, the British Bulldog. Now, less than two months down the line, Bret is on top of the world, and the Hart family has two titlists in its ranks.

Flair went into the ring confident as always, although as a veteran he knew that the Hit Man, framed for his excellence of execution, was a dangerous foe. Flair almost immediately took the fight to Bret, As if trying for a quick victory. Kicking, Flair attacked Bret’s legs, obviously trying to soften them up for a patented Flair figure-four leglock. As the targeting of the lower limbs continued, it looked as if Bret might be in trouble, but Bret is at his best when faced with a supreme challenge–and this night the challenge was a chance to win it all.

The Hit Man counterattacked as both men demonstrated that they are super athletes and wizards of technical wrestling. As Flair mounted the top rope to divebomb Bret, the Hit Man thought fast. Reaching up, he grabbed Flair and heaved him across the ring. 

Flair landed hard, and Bret went right after him. Hart threw an awesome arsenal at Flair. The Hit Man poudned the defending champion with a backflip, a Russian leg sweep, a spinebreaker, and elbow drop off the top rope and a suplex. Flair was hurting but showed his tremendous endurance as he desperately clung to the title. 

[HART SHOCKED THE WORLD WHEN HE DEFEATED FLAIR FOR THE WWF BELT. BRET IS THE FIRST CANADIAN WWF CHAMPION AND THE FIRST TO HAVE HELD ALL THREE BELTS.]

Ric fought back, raining his brutal chops on the man who was after his belt–and close to having it. The blows rocked Hart, but the Hit Man was on a roll. It was obvious he knew the title was almost within his grasp. Hart battered back, slugging it out with Flair, then smashed him to the canvas with a spectacular superplex. The tremendous impact stunned Fla. Bret quickly followed up his advantage by seizing his opponent in his favorite finishing hold, the Sharpshooter traverse grapevine. Flair struggled like a demon, his face contorting, but the Hit Man locked it in–and Flair submitted. 

[THE HIT MAN AND RIC FLAIR WAGED AN EPIC BATTLE IN THE RING. IN THE END, BRET GAGGED THE BELT WHEN FLAIR SUBMITTED TO THE HIT MAN’S SHARPSHOOTER.]

The crowd in the Saskatchewan Place arena was shocked into silence. It seemed almost as if they could not believe what they had just witnessed. When the fans realized that Bret was indeed the winner, they erupted with a road of triumph and adulation for their native son standing in the ring, the new World Wrestling Federation Champion. 

After the match, Hart seemed almost dazed by the win, but he soon recovered and proved himself a gentleman. “I’m grateful to Ric Flair for giving me the chance to wrestle for the title,” Bret said. “This is the greatest moment in my career. Now that the title is mine, I”m going to defend it against every worthy opponent, and, if he want it, that includes Ric Flair.”

[bamfkeeper]

Ok you asked for X-Men ocs

I present Dina Atallah!

Dina is Egyptian/Palestinian and was raised Christian in Canada, her immediate family was abusive emotionally, spiritually, and sometimes physically. Causing to Dina to run away from home and have a nasty distaste for religion. dina loves wearing Egyptian and Palestinian traditional attire even though she has no relationship with her parents anymore

After running away from home at the age of ten she got kidnapped and thrown into a mutant fighting arena where she stayed, constantly fighting and often winning after she figured out how to change her body temporarily to win the fight.

The particular fighting ring she was in got abruptly ended by Dina just having enough after getting beaten too hard one time and she used her powers to make the building and everyone in it disappear. Magneto could feel all of the metal in the building disappear and decided to investigate, where he found dina barley keeping herself alive using her powers, he knew he had to keep her.

-she speaks arabic as her second language with English as her first (being born and raised in Canada) and after being adopted by magneto learnt German

-when Dina uses her powers the henna all over her body lights up along with a ring of light around her pupil, outside of her reality manipulation abilities, Dina fights using a morning star

-when it comes to her adoptive family dina loves hanging out with her siblings and is a daddy's girl given how similar they are, though that doesn't mean she won't call him out on his bullshit

-Dina is trans mtf

-she has PTSD and religious trauma (though she could never be mad at mama Mary)

-her favorite book/movie is the last unicorn and relates to Molly grue far to much

Ok well outside of what I said I'm my ask on lazywrites page

-dina loves wearing Egyptian and Palestinian traditional attire even though she has no relationship with her parents anymore

-she speaks arabic as her second language with English as her first (being born and raised in Canada) and after being adopted by magneto learnt German

- outside of her reality manipulation abilities, Dina fights using a morning star

-when it comes to her adoptive family dina loves hanging out with her siblings and is a daddy's girl given how similar they are (oldest daughter coded just like Lorna)

-she has PTSD and religious trauma (though she could never be mad at mama Mary)

-her favorite book/movie is the last unicorn and relates to Molly grue far to much

-kurt is Dina's love interest in my version of events and they love each other very much, but people often question if she really loves him because of her outside demeanor being all bitchy. But in reality they kinda got that 'sonic and shadow' vibe that 'roger rabbit and Jessica rabbit' dynamic going on. He's a silly and sincere gentleman and she couldn't love anyone more

Hope you like her lore I can't included pictures of her in this one so I'll send another ask

Your oc sounds super cool! I love the idea of her henna glowing when she uses her powers!! Henna is so beautiful, I think that’s such a neat concept. I also think it’s a cool point to have Magneto sensing the metal and investigating what happened, that’s an excellent idea to add since I can totally see that happening.

I feel for her, poor bb but i’m glad she has a good family and is surrounded by those who care for her now! I love tragic backstories smmm 💙💙

[annieqattheperipheral]

yohe's recap fri-sun. behind $wall so here u go:

HALIFAX, Nova Scotia — It’s a pleasant, autumn afternoon in downtown Halifax. A bartender is shaking his head in the city’s bar district, telling tales of Nova Scotia’s favorite son while NFL games beam on background televisions.

The topic is predictably Sidney Crosby.

“He’s here all the time in the summer with Nate (MacKinnon),” the bartender said. “People never leave him alone. Sits here and signs autographs all night. He’s almost too nice for his own good, you know? But he’s just such a good guy. He just sits here and signs and signs, and just talks with everyone, and poses for pictures. People love it. You have to understand how proud of him we are.”

That much is quite clear.

Preseason games don’t typically receive much in the way of hoopla. Even Erik Karlsson’s exhibition season debut was met with thousands of empty seats at PPG Paints Arena on Thursday.

But this is different. Much, much different. The Pittsburgh Penguins are playing the Ottawa Senators on Monday in downtown Halifax at Scotiabank Centre and it’s a preseason game, only you wouldn’t know it by the buzz in this beautiful, seaside city.

As of Sunday, there were around 300 tickets available on StubHub. The majority of these are selling for more than $1,000. The average price for a ticket on StubHub is around $1,100, and the most famous Taylor in the building will be Crosby’s sister.

“It’s all pretty crazy,” said Ryan Graves, another Nova Scotia native.

Crosby and the Penguins arrived in Halifax late on Friday afternoon. They had a “team bonding” day on Saturday, which included a scavenger hunt and Crosby acting as a personal tour guide for his teammates, most of whom had never been to Halifax.

“I was definitely feeling the pressure,” Crosby said with a smile. “Wanted to make sure guys enjoyed it. It’s a great place. I’m really proud of my home and what it has to offer.”

Rest assured, the feeling from his hometown is mutual.

All across Canada, Crosby is understandably a national hero. He’s one of the greatest players of all time, an incomparable gentleman, scorer of the golden goal and captain of the greatest generation of Canadian hockey.

In Pittsburgh, Crosby is a civic icon. In a city that reveres its sports legends more than most, Crosby’s face will rest on the Mount Rushmore of Western Pennsylvania greats alongside the likes of Mario Lemieux and Roberto Clemente, singular artists whose character somehow exceeded their athletic exploits.

And yet, in Halifax, the affection Crosby receives is even more noteworthy if slightly understated, as is the custom of this province’s people. Like Crosby himself, the people here are polite and kind. Crosby always smiles when Nova Scotia is mentioned. Unfailingly.

When his name is mentioned around the proud people of Halifax, they smile in turn.

“Hard not to,” Graves said.

The Penguins practiced on Sunday morning only minutes from Crosby’s boyhood home at Cole Harbour Place. The small building was filled with hundreds of fans, who overflowed the venue for hours. Hundreds of others stood outside, patiently waiting for a glimpse of Crosby.

Graves grew up in Nova Scotia, albeit three hours away. He is the best-suited member of the Penguins to explain what Crosby’s appearance in the Maritimes means, and what his presence over the years has done for hockey in this region.

Some players from Nova Scotia reached the NHL before Crosby, but his arrival — and subsequent domination of the league — changed everything, according to his new teammate.

“You can just see from the reaction of the people,” Graves said. “You can tell what it means to this area, what he’s done. He’s the first one from out east that really had an impact on everybody. Sid was the first one to pave the way. The impact he’s had on Mac (MacKinnon), myself, (Ottawa’s Drake) Batherson … you know, you always think things are possible. But when you have someone that’s actually done that, it becomes more real. You understand the pathway that they took. It gives you someone to root for. Everyone loves him. Everyone. He’s an idol to a lot of people. Eight, 10-year-old kids love him. People my parents’ age love him. He’s had an impact on so many people. It’s really cool that the Penguins brought us here to do this.”

Some athletes like to cultivate the image of giving back to the community when, in reality, their contributions are far smaller than the accompanying hype. Crosby is quite the opposite. He’s well known to visit Children’s Hospital in Pittsburgh on a regular basis, for instance, but is insistent that the media not chronicle these visits. It’s simply his way.

It was fitting, then, that Crosby’s day on Sunday was particularly full, even if he couldn’t hide from the media on this occasion.

After the Penguins practiced, Crosby returned to the ice. He participated in a hockey clinic for dozens of young Nova Scotian players, and he wasn’t alone. His good friend, Evgeni Malkin, joined him for the clinic. So did Graves. And so did the entire Penguins coaching staff, including Mike Sullivan.

“We all play because we love it,” Crosby said. “Obviously we have dreams of being in the NHL. Sometimes that works out, sometimes it doesn’t. Hopefully it gives them the belief that, just because you’re from a small town, you can make it.”

While Crosby, Malkin, Graves and the coaching staff were on the ice, the rest of the Penguins players were signing autographs and participating in Q&As with children and other members of the Nova Scotian community. Crosby also invited and spoke with families who lost their houses during the horrific wildfires that impacted so much of Canada earlier this year.

“This whole thing has been great,” Jeff Carter said. “Everybody knows what Sid means to the community here. And I think everyone understands how many things he does for people off the ice. It’s been a special weekend for him. He’s very proud of where he grew up. That’s obvious. I think it’s been special for him, yes, but it’s also been a really great experience for all of us.”

Graves said the hockey community in Nova Scotia is an underappreciated one and that he hopes events like this underscore how passionate this province is for hockey.

“It’s all just so cool to see,” he said. “People here love this sport. They’re crazy for it. You see when the world juniors are here, everything is sold out. The Czech and Slovakian game even sold out. People love it. It’s crazy. People love the players who are from around here, too. People around here are blue-collar, hard-nosed people. It makes it fun for them to root for a person like Sidney. When I was a kid, the Islanders came here once for a week of training camp. I thought it was the coolest thing ever.”

And with all due respect to the Islanders, they aren’t Crosby.

“I can’t even imagine what it would be like to have a practice with the Penguins in my hometown rink, the place I grew up in,” Marcus Pettersson said. “Man, would that be awesome. But with Sid, everything is different. And it’s all because of the kind of human being he is.”

The crowd buzzed throughout Penguins practice on Sunday, with the massive contingent of children chanting Crosby’s name throughout.

“So, you see how he’s worshipped here,” Pettersson said. “You see it right away. And honestly, it’s because of the things he does in the community even more than the hockey player that he is. People know he’s a great person, but they don’t even understand all of it, all of the things he does when people aren’t looking, the way he treats people. People are smart, though. They know. He wouldn’t be worshipped the way he is if he weren’t a great person. He sets that standard and that precedent every day. We’ve just been walking around town, and you start to see that people are proud to be from here because Sidney Crosby is from here. I think that tells you a lot.”

As the years have rolled on, Crosby’s bond with his head coach has notably grown stronger. It was only fitting that Sullivan played a big role in the big weekend.

“It’s a great tribute to the legacy Sid has built,” Sullivan said.

Crosby and the Penguins once played a preseason game in Halifax, back in September of 2006. Given that it’s been 17 years since the Penguins have been here, it’s a pretty fair bet that this could be the final time that Crosby skates before his hometown fans.

“It’s been nice,” he said. “I never thought I’d have an opportunity to do this. I had a lot of morning practices in this rink. I had dreams of playing in the NHL. I didn’t think I’d ever be here with our team, doing something like this. You just try to take it all in and enjoy it.”

Crosby is perhaps the most hyped prospect in hockey history. Even before he was drafted, scouts and others who knew him raved about his personality and his character. This, they insisted, was a boy who was different than the rest.

“He’s just the best,” Pettersson said.

Crosby’s last NHL-related event in his hometown was in 2016 when a parade with the Stanley Cup was held in his honor.

Troy Crosby shook his head when pondering the last time the hockey world descended upon Nova Scotia to witness his son.

“Halifax has changed a lot since then,” Crosby’s father noted.

The boy, who became a man, who became a hockey god, has never really changed at all.

His homeland is all the better for it.

“This is a weekend people are going to remember for a really long time,” Graves said. “To the people here, it’s everything.”

[total-drama-takes-takes-2]

tta episode 1

Somewhere in Toronto, Canada, TV show host Chris McLean steps out of a first-class trailer onto an empty film lot. The sun is shining, the pigeons are nesting, the camera crew is already tired of listening to him complain about the wind ruining his hair. 

It's a beautiful morning, especially for Chris- after the hit revival of Total Drama Island made it to the Donnie's, studio execs renewed Total Takes for two brand new seasons, raking in the cash and notoriety from the new cast of teens on old stomping grounds.

Now, they're back- fourteen competitors with nothing to lose but their dignity, stuck for another six weeks of hell. Chris beams as the director gives him his cue.

“Last season on Total Takes Island: twenty-two teens battled it out over eight weeks for a grand prize of one million dollars, fighting off wildlife, food poisoning, and each other! Michael and McLovin made it to the final two in an ultimate battle of the exes, but only one walked out victorious. Fourteen of those campers are coming back, right here to this brand-spanking-new film lot for another, all-exclusive chance to win the big million, on Total! Takes! Action!”

---

A dilapidated bus rolls into camp, stopping with a lurch and a screech. The doors squeak open and a very tired-looking O steps out, yawning. He’s followed by a finely dressed, pink-haired magical girl-esque gentleman. 

“Didn’t sleep well?” Fren asks. O shakes his head. 

“The bumps, man. Who knew the road to Toronto was so jumpy,”

A blue-haired girl dressed in a parka follows, also looking exhausted. She rubs her eyes. “Yeah, that wasn’t the road,” she says before carrying herself and her bags out of the bus. 

Three boys follow, arms over each other's shoulders. They bounce with every step, causing the bus to tremble while they laugh without a care in the world. Michela stands beside O and glares at the three- Sha-Mod, McLovin, and Joner- as they hover in the doorway. 

Scary, a ginger in a lab coat- shoves the boys and they land on the pavement in unison with a thud. She rolls her eyes and turns to drag a few large, heavy bags out. 

Fren nudges O. “Whaddya suppose those’re?”

“What?” O asks, looking at Michela. She shrugs. 

“Scruffy, help, please!” Scary shouts. 

Scary gasps as the other end of the bag is lifted with ease and carried out. A head of neon green hair appears as the duffel drops to the asphalt. They brush off their hands and smile. “Hey, everyone. Nice trip, huh?”

O and Michela groan. 

“Out of my way, Godless heathens!” Frollo hisses, holding out his Bible like a shield and backing away from the group. “If not for the work of that devil incarnate McLean, I would be back in my fellowship!”

“Let me guess,” Scary rolls their eyes. “Movies are-”

“A work of the devil!”

“Well, I’m stoked for this,” Joner smiles, brushing the dirt off his shorts. “Movie-watching is like, a job for me. That’s how serious I’m gonna take this season.”

“I hope there’s a car-racing challenge!” McLovin beams. “I love the [REDACTED FOR COPYRIGHT] franchise, it’s sweet!”

Sha-Mod nods along, carrying their bags to a neat spot by the dilapidated gate of the film lot, which has yet to be opened. 

“I hope there’s a romantic challenge!” Kelly chirps, dragging Austin out of a bus as he tries to take a sheet face mask off. “I just love movies about smart, sassy blondes having their dreams come true.”

Bonnie shoves a stumbling Austin out of the doorway and steps off the bus, carrying a bag slung around their shoulder. “Shocker. Let me guess, the ones where nothing of substance actually happens but everyone lives happily ever after anyway?”

“Bonbon,” Caesar follows them, holding a pair of suitcases with his initials gilded on the front. “Remember what we talked about? Being nice?”

“I am nice,” Bonnie grumbles, stepping off the bus. 

Everyone’s attention is diverted as a loud, painful screeching noise comes from the opening rusted gates of the film lot. The campers cover their ears, some dropping their bags (or friends) to do so. 

Finally, the noise subsides and Chris exits, wearing a red beret, an ascot, and sunglasses. He holds up his signature megaphone and shouts into it, forcing everyone to cover their ears again. “Welcome back, campers! Hope you all had a nice break!”

“Three days hardly counts as a break,” Fren says. Chris ignores him. 

“Nonetheless, I hope you’re all ready for a wicked new season- fourteen campers, thirteen episodes, a world of pain! You know the drill. If you’ll all direct your attention behind moi,” he says, stepping to the side to show a lot tour vehicle, Chef in the driver’s seat. “Hope aboard the Torture Express!”

The campers grumble and begin boarding with their luggage. Bonnie takes a seat next to Caesar and looks around. “Are we missing someone? I’m only counting thirteen,”

“Thoughtful of you, but I didn’t see anyone else on the bus,” Caesar says, turning around to take one last look at the decaying metal hull. The exhaust pipe coughs out a plume of sad, black smoke.

Chris sits beside Chef and the vehic;e starts up, driving into the lot. A small voice from outside the gate pulls the passengers in the back to turn. Peter runs behind the vehicle carrying his luggage and panting. 

“Um,” Bonnie yells to the front. “Man overboard!”

“Slow down!” Michela shouts. Chris and Chef grin at each other and speed up. 

Eventually, the cart comes to a halt in front of a row of different studio sets. Chris clears his throat and stands to deliver his next bit just as Peter catches up, wheezing. Bonnie and Caesar help him into the back. 

“Welcome to the set of Total Takes Action! An abandoned film lot that’ll be your new home for the next six weeks!” he gestures. A few campers ooh and ah at the massive studios. The cart starts up again and drives through a few different outdoor set pieces- though, all of them look out of sorts. 

Kelly surveys a western town set littered with props from a space movie- alien costumes with cowboy hats, spaceships in the saloon, a plywood moon embedded in the roof of the water tower. “This place could use a little touch up,” they say to Austin. “I’ve been watching a lot of organizational videos, I’d know just what to do!”

“Right groovy you would!” Austin pats their shoulder. 

“With a grand prize of a million dollars, the stakes are high- for some of you, at least,” Chris chuckles, grinning at last season’s winner behind him. “Like last season, you’ll be split into two teams, in which you will compete together during challenges. One team will win, and the other will send someone home in the Lame-o-Sine!”

Chris gestures to a sputtering, practically cobbled-together limo sitting on the side of the road by a large golden stage. 

“And this is our award ceremony center- instead of tasty treats, you’ll be receiving gilded Chris statues- except for one unlucky B-list actor, who will walk the carpet of shame,” he grins. “Since we have to stay on theme, we’ve replaced our outhouse confessional with our brand new make-up confessional!”

---

BONNIE: "This is somehow worse than the toilet,"

---

SHA-MOD: “I got real lucky getting chosen to come here with my two best friends in the whole world. Joner was a little hesitant about adding a new guy to the group, but after Michela left there was an opening and I had to take it! The interview and blood test he gave me were a little weird, but anything to be one of the guys!”

---

MICHELA: “Okay, yeah, this is super corny, and I miss Max like crazy, but… while I’m here, I might as well win, right?”

---

Frollo stares into the camera for a few seconds and then sighs dramatically. 

---

“And here’s our craft services tent!” Chef shouts, pointing to a cream-colored and patchy tent off to the side. A family of rats scurries out. O and Fren look at each other nervously. “You’ll be staying in some state-of-the-art trailers, too, but we’ll get to those later! Let’s team up!”

The cart stops and Chris steps out, the campers following. “O, Fren, Michael, Bonnie, Caesar, Frollo, and Peter, you six are the Foley Fujoshis! Everyone else- Kelly, Austin, Sha-Mod, Joner, McLovin, Scary, and Scruffy- you’re the Animation Anons.”

The respective teams sort themselves. A series of thick, dark red clouds roll over the lot, causing the campers to look up. 

“Now, as you might’ve guessed, this season is based on movie genres- and oh boy, did we choose some good ones,” Chris chuckles. “For your first challenge, we’ll be working with one of my personal favorite genres- the apocalypse flick.”

“Th-the what?!” O yelps. 

“You and your teams will be dodging a series of classic apocalypse scenarios in order to get to your trailers- the first player to make it there wins for their team, and the losers will be sending someone home. Ready?”

“W-wait!” McLovin starts to protest. 

“Set?”

“Where are the trailers?!” Scary shouts. 

“Action!”

The clouds rumble and a fleet of tennis-ball sized hail starts pouring over the lot. The campers scream and run in a variety of directions, covering their heads. Chris chuckles from under the shade of the cart. 

---

“Where are we going!” O shouts, his arms pelted by hail as he runs alongside Fren and Michela. 

“Well-” she yells back, using a garbage can lid to shield her body. “On the island, camp was northwest, right?”

“Where the bloody hell are we, then?!” Fren yelps as a slightly smaller ping-pong sized ice ball smacks the back of his neck. Michela shrugs. 

Frollo runs past, not even breaking a sweat. He uses his seemingly indestructible Bible as a shield, completely unbothered by the chaos. The three stare. 

---

Scary cartwheels through the storm, avoiding the hail like an action movie star dodging bullets. Scruffy trails behind her, shouting. 

“You think this is Chris’ weather machine again?!”

“Undoubtedly!” she says, almost completely unbothered. “Has your Geiger counter gotten anything so far?”

“Nope!” Scruffy shakes their head, pulling the device out from their pants pocket. “All normal- uh-oh.”

Scary stops for a second, landing on their feet and jogging backwards. The hail suddenly stops and the red clouds fade away, leaving the scene sunny, calm, and serene once again. Scruffy’s Geiger counter, however, tells a different story. 

“Time for wave 2!” Chris’ voice shouts over the speakers. 

A fleet of rounded, metallic flying objects soar overhead. Scary squints. “Are those-”

A green beam of light shoots down and disintegrates a garbage bin on the lot, leaving a pile of ashes where it once sat in the blink of an eye. 

“Alien invasion!” McLovin shrieks from afar. 

The flying saucers continue blasting and disintegrating objects at random. Joner, McLovin, and Sha-Mod jog by, all connected at the wrists. Scruffy and Scary raise their eyebrows, watching as the three run by them just to get blasted by a beam of green light and disappear. 

---

Joner, McLovin, and Sha-Mod all sit in the confessional. 

JONER: “After I became pals with these two, we made these,”

They hold up their wrists, which are connected by a chain of friendship bracelets. 

MCLOVIN: “We call them the bromate bond of eternity cuffs,”

SHA-MOD: "Name patent-pending,"

---

Joner, McLovin, and Sha-Mod's molecules quickly reform on a silver platform in the craft services tent. Chef walks over, handing each a paper bag. 

“What’re these for?” McLovin asks. 

Chef rolls his eyes. “Experimental teleportation has some… side effects,”

The three look at each other, faces turning green.

---

O and Fren run alongside each other in a beach-themed portion of the set, both shouting in terror as the green lasers disintegrate umbrella after lounge chair after beach ball. 

Fren spots a city set up ahead and points at a building. “Run for that door, mate!”

The two speed up, Fren dashing inside as a blast narrowly misses O, throwing him off course and forcing him to run in the opposite direction. The former steps through the doorway and looks around before realizing the front of the building was plywood, and he’s still outside. He sighs. 

O runs through the city and into the wild west, where Kelly and Austin are hiding beneath a chrome spaceship. The two watch the former pass, screaming in terror, and look to each other. Kelly holds a finger to their lips just as a beam vanishes the prop hiding them. 

Austin screams in pure terror as the UFO above whirs, gearing up to blast them again. 

“I got this, babe!” Kelly shouts, running to another sci-fi piece and tearing off a reflective piece of metal. They hold it over the two as the beam of light blasts them- it bounces right off the mirror. 

“Right on!” Austin shouts. Kelly smiles triumphantly. 

The beam then bounces off the side of the UFO and blasts them anyway, sending them to the craft services tent. 

---

“That’s five Anons down!” Chris’ voice blares over the speakers. “Odds are not looking good, guys!”

Bonnie smiles, nudging Caesar. “We got this,”

“Time for wave 3!”

The sky suddenly goes dark. The two blink and turn to each other as the streetlights in the city district light up green, and a heavy fog rolls in. “What the hell is this?”

Bonnie raises an eyebrow. “If I had to guess, I’d say it’s-”

Peter’s voice shrieks from afar. “ZOMBIES!”

“Alright!” Bonnie laughs, grabbing Caesar’s hand. “This’ll be a piece of cake. Let’s go find some weapons!”

“There’s my Bonbon!” 

The two dash off into the fog as Peter’s screams fade out. 

---

Scary and Scruffy walk alongside each other in the mist, both holding flimsy pieces of wood torn from the city set. They’re somewhere in a dark forest now (though the trees are clearly styrofoam and plastic). 

Fren’s screams sound in the distance and the two make nervous eye contact. 

“Geiger counter?” Scary whispers. Scruffy reads- “Nope, nothing. Chris must’ve thrown us off with the aliens on purpose,”

“Stupid Non-Disclosure Agreement,” she sighs, kicking a plastic rock aside. “I’d go public with what I was told, but now I’m not even sure if that was the truth, either.”

“Hey, we’ll figure it out,” Scruffy says, putting away their Geiger counter. “In the meantime, let’s just try to stay in the game.”

“You’re right,” Scary sighs. “I just can’t- Scruffy?”

She turns, noticing her walking partner missing. A rustling from the plastic bushes grabs her attention and she turns just in time to see a zombie pop out, forcing a scream. They kick the robot in the face and sparks fly, taking its head clean off. 

“What the-” Scary stops, inspecting the wire carnage. “Robots? Dammit!” 

He turns and runs into the woods. 

---

O creeps along a beaten-down back lot between studios, biting his fingernails and looking around him every other second. The fog makes it impossible to see even a few feet ahead, so when he inevitably bumps into a fence between two huge buildings and realizes he’s trapped, he panics. 

O tries to steady himself with some therapy tactics, breathing heavily. “Deep breaths! One, two, three, four-”

A groaning from just ahead forces him to turn back towards the ally, his back against the fence. A horde of zombies trudges up, moaning and dragging their feet. He screams in terror, backing against the chain link as they get closer. 

“Duck!”

“WHERE?!” 

He whips his head around before realizing what the voice meant and dropping to the ground. Michela swings a lead pipe blindly, knocking out two zombies. The remaining undead turns to her and edges forward, but she kicks it back and crushes the metal beast with the pipe. 

She pants, covered in a dark, viscous liquid. 

“Is that blood?” O whimpers. 

“Not unless robots bleed,” she says, offering a hand. “Come on, I think we might be the only ones left,”

---

“Alright, let’s do this!” Bonnie shouts, stepping out of the make-up confessional with a set of handmade num-chuks, face smeared with camo makeup and eyes wild. Caesar follows, carrying a tastefully constructed spiked baseball bat. He looks nervous. 

“Come at me!” they yell, running out onto the city set street and swinging their num-chuks around as the fog recedes and the sky turns blue again. “Where are you? I’ve seen enough movies to know how to take you suckers down!”

“Um, Bonbon,” Caesar taps their shoulder, and then gestures to the empty set. “There’s no one here.”

“What! But there were like… five out here a minute ago!”

The two hear a crackling sound and smell the rancid scent of burning rubber. Caesar points to a plume of smoke rising up from around the corner, which they follow to see Frollo standing over a pile of burning animatronics. He mumbles something in Latin, his Bible underarm. 

“Wh-what?” Bonnie shouts. “But-”

“No creature of the devil is a match for our fearsome Lord,” Frollo says plainly, walking past them. 

The intercom crackles to life. “Everyone ready for wave 4?” 

Bonnie huffs. “Oh, whatever! We're prepared now- How hard could it be?”

A distant screeching sound makes Caesar and Bonnie go pale and look at each other. Before they can even ask each other “did you hear that?” a massive flock of birds descends on the two. 

---

“Birds?!” O shouts, swinging around a plank of wood to knock away six or seven more rabid crows. “What kind of apocalypse is this?!”

“Hey, we’re in movie land, man. Anything we can imagine can be real!” Chris chuckles. 

Michela and O stand back-to-back, swinging their weapons to fend off the flock attacking them. “They can’t be serious!” she shouts. 

Bonnie and Caesar run past them, screaming as they’re pursued by an even larger flock. Michela stares as the birds surround the two, lifting them up and carrying them in the opposite direction. 

“Oh, we’re so screwed,”

---

The craft services tent is abuzz with conversation and laughter as Chef serves lunch to the fallen campers. Bonnie pulls a feather out of their hair and groans as they receive a mandatory antibiotic for bird flu. 

Michela and O are thrown into the ten by a duo of interns in hazmat suits, dazed and covered in claw scratches and peck marks. 

Nurse Chef puts a bandaid over Bonnie’s arm. They step off the corner cot and walk to join Caesar on the other side of the room. “You’re next,” they mumble as they pass by Michela and O. 

---

Scary peers out of the garbage bin they’d been hiding inside of as the birds retreat. They sigh and step out, looking around for any sign of life aside from themselves. 

She walks into the city set, turning her head in every direction for anything- other players, birds, new threats… but nothing comes up. He walks into the old western set, looking from side to side before seeing Frollo sitting under the shaded porch of the saloon, wiping feathers off of his Bible. 

“How?!” Scary shouts, holding their arms out for emphasis. Frollo shrugs. 

“Any inhuman feat is achievable through the power of-”

“The Lord, we know!” She massages her temples. “I’m just- are we the last ones left?”

“Scary and Frollo are the only players remaining- whoever reaches their trailer first, or whoever survives the longest- wins for their team!” Chris’ voice blares. “Everyone ready for wave 5?”

Scary and Frollo- the latter unbothered- look at each other. 

The sky turns a deep crimson red as another set of clouds roll in, these a much more intense shade. The sound of thunder booms, shaking the set. 

A drip lands on Scary’s shoulder. “Rain?” they ask, turning to Frollo. He rolls his eyes. 

Chris’ voice crackles over the intercom. “Oh, yes. But not just any rain,” 

The rain picks up, pouring over the set and drenching everything in a coat of cherry red. 

“My clothes!” Scary yells, lamenting over their now-red lab coat. “Is this blood?!”

“And that’s not all!”

Frollo, still shaded from the downpour, looks around curiously. The distant sound of a plane overhead pulls both of their attention up as the cargo hold of the aircraft opens, raining down a shower of frogs, lice, flies, and locusts over the set. 

“It can’t be…” Frollo murmurs. 

“That’s right!” Chris yells. “This is the Biblical apocalypse!”

“I am so over this crap!” Scary yells, starting off. 

Frollo stands and begins running, not far behind her, looking panicked for the first time so far. The two bound off the western set and dash through the city, re-entering the spooky forest. A sudden wash of darkness consumes them, leaving them blindly stumbling as the insects and blood turn to hail. 

As the light returns, the two find themselves running outside the sets in the final stretch towards the trailers. 

“Let's see, blood water, frogs, locusts... oops, almost forgot my personal favorite- pestilence!”

Chef emerges in a hazmat suit, carrying a large hose. A noxious green gas flies out of the nozzle just ahead of the campers. 

“Good Lord in Heaven!” Frollo yells, holding his Bible in front of him. 

Scary suddenly grins. “Your God can’t save you now! Leave this one to science!” They pull a medical mask from their lab coat, hold their breath and duck and roll under the cloud of disease. 

Frollo coughs as he runs through the noxious fumes before immediately going stiff and collapsing. He twitches on the ground as Scary reaches the trailers. 

“And The Anons win the first challenge!” Chris’ voice booms. The crowd in the craft services tent cheers as they watch Chef walk over and scrape Frollo off the ground with a shovel, carrying him away. “Looks like an elimination ceremony won’t be necessary, either.”

“What was that?” Scary asks, taking off their mask. 

“Oh, just a Bubonic Plague strain, nothing serious. He’ll be fine!”

The campers in the mess hall stare at Chris. He sighs and rolls his eyes. “Fine, we’ll rope off the area for a few days. Now get!”

The contestants grumble and shuffle out of the tent.

---

Kelly opens the screen door to the girl's and such trailer, carrying their bag over their shoulder. They've downsized for this season, deeming much of their beauty products unnecessary (though, of course, they kept a livable amount).

"Hello!"

Scary sits on the furthest bunk in the corner of the room, biting their lip and clicking their ballpoint pen rhythmically as they stare at the blank notepad in their lap.

Kelly blinks. "Are you-"

"Don't bother, they've been ignoring us for hours," a voice from behind says. Kelly turns to see Michela and Bonnie in the doorway behind them, both having just come back from the craft services tent.

"Oh! Well, hello to you!" Kelly says cheerily. "I'm so grateful that we get to spend the season together, just us girls."

"And such," Bonnie grumbles, walking past Kelly into the trailer. They grab their bathroom bag and head back out without another word.

"Well, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning," Kelly murmurs, setting their things down on a vacant bunk.

"They're still a little touchy about last season's elimination," Michela says. "Not that I blame them."

"Well, remind me to never bring it up!" Kelly nods, eyes-wide. Scary mumbles to themselves across the room.

---

McLovin unpacks his bag, folding his pajamas neatly over his pillow. "Doesn't it feel a little unfair to all of you that the girls-"

"And goths," Caesar holds up a finger.

"Right, and such, get that big trailer to themselves while we're all cramped in here?"

"Not really," Sha-Mod says from the bunk above McLovin's. "I mean, there's only four of them, and nine of us, so of course we're gonna feel a little cramped."

"Nah, I get it, they could've sectioned off a part of their trailer for some of us," Scruffy says, shoulder-to-shoulder with O. "I'd like my own bed, for one."

"Rude," O scoffs, turning over.

"I don't quite mind sleeping on the floor, baby," Austin says, taking a seat on the carpet. "I get along with the insects swimmingly."

"Nah, it's fine," Scruffy sighs. "With the ratio, one of us will probably be gone by tomorrow."

McLovin sits up on his bunk, scratching his head absent-mindedly. "Hey, you know all about this show, right?"

Scruffy nods.

"What's tomorrow gonna be?"

They suck in their breath through their teeth. "Yeah, about that... see, I know all about TDA, but... these challenges are new. There was no Biblical apocalypse in the original season. So... we're completely on our own now."

The boys look at each other nervously.

[aphfanficwriters]

Monthly Members' Fics — Jan 2024

In the year of a dragon by mossy_man (China/Russia, Russia/Spain) “I neglected your needs,” Yao sighs and scuttles closer and there is a slice of persimmon at Ivan’s lips. The gel slides over his lower lip and he catches it with his tongue. “Forgive me, Vanya. Blinded by my own bitterness, I was a poor host and a poor giver.”

Euphoria by Delgumo (Canada/Russia) Matthew enjoys a drunken quickie with a somewhat strange gentleman.

Before The Reyse (Part One) by proosh (Lithuania/Prussia) Day 1 - Soulmate tattoo/childhood promise. Tolys could smell the ocean from where he waited... It was just before the raiding season would begin in full and his brother was late.

Before The Reyse (Part Two) by proosh (Lithuania/Prussia) Day 7 - Not for you/mistaken identity It was their usual meeting spot before each of the raiding seasons, midsummer and midwinter. He could smell the ocean from here, bitter and churning from the autumn storms… Tolys was late.

The Hunt (Part One) by proosh (Lithuania/Prussia, implied Prussia/Russia) Day 2 - Omegaverse/hunting party All Russia had been summoned to the call to chase the French from their lands, and the winter in all its fury had come with them… Next to his brothers stood the interloper.

The Hunt (Part Two) by proosh (Lithuania/Prussia) Day 4 - Gifts/trophies They fell upon the stragglers at the frozen gully… Tolys didn’t get a chance to have a good look at them before the killing started.

Better than Gold by Jestemburakiem (Lithuania/Prussia, past Lithuania/Russia) Written for day four of Lietpru week The Story of Lithuania during the most pivotal moments of the modern history of his country: The 1992 Summer Olympic Men's Basketball Tournament. Prussia takes notice of this.

Макдоналдс by Delgumo (America/Russia) Russia and America host the grand opening of the first McDonald's in Russia.

So pour the champagne by mossy_man (Prussia/Russia) Some would love a house with white fence, a dozen or so of kids and a dog. Not Gilbert. Gilbert is perfectly fine as he is.

1001 Ways To Die — Chapter 7: Dying Days 2 by NashTea (Fishandnear) (Germay/Japan) Another impromptu session between Kiku and Ludwig partaking in their favourite activity, this time, it's a little different for Kiku.

Joy in Punishment by Delgumo (Canada/Russia) [no summary]

Little lamb by mossy_man (Mongolia/Russia) “Mongolia is like the sun,” he says. His big hands map Mongolia's face. “Lie down, for I am going to fuck you.”

we begin again by hopeless_nostalgia (England/Japan) After Kiku finds a bunch of old photos, he and Arthur go through them, causing old feelings to resurface.

because it's you, I'm fine by hopeless_nostalgia (England/Japan) Arthur is training to be an idol in Japan, which (obviously) requires him to learn Japanese. But it's a struggle… he keeps failing at the same points, over and over again. He feels so hopeless that he decides to skip class, go for a walk, and decide if it was even worth it—because at this rate, it will take years before he comes even close to debuting...

a scene without you by hopeless_nostalgia (England/Japan) Two years ago, Arthur graduated and went back to London. Kiku lost all contact with him a month before he boarded the plane, when in an odd little café, they decided that a long-distance relationship wouldn't work for them and that breaking up would be for the best. Now that these two years have passed, Kiku knows that that was not true. He sits in that same café, at that same table, and wishes there was a way to turn back time…

my heaven by hopeless_nostalgia (England/Japan) “You know… If you want to, we can still have a wedding,” Kiku suggested. “That might not be a bad idea,” Arthur chuckled weakly. “Maybe we should.”

[cambria-writes]

i did it. it's finally done. it's over, and i finished it.

thank you so much to everyone who's followed me and this story, who's commented, liked and reblogged. you've all helped give me back something i had lost a long time ago: the ability to write.

i'm so thankful to have found this fandom and the people in it, and i wouldn't change a single thing about the journey that was writing Ravenloft.

some things to know about this chapter:

i only discovered literally two days ago that july 1st is not, in fact, universal moving day. that's apparently something very unique to my part of canada lol, so that's why i had the moving take place that day. might not have even registered for anyone else but me but i felt like i should explain that just in case.

additionally, i don't know fuckall about indiana, never been. the market place arena is no longer there, either, so it took a bit of guesswork to figure out what to do. thank you to @bramblequill for answering my very strange questions. ♥

lastly, i have no idea how school works in the states. i just went with september 2nd as back to school since it was the tuesday right after labour day, and the internet told me that 8:30am as a starting time for classes was reasonable so there we go.

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader rating: E, 18+ warnings: SMUT, female anatomy used but otherwise no real physical description, fingering, masturbation (m and f), cum swallowing, so much swearing, Wayne calls Eddie son and reader calls Wayne his father, smoking (cigarettes and weed), alcohol consumption, vague reference to choking, mention of flagging/the hanky code, Eddie doesn't whip out the sadism though, mention of using handcuffs, i guess this is semi-public sex actually, Eddie's a gentleman though, mention of an alternate timeline where Eddie does die, mention of death broadly, reader has anxious responses to shit sometimes, Good Girl is said a few times, god I'm running out of brain RAM please let me know if I should tag anything else! word count: 7,512

thank you again!!

Previous Masterlist

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕹𝖎𝖓𝖊𝖙𝖊𝖊𝖓: 𝔓𝔩𝔞𝔶𝔢𝔯𝔰 ℌ𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔟𝔬𝔬𝔨

July 2nd, 19863:27AM

You don’t know where you are when you first wake up. There are no lights on, there’s a familiar but distant sound, and it’s too fucking warm. After a few seconds of tensely paying attention, you realize that the familiar sound is the compressor in the fridge.

Right. You moved yesterday.

When you bother to open your eyes and look around, you realize why it’s so dark. You never bothered to plug in your alarm clock and you can’t see the time on the stove from here, but it’s definitely still night. Quiet enough that it’s probably not even 4am yet.

You roll to turn around, but promptly end up yelping and falling right on your ass. The vague but bitter thought crosses your mind that you’ve somehow developed a habit of falling and injuring yourself in whatever bedroom you occupy.

Said bedroom door cracks open slowly. From your spot on the floor, you get to see a very tired Eddie—is he even actually awake?—slowly emerge from the opening door.

“Fuck was that,” he mutters, right before unhinging his jaw to yawn. You sigh and let yourself fall back on the floor, limp, staring up at a ceiling fan that refuses to work.

“Forgot where I was,” you say quietly, throwing an arm over your eyes. “Go back to bed dude.”

Eddie grunts, but you don’t hear the tell-tale squeaking and creaking of floorboards. Instead, when you move your arm out of the way just enough to see, you catch Eddie scratching the back of his head and looking back to the hallway. He clears his throat, and you cover your eyes again before he catches you staring.

He probably caught you staring way too much yesterday, so you’re not sure why it matters. It’s not like he’d make a big deal out of it anyways—not the way Steve and Robin did when they were helping you carry the sectional couch Mrs Henderson insisted you take from her basement.

(It’s fine, she had said, I can’t really look at that old thing anymore, she said. You didn’t ask, but you’d assumed that it was the same as everyone in Hawkins; just trying to get rid of all the leftovers from The Earthquake and what had preceded it.)

You’re jostled out of your thoughts when you feel Eddie’s shoulder—bare, from the cut-out Black Sabbath shirt he’s warning—against yours. He feels cool and clammy, like he’d been tossing and turning around in the heat, too.

“Ahh,” he sighs, folding his hands over his chest. “You had the right idea. Floor’s cold. Fuck this heat.”

You hum in agreement, and turn your head to properly look at Eddie.

“You could go back home,” you say quietly. When you don’t get an answer after a few seconds, you scoff lightly and turn to stare back at the ceiling. “At least he wouldn’t be boiling alive.”

You nearly squawk when you feel a hand taping on your hip. When you turn to look at Eddie again, his eyes are closed, still, but he’s very clearly frowning.

“Y��r being stupid,” he mutters, taking a deep breath before forcing himself to sit up, leaning back on his hands. He rotates his shoulders and—and he’s saying something else, you know he is. But there’s... there’s something about his shoulders.

Have they always been that wide?

You know your mouth is hanging open when Eddie turns to look back at you, and you only snap it shut with a click when you see him grinning.

“Didn’t catch a word I just said, huh.”

You try to speak a first time, but your voice cracks on the first syllable. Clear your throat and cough once or twice before trying again. This time you get yourself up on your feet and head for the door.

“Not a word. Too tired. Want a beer?”

Eddie blinks at you owlishly for a second before letting himself fall back to the floor. You’re about to take that as a silent refusal when he grumbles.

“Do you even know what time it is? Beer?”

You scoff again and cross your arms from your place at the door.

“What, like you do?”

Eddie simply raises an arm in response. You frown, open your mouth to ask why the fuck he’s raising his hand in your damn house, when you notice the watch still on his wrist.

(You try not to remember a very different, broken watch keeping time for the dead.)

“Right, well,” you dither, clearing your throat again. “Whatever. Doesn’t matter. Do you want a beer or not?”

Eddie sighs, putting on a show about being put out and disappointed and too tired, but the hand he rests low on your back to herd you out of the room is gentle. The quiet ‘sure’ he whispers also sounds far too caring and indulgent.

You practically inhale half of the first beer you pull from the fridge. If Eddie’s got any thoughts about that, he keeps them to himself. You sit down at the table—square, angular, nothing like the one that was in your hideout—and lean back in a chair that still smells like sawdust and campfire.

Leaning back in his own chair across from you, Eddie takes a slow look around. You see him pause to look at what you’ve already put up on the fridge. There’s a character sheet, a small pebble that’s been glued to a magnet, a note from your parents and a small magnetic photo frame. You can already feel your face heat up when Eddie points at it.

“That wasn’t there when we had pizza,” he says, slowly and a bit incredulously. You can only hold his gaze for a second or two when he turns to you for answers.

“I, uh,” you stutter, biting your lip and picking at the label of the bottle in your hands. “That’s—my mom, uh.”

It’s a polaroid.

By any other metric, completely unremarkable. Unnoticeable, probably, to anyone whose face isn’t actually on the damn thing. And if your mother hadn’t taken you aside yesterday morning to hand you a small, old and beaten-up looking shoebox, you probably wouldn’t ever have remembered that photo exists.

It’s Eddie, surrounded by trees, and wearing a cloak that had definitely been about twelve sizes too big. The hood swallows most of his head; the only thing that’s really visible is his smile. Honestly, most people probably wouldn’t even be able to tell that that’s Eddie Munson, in that photo.

But you remember taking that. Remember flapping the polaroid around madly while running away.

You shake your head against the memory. Those times are long gone, now. So why...

“Yeah,” you end up whispering, before taking a deep breath and letting out a deeper sigh. “I’unno. When my mom gave me an old box of pictures from middle school, I kind of...” You look over at the fridge and take another, albeit significantly more moderate, drag of your beer. “Dunno. Felt like it.”

Eddie slowly stands and walks over to the fridge. Takes a sip of his beer while he looks at the photo. Takes a quick look at you before taking a step back from the fridge to look at what all else you’ve put up there so far.

“You still got that box?” And bless him, you know he’s trying to be nonchalant about it, but there’s an anxious tone undercutting his voice clear as day. You chuckle and make your way back to your room and to your closet.

It’s only when you pull the small shoebox out and you’ve got it cradled in your arms do you realize the significance of this.

Almost everything that was in the trailer was lost; it’s honestly a miracle anything survived at all. But among the losses, you remember Wayne bemoaning the loss of the few pictures that he’d been able to take of Eddie over the years.

You look down at the box a bit more misty-eyed. You hope that there’s something helpful in here. Something nicer.

When you make it back to the living room, Eddie’s still standing in front of the fridge. His brows are pulled together and the sip he takes of his beer nearly dribbles down his chin. You hold the box a bit closer to your stomach when you move to stand next to him.

“What are we looking at?” you ask, and Eddie nearly jumps out of his skin. You put a hand on his arm and laugh. “Hey there, have a nice time up in the clouds?”

Eddie laughs a bit thinly, points up at the fridge. “I was just. You kept the—the lyrics. From middle school?”

You stare up at the piece of turns, crumpled up ruled paper. You remember carrying that everywhere with you, in middle school and high school. Carried it in your wallet for a while, too, though...

You turn back to the table to gently put the shoebox down. “I didn’t think you’d remember writing that,” you say quietly, pulling up one small stack of photos neatly held together with a rubber band.

Eddie scoffs. “Are you kidding me? You basically whined at me for weeks to come up with a love song for... what was—”

“Shanon,” you add quickly, blindly reaching for your beer bottle while sorting through photos. “Blonde, grey eyes. You were infatuated.”

You don’t see the sad, self-deprecating grin on Eddie’s face.

“Shanon... yeah, no, didn’t write that for her.”

You take a second to bring the bottle down from your mouth. Turn around to look at Eddie, but he’s still resolutely looking at the paper haphazardly stuck to the fridge. It’s at an angle. It’s starting to drive you crazy. Eddie chugs the rest of his beer, puts the empty bottle on the counter by the fridge, and turns around.

“Woah there pal,” you start, chugging your own beer with a wince. You put the bottle back on the table behind you. “What’s that look for?”

You feel like your heart’s beating a frenzy in your throat. You’re pretty sure you just felt a heart palpitation. The look on Eddie’s face is intense in a way you don’t recognize. Not like when he's DMing and he’s about to throw a real wrench in everyone’s plans, and not like in the Upside Down.

No, it feels a lot like how he looks at you out in the fields by the junkyard.

You would take a step back when Eddie starts walking toward you, but you’re already leaning against the table behind you. You try to straighten up to maybe attempt to look less frazzled than you feel.

The beer’s already making your head feel fuzzy and your lips feel numb.

Eddie stops about a foot away from you, and you’re not sure how to feel about the fact that you have to crane your neck up to actually look at him. He opens his mouth, looking down at your with a frown. He tries a few times like this, before sighing and just.

Letting himself slump over to rest his head on your right shoulder.

You stay like that for a bit. You can hear the hitch in Eddie’s breath when he tries, again, to say something. After the third or fourth time, it feels like something’s squeezing your chest. He’s clearly got something on his chest he wants to get off—something heavy—and you know how that feels. How that goes.

Your left hand comes up to brace the back of his head before you can think of the implications.

Whatever. Fuck the implications.

“You can take your time, y’know,” you whisper, slowly slumping back to lean against the table behind you, forcing Eddie to take a step forward if he wants to stay in his spot.

“I can’t, I really can’t.” His voice sounds strained, and you flounder. You’ve never really had to struggle to get people to talk to you—not the people who actually give a fuck about you, anyways. And you can’t think of a single time, barring the obvious fuckery of the Upside Down, when Eddie was hesitant to talk to you.

He gently grabs the hand in his hair and pulls it away to straight himself out again. His eyes are closed when you can see his face again. He takes a deep breath and squeezes your hand.

“Listen—“

The phone rings.

You haven’t even put it up on the wall by the doorway yet. It’s still on the counter, where you’ve left it, right by the fridge.

The shock of it in the quiet of the dining room makes you trip over yourself. Eddie catches you and, practically in the same motion, spins to direct you to the phone. Out of breath, you pick up.

“Ye—hello?”

“Hey, hon,” comes Wayne’s tired greeting. “Sorry if I woke you up, but is Eddie still with you?”

You blink a few times, staring out into nothing. You only wonder for a second why he’d call so late when you’d likely be out cold, but when you turn to face Eddie—now leaning back against the table—the realization comes all at once.

“Ed—yes, oh my god, Wayne, I’m so sorry,” you rush to say, turning back to the counter and cradling the receiver. “Yeah, he helped me unpack and we kind of crashed, I should have had him call—”

“Hey, hey,” Wayne chuckles, and the lightness of the tone helps you breathe a bit easier. “It’s fine. Sorry I woke ya up.”

“Please don’t worry about it,” you reply quickly. “We’ve been up for a bit going through some stuff.”

“I won’t keep you then. Just tell that idiot son of mine to call next time.”

You let out a quiet bark of laughter and promise you will. You don’t think you’ve ever referred to Eddie as his son before. Guess the whole town going to shit changed a few things. Said idiot son has the decency to look a bit ashamed when you turn around and lean back against the counter.

“Probably shoulda called before we called it a night, huh,” Eddie says with a wince.

There’s a beat of silence that’s almost awkward before you clear your throat to speak.

“You uh, you were going to tell me something?”

Eddie stands there, expression not unlike shock on his face. He opens his mouth two or three times but eventually settles on a shrug.

“Don’t worry about it, I can’t even remember what I was going to say.” The end of his sentence almost trails off its so quiet. It’s clearly a lie, but you’re too fuzzy from the beer and fatigue from moving to push the issue any further.

You push yourself off the kitchen counter and brush your hands off on your thighs.

“Well,” you start, feeling a bit awkward while you amble toward the hallway. “I need to go back to bed. Let me know if...” It’s your turn to trail off, because you’re not sure how to end that sentence. Let you know if what, a demodog comes bursting in through the window?

You look anxiously over your shoulder at the window over the sink. It’s fine. It’s nothing, nothing’s there, you’re good. You clear your throat.

“Right, so. I’ll just.”

Eddie nods but doesn’t look at you. Your room is bright with birdsong and the rising sun by the time you fall asleep.

17 July 19861:37AM

You’re not entirely sure what motivated you to get out of bed, climb into your car, and make it to the Munsons’. It’s not like you couldn’t have just grabbed the phone and dialed Eddie’s shiny separate number. (You’re beginning to think the hush money bit was real.) You’ve called each other at the worst times of night and day for dumber shit.

This time, though, the nightmare felt a little too real to ignore and sleep off. Like you usually would have done.

It was like you had never existed; like everyone had gone into the Upside Down without you, without an extraction team, without a backup plan. And you had to watch while Eddie sliced the blanket rope. Horrified, you watched Dustin sprain his ankle in his rush to get back.

Eddie, gasping and choking on his own blood, saying he hadn’t run away this time. Eddie, glassy-eyed and gone, torn to shreds by bats left motionless by what you now know to have been Chief Hopper’s own attack all the way in Russia.

You take a second to control your breathing once you’re at the squat triplex. Eventually you uncurl your stiff and sore fingers from the steering wheel and force yourself out of the car. Your legs feel like jello and your head like lead.

You consider trying to climb up to the third floor, somehow, if only for a second. You know Wayne’s likely to be up so you shouldn’t worry too much about either ringing or knocking but... Shake your head and hit the button for the third floor before you can think more about it and chicken out.

You’re let in surprisingly quickly. When you make it up to door number 3, Wayne’s leaning against the doorway.

“Bit early,” he says, uncrossing his arms once you’re near. Puts a hand on your shoulder and squeezes. “Everything okay?”

“Nightmares,” you answer quietly. You curl and uncurl your fists at your sides.

“Come on,” Wayne says after a beat of silence. “He’s in his room. Coffee?”

You shake your head. With one last squeeze of your shoulder. Wayne wanders back inside, and you aim straight for Eddie’s bedroom door. Your fist is up to knock when Eddie opens the door, looking disheveled but extremely awake.

“Hey,” he says airily, out of breath as he pulls his hair back into a low ponytail. “I was about to head out—you weren’t answering your phone so.”

He doesn’t wait for you to say anything or explain before pulling you in and shutting the door behind you. He throws his jacket—leather only, sans denim, as it has been for a few months now—over the back of the chair as his desk.

Nothing much else is said, which is how these nights usually go. Neither of you need to be rehashing what happened in the Upside Down, the earthquake, your constant passing out. Tonight, though, there is one thing that eats at you. Eddie has to nudge you, sitting next to him on his bed beneath the window, to pass the joint over. When you take it, he makes a point to lean forward to try and get a good look at your face.

“Did... did something happen? Before you got here?” he asks, and the concern in his voice twists your gut unpleasantly.

“It’s just—it’s nightmares. You know how it is.” You make a point not to take too deep of a toke of the joint before passing it back over, turning your head to blow the smoke out through the open window.

You can just barely see Eddie narrowing his eyes at you in your periphery. For a second, when he straightens up and leans back against the wall next to you, you think he’s dropped it.

“If it was just nightmares, you would’ve called.”

You snort and look the other way. Again, though, Eddie nudges you to turn around and take the joint. Carefully and, thankfully, not too quickly, he grabs your wrist as you grab the joint.

“Hey. Come on. Talk to me, please.”

Your eyes burn and you can already feel your nose getting red and itchy. Your whole face feels warm. Either to spare you the embarrassment of it or a second, secret reason, Eddie pulls you into his chest and you just start crying.

You’ve dreamt of people dying before. Tons of times. Even before El tore a massive hole through reality in Hawkins. But that—feeling powerless in a situation you know could’ve happened if you hadn’t just been around and stuck your nose where it arguably shouldn’t have been—and seeing Eddie die in a way you just couldn’t help?

That was brutal.

17 July 19869:12AM

You have no idea when you fell asleep. Your eyes feel sore and dry, your throat feels strange and your neck hurts. You’re cursorily aware that you’re in Eddie’s room—the smell of weed, incense and whatever cologne he wears usually gives it away.

Very quickly, you realize that you’ve fallen asleep on Eddie’s chest at an awkward angle. You’re both barely sitting up, still leaning back against the wall underneath the window. God, you drool on him. Fuck.

Okay, this is fine. You’ve literally had worse.

You take a deep breath and, as smoothly and quickly as you can, roll off the bed and onto your knees. It’s not graceful, but when you look back, Eddie still seems to be sound asleep. You pray to whatever’s out there that he stays that way until his shirt’s dry.

You tiptoe out of the room and turn the knob before shutting the door behind you. The rest of the apartment is empty, and with how late you heard Wayne ambling about, you’re sure he’s not ready to get up any time soon, either.

By the time you leave, there’s breakfast ready to be reheated in the oven and you’ve left a note on the coffee maker saying to just turn it on.

When you walk outside to your car, though the sun’s been up for a while, the fog still clings to the ground. You sit in your car for a few minutes, staring at the water droplets slowly evaporating on the windshield. When your heart rate has gone back down to something human and manageable, you start the car and head home.

13 August 198612:07AM

If you were bubbling with excitement before the concert, now you feel like soda that’s been left out for a few hours. Flat, maybe, but still just as sweet as it was before, if not moreso. You still feel all the enthrallment that you did before and during the concert, but now you feel...

Well, post-concert blues. That satisfied feeling of having witnessed something amazing, but the accompanying sadness and mourning knowing that you’ll never be able to relive this same experience again. It’s come and gone and now all you can do is remember it.

You slap your thighs to bring you out of your own head. This is going to be a good fucking night. Eddie literally bought you tickets to see Judas Priest and drove you both all the way out here. Refused to let you drive for a singular second, too.

“You still that hyped?” Eddie asks, laughing, holding his lighter out to you. You light up your own smoke and laugh.

“Nah, just trying to get my head back in the game. Too much shit rattling around in here.” You tap your head with the lighter before handing it back.  Eddie takes a second before grabbing it, though, and you have to wave your other hand in front of him to snap him out of it.

“Looks like I’m not the only one who’s out of it,” you laugh, bumping his shoulder with yours when he finally takes the damn lighter back.

Quietly, from inside the van, you can hear the opening bars for Wild Nights.

“Yeah, well,” Eddie grunts, crouching down to tie the messy laces of his right shoe. “I’m the one who drove three hours to get here, and had to convince your parents that I wouldn’t murder you and dump your body in the river.”

You can’t help but cackle. You know for a fact that neither of your parents called the Munson household, but you also know that it’s something that they very easily could have done. Looking out at the White river from your little spot at the state park, you open your mouth to say something about how overprotective Wayne can be, but then something catches your eye.

“They literally,” you start, reaching over to pluck the scarf from Eddie’s back pocket. “Did not do that.” You twist the scarf around in your hands a bit before trying to whip it at his ass. You miss horribly and end up snapping the tip of the scarf on his thigh.

You burst out in laughter, full bellied and unrestrained, when Eddie yelps and topples over to the right. You try to apologize and ask if he’s okay, but you doubt that anything intelligible makes it past you wheezing, squeaking laughter.

“Alright, that’s it,” Eddie grumbles, tossing his half-smoke cigarette into the gravel before stalking towards you. He’s clearly not upset, but you make a mad dash for the riverbank anyways.

The toes of your shoes have just barely touched water before Eddie’s arms wrap around your torso and pull you back. You shriek and kick once or twice before letting yourself go limp.

Half an hour later finds you in some park along the 36, hair and clothes still damp and cheeks sore. You’re both sitting in the back of the van, doors open, passing a joint between you and looking out onto the park.

“I like what you’ve done with this old bitch,” you comment, tapping the plush—carpeting? blanket?—that Eddie’s laid down in the back. “Is there a camping mat under this or something?”

Eddie laughs. “Yeah, been going out in the woods after work sometimes just to like... relax, y’know?” You nod; you ran to the woods a lot as a kid, too. “Right, so I kinda made it more comfy to get high in. That’s it.”

When he passes you the joint, you look back at the front where you’d left the scarf. Handkerchief? You’ve had the question in mind ever since March: is he the S or is he the M?

“Seriously?” Eddie balks. “That’s what’s been on your mind this whole time?”

You turn to look at him and blink owlishly.

“Oh. Oh god, please tell me I didn’t say that out loud.”

Eddie laughs, and it almost sounds a little mean. You can feel the heat creeping up your neck and making its way to your face. Your cheeks itch with it.

“Right, you’re too baked and tired for this,” Eddie declares, and even to your ears he sounds way too composed and, frankly, sober. Though you guess he’s maybe had a bit more time to get used to smoking weed than you have.

“What, no!” You whine, trying to reach across him to snag the joint out of his left hand. Unfortunately, the best that’s done for you is get you splayed across Eddie’s lap once you inevitably lose your balance.  “Fuck you.”

Eddie’s almost unnaturally still beneath you. And you’d look up at him, if you could, but even fucking cooked, you’re very aware that you’re laid across a man’s lap.

Your throat feels too tight when you swallow. You move to brace an arm on Eddie’s thigh to prop yourself up, but his hand on the back of your head has you freezing in place. When the hand starts petting down your head, your neck and your spine, only to start again at the top, you start to go limp. This isn’t so bad.

“Yeah,” Eddie scoffs, and you get the feeling you’ve spoken out loud again. “You would think that.” The embarrassment is enough to make your eyes sting. There’s a beat of silence, and then Eddie leans over to whisper in your ear, “Good girl.”

You swallow thickly. You had intended to follow-up by asking whether or not Eddie was even interested in the opposite gender. But you suppose that answers that.

There’s a tension in your gut and shoulders that makes you second guess yourself. You get the words out before you can think too much about it.

“What do I have to do for you to say that again?”

The hand petting you takes its time reaching the bottom of your spine, and then stays there. Warm against your lower back, and just high enough to say he’s not actually touching your ass. Awfully cordial.

“Depends,” Eddie hums, and you hear him take another toke of the joint before crushing the tip of it between his fingers and chucking the extinguished butt somewhere you can’t see. “Why?”

This time, you do prop yourself up, both hands on Eddie’s thigh. If it had been anyone else, the distance between your faces would have been the epitome of discomfort.

“I want you to say it again,” you answer quietly. It’s getting harder to keep your eyes on his and not let them drift down.

“Say what again?” Eddie asks, and you don’t know if you love or hate the shit eating grin on his face. You should have expected this, though; putting you on the spot was part of the whole point, wasn’t it?

“I-I want you to...” you start, but your throat feels too small for the words that are trying to come out. Eddie’s hand at your lower back comes up to rub comforting circles between your shoulder blades. Your face and neck are on fire and everything feels itchy.

“Come on,” Eddie whispers. You realize that you’ve been staring at his mouth, and when you look, he is very much looking down at your mouth. “Won’t laugh. Promise.”

The sigh that leaves you almost surprises you.

“I-I want you to—I want you to call me a good girl. Again. Please.”

The hand between your shoulders makes its way forward to cup your jaw.

“Good girl,” Eddie breathes, and it’s like your whole body vibrates, shudders with the satisfaction of it. “Fuck,” he chuckles, swiping his thumb across your cheekbone. “You’re really into that.”

You want to say that you shrugged, but the reality is that the sound that comes out of your mouth couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than a whimper.

“Can I—” Eddie starts asking, but you cut him off nearly right away.

“Yes.”

You would think kissing your childhood best friend, whom you’d lost touch with for several years and had recently gone through several traumatic events with, would be somewhat awkward and clumsy. But, unlike when you were teenagers, you and Eddie both, clearly, had the advantage of some gained experience in the meanwhile.

There’s no chastity in the kiss; from the moment his mouth locks with yours, it’s open-mouthed and breathless. Eddie pulls you closer, helps you sit across his lap properly, and you fist your hands in his shirt. In his brand new Judas Priest shirt. You know he doesn’t even particularly like Turbo, as an album. Almost none of it is his preferred style.

You whine into the kiss, and you chase Eddie’s lips when he pulls away. He helps shift you off his lap and quickly instructs you to move back and lie down. The van is plunged into near pitch-black. You move back until you feel what you think is the back of the driver’s seat. You don’t lie back yet, instead reaching out for Eddie.

Your hand knocks into what’s apparently his arm. His mouth finds your again in the dark as your fingers find their way into his hair. You gasp when Eddie roughly pulls you down, firmly gripping your hips one second and cradling your head to make sure you don’t hit it the next.

“You sure this is fine?” Eddie asks, though his lips are moving down to your neck, teeth nipping at the skin.

“It’s fine, this is fine,” you rush to say, letting your hands wander up under Eddie’s shirt. You’re  sure to keep your touch light when you come across the scars. “This is so fucking fine,” you breathe.

Eddie’s shirt rises with your wandering hands, and he gives you a second to pull it over his head. You have no idea where you toss it and you honestly couldn’t care less. His hands, in return, take the opportunity to make their way under your shirt, and you want to scream. Your entire body feels like a coil being wound tighter.

It’s unfamiliar, how intense it is. You don’t think you mind.

Eddie knocks your knees open to settle between your legs rather than straddling you, though you’re more preoccupied by your shirt—identical to Eddie’s, because you couldn’t help yourself—being peeled off and thrown into an equally unknowable direction. His hands on your ribs feel like irons smoothing out the trembling wrinkles of them, and the shuddering sigh that you let out makes Eddie chuckle.

“Poor thing,” he laments, one hand at your waist prompting you to arch your back, the other sliding up your back to somehow expertly undo the clasp of your bra. “Been holding out for a while, huh.”

It’s not a question. You twitch, about to bring your hands up to hide your face, but—there’s no real point, is there? In this kind of darkness, it’s not like he’d be able to see how red your face is. You have a feeling he’d reprimand you for trying to hide, anyways.

“Didn’t think you’d wanna look at me,” you breathe into his mouth. Saying it out loud makes it feel silly, especially here and now. You don’t hold it against him when Eddie laughs. You can hear the shock in it.

“We’re both idiots,” he mutters, trailing kisses from the corner of your mouth, down your neck, nipping at the collarbone on the way. He presses his lips to your sternum, hands gliding up your sides to palm at your breasts. Nothing like the fumbling messes of your first adult years; Eddie’s hands are slow and deliberate. He’s not feeling you up for his own sake—though you don’t doubt that it in no small way contributes to the hardening length you feel growing at the junction of your thigh—but for yours. This feels entirely like a massage for your benefit.

To his credit, it’s working. Whatever tension you were holding in your shoulders is slowly melting away under his hands.

His mouth continues its trail down, licking a stripe up your navel before he stops at the button of your shorts. You don’t let him ask, you just unbutton them for him. He doesn’t move until he hears you start to pull at the zipper. He doesn’t leave you time to pull it down all the way before he’s tugging your shorts off like they’ve personally offended him.

The cold air makes you realize he’s taken your underwear with them. He lightly rests his forehead on your stomach and breathes in. It almost makes you choke.

“God you smell good,” he growls against your skin. While his mouth trails kisses back up your torso, you feel one hand sliding gently up your chest to rest at the base of your throat. The other slides two fingers through your slit.

Eddie groans like he’s in pain.

“I won’t—not here, fuck,” Eddie mutters, nuzzling between your breasts, and you buck your hips into his hands when one of his slicked fingers finds your clit. “First time we gotta do it right but this, we can—I can give you this,” he whispers, so low you figure he must be talking to himself more than he is to you.

One finger prods at your entrance, and then he’s got two fingers inside of you. The first few pumps, though heaven, don’t do much. But then Eddie curls his fingers, and it’s like he’s a puppeteer who’s pulled on all of your strings all at once. He exhales sharply and sounds entirely too pleased with himself when he speaks.

“There she is,” he whispers, mouthing at the spot on your neck just below your ear. The warmth  makes you shiver and clamp down on his finger. “Fuck, that’s it.”

Eddie’s hand practically turns into a machine. You don’t think you’ve ever been able to get yourself so close to cumming in less than a minute. The hand at the base of your neck creeps just a little bit higher. When you gasp at the pressure his fingers apply, you have to grab at Eddie’s wrist to keep his hand there.

“You’re perfect,” Eddie sighs, and you can feel more than see him toss his head back. “Fuck, wish I could see your face right now.”

“Next time,” you reply quickly. “Please, fuck, I’m so close, please please please,” you whine, reaching your other hand down to rub at your clit.

“Holy shit that’s so fucking hot,” Eddie groans, and bites down on your neck, just above where his hand collars it nicely.

The sting is what sends you careening over the edge, cumming with a drawn-out moan. Your hips jerk erratically in spite of yourself, chasing Eddie’s fingers as he fucks you through your orgasm. When your arms go limp, you distantly register the sound of his belt coming undone and the distinct sound of him spitting. There’s a slick sound and it doesn’t take long for you to realize that.

That Eddie Munson is jerking off over your naked body.

“Fucking christ,” you whisper, out of breath, and force yourself to sit up.

“Fuck,” Eddie moans, and you blindly reach out for him. He grabs one of your hands on his chest, laces his fingers tightly through yours. Your other hand, however, makes it down to his, wrapped around and pump his cock.

You shimmy back just enough to be able to lean down to lick the tip.

“Jesus f—I’m gonna,” Eddie chokes out. He doesn’t finish his sentence when you bat his hand away and wrap your lips around the tip of his cock and suck.

You swallow more of him down as he cums, swallowing around him once or twice before he brushes a hand up your forehead and lightly pushes you back and away. You kiss his navel, instead, then his sternum, until he pulls you up with two hands cupping your face, and makes you kiss him, instead.

You didn’t think you’d be turned on by a guy kissing you after you’ve just swallowed his load, but there are apparently a lot of things you’ve yet to discover about yourself.

Carefully, mouths still touching but not quite kissing, Eddie maneuvers you both so that he can lie down on his back, and you can lay your head on his chest.

You throw a leg over his for good measure.

“I’m not moving anymore,” you groan, burrowing your face into his chest.

“Can’t blame ya,” Eddie says, breathless, and you can’t help but laugh.

There’s a moment of silence, and then both of you start laughing. The bouncing of his chest makes it hard to stop laughing. Your gut hurts, your cheeks hurt, and you are entirely too sweaty. You could not care less.

“So,” Eddie starts, once you’ve both been able to calm down and breathe like normal people again. “You mentioned a next time?”

You hum and close your eyes against the darkness in the back of the van.

“Mm, it did not escape my notice that the handcuffs were something you managed to rescue from the trailer,” you mumble, throwing an arm over Eddie’s chest and squeezing.

“...I don’t think I hate the idea of you in chains, actually.”

September 2nd, 19867:58AM

You’re woken up entirely too early by your phone ringing. You don’t need to look at the time to know it’s too early; if you can’t hear cars driving around yet, it’s too fucking early.

“Mmn, gmorning, what,” you slur, wedging the phone between your chin and shoulder and rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

“Morning to you too, sunshine,” Eddie greets you brightly, and the warmth that bubbles up in your chest at the sound of his voice feels almost euphoric.

“You’re a weapon,” you say fondly, moving from where you’ve finally wall-mounted the phone to the wall by the fridge and making your way to the kitchen counter, which you promptly hop up on. “Wait,” you whisper, leaning forward to look at the calendar you’ve stuck to the fridge. “It’s September 2nd.”

“Mhm, congratulations, you can correctly identify the date.”

You ignore the snark.

You have entirely forgotten to ask Eddie whether or not he’d been made to repeat his senior year—again—despite everything that had happened over spring break. It felt awkward to ask now, though.

“You, uh,” you stutter instead, trying to find the least offensive way to go about finding out. “You’re calling, uh, early. Special occasion?”

“Of course,” Eddie says haughtily, and you can almost imagine the expression on his face. The kind that says ‘I know something you don’t and I know you’re too much of a coward to ask about it’.

“Come on just say it man,” you plead, letting your head fall back and reaching up to keep the receiver in place.

“My lady, I’m sure I don’t know what you speak of.”

“Fucking dick,” you say under your breath. Take a deep breath, bring your head back up and square your shoulder. “Edward Munson, did they or did they not let you graduate?”

Eddie lets out a bark of laughter so loud you have to pull the receiver away from your ear for a second. His tone and demeanor make you want to believe that he’s finally been cut some slack, but...

You manage to get a single sound out before there’s a knock at your door. You hold the phone away from yourself again, narrow your eyes at it like it’s Eddie in your hands instead of the receiver, and put it back to your ear. You cut off whatever he was saying when you speak again.

“You wouldn’t happen to know why there’s someone knocking on my door at,” you pause, turning to look at the time on the stove. “One past eight in the fucking morning?”

“Dunno, sounds important if it’s this early though,” Eddie replies, a bit too easily, and you sigh.

“Whatever, I’m putting the phone down. Don’t hang up.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

You huff and put the phone down on the counter, making sure it won’t fall off. By the time you make it to your front door, whoever’s there has decided that knocking nonstop is clearly the best way to get your attention.

You honestly should have expected Dustin Henderson at your doorstep at eight in the morning on back to school day. He’s suspiciously got an arm behind his back. You sigh, again, and unlock the deadbolt and undo the latch before opening the door.

“Alright,” you say, one hand on your hip and the other hand held out. “Fork it over.”

“I have no idea—” Dustin starts to say, but the deadpan stare you level at him makes him clear his throat instead. “Right! Here you go.”

“Thank you kindly, now hold up,” you say, holding a finger up and quickly walking over to your fridge to pull a bottle of water out. When you’re halfway back to the door, you call out, “Heads up!” and toss the bottle over.

Dustin barely manages to catch the thing, but doesn’t do so without a comical amount of fumbling.

“Awesome, now that you’ve done your Dungeon Master’s bidding, go the fuck to school, nerd,” you chastise, flicking the bill of Dustin’s cap.

“Man, you’re mean, you know that?”

“Sure, that’s why I’m making sure you’re staying hydrated on that damn bike,” you retort, crossing your arms and leaning against the doorframe. “Go on now, shoo. Go get an education.”

You wait until you can’t see Dustin down the road anymore before closing and locking the door, and wandering back over to the phone.

“Alright,” you say, wedging the receiver under your chin again and tearing open the envelope you’d been handed. “This better be worth it. I was up until 3am and I’m fucking beat.”

Eddie stays quiet, but you can practically feel the frantic energy of him through the phone. You pull the paper—papers, it’s a whole damn stack of them—and then promptly drop them all on the kitchen floor when you catch the title on the first page.

“Edward,” you start, tone harsh.

“Hey, woah, okay,” Eddie  rushes to start. “Okay, I graduated, right? Like, everyone was let through because of all the bullshit. That’s not really important right now though?”

“Ed,” you start again, lower and calmer. “That thing said ‘Thrasher Records’. I don’t fucking know who they are but there’s fucking record in the name, babe.”

“Yeah,” Eddie breathes. You can hear the face-splitting smile. “Yeah, it does, doesn’t it.”

“What the fuck,” you whisper, and you know he can hear the smile splitting your face, too.

You don’t change out of your sleep shorts and Judas Priest shirt. You’re at the Munsons’ in just under five minutes—which, yes, is probably a little bit criminally fast, but it’s not like Hopper’s gonna care—only to find out that Edward fucking Munson hadn’t even told his own damn father.

You give your boyfriend just enough shit for him to want to make up for it.

𝓣𝓪𝓰𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽

@bramblequill @storiesbyrhi @averagestudent03 @alovesongtheywrote @doratheignora @fnlyroe

[saintmeghanmarkle]

📃 Megalist of 𝑭𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝑳𝒂𝒅𝒊𝒆𝒔 and Other 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝑵𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒔 in H&M’s Political Orbit 📃 by u/SeptiemeSens (Part 2 of 3)

📌 Link to Tumblr post Part 1 of 3

📌 Link to Tumblr post Part 3 of 3

📌 Other notable names:

Ari Emanuel - CEO of William Morris Endeavor (WME) and famed Hollywood super agent who signed H&M in May 2023 to become power players in film and TV production, brand partnerships, and endorsements.  Ari is a prominent Democratic Party donor and his brother Rahm Emanuel is the former mayor of Chicago, former Chief of Staff for President Obama, and currently U.S. Ambassador to Japan [source 1 // source 2 // source 3]

Donald Trump - When H&M relocated to Los Angeles in March 2020, former President Trump tweeted that they'd have to pay their own way. Trump has great respect and admiration for the late Queen Elizabeth II and he's also a fan of King Charles. However, he is *not* a fan of Meghan. As for Harry, Trump said: “I wish a lot of luck to Harry, because he’s gonna need it.” [source 1 // source 2 // source 3 // source 4]

Doug Emhoff - husband of Vice President Kama Harris, aka the 2nd Gentleman. H&M met with Doug at the Project Healthy Minds summit in New York City on World Mental Health Day 2023 [source]

Gavin Newsom - Governor of California. Allegedly two (2) weeks before the 2020 election, Meghan had an hour-long virtual meeting with Newsom. Newsom had been under pressure to appoint a woman of color, possibly Meghan, to replace California senator Kamala Harris if she became Vice-President. In May 2024, Gavin publicly defended Archewell Foundation's "delinquency" status [source 1 // source 2]

Ivanka Trump - During President Trump's term, Ivanka made national paid leave for families a significant part of her portfolio as Senior Advisor. Her goal was to expand upon the 1993 Family and Medical Leave Act (FMLA) to provide for paid coverage. In a significant policy win for Ivanka in 2019, Congress voted to provide all federal workers with 12 weeks of paid parental leave [source 1 // source 2 //source 3]. This was two (2) years *before* Meghan's open letter to Pelosi and Schumer. Important to note that Meghan was very much an Ivanka fangirl for many years and even interviewed Ivanka for The Tig [source 1 // source 2]. 👉 slideshow of Meghan cosplaying Ivanka through the years

Jacinda Arden - Former Prime Minister of New Zealand was among seven “extraordinary leaders” interviewed on Live to Lead, a Netflix documentary series inspired by Nelson Mandela. It was presented by H&M and co-produced by Archewell Productions. However, upon the release of this documentary in 2022, Jacinda's office immediately distanced herself from the Sussexes stating that her interview actually took place three (3) years prior in 2019 and that her involvement had nothing to do with H&M, who were only brought in at a late stage. In 2023, Jacinda was appointed to the Board of Trustees of Prince William's Earthshot Prize [source]

Jessica Mulroney - M's former bestie, stylist, and maid of honor is married to Ben Mulroney, son of former Canadian Prime Minister Brian Mulroney. Jessica was also fashion adviser to Sophie Grégoire Trudeau, former wife of Justin Trudeau, Prime Minister of Canada. Jessica and Ben Mulroney are close friends with Justin and Sophie Grégoire Trudeau [source 1 // source 2]

Johnny Mercer, Member of Parliament (MP) - In April 2024, Harry was found by a High Court to have "breached a confidentiality ring" when he emailed information to his friend, the Veterans Minister and MP Johnny Mercer concerning his legal battle over his UK security arrangements. Harry was ordered to pay 90% of the Home Office’s legal costs of defending his challenge [source]

Justin Trudeau - Prime Minister of Canada first met Meghan in 2016 through the One Young World summit. Harry and Justin also connected in 2016, over the Invictus Games to be held in Toronto the following year. When Megxit was announced, Justin said that he was supportive of Harry and Meghan’s move but refused to say whether or not Canadians were paying to protect the royal couple. More than 80,000 Canadians signed the Canadian Taxpayers Federation petition telling Trudeau they were opposed to paying for H&M's security costs with taxpayers’ money. After public backlash and immense pressure from Canadian taxpayers, the RCMP [Royal Canadian Mounted Police] ceased providing its protective policing services for H&M as they had formally stepped down as working royals [source 1 // source 2 // source 3]

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author: SeptiemeSens

submitted: June 04, 2024 at 11:46AM via SaintMeghanMarkle on Reddit

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