#here's my first pass at margaret!

[firewasabeast]

The Aftermath

Part 2 of my Meeting the Parents series. Each part can be read individually, but it's better together. Here's part one, you can read part two here or on ao3.

Summary:

After Tommy's dinner with the Buckley's goes surprisingly well, Buck's issues with jealously causes his and Tommy's first big fight.

“So,” Buck began nosily as Tommy drove them toward the loft, “what were you guys talking about?”

“Oh, you know, they were telling me all about baby Evan. How much you loved running around the house naked, stuff like that.”

“Okay, that was only for like six months and I wasn't even two and-”

Tommy laughed, reaching over and taking Buck's hand. “I'm kidding, Evan. I didn't even know that was a thing you did. However, now that I do, I will be using it against you in the future.”

“Ugh,” Buck whined. “Come on, Tommy. What'd you guys talk about?”

“Not a whole lot, really. Your mom asked if I actually went by Thomas, and when I said no she started calling me Tommy. Then, she told me I could call her Margaret.”

“Seriously?” Buck eyed him, unimpressed. “That's it?”

“Actually,” Tommy spared a glance in Evan's direction, “she told me a little more than that.”

“Yeah? Like?”

“Like, that I- I'd probably be calling her mom soon anyway.”

Buck was glad he wasn't the one driving, because if he had been, he probably would have swerved right off the road and into a ditch. “R- Really? She said that?”

“Mhm. That's what she said right before you came out. She was sweet about it, seemed happy. May have been the wine though.”

“No, she... I'm sure she meant it.” Buck turned his head to stare out the window, hoping Tommy didn't notice the fact his hand was getting a little sweaty.

“Hey,” Tommy squeezed his hand, “it's not like she's planning our wedding or anything. She was being nice. Probably wanted to make me feel more comfortable with calling them by their first names.”

Buck managed a quick smile in Tommy's direction before returning his gaze to the highway. “Yeah. Yeah, probably.”

*****

Tommy entered the loft behind Buck, letting the door swing closed behind him. “You okay?” he asked, resting a hand against one of Buck's dining room chairs. “You were quiet most of the way home.”

“I'm fine,” Buck lied, plastering on a smile. “Just tired. Family time can get kinda exhausting for me sometimes.”

"Mm." Tommy set the keys on the table and pulled his phone from his pocket. “I gotta make a reminder to reserve a chopper in December. Phillip and I are gonna go to a Lakers game in Vegas.”

“Y- You made plans with my dad?”

“Mhm. Your parents are coming back in town in a couple months and your dad said he'd get tickets if I flew us there.” Tommy shrugged, “Seemed like a pretty good deal to me.”

“Mm, yeah. Yeah, it is. Sounds fun.”

Tommy looked up at Evan from his phone, noting the expression on his face. “I'm sure he'll get extra tickets if you wanna go? Maybe Howie could come along too. I just figured since basketball isn't really your thing...”

“No, no. I- You're right. I wouldn't wanna go. You two should go together. Bond,” he replied, before muttering out loud enough for Tommy to hear, “Since you'll be calling him dad soon anyway.”

Tommy sighed, putting his phone away. “I knew something was wrong. Come on, Evan, hit me with it. What'd I do?”

Buck headed to the fridge to grab a beer. “You didn't do anything.”

“Obviously, I did. You're clearly pissed at me.”

Buck shrugged. “I just think it's weird, okay? It's weird that my dad wants you to fly him around to basketball games. It's weird you were talking to my mom about marrying me when we don't even live together. Hell, we've never even talked about marriage.”

Tommy shook his head. “God, Evan, it's not like I'm dragging you down the aisle right now.” The words came out harsher than he intended. “And we didn't talk about marriage. It was something she said in passing. Sorry for being happy she thinks we'll last.”

“Forget I said anything, okay?”

“No, I'm not gonna do that. This is a really weird thing for you to be mad at me about.”

Buck slammed the bottle down on the counter so hard it caused a loud clang. “I told you I'm not mad at you!”

Tommy crossed his arms over his chest. “So you yell for fun now?”

"I'm not yelling!" he yelled. He took a breath, collecting himself before he continued. "I just don't wanna talk about it right now."

"Well that's too bad, because I do wanna talk about it. You can't get angry with me for things I didn't even say and then not explain why you're mad. That's not how this works."

Leaving the beer behind, Buck headed for the living room. “You wouldn't understand,” he said, waving Tommy off.

“Yeah, that's what I'm trying to do.” Tommy followed behind him until Buck grumpily turned back to him. “Gotta be honest, did not think you'd hate the fact that I got along with your parents. You were the one making a presentation on how to interact with them. Would you have preferred if I acted like an ass? Stepped on their toes? Made them uncomfortable?”

“I don't know, maybe.”

“You cannot be serious.”

"Well, it would've been better than you sucking up to them. Basically kissing the ground they walk on."

"Maybe you're right. We shouldn't be having this conversation right now." Now it was Tommy's turn to walk away and Buck's turn to follow. They made it to the dining room table before Tommy swirled back around to him. “You know, you are acting like such a child, Evan. Maybe I should call Howie and set up a playdate for you and Jee.”

“They're just trying to replace Daniel with you!” The accusation escaped him before his brain caught up with his mouth. The way Tommy stared in shock should have been enough to stop him, but it didn't. “That's all this is, so, you know, enjoy it while it lasts! As soon as they realize you're not what they imagined him to be, you'll be left behind.”

He'd gone too far. He'd probably gone too far a few minutes ago, if he were being honest, but now he'd definitely gone too far.

Tommy's face fell. Buck wasn't sure he'd ever seen him so visibly shaken before. “Wow. Okay. Uh, I don't... I think I'm gonna go home for tonight, Evan.” He picked his keys up from the table and headed for the door.

Half of Buck wanted to beg for him to stay. The other half wanted to yell and tell him that's fine, he wanted to be alone anyway!

He settled on not saying anything at all.

He kept his mouth sealed shut as Tommy left. He didn't even slam the door behind him. Buck wished he would have.

*****

It took three series of knocks before Tommy answered the door. He was wearing a sleeveless tank and a pair of boxers, his hair wildly free of product. There were dark circles under his eyes as he stared at Buck indignantly. “It's three in the morning.”

“I know.”

“Why are you here at three in the morning?”

“Can I come in?”

There was a pause, then Tommy moved out of the way so Buck could come inside. Tommy closed the door behind him, but stayed in the entryway. If this was going to turn into round two, he wasn't sure how long Evan would be welcome to stay. “Did you forget you have a key?” he asked.

“Yeah, sneak into the forty year old army vets house in the middle of the night,” Buck answered with a nervous smile. “I'd give you a heart attack... or get shot one.” He was trying to lighten the mood, but Tommy couldn't quite find the humor in the moment.

“Why are you here?” he reiterated.

Buck sighed, scratching at the back of his neck. “Couldn't sleep,” he admitted. “Could... Were you asleep?”

Tommy knew what the question really meant. Were you able to get rest after what happened earlier? Were you able to let this go?

“No, I wasn't asleep.”

“Oh, okay, um. Good. I mean, not good. But, good that I didn't wake you, I guess. Even though-”

“Evan, where's this going?”

“Can we,” Buck motioned toward the living room. “Can we sit? Talk for a minute?”

“Sure,” Tommy breathed out. “Of course.”

They moved to the living room, sitting stiffly on opposite ends of the sofa. There was an awkward minute of silence before Buck turned toward Tommy and began to ramble, “I'm sorry I acted like an idiot. I didn't mean the things I said, I swear. I think I got so jealous that you got along so easily with my parents that it made me feel, I don't know, insecure. Then I took it out on you, which wasn't fair. I was such a dick after a perfect night-”

“Evan.”

“-and you didn't deserve that. I know I screwed up. I- I know I did. I practically maimed you with my words the same way I maimed Eddie when I was jealous of him, and I-”

“Evan!”

Buck stopped. He looked up to see Tommy had turned toward him, watching him closely.

“What?” he asked.

“I forgive you.”

If things weren't so serious, Tommy might've laughed at the shocked expression on Evan's face. “Yo- You do?”

Tommy nodded. “I do.” He let out a sigh, scooting closer to Evan, “And I'm sorry, too. I just- I didn't think. I wanted to make a good impression, and I was so happy everything went well. I didn't think about what it would all mean to you. I'm sorry.”

“Oh God,” Buck dropped his head down. “I may actually be the worst person in the world. Tommy, I- I'm not mad they like you.”

“Evan.”

“No, really. I promise, I'm not mad. I'm,” he let out a laugh, “I'm thrilled. They have never really shown an interest in my life, not until the last few years. Even then, I never thought to introduce anyone to them. The fact they get along with you, it... it's incredible. See, it- like I said before, it's my jealousy. It's the fact it doesn't come that easily for me. I acted stupid, and immature, but I'm not mad at you. I'm not even mad at them. I'm just... sad, that it's not that way with me. And I took it out on you. You have no reason to be sorry. I'm sorry.”

“You told me about all the crap they put you through growing up, and I hate that they did that. It's not fair to you or Maddie. But you said they were trying to be better,” Tommy explained, “and they seemed so nice tonight. They liked me, or at least I think they did, and I was happy. It felt good, and I got caught up in that.”

“They did like you,” Buck assured him. “They do like you. A lot. And that's a good thing. I swear to you, Tommy, it's me. It was so easy for you to fit right in. I mean, I'm their kid and they had to go to therapy with me just to accept that. It... I don't know, seeing you guys getting along, I- it was a me problem, not you. Not them.” He moved himself closer to Tommy now, so they were both nearly in the center of the couch.

“I don't have to go with your dad,” Tommy said. “Really, I don't mind. And I know I probably freaked you out with the stuff your mom said, but I really think she was trying to be polite-”

“Tommy, no, I-” he reached out for Tommy's hands, who folded them into Evan's easily, “I want you to go with my dad. I want you guys to get along and have a good time. And the stuff my mom said, it... it didn't scare me.” He looked away, blushing a bit. “I like the thought of that. A lot.”

Tommy squeezed Buck's hand to get his attention back, a crinkly smile growing on his face. “Oh yeah?”

Buck nodded, grinning. “Yeah.”

They both leaned in at the same time, pressing their lips together in a gentle kiss.

“You tired?” Tommy asked when he pulled back just enough to speak. “We can go to bed.”

Buck brought his hands up until they were curled around the nape of his neck. “Bed sounds nice.” He kissed him again, less gentle this time. He licked across Tommy's lips with his tongue until Tommy, without a seconds hesitation, opened his mouth to let him in. Tommy rested his hands on Buck's waist, gripping at his shirt.

“You're not tired, are you?” Tommy mumbled between kisses.

“Nope.” Buck ran his hands down Tommy's shoulders, over his chest, letting his nails drag over Tommy's clothed nipples. “You know, this is our first big fight,” he informed Tommy, lifting his shirt just enough to get his hands under the hem, feeling how Tommy sucked in a breath at something so simple as Evan touching his skin.

Tommy moaned, dropping his head to Buck's shoulder. “Make-up sex?”

Buck nodded. "Make-up sex," he agreed, taking Tommy's hand and they stood to head for the bedroom.

[bookshelf-in-progress]

For Love of the Princess: A Sleeping Beauty Retelling

The court was leaving. A colorful parade of nobles in richly-embroidered robes, with bright banners flying, were abandoning the palace with the king and queen.

And leaving Princess Aurora behind.

"We've no choice, dear," the queen had told her daughter in tears the evening before. "The whole palace will sleep when the curse falls. We've a duty to our people. We can't abandon the kingdom for a hundred years."

Princess Aurora, who'd been fairy-gifted with grace and compassion, had sweetly said she understood.

Margaret, who had no such gifts, thought the queen deserved to have her eyes pecked out by birds.

All of Aurora's ladies-in-waiting had talked late into the night--had been working over the problem for weeks as Aurora's sixteenth birthday drew ever closer with no chance of averting the curse. They had planned and theorized, but all decided at last that there was only one thing to do. They were, to a woman, going to stay with the princess. A hundred years would pass while they slept. They would wake to a strange world where everyone they knew was dead and gone. But not for all the gold in the kingdom would they abandon Aurora to face such a world alone.

Now they stood together at the palace gate. Anne, the eldest of them, with strands of gray in her hair, who had been lady to the queen before coming to serve the princess. Lydia, younger even than Aurora, fair and tall and full of energy. Celia, little, sweet and copper-haired, only a year older than Aurora. Margaret herself--tallest and most practical, with wisps of golden-brown curls fluttering in the wind. And exactly in the center, Princess Aurora, with her fairy-gifted beauty that outshone the sun itself. Margaret had come to view these girls as sisters, but as they watched the courtiers leave, she suddenly realized they were all the family she was going to have--that any of them were going to have--for the rest of her life.

When the last face, the last horse, the last banner, disappeared over the horizon, all five of the women stepped back inside the palace walls.

And were immediately faced with a problem.

"Which one of us is going to close the gate?" Celia asked, gazing up at the wicked-looking portcullis. None of them had ever touched the winch-and-chain that moved it. Who knew if they'd even have the strength to? Five women staying alone in a castle for a hundred years could not leave the palace gate open for any passing brigand to come through.

With a groan and a rattle, the chain moved, the portcullis lowered, and the metal bars fell to the ground with a bone-rattling thump.

All of the women screamed.

Had the curse come upon them already? Were they to be trapped here for a hundred years, never to escape? Margaret's heart raced--she hadn't realized how suffocating the palace would seem.

A man stepped out of the guardhouse. He wore the livery of the palace guard and had the first whispers of a mustache on his upper lip. He bowed to the princess and her ladies.

"My apologies, ladies," he said, in a baritone that sounded surprisingly deep for one who appeared barely old enough for that facial hair. "I did not intend to startle you."

He looked young and strong of limb. He carried himself with the dignity and grace of a much older man--had something in the eyes that made him seem wiser than his years.

Aurora gave a deep royal nod. "We thank you for your service. If we could know the name of our servant?"

He bowed crisply. "William of Avenroth, your highness."

Aurora gave her sweetest smile. "We are pleased to know you, and we beg your forgiveness for our outburst. We had thought ourselves alone in the palace."

"You are alone, your highness," William said. "Everyone left, save for me."

"You did not wish to escape the curse?"

William bowed again. "I have a duty, your highness, to protect the princess. All other considerations fade before that calling."

"Some would say such devotion goes far beyond duty," the princess said.

Serenely, he said, "Perhaps it does, your highness."

Aurora opened her mouth, then closed it. She bowed her head. "I am grateful for your loyalty, William."

She turned back toward the palace, and her beautiful face was pensive.

As Margaret and the other ladies followed Aurora back toward the palace, Aurora asked, "Ought I to send him away?"

"Send him away?" Anne yelped. "Why?"

Aurora hushed her, looking back over her shoulder. "I can not ask him to risk the curse for my sake."

"You haven't sent any of us away," Lydia pointed out.

"You all know me well," Aurora said. "He barely knows me."

How little Aurora understood her power. She was princess of the realm, fairy gifted, bright and shining. No person who saw her ever forgot her.

"He has served you from his boyhood, highness," Margaret said. "Though you do not know him, he is quite familiar with you."

Anne said, "He chose to stay, just as we did."

"It is not fair," Aurora said, "for all of you to give up your lives because of my curse."

Margaret said, "It's not fair that you were cursed. You did not choose it--but we can choose to love you. Let him make that same choice."

Aurora stopped, tears in her eyes. "Never has a princess had such true friends. I am afraid I can never be grateful enough."

She embraced each of them in turn, all of them caught between laughter and tears. Then she turned back toward the guard and invited him inside for supper.

#

In the Great Hall--now echoing and cavernous in its emptiness--they made a merry birthday supper, rejoicing over the coming of the princess' sixteenth year, and not letting themselves think about the doom that came with it. The king and queen, though not staying to celebrate the day, had left a celebratory meal behind them--roasts and fruit and cakes and punch.

Margaret had been afraid that the guard William would be out of place among them, but he blended in with ease. He was quiet, respectful, courteous, seeming to enjoy being in their presence, not minding being on the outside of their shared jokes. He helped to serve the meal, even brought some of Aurora's favorite treats from the palace stores, pointing out that they would not last the hundred years. Aurora was gracious, and, as the night went on, genuinely warm. She smiled at William with the smile she reserved for her friends, even drew him into private conversation once or twice.

Despite her assurances to Aurora, Margaret couldn't figure out why William stayed. Margaret had noticed him at the palace, had seen him serving with distinction. He was loyal, dutiful, diligent--but a man didn't become the only guard in the entire palace to risk a hundred-year curse out of duty.

It puzzled her, but she had to admit that she was glad for his presence. Having another person there made the world seem not so small.

The next day was a tense one. No spindles had been seen in the palace since the day the princess had been cursed, but curses had a way of making themselves come true. Margaret and all of Aurora's ladies stayed with her, trying to keep up her spirits and keep watch for any stray spinning wheels. William kept watch at the gates, hoping that he could fend off any evil that might try to approach from outside.

The sun was nearly below the horizon when Margaret and the other ladies followed Aurora into her room in the castle's highest tower. They all sat beside the window, watching the sinking sun, waiting for the moment when the day would end and the danger--so long feared--might pass by forever.

The last sliver of sun sank below the horizon, and all the ladies gave a sigh of relief.

"Could it be over?" Celia asked, with suppressed joy.

"Perhaps the king's plans worked," said Lydia.

Margaret could not shake a sense of foreboding. "The sun is gone, but there's still light in the sky."

Anne rose angrily. The shawl she'd been desperately knitting all day fell to the floor. "We've only a few minutes! What more could happen?"

The ladies began to quarrel--everyone's nerves were tight after the tension of the day.

Aurora rose--quietly, gracefully, but her movements attracted every eye. "Girls, let's not quarrel."

She reached beneath her bed to pick up the ball of yarn that had rolled away from Anne's knitting. "Oh!" she said in surprise, drawing her hand back. "I think I found your knitting needle, Anne."

She drew back the ruffle at the base of the bed. Beneath, they saw, not a knitting needle, but the shining, wicked point of a drop spindle.

Aurora fell onto the bed--lost in a deep sleep.

There were tears, gasps, shrieks--but they fell to work. Margaret could already feel sleep pressing down upon her, but she urged the girls to move quickly. They lifted Aurora fully onto the bed, arranged her limbs to lie flat, put pillows under her head, and covered her with blankets. If their beloved princess was to sleep for a hundred years, they could make sure she was comfortable while she did it.

Celia was the first to drop, falling to the floor in a deep swoon. Margaret placed a pillow beneath her head, and then did the same for Anne when she fell asleep at the foot of Aurora's bed. Lydia fell almost on top of Aurora, and Margaret moved her so she was stretched across blankets on the floor.

All this time, Margaret's eyelids drooped, her limbs became heavy, and her head split with yawns. She fought the curse as long as she could, trying to arrange a hundred years' worth of comforts in a few moments. But at last, even her will could not overcome the magic. Her legs gave out, and she crumpled to the floor, with half her body draped across the foot of Aurora's bed.

Her last thought as she fell into a hundred years of sleep was that she'd have such a backache when she woke.

#

Margaret woke to a world covered in dust. She scraped it off her face, shook it off her hands, brushed it from her dress and hair. Around her, the other ladies were waking with similar ablutions.

Aurora's chairs, wardrobe, dressing table, even Anne's abandoned half-finished shawl, were all covered in dust. The windows were covered with rose bushes, so Margaret couldn't see what a century had wrought upon the world outside. On the bed, the other girls were clearing the dust off of Aurora--but Aurora remained fast asleep.

"I don't understand," Celia said, as the hours dragged by with no sign of Aurora's waking. "We're all awake."

"The hundred years has passed," Margaret said. "But the princess has to be woken by a kiss of true love."

"Where's that supposed to come from?" Anne asked. "Any suitors the princess had will be dead and gone by now."

"Maybe one came from this century," Lydia suggested. "It's possible some brave prince grew up with the stories and came to save the sleeping princess."

That seemed as good a theory as any, so after they'd tended to their ragged old dresses as best they could, Celia sat at Aurora's bedside, and Margaret went into the halls with Anne and Lydia, in the hope they could point some wandering prince in the right direction.

The rest of the palace was as dusty and decayed as Aurora's room. Tapestries were moth-eaten. A kitchen's worth of food had decayed to nothing. Suits of armor were covered in rust.

When they found no princes inside, they decided to head outdoors. With all three of them pulling together, the kitchen door came open with a shriek of rusty hinges.

The doorway was completely blocked by a wall of roses and thorns.

Margaret's throat tightened. They had nothing to break through those branches. They were alone in a palace with no food. If Aurora didn't wake soon, they'd all starve.

Looking at their stricken faces, Margaret could see the other girls were coming to the same conclusion.

Then they heard rustling in the branches. The thick wall showed gaps of sunshine. There were flashes of silver, the sound of a man's groans. At last, the branches parted before a blade, and William burst into the kitchen.

His mustache had darkened a bit over the decades, but he still looked as young and dignified as ever. Though his face and hands were bleeding with a thousand scratches, he bowed with his usual courtesy and a hint of a smile. "Good morning, ladies. I trust you slept as well as I did?"

"What's it like out there?" Margaret asked.

"Overgrown," William replied. "The entire palace is covered in roses--a precaution of the fairies, though I'm not certain whether it came from the good or the bad ones."

William cast his gaze across the room, and suddenly became solemn. "Where is the princess?"

"Still asleep," Lydia said, near tears. "It's awful! There's no one to wake her!"

The look of selfless devastation on William's face made everything clear.

"William," Margaret said. "You love the princess."

This unflappable young man blushed and looked at the ground. "It is not my place--"

"You stayed a hundred years for her! Of course you love her!"

"I could never be her true love. I am only a guard--"

"It's been a hundred years! Some other king rules the kingdom. There's no one alive who'd object. You have to kiss her awake!"

William turned white and his jaw fell. "I could never take such liberties!"

Margaret put her hands on her hips. "Look, if Aurora was drowning, you'd jump in to save her, right? Even if it meant touching her without asking permission."

"Naturally."

"This is no different. If you don't try, Aurora will die."

William thought, then bowed. "I will do what I must to serve the princess."

Margaret seized William's hand and led him toward Aurora's tower.

#

Celia jumped to her feet as they entered the room. Her eyes brightened as she saw the guard.

"William! Have you found the prince?"

Margaret and Lydia pushed William toward the bed. "He's right here," Margaret said.

William stood beside Aurora, looking down into her serene, flawless face. "What if she doesn't welcome such an advance?" he whispered. "How could she care for a man she barely knows?"

Anne said, "Why don't you ask her when she wakes up?"

William bent over Aurora--then stood up. "This might not work."

At once, all four of Aurora's ladies said, "Kiss her!"

Ever so gently, with impossible tenderness, William brushed his lips over Aurora's.

Aurora's eyes opened. "William?" she breathed.

William bowed his head. "Forgive me for taking such liberties, your highness--"

Aurora threw her arms around his neck. "I'm so glad it's you."

Caught in her embrace, William stood flabbergasted.

"Your highness," he said. "Under the circumstances, I do not expect you to return my affection--"

Aurora pushed him away and looked in his face. "How could I not? You stayed true to me when every other man in the world abandoned me."

"You do not know me."

"I know that you stayed. I have a whole new century to get to know everything else." Aurora sat up on the edge of the bed. "If we decide that marriage suits us, I have plenty of bridesmaids."

#

With laughter, all of Aurora's ladies embraced her in turn, sharing stories about their hundred years of sleep.

Margaret went last, holding Aurora tight.

Aurora said, "I can't thank you enough. All of you, so true. You gave up a whole world for me."

As Margaret looked around the room at Anne laughing over her ruined century-old knitting, at Lydia and Celia teasing William--the women she loved like sisters and a brand-new brother--Margaret felt justified in saying, "If I lost a world, I got a better one in return."

[diorcities]

moon boy

pairing: haechan x fem!reader, afab!reader.

genre: fluff, smut.

content: breast groping, multiple orgasms, oral sex, breeding kink, unprotected sex, haechan overstim himself, lazy sex overall. enjoy !

an: hbd to my beloved @djxia0 ｡ﾟﾟ･｡･ﾟﾟ｡

masterlist.

margaret atwood was right when she said «i exist in two places. here, and where you are» whenever your boyfriend was out of town. finding yourself looking for parallels of you in every romance. smelling fragrances that remind you of him. sounds. music. movies. books. overthinking. does he also remind you when he sees things? smiling for no reason other than your name showing up on his mind.

it's almost impossible not to look at him. his face calm, asleep peacefully beside you. the same hands that pinned you on the bed while making love to you after what felt like years away from each other, now lie lazily on your back, locking you in his chest, which slowly rises and falls. half-open fleshy lips, which make you want to kiss. a knot of limbs from the waist down.

you lose track of time. hours pass. minutes. or perhaps seconds until his eyes open, first waking up from his sleep, and then he watches you. he gives you a tired smile, before securing the grip and drawing you further towards him. “creepy woman,” he says, leaving a kiss on your forehead. “what you mean?” you ask, trying to play it cool. he hums. “you really have to love me to stare at me while i sleep.” little did you know that he did the same when you were sleeping a few minutes ago.

“i'm just afraid that someone will come and take you while i sleep.” he stops stretching his muscles to look at you, his hands caressing the skin on your arm. “i won't go anywhere.” haechan kisses you passionately, his lazy tongue playfully teasing yours. deepening the kiss as he hover over you, your hands go to his cheeks, while you melt at his caresses. feeling an entire galaxy explode within you. gently biting his puffy lips, trying to encapsulate the moment and make it infinite. he breaks the kiss and looks at you, searching for any other insecurity, but these have faded. “can you breathe with my weight on you?” he asks. nodding, you wish he knows that it's the only way to breathe you know.

your eyes move to the clock on the bedside table. he nuzzles his head into the crook of your neck, spreading small kisses on your skin. you haven't dressed since the last time you made love. your skins touch each other unscrupulously, feeling each other's warmth. caressing each part already explored. knowing each other's favorite spots. tracing paths on his back, wide and soft, hearing him sigh with pleasure. “would like to eat now?” you ask after minutes of comfortable silence. he hums in agreement. “some pasta?” you suggest, feeling him shake his head. “what, then?.” he comes out of hiding, and looks at you. eyes gleaming and hinting something you don't take long to guess.

haechan smiles drowsily, before kissing you carefully. he leaves short, deep kisses on your lips, more and more sloppy, until he slides his mouth down your jaw and down. his head is lost under the covers, as he leaves a path of kissing to your crotch. you move the fabric away in one movement, wanting to get drunk from the view. “you look so heavenly right now, honey,” he states, watching your breathing increase. “let me have a taste of you, i bet you taste just like you look.”

a lash of pure euphoria invades you when his tongue licks your folds, before feeling it in your clitoris, rocking it up and down. silky. tasting you. when he hums with bliss on the exposed skin, it sends electrical currents to your senses. his hands hold your legs open while delighting in your taste, eventually going to your breasts, rubbing his thumb on your nipples and cupping them in his hands as his tongue twirl and lick you like a starved man. bobbing his head, and moving it from one side to another as he can't get enough of you. hands pulling his hair when he hits just where you want it. “there, hyuck...” you breathe, “there.” while blinking and moaning, letting him know how good he was eating you out. feeling your mind blurring, and your heart beating erratically.

you gasp for air. “oh, h-hyck,” he delights every time you pronounce his name. he swears it's the most beautiful sound in the world. your body shakes when he sucks gently, back arching and toe-curling, raising your legs on his shoulders, revealing a now reachable area that his tongue soon attacks. your hands make the sheets fists when the pleasure is unbearable, when your muscles tense and relax again as the sweet ecstasy bathes you whole. haechan enjoys the view of you, drinking your naked body and the few love marks he made in the previous encounters, before hovering over you. his weight is distributed in one hand next to your head, while his is buried in your neck.

you receive him by rubbing his back, pulling him to you, and leaving little kisses on his shoulders. his available hand caresses your hips and thighs, and his lips spread love in all the areas he can reach. he does it until he gets tired, and then, brushes his length at your entrance. your excitement causes it to slip into you with ease, gently. wanting to drink and feel every stimulus, every reaction of your bodies to coming together. “so pretty, moaning my name,” he praises you, “so fucked. shit, i'd love to breed you.”

“push it all inside,” you plead, aching for him. “so greedy.” you bring your hands to his butt and push him in. a high-pitched moan leaves his lips, as his length buries deeper in your pussy. a giggle full of pleasure runs through you that ends in a whimper. you bite your lip, wrapping your legs around his waist as he adjusts in the proper position before starting to penetrate you. he takes his pace, feeling you take him so well. he thinks he's going to lose his mind if you keep moaning like that. with slow, deep strokes that drives you crazy.

his hands seek yours, interlacing your fingers with his. lips going to lips. soft moans filling the air as he pumps you just right. legs trembling on either side of his hips, bringing him closer, causing him to grind against you, rocking his cock side to side, and up and down inside you, stimulating forgotten areas that make you twitch under his weight. he has always known how to find those spots, make you feel this good. possessing the perfect size to fill you, to light fireworks in your chest.

his moans are melody to your ears, caressing his hair, letting him use you as he pleases. hearing him struggle to keep the pace, because it's so hard when you're wailing in his ear and throbbing like that around his stimulated cock. no stamina left. both drained from past encounters. fucking each other senseless. yet not able to stop until you have the last essence of the other. until the sky runs out of stars.

haechan seeks your gaze. making eye contact, you bathe in the warmth of his brown eyes, like taking a shot of espresso on a rainy morning. like melted chocolate. as love would feel. burning and blooming inside out as the climax devours and leaves only quivers that shake your whole body. haechan curses. “where do you want it?” he wants to know. he holds it until you answer “inside.” resulting in spasms that shake his body as he releases inside you. filling you with his hot cum, until he empties himself. he keeps rocking his hips into you while pretty whimpers falls from his lips. even though you're still drunk from your high, you can't help but tighten the grip on his waist, and let him fuck you again. “fuck,” he says with a raspy moan.

he can't have enough of you. you both can't have enough of each other. and he's been far from you for so long, that your high arrives just by grinding into each other. your body quivers due to the euphoria draining you completely, while you sense haechan's legs trembling, “o-oh fuck, love.” yet he doesn't stop. when he gets up to lock eyes with you, you catch his face contracted in an unbearable look, with furrowed eyebrows and eyes glossy, thrusting you with a sloppy pace. his breathing, ragged and uneven, let out drawn-out groans. forehead creased and cheeks painted with the prettiest shade of pink. “you're so beautiful,” you whisper, “cum in me, hyuck.” you push him in with your hands, and it's the only thing that takes him to finally reach his climax.

you trap him in your embrace until his seed starts to come out of you along with your arousal, unwrapping your legs so he can slide out of you once he passes his high, resting his length on your stomach.

“give me a minute, baby, i physically can't move right now,” he states, dropping all his weight on you, nuzzling his nose in your neck. lips awkwardly leaving small, wet kisses. “just absorbing how good you felt.” his hand rubs circles on your thigh while he hums, melting under the caresses that your fingers leave on his scalp. a minute passes and haechan doesn't move. “hyuck, love,” you call his name softly, but there's no answer.

he has fallen asleep again.

[notthecutesttrash]

Vanilla Ice Cream

Content: Sierra Six is your newly appointed bodyguard. You only want to make his life a living hell so he can leave. That is until unfortunate circumstances make you feel closer to him, and eventually like his company.

Warnings: Lil bit of angst, reader's a brat, fluff, inebriation, blood, vomiting, language, death

Word count: 6.8k

When you saw him, all you could think was how it was just another pointless bodyguard who might fail to do their job. Apparently, you were notorious for being a spoiled brat, as your father so explained, and no one else wanted to work with you because of it. Your lips twitch in irritation at the thought. You? Spoiled? Please. 

“I don’t need a bodyguard! It’s not even a bodyguard anyways, it’s a babysitter! I’m so tired of being watched every day! Can’t I have some goddamn privacy?! I’m like 25!” You yell out to your father who is as usual, too busy calmly packing things into his neatly confined suitcase. 

“Enough (Y/n), you’re going to have a bodyguard because you can’t seem to sit still for once.” 

“Oh, maybe because, again, I’m 25 DAD! I’m so sorry for wanting to go out and have fun!”

“I have a target on my head, your mother has a target on her head, therefore YOU have a target on your head. What do you not understand?” You’ve heard this quote a million times at this point so you just wave it off.  

“Yeah, and? That target has gotten us nowhere but money spent on these so-called body guards and given us senseless paranoia. Nothing has ever happened, and nothing will. Just relax already.” Maybe you knew you were being selfish, but you didn’t care, it was true.

“I am going to be gone for not just a day, not just 2, not even a full week, but almost 2 months.” He emphasizes. “I need the best security there is for you, do you understand? Someone is bound to try something.” He gives you a finished expression and then glimpses to the maid. “Margaret open the gates for Sierra six.” Your father says. She nods and briskly walks off. 

You roll your eyes and huff, “dad!” 

“He’ll be here any minute now. Introduce yourself, be nice, and we will see you in 2 months.” You open your mouth to speak and he holds up a finger. 

“Don’t give this poor man any trouble than he needs, or at least enough that I have to hear about it. I don’t need yet another bodyguard that refuses to work with us because of you.” Your father rubs his fingers at the bridge of his nose to display his exhaustion. 

“What do you mean because of me?” You cross your arms and huff, “I don’t do anything to any of them.”

“Don’t play coy.” 

You shake your head, “i’m not.” You kind of were. Just kind of. 

“You are. Don’t act like every guard so far hasn’t wanted to reverse the contract and shoot you themselves.” You cross your legs and turn your head. 

“They start it.” That was also most definitely not true. 

A brooding man makes himself known at the doorway. A tall figure, blue grayish eyes, sandy dark blonde locks, and somehow a face and demeanor that could make a mother proud. 

“Another fit pretty face.” Was the first thing you say and your father instantly gives you a look that says don’t. 

Pursing your lips, you hum begrudgingly and step in front of the man. “My name is (Y/n), nice to meet you.” A clear fake smile burns into your features, and you stretch your hand out. Sierra Six doesn’t say anything, he remains stoic and silent. He then places his hand into your own and firmly shakes it. His hand felt warm and rough like he was born fighting every day, and you made a note to remember that. 

“Have a safe trip Dad!” You speak with honey, tiptoeing on your pretty little expensive slippers. Planting a kiss on his cheek, you give a side eye to six. A sadistic joy twitches into the edge of your lip, and you give him one last look before he turns to his side to let you pass through the doorway. 

Fitz told him it was going to be a trip, and he believed it. For the past few days all you were trying to do was tick him, to break him, to over-exaggerate every little opinion you had, to make sure he’d want to get up and leave himself. 

“I despise ketchup with my fries, why can’t we just have some alternative, what do you think Mr. Sierra six?” You would complain about one moment. Then the next moment you went on about how chocolate was better than vanilla, about how winter sucks because you can’t use your lavish pool, why red is better than yellow, why Pepsi tastes better than coca cola, and so on. 

 “So what’s your real name mr. six?” you ask him, your legs crossed over one another as you sat by him. His fingers were expertly working at the computer ahead of him, and he only gives you a split second of a look. “Nothing?” You inch closer, your red heels dangling near his legs. 

“Why are all you guards so boring? Hm? It’s been like 3 days and you can’t say more than 2 words.” Throwing your head back, you groan out loud. Finally, you thought of an idea, and you glance back at him, grinning.  

“Well then you wouldn’t mind if I invited my friend over would you?” A giggle escapes. “No. Of course not.” Pulling out your phone, you scroll through your contacts and grin. 

“You’re not supposed to have anyone over.” Finally, Mr. Special Sierra Six speaks. You wave your phone and laugh. 

“It’s just one friend pretty boy, come on now, don’t be shy. She won’t give you as much as a bite… though.. she might try to get into your pants.” Snickering to yourself, he gives you that same blank stare. You click on your friend Cacie, and she answers the phone just as fast. Smiling wide, you’re already pulling it to your ear and telling her to come over. 

“There’s a little special surprise for you. This one is good this time.” 

“Can’t wait~” she says with that little mischievous snicker at the end of her words. She hangs up and you know she’s already on her way. 

“Hey pretty boy, do you like wine? Wait don’t answer that. You strike me as a.. on the rocks type of guy. Let me guess.. bourbon? Scotch?” Six doesn’t respond, and you tap at your chin. “Whiskey!” Six gives you a glimpse, and you know you got it. 

“Let me guess, “I can’t drink on the job,” you mimic him, “just one little glass wouldn’t hurt.” Already pouring the whiskey into the glass, you shoot him a side look. He’s still working at his computer, and at this point a guard might be sighing, rolling their eyes, or shaking their head. But he’s quite diligent. It was impressive. 

You set the glass in front of him, and he doesn’t even eye you. “Just a sip for me, pretty please?” You give him the sweetest orbs you could muster, but it wasn’t very good knowing you. Eventually he gives you a look, and this time it stays. You couldn’t know what he was thinking with his expression at all. “Come on, please? I won’t bother you at all after this.” You tilt your head, and your eyes glimmer a certain sadism that screams out your lies.

“I’m good.” Sierra six speaks, turning back to his screen, and you create a fake pout. 

“That’s no fun.” You take the glass you poured him and take a sip. Your gaze lingers on him. He knows you’re staring, you know he knows you’re staring, but you still do it. The nails of yours tap onto the glass one finger at a time, and you rest your free hand at your cheek. Still stuck in your peering, you don’t realize the doorbell rings. 

“You should probably get that.” Six states, and you smile sarcastically. You should’ve made him get up and do it himself for that smugness. 

A swift smirk dawns on you when Cacies pretty face is revealed. Her red lips are stunning, and her blonde coils are wrapped up. She wears her velvet red slim-fit dress, and you know she always wore this one to seduce the prettiest of guards. “Cacie dear, meet Sierra Six.” Cacie walks up to him right away, a burning intrigue in her light blue orbs.

“You are quite the pretty one, aren’t you? Older, though. You could probably be my dad… but lucky for you, I like that.” She sways her hips to the side and giggles. There is a little flicker of annoyance inside of you that you push down. Six glances up and says nothing, he doesn’t even give a reaction, no visible sigh, no rude comment, not even a linger over her body to show he secretly enjoyed it. Cacie was more than intrigued by that though, and you knew she was 100% willing to break him by the night’s end. 

Cacie turns her back to six, and she unclips her hair and rolls her head slowly, pulling her fingers to her scalp to massage out the little bumps while her hair rolls evenly at the end of her back. Cacie pulls out her phone and loud music begins to blare out. Six doesn’t flinch, but he exhales a barely noticeable sigh that finally showed irritation. It was subtle, but you knew. You take a sip of the whiskey and giggle. Cacie breaks out into a little dance, and Sierra Six closes his laptop and gets up.

It was getting late so he carries his little flashlight and shines at the glass windows to make sure no intruder was around the corners. You roll a lighter in your hands and flick at it, igniting a small fire that you raise to your cigarette. Taking a deep inhale, you blow a trail of smoke in front of you and stand. 

“Dance with me (Y/n), you know you love this song!” Cacie shouts, moving her hand into the curves of her ass. Your gaze lingers over to your bodyguard and you flick your cigarette to the floor. You take another swig of whiskey, and Cacie turns to you with a bottle of champagne in her hands. A big grin stretches her lips and yours do the same. You break out into laughter and she mimics, pouring a generous amount into your glass. She was more of a wine girl, so she’d always have her little special bottle that she’d love to get from some handsome cashier to share a long sip with you. You place your glass down and begin to move your body with the music. 

“You’re free to join too,” Cacie throws a wink at six, and he gives a glimpse before getting back to work. 

Throughout the night Cacie sends every little flirt, any little comment, even a flash of her tits to six, and alas no response. You on the other hand couldn’t care less and once Cacie leans down all drunken to six and tries to touch him, he finally speaks. “Don’t touch.” You take this moment to finally pause the music. Falling to the couch with a sigh, you unbuckle your painful high heels and chuck them off to the side. Your stomach felt like it was violently churning. 

“Why? Afraid I’ll mess up your work? Get you fired?” Cacie chuckles, turning to you. 

“I don’t understand this guy. He’s more boring than watching paint dry.” She grumbles. Huffing, you lean back to the couch and clutch your stomach. There’s a swirling that rushes to your throat, and you bite back the nausea.

“I really don’t care Cacie, just stop bothering him,” you mumble off, unsure if you were even inteligible at this point. You pull your hair out of its restrictive tie and let the locks fall into your face. The headache that was beginning to brew pounds into your ears. Lines of haziness muddle together fast. 

“What is wrong with you?” Cacie gives you a look of disgust as if it was just blasphemous what you uttered. You mumble into the leather, dragging your tired face into it. Your head lulls to the side, everything was too heavy. 

“Are you okay?” Six asks from his position, his head turned over his shoulder, brows furrowed. 

“She’s just drunk,” Cacie rolls her eyes, gesturing towards you. You lean your head onto the curve of the armrest, and the way the light blares down into your sight has you rolling your eyes into the back of your head. Breathing raggedly, you follow Six’s movements toward you, a sickness hits your chest again and you close your eyes, sucking in a pained breath. Six scans the half bottle of champagne, and then you. Suddenly a hand presses to your forehead and you attempt to flutter your lids open. Beads of sweat drip down your skin, and your hair becomes so wet it clings to your cheeks. 

With a sudden sternness six asks, “What was in the champagne?”

Cacie throws up her hands and scoffs. ”How the fuck am I supposed to know? Champagne? I bought it at the store.”

Six rotates the bottle, attempting to find any language or label on the glass. “From who?” Cacie sighs and rolls her eyes dramatically. “I don’t know. The fucking cashier, who else?” 

“Did you say anything to them? Like how you were going to be alone?” Six asks, staring up at Cacie who quiets, a certain guilty look on her face. He raises his brows and she throws up her hands again. 

“Well… I didn’t think it was gonna be a big deal. I just told him that her dad was finally going out of town for more than just a few days, and he gave me that from behind the counter.” She holds a slightly worried expression as six gives her a blank look. You groan out loud as the pain in your stomach swirls. The bile was reaching your throat, the acid, the nausea, you couldn’t hold it back anymore. You violently hurl over the leather couch until your stomach expels every ounce of liquid it can. Before you knew it you were carried away and forced to sit in a car seat before you passed out cold. 

When you woke up you are met with a hospital ceiling, and upon turning, you find six at the corner, standing. Pulling your arms to your sight you see an IV in your wrist, alongside other needles. Anxiety spikes, and you gasp, rushing to get out of the bed.

Six rushes to you, gesturing with his hands to calm down, “Hey hey, lay back down, relax." You hesitantly ease back in.

“What happened?” You ask. 

“Your friend gave you a poisoned bottle of champagne.” He states blankly. Rolling your eyes at the paranoia, you cross your arms. 

“I’m sure I was just drunk.” Sighing, you look out at the window nearby. 

“Do you normally puke out blood when you’re drunk?” He says, tilting his head, and you turn to him. 

 “Only when I’m having a good time,” you can’t help but joke and smile to yourself, eyes now glued to the outside.

Six was quiet, and you shift your focus on him. He has a straight face like usual. You had a deep feeling that maybe if you weren’t purposely attempting to annoy him for the past few days, he might’ve liked you as a person.

“Sorry.” You mutter. 

He raises a brow, and you go on a nervous rant. “I just never get to be alone, so I get angry. So far every guard has quit, and that was always my intention. But..” The words were at the tip of your tongue, but you just couldn’t bear to say thank you, that he saved your life of course, a feat no guard has ever done, and probably never would’ve. 

“I understand if you will.” It is quiet for a moment, and you sigh, keeping your gaze just stuck to the window. You swallow sharply, and it feels like razor blades scratching down your throat. 

“I won’t. It’s my job.” Sierra six states like some automated robot. 

Pushing your head into the pillow, you scoff. “Even when you got a girl who’s trying to make your life a living hell?” 

“I’ve been with worse company.” For just a moment, you can see a shimmer in his eyes, and there’s just the smallest prettiest little curl at the edge of his lips. Grinning widely, you make out a laugh. Though, it’s not for long before you cough out a gross chunk of phlegm, or even blood maybe. 

“You okay?” He asks, moving to you as you nod weakly.

“Yeah…” You trail off tiredly. “Can we go home now?” He finally chuckles, and you turn to him, embarrassed, a slight blush burning in your cheeks. 

“Not yet.” There’s a frown from you, and you sink into the bed, your eyes closing. Six’s gaze lingers over you for a moment before he gets back into his past position, his hands folded neatly over each other. 

It’s been close to a month, and the only company you ever had was six, and you hated to say.. you were starting to fall in love with him. Maybe it’s because you were desperate for any social contact. Or maybe because he's the only one who actually broke your facade and you feel comfortable to be your self around him... Or maybe it was just.. something about him.. the way he would smile just slightly, his soft chuckles whenever you finally did make him laugh, his ability to remain so calm.. it was so peaceful and reassuring in your boring days. 

“I mean seriously though, why isn’t there an alternative to ketchup? It’s not like I’m just gonna put mustard on my fries, so you can’t say that’s one. It’s either ketchup or fries alone. You know?” You complain while shoving a fry into your mouth, huffing. Six removes the attention from his computer, his brow raised.

“Are you done?”

You nod absentmindedly. “You’re right, mustard sucks too.”

He lets out an impatient exhale, but there is just the slightest little twitch that nudges his lips into a smile. You find yourself grinning whenever you manage such a feat. Maybe he was annoyed at you, sure, but you knew he couldn’t deny that the mindless banter was enjoyable, and even he couldn't help but join in it every now and then. 

Six looks up at you with a stern but playful expression, “I like mustard.”

“Hm. You do seem like a mustard guy.” You raise your spoon to him accusingly. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He stops typing completely now, gaze locked onto you. 

You circle your spoon and gesture to all of him. “It just screams.. you, you know?” 

Six hums. “Is it the hair?” 

“Yes! It is the hair!” You point to him and six nods, resuming his typing. He then shakes his head, and chuckles after a moment of silence. Smiling, you continue eating and snicker to yourself, well that is until a wonderful idea hits you.  

“You should teach me how to fight!” You shout and he gives you a blank look from his computer. 

“Why?” He asks.

“Well, what if someone breaks in and you need help?” He smiles only slightly, and your stare remains fixated on him. His beard compliments the frame of his sandy hair, and the blue of his eyes that glance your way. You loved picking those features out every now and then. 

He averts to his screen, “I won’t need help. Trust me.”

“But what if you do.” You retort. 

“I won’t.” He shakes his head. 

“But what if-“

Six sighs, “Alright, I’ll teach you. Happy?” Hand resting against your cheek, you giggle. Six glimpses when you walk off. Then his gaze remains for a second too long. 

Surely when he wasn’t looking around the same spots, exits, and corners every moment, he could relax in a way that still made him feel like he was working. That’s what you hoped at least when you dragged him outside beside the pool and forced him to teach you his martial arts, or whatever. 

“I’m not going to hit you,” he reminds you right off the bat.

You playfully gasp, pressing your knuckles to your hips. “What if someone bursts into my room and attempts to knock me out, hm?” 

“That won’t happen.” You open your mouth to retort and he puts his hand up.

“Don’t.”

You whisper the words “but what if it does?”

You would’ve believed him and even called yourself paranoid, but considering you just had an attempt of murder on you, unfortunately, the idea wasn’t out the window anymore.

“Hit me.” Six gestures, and you step back instinctively, a bundle of worry in your chest. 

“Anywhere..?” You press your lips nervously into another.   

“Anywhere.” 

You dive your balled-up fists at him, and he swiftly moves to the side. It was some impressive reflex, and you did it again only to watch him repeat. You take a step back and smile, breathing through your words. “So, I guess my father doesn’t hire useless people.”

The more you try, the more useless it is, but you’re determined until finally he grabs your wrist and holds it. “You’re too predictable, you can do better. Come on.” A huff escapes, and you swing directly at his eye, but he dodges just in time. 

“Better.” Six pauses, and moves to you, grabbing your fist. “Like this.” He moves your hand in the direction, imitating the movement, and once he steps back, you copy. “Good,” he compliments, and you step back, smiling.

Six makes a gesture with his hand, directing it to him as if saying to keep it coming. Taking a deep breath, you move to punch him, and he dodges. You do the same movement several times and he all but does the same, except each time you notice you were getting just a little closer to his window.

Eventually, you pant and hold your hands to your knees. “This is a lot more tiring than it looks.” 

Six looks around at the daylight slowly diminishing. “You should eat, it’s dinnertime.”

“You cooking?” You ask, taking a deep breath. 

“Not unless you like cereal.” He jokes with that blank tone as he walks away, but you give a small chuckle before following him. 

There was a question you were itching to ask as you sat down, and you gave him several glances to determine his mood. Then again there was never anything that showed what he might be thinking, so you purse your lips and look down at your food again. “What?” Six speaks up, and you turn to him, quietly staring. 

“Nothing,” you mutter, eating a forceful spoonful of your rice. 

Sierra Six hums, his gaze lingering over you, and you stand, getting up to walk to your freezer. “There’s no more ice cream,” you pout. 

“Good. I won’t be able to hear about how chocolate is better than vanilla for a while now.” You turn around to Six who has a little playful glint in his eye, and you fake pout, moving to sit back down. 

“You didn't enjoy my talks?” 

“I would’ve if you chose vanilla.” He jokes, and when you laugh he can’t help the small smile that tugs his lips.

You rest your hand on your cheek and find yourself gawking at him. Six eventually speaks through the strange tension. “You look like you have something you’re wanting to ask, so what is it?”

Biting your lip, you look away for a moment and eat another spoonful of bland rice. Life without your fancy chefs was definitely a depressing one. 

“Nothing I haven’t already asked you.” You say in a small mumble, and six hums, stopping his movements at the laptop. 

“You’ve asked me a lot in these past few weeks. Like what icecream flavor is my favorite, if I like ketchup better than mustard, if whiskey is better than bourbon, if-“ Cutting him off, you sigh. 

“What’s your name?” Six gives the same blank neutral expression, but as if he’s thinking. “Unless.. you don’t have one.. but you’ve got to right? You weren’t born an agent.. were you?” You ramble on, and six eventually lets out a small exhale, tilting his head. 

“Court.” He states and you quiet, keeping your eyes on his. Suddenly you smile, then it turns into a grin, and you laugh. He looks confused this time, “what?”

“Nothing… I’m just.. happy you told me.” A giggle escapes you, and there’s a swirl of butterflies in your stomach. Court raises a brow and gets back to work, his side gaze lingering on you as you move to put your dishes into the washer. 

“Goodnight Court,” you sing with a little giggle and wave. 

“Good night (Y/n).” He says, his focus back on his screen. Yet as you walk away the smile he held within him escapes fully.  

Throughout the night you found yourself tossing and turning, your head filled with thoughts of six- or Court. The house felt safer with him, you admitted, and on many nights when you were scared, he soothed you to sleep with his presence that you bothered to have near you.  

“Six?” You call out, making your way out of the bed with your little nightgown on. No answer and your heart leaps up into your throat. He always answered the first time. What if someone actually did intrude and he wasn’t there, or worse, he lost? God you were starting to sound like your dad, no way that’d happen… But what if it did? 

“Six..?” You call out quieter, tiptoeing around the door frames like a scared little child. There were no lights on, and the windows displayed only the inky blackness outside. It must’ve been, what, 2 am? Now you were beginning to get very worried, and your heart began to beat so fast it was drowning out the quietness of your large house. 

“Six..?” you call out yet again, and no response. 

When you turn a corner, there’s the body of an unfamiliar man on the floor which makes you jump back. Your toe pokes at him, and he doesn’t move. Your anxiety is now fully spiked, and you rush around the hall to call out for six. You find yet another black outfitted body, blood leaking from their chest onto the floor. Although, you didn’t notice that part until you tripped and fell on it. Groaning out in pain, you clutch your head, and call out one last "S-Six!".

Suddenly you hear glass breaking and a silenced gunshot which makes you jump. There's a heavy thud at your feet, it’s the body of another man, and when you look up, it’s Court who stands above you, alive and on his two feet.

He lets out a breath, and you ogle up at him, unsure of what to even say. Court gestures his hand to you and you take it. He instantly pulls you to your feet and you tiptoe silently around the body in front of you. You open your mouth to speak, but his focus zones behind you.

Something is moving in the corner of your sight and you shriek in reflex, instantly rotating to punch the assailant. "Ow!" They hiss in pain and recoil, holding their nose. You stare, wide-eyed, and when the man removes his hand from his face, his eyes narrow onto you. Your heart leaps into your throat, and you contemplate running for a moment but you are more than determined, so you hold up your fist and muster up the same expression.

Suddenly an object flies over your shoulder, it nearly grazes your cheek before it lands deep into the chest of the man who is knocked back. Turning, you see Court who has a serious expression on his face, possibly the most you've ever seen.

You don't have much time to breathe out a word as another man comes behind him. Court rotates just in time and lands a loud sucker punch to the man’s jaw. The attacker stumbles back and gasps, attempting to grab at his pistol that Court more than easily undoes and the magazine falls to the floor. Court lands another hard hit, and you can visibly see the blood that leaks from the attacker’s nose as he repeats, and repeats.. and repeats to the point where you might as well feel guilty for the poor guy.

Cringing, you turn away, and you assume Court is finally finished when he lets out a breath and walks towards you. You study his movements as he nears the man beneath your feet and yanks the blade out from his chest. He takes a rag nearby and begins wiping the blood from it. You notice there is also blood running down his arm and without thinking your hands quickly roam to find the wound. 

“Are you okay?” There was pure concern in your voice, and he scans you as if deep in thought. 

He answers after a few seconds, shrugging, “I’m fine, just a little graze.” You frown and he adds, “You should be sleeping,” breaking you from the focus on his arm. 

You huff. “When did they come in?” 

“Now.” Court continues wiping the blade, not even looking at you. 

“I told you I wouldn’t need any help.” Court continues in his monotone voice and you’re breathless in pure astonishment. You wanted to gasp out a “You’re unbelievable," but in reality, you say what you know annoys him. 

“But you might've.” He cracks just the edge of a smile at you. 

Your knuckles are a bruised red and you can't help but smile as you add, “Did you see the punch I landed? I did more than help, are you kidding?" Court chuckles and god even at a moment like this your heart flutters. 

"Really? That's weird, I feel like I remember teaching you that punch. When was it..?" He looks to the ceiling as if just struggling to remember, “Just earlier today?" You were stuck in your smile, and your head tilts like a lovesick puppy, eyes glued to his. He gives you a sweet smile, then examines your dress which now has a puddle of red in it from when you tripped. 

“You should go change.” He comments as if trying to shift the moment, and you hum, looking down at the bodies on the floor. It’s not like this is the first time you’ve seen this, considering the line of work your father was in, but the shake of six possibly getting hurt, or that they were coming for you upset you more than anything. 

“I couldn’t go to sleep.” You now change the subject, looking up at him. He doesn’t respond, so you touch his hand and gently grab the knife that he was working at and place it on the counter. “Do you ever sleep?” 

“Rarely. I can’t really afford to, considering,” he gestures to the bodies, “someone might break in.” 

“What if I stand watch, and you sleep?” You offer, and he laughs for a bit. When he notices you’re serious, he gives you a look as if you just said something ridiculous. He scoffs and you pout.

He shakes his head, “That’s not your job.”

“No, it’s not. But my job as a host should be to make you feel comfortable and well-rested in my home.” You tilt your head, giving the best puppy eyes you could muster. 

“Interesting character development.” He jokes and you pout. 

“Come on, please? Starting tomorrow, you can take the best nap of your life.” You hold his hands that were once cleaning the knife and squeeze gently. Blue meets (e/c), and for a quiet long moment, it remains that way. Six doesn’t say anything, he just stares, and you do the same. Eventually, he decides to speak.

“I should probably clean this up.” You look around and take a step back forgetting to remember you’re an inch away from a pile of blood. 

“Oh.. right.. yeah.” You trail off, giving him one last look as he does to you, before you nod, and walk off. 

“Good night (Y/n),” he says and you turn back and smile. 

 “Good night Court.” 

The closer you got to the time of your dad coming back from his trip, the more a big twinge of disappointment would hit you. It was almost 2 weeks left now, and you felt a sadness thinking of it. It would mean no more Court, and he would go on his way to other missions, or worse, even become a bodyguard to some other girl who’s conveniently all alone in a big house. 

“Are you okay?” Asked Court who was, as usual, typing on his computer while you ate. 

“Yeah.” Responding, you stab sadly at your eggs and let out a sigh. He wouldn’t like you anyway, not with how bad you treated him the first few days. There was no way.

Maybe it was a good thing he was leaving soon, so you could just be on your way and stop being so lovesick. Sooner or later another guard will come and you’ll go back to making their life a nightmare. 

Court stares at you from the sides of his eyes, and hums. “I’ve been with you long enough now to know what’s wrong, so tell me.” He pushes his computer out of the way and directs his focus onto you. “What’s on your mind?”

Your lips purse, and for a moment you think of lying or not telling him anything, but you finally decide, that if he wasn’t going to be here after these 2 weeks anyway, then what was the point of keeping it to yourself? 

“I’m just.. disappointed you’ll leave soon.” Court tilts his head, probably not even sure how to respond to that. 

“You’re the only guard I’ve liked. So far I’ve made all of them quit, or even want to kill me themselves. My dad probably expects that you’re already gone or wanting to blow your own brains out by now. But… you’re here.” Awkwardly you finish your statement, refusing to stare at him in the eyes.. until finally you do. He gives you this questionable expression, and truthfully all of his emotions have been at least a tiny bit readable, but right now, you’re truly unsure of what he’s thinking. All you seem to notice is a glimmer in his eyes, maybe something sad, happy, mad, you really couldn’t tell. 

“Yes.. I am.” He trails off like he wants to say more. 

“Why?” 

Court shakes his head for a moment and glances down, then he shrugs. “It’s my job.” Exhaling, you push yourself back into your seat. 

Thinking of what to say and biting back a disappointment, you muster out a painstaking gratitude. “Well… I thank you for doing your job. In 2 weeks, you won’t see me again, and I’ll be back to making someone else’s job here hell. So.. you’re almost free.” You joke, but in a way that hurts you. A small fake smile is all the reaction you want to give, but the humor that makes its way to your words is almost nonexistent. 

There’s a harsh jab that hits your heart that you’re attempting to push down. You knew he wouldn’t like you, it’s outlandish, but still, the tears that force their way to your eyes made it hard to show no emotion. Court sees it, and his attempted stoic gaze remains on you, but you can see he’s feeling emotions he’s unsure of, or like he’s thinking hard. His mouth opens to speak after a few seconds but you don’t want to hear it, not the words that you’ve been dreading, not the confirmation that’ll break your heart.  

“I’m going to shower.”

He nods, and you purse your lips, turning away from him. Once you are sure he couldn’t see you, a few tears fall to your cheeks. 

You put your hair up in a clip and decide to give yourself a nice bath instead. Undressing yourself, you lock the door to the bathroom and turn on the faucet, adding in a scent of your favorite soap. The bubbles rise to the top, and you watch, spacing out as you wait for the water to fill the spacious tub. Once it’s done you dip your legs in one by one and slowly sink yourself in, enjoying how the hot water settles your nerves. Once Court is gone, you’ll go back to normal, surely. Your eyes close and you let out a relaxed exhale.

You must’ve stayed there for longer than you thought, because there was a knocking at the door, and you mumble unintelligibly to yourself, rubbing your eyes awake. Muttering tiredly, you ask, “Yeah..?”

“It’s been a few hours. Are you good in there?” Court calls out, a slight worry in his tone. 

Humming lazily, you draw yourself out of the bath and swing a robe on, your hair partially wet in its bun. “Sorry, I.. must’ve passed out.” You nearly whisper, opening the door to see Court’s face. He nods, and you both share a longing gaze. 

“Right um… I’m going to get changed.” You cut off the awkward moment, walking off before he could see the light blush that dusts your cheeks. The way your heart beats, betrays the nonchalant thoughts of him leaving and reminds you painfully of the attachment you have. Once again, the idea of him vanishing right when your father arrives causes a pure sinking pain in your heart. 

You throw on whatever’s comfortable and let out a sigh. Grabbing your hairbrush you tiredly begin brushing your hair while a sad pout glues to down turn your lips.

A knock on your door alerts you. Courts at the doorframe, his hands folded over one another, his blue orbs holding a certain sweetness when he views your form. 

Nervously finding yourself caught in his gaze again, you pull away clearing your throat. “Hi…” 

“Hi.” He responds, remaining still. It’s another awkward moment as you slowly brush your hair.

Court suddenly starts, “I’m not going to leave.” You stop, your attention shifting to him. He adverts his eyes for a moment and shuffles his legs, then focuses back.

He speaks with his usual neutral tone, but there’s a slight mix of something unreadable in there. Your attention is now stuck on him and every word he has to say.

“As tempting as it is to no longer have to hear about.. chocolate being better than vanilla,” you both share a small chuckle, “I don’t want to be “free” from you.” Court peers longingly, and you’re not sure what to say, you’re barely even blinking, your heart is leaping into your throat and you swallow roughly. You’re unsure of what exactly he means by this.

Court continues. “The only way I’ll leave is if you want me to leave,” he pauses, “Do you want me to leave?” 

“No,” you whisper, eyes glued to his. 

He walks towards you, slowly and steadily. “Then I won’t leave..” Court trails off, and you avert your attention. 

“What about when it’s no longer your job?” He takes a seat beside you and uses his thumb and index to hold your chin gently, making you gaze back into him. 

“It’ll always be my job.” He practically whispers. 

You scoff, “To be my bodyguard?” 

“No, to protect you,” He says surely, and your cheeks instantly turn a soft pink. 

This time you mumble back, a small frown on your features. “Even when you have to leave?” 

“Even when I have to. But that doesn’t mean I’ll be gone forever.”

Your eyes keep staring directly into his blue orbs, and you aren’t sure if it was his face that got closer, or yours, but eventually, your lips touch, and your lids close peacefully. He tasted sweet and was softer than you’d imagine. Upon separation, your gazes remain fixated on one another, and a genuine smile tugs at both your lips. 

You speak without thinking, “I like you. You know that?” Court hums, breaking out into a laugh. His lips spread wide into a grin, and your heart skips just a little beat. 

“Just like?” This time you chuckle. 

You bite your lip and coyly tilt your head. “You gotta earn that second part.” 

“And how do I do that?” Court asks, his voice soft. His fingers dance over your cheek, and you go weak at just the idea of his face so close to yours that you almost can’t even respond. He’s returned your feelings, and this makes you ecstatic. Your breath hitches when he leans in and plants a kiss on your lips. 

“Just like that?” He asks, smug, and you nod, breathless, moving to touch his dark blonde beard that frames his features so well. 

“Just like that,” you whisper, and he smiles, moving in to kiss you again.  

[peacephotography]

Four Lessons for the Long Haul - What Long Covid has taught me on resilience

When the paramedics came for me in the sweltering days of May 2020 it didn’t feel real. I had just passed out in the heat and collapsed headfirst into a radiator. I’d seen paramedics attend to friends and relatives, but in my feverish state, it didn’t sink in that they would come for me. My youthful sense of invincibility quickly faded. I found myself unable to lift my limbs or produce full sentences, and interminable headaches left me in despair. The after-effects are still with me today, in the form of Long Covid.

Now that I have regained some energy, I would like to share some of the lessons that illness has taught me about enduring difficulty in the climate and ecological crisis.

Lesson One: We need courage, not hope

Let the pain be your fuel. Let your total rejection of the status quo give you the courage to transform your life, to stand out from the crowd, and demand transformative action.

Margaret Klein Salamon, Facing the Climate Emergency

For the first few months of my illness, I woke up every morning hoping that I would suddenly recover and have “my life back”. Rather than letting go of what I could no longer do, I kept trying to live as before. But this detachment from the reality of my situation only brought me more pain.

Once I had the courage to face the uncertainty of illness, I let go of anxiously awaiting a miraculous recovery, and relaxed into my situation. In facing my pain and isolation I was able to accept them. They are a state of exile and vulnerability that can be a source of strength for navigating our bittersweet world.

The same is true for facing the climate emergency. If we hope that technology will save us or that criminally negligent governments will suddenly act responsibly, we are recklessly gambling our future on very poor odds. This can only bring pain.  Once we start to tell ourselves the truth about the situation, we can find pride in our honesty and compassion in our grief.  It’s from here that the resolve to take action will emerge.

Lesson Two: Follow your bliss

Joseph Campbell’s saying, “Follow your bliss,” is not an irresponsible phrase that ignores the pain of life but a reminder to receive pleasure and contentment, even in the depths of suffering.

Toko-pa Turner, Belonging

In illness, every day feels like a struggle. When it shows no sign of improving, or worsens, I lose my morale to keep going. It's an exhausting and depressing limbo. In the darkest and weakest hours, I saw my life flash before my eyes and began to dream of people and places I hadn’t seen for a decade. I saw the highs and lows that had shaped me into the man I am today. This gave me some space and perspective to see things from a different angle. From each challenge, there was a learning on how to face hardship. From each joy, an inspiration to live to the full.

Holding on to these feelings helps bring balance to life. In activism, we follow a true passion and through it find our fullest potential. But even this has its limits. Every step along the way we need to find that balance of difficulty and joy for our own wellbeing. Our struggle for climate and ecological action brings many challenges that can lead us to despairing inertia. In my sickness, a joy was as simple as the view from my bedroom window: a falling blossom, a scudding cloud, a wandering snail.

Such joys became my music, my dance, my poetry, my comedy and my sport: ways to relax into whatever challenge chronic pain brought.

Everyday joys can give us the resilience to keep facing what we must face. So as we rebel with all our might against the existential threat posed by the climate and ecological emergency, let’s also cherish what makes our existence so precious. From that reflective space we can find the courage to keep going.

Lesson Three: Words Matter

“The merest schoolgirl, when she falls in love, has Shakespeare or Keats to speak her mind for her; but let a sufferer try to describe a pain in his head to a doctor and language at once runs dry.”

Virginia Woolfe, On Being Ill

As I slowly regained my speech, I struggled to find the words to describe what I was going through. It struck me that there is a serious lack of language on both chronic illness and climate chaos.  If you are unable to express a feeling, you are unlikely to find any solace for it.

For our society to be able to come to terms with the emergency we need a language to relate to in films, literature and TV.  Some of the best I think we have so far are Parable of the Sower by Octavia Butler, a piercing portrayal of the rise of sexism and racism in an uninhabitable America; The Road by Cormac McCarthy, for its portrayal of the gritty end-point of mass extinction; and early Studio Ghibli films such as Princess Monoke/Nausicaa, whose heroines champion coexistence with the natural world.

However, the vast majority of current work focuses too much on apocalypse scenarios, produced to scare the shit out of us, instead of relatable everyday stories. How about a  climate drama set in water scarce Somalia? Or a northern woman’s heroic adventure to save her hometown from flooding? We need more romances that argue over whether having kids is responsible and comedies that mock the insanity of our toxic system like The Yes Men or Simon Amstell’s Carnage.

Stories are key for an emotional connection to the challenges humanity faces. Our stories of rebellion can be cathartic for climate anxiety and stir a generation of heroes ready to speak out for their futures. Let’s start writing them.

Lesson Four: Belonging

“By reviving a community, built around the places in which we live, and by anchoring ourselves, our politics and parts of our economy in the life of this community, we can recover the best aspects of humanity. We can mobilise our remarkable nature for our own good and the good of our neighbours.”

George Monbiot, Out of the Wreckage

Being housebound and unable to hold conversations without paralysing headaches is extremely isolating. Yet even in the depths of my pain I was able to appreciate the love of our community. Rebels gave me cards, voice-notes, medical advice, paintings and - best of all – cakes, cookies  and biscuits fresh from the oven. The feeling of belonging to and being supported by a community of kindhearted and extraordinary people gave me strength every step of the way.

Together we are building a community that can hold us through the dark days with pride, friendship and joy. We are showing not only the best aspects of humanity but also the solid foundations of a successful social movement. The climate and ecological emergency will shape the rest of our lives. So take every opportunity you can to nourish and prepare yourself for the long journey ahead. You’ll not only be more resilient, but you’ll find more joy.

-- Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed this or can think of someone who could benefit from these words please do share it. If you'd like to read more, subscribe to my blog :) Peace, Robin

Photograph: Franck Fife

[sparkle-fiend]

So I saw this prompt by @throwusaboner about the Harrington’s trading Steve to fae! Eddie for wealth and success, and I kind of ran with it.

***************************

He was Fae. A wild thing - a spirit of music and curiosity. Once upon a time, he amused himself by taking part in the world of mortals; walking among them and watching their lives, making the occasional bargain when it was interesting. But many long years had passed since that was the case. Most humans had forgotten his kind.

That's why he was so surprised to come across the offering in the woods. A splash of color laid out on a tree stump - expensive hothouse flowers in the middle of winter, bright against the grey bark and white snow. It kindled his curiosity.

He lingered, visiting the grove of trees again and again, finding new gifts every time: a bowl of milk and a loaf of sweet bread, an antique silver comb, a finely worked wool scarf. When he found the silver ring set with onyx, he finally decided to wait and greet whoever it was that seemed to be trying to summon one of the Fae.

They crunched through the crust of snow together, hand in hand. A handsome young couple, well-matched: the man was tall and broad, with a pleasing face despite the harsh clench of his jaw, and the woman had warm hazel eyes that glowed nearly golden in the late afternoon light. They stopped short at the sight of him, and the woman gasped out loud.

"So many gifts; you must have a request in mind. What would you ask of me, mortals?"

The man stepped forward boldly, meeting his eyes without hesitation. "I want riches and success to rival my father."

Money and power. Yawn.

"And what do you offer me in return?"

"My firstborn child," the man said, unflinching.

That was more interesting. There were plenty stories of Fae dealing for human children, but in reality, he’d never been offered such a price – not in all his long years. He looked to the woman, who only lowered her eyes and nodded.

He had been alone for a long time, wandering as a raven or a wolf, watching the changing world from its outskirts. It was perhaps a reckless deal to agree to - but he was a reckless creature. "I accept. On the last day of the child's 18th year, it will become mine."

Bargain made; he could have disappeared until the appointed time. But the notion struck him that it might be interesting to stay close, in a form that would let him interact as well as observe.

He didn't have to go far to find what he needed - another mortal, a woman longing for a child that her body couldn't give. Evelyn Munson was overjoyed by her little foundling baby – so happy she didn’t bother to ask too many questions.

He expected the human to feed him and shelter him. He didn’t expect her to have a passion for music that rivalled his own, or for her to name him Eddie, after her favorite song - which she sang to him every night while combing her fingers through his wild, dark curls. He didn’t expect her stories or games or her gentle hands guiding his small fingers over the strings of a guitar.

Most of all, he never could have expected the way she loved him – fierce and gentle at the same time, enduring in a way that was unfamiliar. The emotions of the Fae were flicker-quick, flashing like lightning – here and gone. Evelyn taught him a softer kind of love, enduring and constant as the stars.

If she ever guessed that her odd, eccentric child wasn't human, it never changed her feelings for him. When she died ten years later, he was devastated. He might have abandoned the mortal realm in his grief, if not for Wayne - who took him in and loved him just as well as Evelyn had.

And Steve, of course. Firstborn son of Richard and Margaret Harrington, the couple he'd bargained with in 1965. The boy was difficult to keep track of for the first few years - they lived very different lives, separated by more than just the distance of a town between them. Eddie hadn’t anticipated that when he embarked on his plan.

When he found Steve again, in the halls of Hawkins Middle School, Eddie was captivated. Steve was beautiful, with the best qualities of both parents: the promise of his father's broad shoulders and square jaw, his mother's warm hazel eyes. And he had a mischievous smile that was all his own. Unfortunately, he was in the grade below Eddie's, and there wasn't much opportunity to become friends.

It was worse in high school. Steve quickly climbed the ranks of popularity (unsurprising, since he'd inherited a portion of the charm given to his father as part of the bargain with Eddie). The handsome boy was surrounded by sycophants and flatterers, befriended by bullies.  Eddie was bitterly disappointed to see Steve's indifference to the cruel antics of his so-called 'friends'. He started to worry he'd made a mistake. Richard Harrington was a hard man, callous and cruel - was it really any wonder his son was turning out the same way?

Then Steve fell in love with Nancy Wheeler, and things started to change. The obnoxious friends disappeared, and Steve seemed to be making a real effort to be kinder. Even his smile was different – brighter and sweeter, unfettered.

Eddie wasn't jealous (he was a little jealous). Steve could dabble with human girls all he liked, but it was Eddie's name - his true name - that was stamped on the boy's heart like a brand.

*******

When Eddie failed senior year, he wasn’t concerned. Repeating a year of high school meant staying close to Steve; with the added benefit of being able to stay in Hellfire Club, where he could keep playing Dungeons & Dragons (one of his favorite discoveries in the mortal world, second only to heavy metal music).

Three months after the start of Eddie's second senior year (two months after Steve's 18th birthday), Nancy and Steve broke up. A week after that, Steve and Eddie finally spoke to one another for the first time, at a house party thrown by Vicki Carmichael.

Eddie was surprised when he spotted Steve at the party, considering Vicki was friends with Carol and Tommy H. He was even more surprised when he got a clear view of Steve’s face – battered and mottled with bruises and cuts. Concerned, Eddie trailed after him as he snagged a solo cup full of spiked punch and slipped out the back door.

The rear patio was deserted, despite the cheerful strings of fairy lights illuminating the space. The night was young – none of the other partygoers were drunk enough yet to brave the chill November night air.

Eddie settled silently near Steve, sitting on the concrete retaining wall and ignoring the immediate cold seeping through the worn denim of his jeans. He flipped open his black lunchbox and pulled out a joint, nudging Steve’s arm before holding it out.

Steve shook his head. “I don’t have any cash on me.”

“On the house,” Eddie said. “Consider it medicinal. Your face is, uh… pretty messed up.”

Steve snorted with laughter and then winced, pressing his fingers to his temple. “Yeah, no kidding.” He accepted the joint and tucked it behind his ear, and then took a long sip from his drink.

“What happened?” Eddie asked.

Tell me who did this to you, his heart screamed. Tell me who I have to kill. I will turn them into stone, into sand, into a vapor so fine it won’t even settle into dust. Steve was his, and he hated seeing him hurt.

Steve just sighed. “It’s a long story.”

“Well I’ve got all night Harrington.”

Steve gave him the bare bones of a story which felt mostly true, except for all the empty spaces. Eddie wondered at those gaps – what was Steve hiding? The actual name of his attacker for one, although Eddie could guess who it was well enough. (Going forward, Billy Hargrove wouldn’t be able to get within 10 feet of Steve without experiencing a sense of debilitating nausea.)

After that, they started meeting on a somewhat regular basis. Hanging together on the fringes of parties, late night encounters at the quarry - Steve even came to the trailer a few times. Always with the excuse of smoking together, but the real goal was conversation and the easy companionship slowly growing between them. The more Eddie learned about Steve, the more he wanted to know. He was fascinating - like a puddle that appeared shallow until you stepped in and sank to your neck.

On one such night, sitting bundled in the back of Eddie's van, Steve told him about the implosion of his relationship with Nancy.

"She said it was all bullshit. I thought we were really in love, ya know? I was really in love."

Eddie did know. He could feel it - Steve's honesty. Just like he could sense the discordance of a lie when he used to pass the two of them in the hallway at school. It wasn't Nancy lying to Steve, not on purpose. It was Nancy lying to herself.

Steve talked about his relationship with his parents too. "They're so distant sometimes. Or uh, all the time, I guess. They're hardly ever home anymore."

Eddie felt a pang of remorse. He had nothing to do with the failure of Steve's relationship with Nancy (tempted though he may have been), but this hurt was one Eddie had some part in.  

He'd made the bargain on a whim, a passing fancy. The Harrington's were an attractive couple, so it stood to reason their child would also be attractive. And he enjoyed the company of lovely mortals. The Fae were creatures of desire - hungry and passionate, often self-absorbed, distant from the concerns of mortals.

He hadn't thought beyond his desire for a companion. Never considered the child, or how his parents would treat him. Why grow attached to a baby with an expiration date? A son they had already given away; traded in exchange for wealth and fortune.

Maybe it didn’t matter. The sort of humans that would barter a child probably weren’t capable of real love. Not the kind of love he’d learned from Evelyn and Wayne.

His feelings for Steve were becoming all tangled up. There was desire, and a territorial sense of possessiveness, but there was also a growing sense of fondness and affection – and maybe something deeper. A feeling he had no concept of before he took a human form, and a human name.

*******

The school year ended. Steve graduated; Eddie did not. It stung a little the second time around - even though Eddie knew school had been the very last thing on his mind all year. Steve's father made a fuss about his son’s failure to get into college, even though Eddie knew the man didn't actually care. As a result, Steve ended up getting a job at the new mall (and Eddie developed a sudden, frequent craving for ice cream).

He wasn’t expecting anything out of the ordinary to happen that summer; or he never would have driven two days out of state to see Accept play at the Red Rocks Amphitheatre in Colorado. He was on his way home, still five hours out from Hawkins, when he sensed it. A darkness – something inhuman and strange, from a dimension outside both the mortal realm and the Otherworld of the Fae. It filled him with dread.

He could see the red glow of flames against the night clouds as soon as he reached Hawkins town limits, the acrid scent of smoke seeping in through the vents of his van. When he realized it was coming from Starcourt, he broke every speed limit, screeching into the parking lot to a scene of chaos – emergency vehicles and flashing lights everywhere, the fire department making a valiant attempt to contain the flames consuming the mall.

When Eddie was first adjusting to life as a human, he’d gone exploring in the woods behind the trailer park, enjoying the novelty of his new form. When Evelyn found him hours later, she was frantic, crying and cursing even as she squeezed him tight enough to bruise. He never understood the conflicting emotions – not until he finally laid eyes on Steve, sitting alone by the Beemer. The other boy looked beat to hell, squinting his one good eye as he looked up. When he recognized Eddie, his lips curled into a heart stopping smile. Eddie wanted to cry and curse like Evelyn had. He wanted to wrap the other boy in his arms and shield him from harm.

For the first time, Eddie found himself dreading the final day of Steve’s 18th year. He didn’t want a magical thrall anymore, devoid of free will or personality. He wanted Steve – wanted to love him the way humans loved.

The feeling got even worse with the start of his third senior year, when he finally got to meet some of the kids Steve was always talking about. He was adorable with them, like an overgrown puppy imprinted on by a bunch of ducklings, doing his best even when they bewildered him. He loved them selflessly, the way Evelyn once loved a baby she’d found in the woods.

When the appointed day arrived, Eddie ignored it. He went to school as usual, dutifully attending all his classes, and then Hellfire in the evening. It only required a minor nudge of magic to ensure the weather would be nice, so that the kids would ride their bikes home rather than get a ride from Steve.

He was clearing up after the game, snuffing all the candles out when the sound of a throat clearing startled him into turning around. Steve was standing, half hidden in shadow, watching him with hooded eyes.

"Jesus H. Christ, what are trying to do Harrington - give me a heart attack?" Eddie said.

Steve shrugged and moved closer, leaning against the game table. There were strange undercurrents of emotion moving around him, a crackling feeling of tension, like a storm looming over the horizon. "It's my birthday tomorrow."

Eddie's throat went dry. "If you're fishing for information on a surprise party, you're barking up the wrong tree. Henderson hasn't told me anything." He busied himself with clearing away his figures and notes, stuffing everything into his backpack without his usual meticulous care.

"My mom called."

That prompted Eddie to stop and look up. He was immediately pinned by Steve's intent gaze.

"She told me something... crazy. Apparently, my family is rich because my dad made a deal with one of the Fae?"

Eddie choked out a thin laugh. "Sounds like a fairy tale."

"Yeah, I thought so too. But she was serious about it. She told me the whole story, about how they left all kinds of gifts to summon the Fae. And one of those gifts was a ring that belonged to my grandmother."

Eddie couldn't stop himself from flinching and glancing down at his hand. At the silver ring set with onyx, which he'd held onto for twenty years.

Steve let out a long, shaky breath. "It's true, isn't it? You're the Fae."

Eddie can't lie. Not when confronted directly. "Yes."

“So how does this work? What… what happens now?”

Eddie shook his head, hands clutched into fists. “Nothing. I changed my mind.” He wasn’t expecting the hurt that flickered in those hazel eyes.

“Why?” Steve whispered.

“Because… I’m not the person I was before. And I care about you too much to trap you like that.” He pulled the silver and onyx ring off his finger and held it out. “You should have this back.”

Steve took the ring, turning it over in his fingers thoughtfully before tucking it into his pocket. Eddie thought he would go home then, but he didn’t. He stayed and helped Eddie finish cleaning up, and then followed him back to the trailer. They shared a joint, passing it back and forth while Eddie kept a subtle eye on his watch.

At the stroke of midnight, he let out a sigh as he felt the contract dissolve. “You’re free,” he said softly.

Steve leaned over Eddie in order to snuff the remains of the joint in the ash tray on the side table. When it was done, he didn’t go back to his own side of the sofa – he swung a leg over Eddie’s hips and settled in his lap while Eddie stared up at him, wide-eyed. Steve took hold of his left hand and kissed the back of it softly, before pulling the silver and onyx ring from his pocket. He slipped it back onto Eddie’s finger, right over the tan line.

“I want to make a bargain,” Steve said, holding his gaze steady.

“What would you ask of me?” Eddie whispered.

Steve ran his thumb over Eddie’s hand, still gripped between his own. “What would be the cost, to make you mine?”

Eddie drew in a sharp breath. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes, considering. It was a reckless bargain – but it seemed he was still a reckless creature.

“Love me. Love me and I will belong to you forever.”

Steve smiled slow and sweet, like wildflower honey. “Well that’s easy.”

They sealed the deal with a kiss.

[slutformelatonin]

Mea-culpa

Warning, this is the first fanfiction I've written since 2021.... anyway!!

In this story, y/n is a not so innocent nun. She and the "beloved" Archdeacon of Paris are close. *Extremely* close.

Kinks ( innocence, degradation, sadism, masochist, size difference, breeding, orgasm control, age play )

Click, click, clack

The noise vibrated through the Cathedral as she walked. Pushing through the doors of the kitchen where Reverend mother Jaqueline was waiting.

"Those shoes of yours are absolutely far too loud, sister y/n." The stout woman replied as she walked over to younger girl.

"My apologies, Reverend mother..'' she spoke with a slight whimper at the end of her sentence. "They were given to me by my late sister. She passed of the pox." Y/n spoke with a shutter.

"I know child. You told me when you were in your novice training." The greying lady spoke. "I did?" Y/n shrugged. "I must've forgotten about it." The nun shrugged again.

"Archdeacon Frollo is requesting your presence in the hall of justice. Questions about the orphans singing at the Christmas mass." Reverend mother explained.

The Young nun sighed. "He couldn't call on sister Margaret?'' Y/n called out as she busied herself with pulling a cloth off rising sour dough. "He told me he'd like to talk to you in specific." Reverend mother explained.

"Alright. I suppose we did Have a rather interesting conversation at Thanksgiving mass." Y/n explained with a smile.

"Oh goodness. I suppose I should get going if Archdeacon Frollo would like to speak to me before the midnight bells begin to ring." Y/n laughed. "I'll see you in confession Reverend mother." The young girl smiled as she walked out of the kitchen.

The walk to The hall of justice was a cold one. Frost had accumulated around the windows of the Cathedral and as y/n threw her dark wool coat on. A ring of fur was around the collar of the coat. Another gift from Claudette. Y/n's late sister.

Y/n exited the Cathedral and the cold air of the parisian winter hit her in the face. The walk to The palace of justice was not a lengthy walk by any means.

But as y/n walked up the steps of the hall. Raising her hand to knock on the door. But before her fist could meet the door. A young soldier opened the door.

His blonde hair was rested against his head as a halo would rest against a angels head. "Hello, sister. I don't believe we know eacho-'' the young man was inturrupted ny the sister.

"Captian, we have met on several occasions. At Thanksgiving mass and at the children's benefit last week. Phoebus. Am I correct?'' Y/n said with a small smile spreading across her face. A light blush across her cheeks now.

"Oh- yes- your the one who I pulled under the stai-" the capitan cleared his throat as a hand was pressed to his shoulder. Spindly fingers that were adorned with rings and such.

"Ah, capitan Phoebus. Nice to see that you've found the woman of the hour." The Archdeacon snapped. "I've been waiting well over an hour for you. Sister." Claude clapped quickly. Escorting her up to his office.

The Archdeacon pressed the door of his office shut. Humming and handing y/n a paper. A large scroll of parchment with 3 unsigned signature marks. "Here.'' He said.

Pointing at the spot where the sister had to sign. "I need Reverend mothers signature as well." Claude explained as y/n dipped her quill in ink and Began to write her name.

"Of course, these things must be in order for the matron of the orphanage. She expects everything in pristine order. Although she is paying for none of it.'' Frollo laughed stiffly.

"Thats unfortunate. I suppose they don't have much money.'' Y/n shrugged as she handed the parchment back to Claude with a small smile.

"I do have to wonder. Sister. About something I over heard.." the Archdeacon started out. "With your novice training, you are not supposed to be having any sexual relations. And as I've seen on several occasions. You clearly aren't following any of your training." Claude smirked as he stalked towards the young lady.

"Excuse me? How dare to talk to me like that. This is highly inappropriate conduct." The sister shuttered. Had he seen captian Phoebus on his knees. Eating her out as the churchgoers got the holy communion.

"If you don't want you and your .. sun-god to be exposed to the entire church. I suppose you give me what." The older man smirked. Standing behind the sister.

"Your just like the rest of them aren't you? Men, you all want the same thing in the end.'' Y/n snapped.

Before the young woman could tell what was happening. Claudes arm had traveled up to y/n's face. His hand colliding with the nun's face. Earning a yelp from the sister.

Her face became quickly red. Her hand had sat upon her cheek. Whining softly. Y/n took her hand from her face. Putting them on Claude's chest. Resting against frollo with a whine.

Frollo took her face in his hand. Her chin in his forefinger and middle finger. His thumb resting against y/n's jaw. Bringing his lips to brush against the sisters own.

Frollos kiss was soon inturrupted as y/n bumped against his desk. She sat down and the Archdeacon yanked her skirt up. Kissing up her thigh. Nipping at the inside. Drawing blood.

Y/n let out a groan of pleasure as she pulled her habit off. Her hair sliding around to frame her face and shoulders. "Just- please fuck me already." The sister begged.

Claude brought his hand to cover the young woman's mouth. "Don't have such foul language in the house of justice.'' Claude said sternly. Standing up and undoing his robes. Black pants and a black shirt adorned his body.

Unbuttoned his pants quickly. Opening his hand. "Spit in it." He said quickly. Lathering his cock in y/n's spit. Groaning and taking her undergarments off quickly. Pushing into the girl as she put her hands on claudes shoulders.

Moving so y/n threw her head back. Moaning loudly and biting on Frollo's neck. "You certainly don't sound like a virgin.'' The Archdeacon taunted.

Y/n scoffed. "How many anatomy books have you looked at to know how sex works?" The sister taunted in response. Watching as claude growled lowly. Feeling his neck being bitten.

Claude let his hand move lower. Circling y/ns clit with tight and hard circles. Smirking as she bit down on her hand to draw blood.

The sister nearly came then and there. How was he so good at this? Was he a virgin. His movements inside of her said otherwise.

Frollos cock was large. Longer than it was girthier. Looking upon the girl as he felt her thighs began to shake. The soft flesh of her thighs shaking as she came around his cock. "F-fuck-'' the nun cried out.

"That was fast. Shall I cum inside you? On your ass? Your bosom?'' Claude called out.

"Inside of me- please?'' She begged. Claude was close himself. His age had been catching up with him snd he could tell he couldn't last as he used to.

Frollo came deep inside her. Spilling his seed all over her womb and kissing her as he did so...

_________________

That's it... #Yolo

[vickyvicarious]

So... Masters and Men, eh? There are several different perspectives at play in this chapter:

Mrs. Thornton

"[Workers strike] For the mastership and ownership of other people’s property [...] they are a pack of ungrateful hounds [...] they want to be masters, and make the masters into slaves on their own ground. They are always trying at it; they always have it in their minds".

Mrs. Thornton speaks very harshly of the workers, and she seems to explicitly view the situation as opposing sides, with the 'lesser' one being the aggressor. Part of the pride she takes in her lifestyle is linked to being brave enough to face them and 'fight' against them. In fact, the quote about that is really interesting to me, because she claims they're "a people who are always owing their betters a grudge, and only waiting for an opportunity to pay it off," but in some ways, she could be seen that way as well. At least in the sense of family history/social status, the Hales are supposedly the Thornton's superiors, right? And Mrs. Thornton is very prickly about being seen as inferior herself. A lot of it seems to be genuine pride and dislike of their (Southern) priorities, but some is definitely defensive. And I could see some nasty high society person using similar wording about Mrs. Thornton herself having a grudge against her betters. Certainly, as someone who herself had to struggle tremendously to climb to the point she's at now, I find it easier to see her believing others will want to do the same (though she attributes more malevolence to their actions).

Mr. Hale

"I should say that the masses were already passing rapidly into the troublesome stage which intervenes between childhood and manhood, in the life of the multitude as well as that of the individual. Now, the error which many parents commit in the treatment of the individual at this time is, insisting on the same unreasoning obedience as when all he had to do in the way of duty was, to obey the simple laws of ‘Come when you’re called,’ and ‘Do as you’re bid!’ But a wise parent humours the desire for independent action, so as to become the friend and adviser when his absolute rule shall cease."

Mr. Hale doesn't attempt to dispute the idea that the workers are inferiors, and he's clearly not willing to go too far because he wants to keep the peace. But he tries to suggest that Mr. Thornton look upon them as growing and learning, and be indulged of their 'mistakes' or 'outbursts', so to speak. When talk again turns to the two sides as being opposed to one another, Mr. Hale says, "is not that because there has been none of the equality of friendship between the adviser and advised classes?" He's certainly in favor of mending relations, and he doesn't believe that opposition is inherent/necessary, but his approach is sort of benevolently condescending. This too fits well with his background and the kind of thing Margaret was used to before they move here.

Nicholas Higgins

...it were the interest of the employers to keep them from acquiring money—that it would make them too independent if they had a sum in the savings’ bank. [...] I heard, moreover, that it was considered to the advantage of the masters to have ignorant workmen... [...] But he—that is my informant—spoke as if the masters would like their hands to be merely tall, large children—living in the present moment—with a blind unreasoning kind of obedience.

Higgins (who isn't here and whose words are being relayed second-hand) is the one who first brought up the workers-to-children comparison, but he did so in a distinctly scathing way. He's very bitter about the 'masters' and is definitely displeased at being looked down on. But it's not just resentment. He recognizes the balance of power that is at least in many cases being deliberately maintained. The workers aren't allowed to be too independent because then they can't as easily be used however the masters want. His views are sort of a reverse of Mrs. Thornton's... the employers are the aggressors constantly shoving the workers back down. Wanting them to be ignorant, never to think for themselves, to be dependent and unquestioning. As someone who has very few options even when it comes to helping his daughter dying due to a factory-related illness, his bitterness is fully understandable.

John Thornton

"But because we don’t explain our reasons, they won’t believe we’re acting reasonably. We must give them line and letter for the way we choose to spend or save our money." [...] "I agree with Miss Hale so far as to consider our people in the condition of children, while I deny that we, the masters, have anything to do with the making or keeping them so. I maintain that despotism is the best kind of government for them; so that in the hours in which I come in contact with them I must necessarily be an autocrat." [...] "And I say, that the masters would be trenching on the independence of their hands, in a way that I, for one, should not feel justified in doing, if we interfered too much with the life they lead out of the mills. Because they labour ten hours a-day for us, I do not see that we have any right to impose leading-strings upon them for the rest of their time. I value my own independence so highly that I can fancy no degradation greater than that of having another man perpetually directing and advising and lecturing me, or even planning too closely in any way about my actions."

Mr. Thornton has quite an interesting mix of views here. He claims that it is necessary for him to be a despot; but he feels he has no right to interfere with their personal lives. He talks scornfully of their strikes and says if they knew why he's taken his stance, then they would act differently, but he refuses to tell them why. He agrees that they're like children, but then says he respects their independence and is treating them like he'd want to be treated. Thornton does seem to have a better understanding of the independent nature of the people here, but he uses that reasoning to justify remaining completely uninvolved in bettering the situation. He asks if he has any right to impose his own views on them just because he's their boss - and that's a fair point, but also, he's kind of doing that regardless? It's his belief that an honest and straightforward, if demanding 'master' is both more respectable and incurs loyalty/becomes an example to follow. It's his belief that the workers should blindly obey him because he's in charge, and that this is better for them. And as someone with so much power over their livelihoods, he can operate based on these views. If they feel otherwise, they don't have the power to change that. When they try with strikes, he's willing to get into a power struggle that he admits will hurt him as well as them, rather than let them 'win' even just enough to make him admit his reasons why. Even though he claims their interests align with his, he seems to feel that they don't or can't understand this, and thus conflict is inevitable. In fact, I think he was the first one to call it a "battle of the classes." Thornton's backstory is very much a "pulled myself up by my own bootstraps" success story, and because he did it by working really hard and practicing lots of self-discipline, he seems to think anyone else who fails to succeed is at fault for not working hard enough. He didn't question his bosses, he just put the work in! And so on. Of course, pretty sure he was always of a higher class, and that's going to be a factor for all of these people regardless, but still, I can easily see him thinking that it's their fault for not knowing how to save their money carefully enough. And thus dismissing their complaints.

Margaret Hale

All I meant to say is, that there is no human law to prevent the employers from utterly wasting or throwing away all their money, if they choose; but that there are passages in the Bible which would rather imply—to me at least—that they neglected their duties as stewards if they did so. [...] ...I see two classes dependent on each other in every possible way, yet each evidently regarding the interests of the other as opposed to their own: I never lived in a place before where there were two sets of people always running each other down. [...] ...you are a man, dealing with a set of men over whom you have, whether you reject the use of it or not, immense power, just because your lives and your welfare are so constantly and intimately interwoven. God has made us so that we must be mutually dependent. We may ignore our own dependence, or refuse to acknowledge that others depend upon us in more respects than the payment of weekly wages; but the thing must be, nevertheless.

Margaret relays Higgins' words, and speaks on his behalf. She seems to have a position closest to her father, in the sense that she feels it is Mr. Thornton's duty to aid the people under his rulership. She seems guided ultimately by religious ideals of the relationship between people, but also recognizes that the situation involves an inherent power imbalance and thus responsibility on the part of the one who is at the top. As much as Thornton might deny it, he does have incredible power over the people. But he is also dependent upon them. Her talk about dependence is really interesting because she's the first person to portray it as extending in both directions. They are dependent upon him to employ them; but he is equally dependent upon them to work for him. In this way, she goes a step further than Mr. Hale seemed to, and recognizes both sides as at least closer to equals. She clearly isn't suggesting that every worker should be seen as having the same rights and roles as Thornton, but neither does she view them as either entirely isolated in their independence, or entirely subservient in their dependence. It's a complicated web in which everyone plays a valuable part. Fighting against one another is by necessity acting against your own interests, in a way. Once again, I think her having these beliefs fits very well with her background as someone who did operate in a more noblesse oblige way and clearly felt she was better than certain other classes, but also experienced being the social lesser/supported one when taken in by her Aunt.

[the-olympics-olympics]

Weird Olympic Moments Tournament

To celebrate (?) the Paris 2024 Olympic Games starting in a few weeks, I thought I'd run another Olympic-themed poll tournament. This time, we're diving into history and getting to know some of the stranger, lesser-known stories of the Games.

Polls will run for a week, and the tournament should last until around early September if I'm doing my math right. The first polls will begin Monday, July 15th.

At the end, we'll award a gold, silver, and bronze to the top three.

After many hours on Wikipedia and the IOC website, here's the list of moments I came up with:

Horse vaulting

Pigeon racing

Sarajevo venues damaged in war

Mayor of Montreal says "The Olympics can no more lose money than a man can have a baby," then proceeds to host one of the most financially disastrous Games in history

George Eyser wins six medals after being run over by a train

Solo synchronized swimming

Crowd gets pooped on by 25,000 pigeons

Flame is taken to top of Mount Everest

Margaret Abbot dies without knowing she made history as the first US woman to win gold

Brazilian team has to sell coffee to afford the trip to Los Angeles

A teenager's "dumb idea" becomes Olympic tradition (athletes marching together in closing ceremony)

St. Louis experiments with "purposeful dehydration", denies water to marathon runners

Kanakuri Shizō takes 54 years to finish his race

Mt. Vesuvius moves the Olympics to London

They stop doing the Olympic salute for some reason

IOC President compares a terrorist attack to a vote to ban a racist country

The Olympics goes 88 years without letting women run marathons

Olympic flame transmitted via satellite

Northern Rhodesia declares independence during Olympics, changes name to Zambia

Vancouver 2010 cauldron malfunction

Montreal 1976 stadium is finally paid off in 2006

The curse of the Beijing 2008 mascots

Everest climbers get gold medals

Sochi snowflake malfunction

They hold the Olympics in 1906, then later say it doesn't count

Colorado kicks the Olympics out

Flame hidden from view after anti-gay law

Summer Olympics held during Winter

Haiti and Liechtenstein discover they had the same flag

Riot at the 1924 rugby match

McDonald's gives out more Big Macs than they expected

Chamonix 1924 retroactively named the Winter Olympics

Doves burned during cauldron lighting

Torchbearer takes olympic flame down a ski jump

Medals made of e-waste

Shooter aims for wrong target, loses gold

Olympic torch passed on International Space Station

Alien addresses crowd

Figure skating debuts at Summer Olympics

Olympics held on two different continents

Rio organizers lose key to stadium gate

Baron de Coubertin wins a gold medal under false identity

1960 winter games held in city named for an ethnic slur

Obstacle Swimming

North Korea considered to co-host 1988

Housing complex for American soldiers during the occupation of Japan becomes the Olympic village

Torch design changed mid-relay

Cauldron lit by flaming arrow

Last three seconds of basketball final replayed three times until results changed

St. Louis threatens to hold their own Olympics if they don't get named host city

Fatso the Fat-Arsed Wombat

Balloon racing

Delirious man carried over finish line by coaches, wins marathon

Summer Olympics held in November and December

Olympics postponed for COVID

Blue screen of death appears during opening ceremony

Marathon runner attacked by priest

Guy kicks referee in the face and (maybe) ends up on a stamp

Jet pack flies over stadium

Centennial games not awarded to a very confident Athens

LA 84 gets in trouble for commercializing the torch relay

Olympic flame relit with cigarette lighter

Rower stops for ducks

Nazi propaganda becomes Olympic tradition (torch relay)

Did I miss a great weird moment? Send it to me in an ask and I might do a round 2 or something!

I chose the moments based on my own personal bias (lol)

Heads up that there is one that involves the death of animals, but I will tag any polls with that #tw animal death

Please don't hesitate to let me know if you need anything else tagged, and how to tag it!

Also, a disclaimer that I'm tired and scatterbrained and I work full time, so if this gets a little disorganized I apologize. Shouldn't be too bad though.

Let the games begin, and whatnot

@tournament-announcer :)

[dodger-chan]

Mr. Thornton, representing a position that I think reads a lot worse today than it would have at the time:

“Mine were altered by my own will, before parliament meddled with the affair. It was an immediate outlay, but it repays me in the saving of coal. I’m not sure whether I should have done it, if I had waited until the act was passed. At any rate, I should have waited to be informed against and fined, and given all the trouble in yielding that I legally could. But all laws which depend for their enforcement upon informers and fines, become inert from the odiousness of the machinery. I doubt if there has been a chimney in Milton informed against for five years past, although some are constantly sending out one-third of their coal in what is called here unparliamentary smoke.”

Well, the environmental aspect of it, at least. The idea that a business would purposefully spend more money just because the boss didn't like the concept of government regulation might bother me more than other readers. It suggests an obstinacy in Mr. Thornton's character, one that I presume he'll have to overcome. It feels like the first really negative aspect of him we've been shown.

(Unless we're supposed to think less of him for being in trade? I'm not sure how much the intended audience was expected to share Margaret's opinion.)

[twopoppies]

Haven’t seen anyone post these yet so wanted to contribute! I went to London for the first time in September and got to see ‘The Trousers’ in person at the Design Museum. Great exhibit. The artists’ statement was really interesting esp. considering a lot of what we discuss around here re. Section 28. Sorry for the shocking quality, the images were in pull-out drawers and the angle with the lights was really difficult.

Oh, that’s really lovely that you were able to see all of that in person! I’m so intrigued by Steven Stokey-Daley’s aesthetic and inspiration for his collections. It’s all very British and very queer and I just love that Harry’s a small part of the exhibit and the company, as well.

For anyone who can’t see it, the placard reads:

“The University of Westminster’s Fashion studio overlooks the playing field at Harrow, a boarding school for boys. Steven Stokey-Daley commented, “It was so far off my culture, coming from an ex-council estate in Liverpool. I was almost looking at them anthropologically.” He decided on ‘queering the British public school system’ as a theme for his graduation show, making Oxford bags, dressing gowns and coats topped with straw boaters, all from upcycled fabrics or fabric donated by Alexander McQueen. The trousers on display were later worn by Harry Styles for his video for ‘Golden’. SS Daley’s installation of blue and white plates includes the quote, “The inalienable right” — his subversion of a 1967 quote from Margaret Thatcher, which led up to the passing of the notorious Section 28 law banning the promotion of homosexuality in public schools.”

For anyone interested in checking the exhibit out, here are the details.

Highlights include the swan dress controversially worn by Björk at the 2001 Oscars, Harry Styles’ Steven Stokey Daley outfit from his video for ‘Golden’, and Sam Smith's inflatable latex suit by HARRI from this year’s BRIT Awards. Collections and work by JW Anderson, Wales Bonner, Erdem, Molly Goddard, Christopher Kane, Simone Rocha, Russell Sage, and many more.

For anyone not familiar with SS Daley, here is his website.

[astra-galaxie]

Can you do Jones with the ☾, ★,▼, ∇ and ൠ headcanons pretty please 🥺

It's time for the first Criminal Case character we met! He helped introduce so many people to this game, so it's fitting that he was requested!

Now, on to the headcanons!

☾ - sleep headcanon

Jones is a heavy sleeper and hates waking up in the morning. He’ll grumble and groan until he gets some coffee and breakfast. Despite hating mornings, he LOVES breakfast food! While sleeping, he lets Astrid join him in the bed, and the tiny dog enjoys snuggling close for the night.

I imagine Jones snores, too—not a tiny snore, but that stereotypical “Dad” snore that’s loud and annoying.

★ - sad headcanon

While travelling the world following his retirement from the GBPD, Jones carries a picture of Zoe everywhere he goes so she can “see” the places, too. Zoe had always talked about travelling to other countries and told Jones which ones she wanted to visit the most. Jones made sure he visited every place on Zoe’s list and showed the landmarks to Zoe’s picture so that even in death, a part of her still got to experience the destinations she dreamed of seeing.

▼ - childhood headcanon

Given that he wanted to grow up to be a magician as a child, Jones’s parents got him a magician’s kit for his birthday one year. It's one of his favourite gifts he ever received and he put on countless shows for his family to show off his magic skills. Of course, he messed up the tricks plenty of times, but he never gave up and got better at magic. As an adult, he still knows how to do some magic tricks, and his nephew loves watching his Uncle David perform for him.

∇ -. old age/aging headcanon

As an old man, Jones enjoys a peaceful life in Grimsborough. After everything he went through as a police officer, he appreciates relaxing and enjoying his life of not chasing killers and criminals. But that doesn't mean he never talks about his past. In fact, he tells the tale of his time working for the GBPD to the next generations. He never hides how he got his scars or lost his eye (though sometimes he makes up stories to entertain children) and loves talking about his adventures with his friends.

And when the time comes for him to pass and move on to the afterlife, Jones hopes that his loved ones will be waiting for him on the other side with their own stories to share.

ൠ - random headcanon

After inheriting Margaret Littlewood’s recipe book, Jones learned how to bake. He wasn’t very good at it at first, and many of his first attempts ended up being either underbaked or burnt—there was no in-between. But, he started watching baking TV shows and videos online to learn about the art of baking. His first successful recipe was Margaret’s classic chocolate chip cookie recipe. Over time, he got better and better at baking and would often bring treats to the station for his teammates to enjoy.

Ta-da! Here's a fresh batch of Jones headcanons for you to enjoy! I’m excited to start writing The Conspiracy in my Criminal Case series because I miss Jones and the rest of Grimsborough! One day, he and the others will return in my series, but until then, I’ll continue to enjoy answering requests like this to fuel the fandom!🥰

Thanks for the ask!

[wh0iskyra0]

Baby I’m no good for you..

“Baby you’re no good for me, but baby I want you.”

Diet Mountain Dew(Flight demo) Lana Del Ray

Warning- smut

[Name] was always known as an innocent and quiet person in high school, she never really talked to anyone besides Shoko and Margaret, her main friends, [Name] always wore cute clothes that made her beautiful brown skin pop out more. Todo on the other hand was a jock, loud and always going to parties, smoking weed and getting down with any girl who’d be willing to take the chance of getting their heart broken the next morning.

“Name, please I’m begging you to come to the party with me!” Shoko said in a whining tone, I looked at her with a smile before going back to my closet “Come on munchkin, you have never been to a party before, you have to get out of that quiet and innocent mindset. And we know you’re not innocent babes.” Margaret said while blowing the smoke from her lips. Shoko nodded in agreement with her before taking the blunt. I looked at both of them and rolled my eyes “Fine. But we have to stop by McDonald’s after we leave, I don’t eat everybody's food.” I said while looking at the two outfits I picked out.

9:30 pm

I put on the outfit that I picked out for tonight and looked at myself in the mirror, before leaving I took a couple of pictures, I got a message from Shoko saying she was outside I grabbed my bag and and headed out, I got in the car that already smelled like weed shoko looked at me and smiled “You wanna hit?” She asked me while looking at me, I shrugged my shoulders and took it. Shoko smiled “This girl had to have smoked before, cause ain’t no way you didn’t cough on your first hit.” Shoko said, taking the blunt back, I just smiled at her.

We made it to the party and there were people everywhere. I was starting to regret agreeing, Shoko looked at me before she got out. “Hey, how about this. If you start feeling uncomfortable or you wanna get your food just text me, okay?” She said holding my hand and squeezing it I nodded and got out. We walked in together, the music was loud and there was smoke everywhere I looked as Shoko led me through a crowd of people until she got to where Margaret was with a taller male. “Hey girls!” She said hugging us both once she let go she looked at the dark skinned male.

“This is Todo, my cousin and my dealer.” She said hitting his shoulder, Shoko was shocked. “Him. Todo Aoi . Your cousin?!” She said looking back and forth between them “Yea. What about it?” He said, his voice was deep, “Why don't you talk short stuff?” He said looking me up and down, I looked at him before clearing my throat “uh yea I talk, just. Nervous.” I said shifting around. He hummed and smiled “How about we start partying and stop talking, you wanna drink munchkins?” Margaret asked me, I nodded, she smiled and walked to where the drinks were. “been seeing you around school, never thought I’d see you here.” Todo said with a chuckle, I smiled “You smoke shorty stuff?” I heard him ask me and I nodded.

He reached for his bag and pulled out pre-rolled blunts “normally I’d have people pay, but I’ll let you smoke ‘em for free.” He said handing me a blunt, I took it and put it to my lips he brought the light to the blunt, he was close enough that I could see his features more he had a scar on his right eye, after he light the blunt he but the lighter back I took a hit before blowing the smoke out “What happened? To your eye if you don’t mind me asking.” I said passing him the blunt “He got into a bad drug deal, nigga was a fucking crack head.” Margaret said, handing me my drink “Sorry for taking so long, I got caught up with an old friend.” She said sitting beside me. “Where’s shoko?” She said, I looked around and saw her with some guys.

[3 hours later]

I was sitting on the couch with Todo and Margaret high out of my mind, Todo had his head laid on the back of the couch with his Adam’s apple on display. I looked at him in adoration, Todo looked over from the corner of his eye “what’s up short stuff?” He said, I looked up at him and shook my head “Nothing” I said. He smiled and nodded before closing his eyes again “Name, don’t start falling for him. His charms are good but he’ll leave you.” Margaret said in my ear, I looked at her and nodded but I was doing the complete opposite. Shoko came back and looked drunk and high out of her mind “I need to go home, are you ready to go baby cakes?” She asked me.

I shook my head no, Shoko looked shocked “Really?!” She said shocked Margret looked at me then at Todo “Yo, Todo ima take shoko home, watch her.”She said pointing her finger at him with a serious look. Todo nodded, “Yea, yea I got her.” He said. Once Margaret and Shoko left the room feeling as if it was closing in a little, it was probably the weed and the drinks I had, Todo looked at me “You okay short stuff? Want to leave or something?” He asked me “I just gotta go to the bathroom.” I said quietly he looked at me and nodded before he got up. “Let’s go then.” He said putting his hand out for me, I grabbed his hand and he walked me to the bathroom and stood at the door. After I washed my hands and walked out I looked up at him “Ready to go?” He asked me, I nodded.

[2:05am]

Once we pulled into my driveway I invited him inside, he shrugged and said yeah. As I was unlocking my door I felt his eyes looking at me, I got my door open and walked I offered him a glass he water but he declined for some reason the room felt tight and the air felt warm and my clothes felt tight, I went to my room and changed my clothes into something more comfortable I came out and and sat next to him on the couch “So. You good, you don’t need anything before I go?” He said standing up I looked at him confused “You're leaving?” I said, he looked at me with a smirk “You don’t want me to leave short stuff?” He said in a seductive tone.

Now I’m here bent over my own couch. “For such a q-quiet girl, you're a very loud moaner short stuff.” He said pounding into me faster, I couldn’t say anything. My words were coming out in full words just blabbering “Come on short stuff, I know it’s a lot baby” he said kissing my neck slowing down his movements “D-don’t slow down, please.” I said looking behind me he leaned down and kissed me and smirks “Okay short stuff, I can deny you.” He said picking back up speed, my moans started picking the faster he went. I felt the bubble in my stomach starting to form. He grabbed my waist and went faster “Oh my god- I’m so close!” I whined out to him, he reached down and rubbed my clit “That’s a good girl, go ahead and let go.” He said to me, I felt the bubble in my stomach pop as I reached my end.

After he was done he pulled out and walked to the bathroom, he came back with a wet rag “you okay short stuff?” He asked me while cleaning me, I hummed in response “Nah, I need words short stuff.” He said laying down beside me “I’m okay.” I said laying my head on his chest. “You know I’m no good for you short stuff, right?” He said rubbing my back “I know but I want you.” I said looking up at him, he smiled and kissed me.

[Five months later]

“What you gotta tell me, munchkin?” Margaret said looking between me and Todo, Todo looked at his cousin and spoke up “We dating now.” He said bluntly, Shoko choked on her apple juice while Marg was shocked “You. Him. Together.” She said I nodded and held his hand. He looked over at me with a smile “Break her heart Todo, I’ll break ur face.” Marg said looking him up and down “I won’t I promise.” He said.

[Two weeks later]

“Todo, please!” I said jumping up and down with excitement “okay fine mama.” He said, rolling his eyes jokingly, I smiled and grabbed the matching pair of hello kitty pants. Today todo promised me that we would have a little date night together so I wanted to get something’s, “You ready todo?” I said from the living room “I’m coming mama hold ur horses.” He said with a laugh, he walked out and sat down beside me before he pulled me into his lap “wanna watch horror movies?” I said to him “I don’t care mamas.” He said rubbing my hips. I said okay, a response and turned to a random horror film, I grabbed my phone and took a picture and sent it to me,shoko and marg’s group chat “How you tryna watch a movie but on yo phone short stuff?” He grabbed my phone and put it on the nightstand. “I was just showing the girls our pants” I said smiling and leaning back. He kissed my neck “I love you mama.” He said in my ear I rubbed his head “I love you too.”

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

Hi Cal 😁😁😁😁 may I request a few sentences please? 🙏🙏

🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊

🌌🌌🌌🌌🌌🌌

⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️

🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨

📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮

🔮🔮🔮🔮🔮🔮🔮

SO EXCITED TO READ YOUR WORDS AS ALWAYS 💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞

HELL YEAH I LOVE A CHALLENGE.

27 for 🌊:

---

The only complication was the lack of his memories. The way it made Eddie feel that perhaps Buck wasn’t Buck. But he is. And that person is impossible not to love. 

That word settles over Eddie with more ease than he might have expected. Love. He’s in love with Buck. It’s not just attraction or infatuation. It’s not just good sex and good dates and good conversations. He loves him. He wants a future with him, where neither of them are lonely. 

Maddie seems to read Eddie’s thoughts, judging by the knowing smile on her face. 

“As I suspected. You’re good for him.” She winks. “Plus, Christopher is delightful.”

“Thank you,” Eddie smiles back. “I’m lucky, he’s a good kid. And, Genevieve is great, too. She was confident as hell calling my work and asking around until she got me.”

“She’s really come out of her shell here,’ Maddie nods. “Just like my brother, I guess.’

Like Eddie, too, he supposes. 

He doesn’t get to say so, though, because Buck comes back through the door, balancing three wine glasses in his hands like a practiced bartender. 

“Whatcha talking about?” He asks, passing Maddie hers first, then moving to sit next to Eddie.

“You, obviously,” Maddie teases.

---

18 for 🌌:

@steadfastsaturnsrings

---

Letting Chris think this was nothing more than a dream is dishonest and he hates lying to his son. And yet, thinking about this from a harm reduction standpoint, saying, actually, no, all of that happened and was horrifically upsetting doesn’t seem like a better parenting decision. So Eddie doesn’t contradict Christopher’s completely rational explanation for what he remembers. 

“Yeah, it was. Are you having a fun weekend hanging out with Buck?” 

Right. Because Chris actually thinks Eddie is with Buck, getting over his breakup with Marisol. Because he definitely didn’t tell him the truth about that, either. He couldn’t say it to himself, so he hadn’t figured out how to say it to Chris. He wants to spill right here, on the phone, but that might also be a mistake. He should probably explain it all face-to-face. 

“Uh, yeah,” Eddie replies. “You know, he and I… Well, we’re talking about some big stuff. Stuff that I’m going to talk to you about when I’m home.”

“Okay,” Christopher responds, not sounding too bothered or too interested. Well, at least he’s not worried. “Say hi to Buck for me, then?” 

“You got it,” Eddie promises.

---

21 for ⚡️:

---

Eddie smiles softly. “Yeah, I think so too.”

“So, turn down the stress a bit, Eddie,” Bobby advises. “He’s going to be okay. Maybe you can try to enjoy the festivities, too.”

Eddie sighs. “Don’t expect me to be nice to them.’

Bobby smirks, just a little. “I don’t expect me to be nice to them.”

Then they’re at an understanding, Eddie realizes. Who Margaret and Phillip Buckley are, to someone they both love so entirely and without reservation, is abhorrent to them. Eddie wonders, for Bobby, having lost his children, how agonizing it must be to watch others treat their own as disposable. 

“That being said,” Eddie relents. “I think I’ll go refill my drink, and grab him a new one.”

He doesn’t have to wait around for Buck like a security detail. He can let his guard down, just a little. 

“Good idea,” Bobby smiles. 

Eddie stands. “Okay, be back.” As he crosses the yard to the cooler of drinks, Eddie fails to notice a tactical response to his own - maybe overdone - guard dog behavior. Rather than cornering Buck, the Buckleys corner him.

---

24 for 🚨

---

That’s the answer, isn’t it? He realizes it with a crash of disappointment. There will be no more boundaries crossed between them this morning. Eddie can’t answer that need until the more important matter is settled. He has work to do.

Hating himself just a tiny bit, Eddie slowly untangles his body from Buck’s. His sore body complains at the movement. As he begins to pull away, Buck makes a small moan of complaint, and clings a bit tighter. It takes everything in Eddie not to fold right then and there. But Eddie persists, slipping away from Buck, grabbing his phone off the nightstand, and disappearing to the bathroom. 

Eddie takes a long shower. Longer than he would usually take. A water-wasting-ly long shower. He takes care of what he needs to take care of if he is going to have any ability to think today. Even then, his intellectual capacity is probably a little reduced. It’s been a very long time since he’s had sex and he woke up next to his literal dream man. Sue him for being flustered. 

When he’s done in the shower, Eddie spends a good minute looking at his naked body in the mirror. Not for any sort of vanity. Rather, because he looks absolutely beaten. He’s bruised and scraped all over. Places he hadn’t even realized he’d been hurt. Dark, hideous welts from falling and having the earth rain down on him. God, maybe it’s a good thing he didn’t throw himself at Buck this morning. 

---

30 for 📚

---

“Hey, speaking of which, I hear fire companies are kind of like a big family. Is that true?” 

Ravi’s stomach drops. He lifts his head to meet his brother’s eyes. Anil is watching for this exact reaction. He knows exactly what he’s saying and exactly how Ravi will take it. He knows exactly what he’s threatening. He always does this. He can’t just let Ravi have anything. Ravi is out of his life, not bothering him at all. What must he need or want to come into Ravi’s home and threaten his stability? Or is it still so abhorrent to Anil that anybody would want Ravi around? 

“It becomes true,” Bobby answers. “In some stations more than others.”

“This one?” Anil asks.

“Yes,” Buck replies tightly. “We’re a family.”

“So you all know a lot about each other?” Anil asks.

Ravi’s throat tightens. 

This can’t be happening. This really can’t be happening. 

“What are you trying to ask?” Eddie narrows his eyes.

“Anil, I’m sure you came to speak with Ravi alone,” Hen interjects. “Not  to be rude, but-”

“We all have station chores to do,” Bobby agrees. 

Buck looks at Ravi very intensely. Like he’s waiting for Ravi’s opinion to chime in. Ravi won’t meet his eyes.

---

18 for 🩸:

---

“You see your guy?” Kurt asks, flipping through grainy images of strangers who happened to pass by his houseboat. None of them look like Eddie.

Sophia shakes her head. “No. I don’t.”

“You know this would be a heck of a lot easier if you left me with a photo of him,” Kurt points out as he continues to click. 

Buck bristles at the thought.

“Aw, Kurt, you know why we can’t,” Sophia says gently.

“Yeah, but you can trust me, Sophie,” he protests. “I’d never do you dirty.”

Yes. He would. If the price was right. He’s made a career of opportunism in the midst of crisis. 

“I know that,” Sophia says, squeezing his arm. “But what if you got raided, huh? I don’t want photos of him anywhere.”

They’ve not shown a single person Eddie’s picture.

---

30 for 🦮:

---

“Okay,” Maddie says quickly. “What are these dogs trained to do?”

“I don’t exactly know,” Buck admits. “They want me to meet with the trainer.”

Maddie nods. “Well, I think you should. And here me out, okay?” 

“Okay,” Buck sighs. He takes a hefty sip of beer as compensation. 

“Two nights ago, by the time you got home from work, you were too sore to get up and cross the room to grab the remote.” Maddie says. “Using your prosthetic all day wears on you.”

Well… That’s true.

“I’m still getting used to it,” Buck protests. Which is also true. 

“A week ago, you dropped your keys at a certain angle to your left, and struggled to bend over and grab them.” Maddie continues.

“Well, yeah. Okay. I still have some limitations, but won’t having a dog around be more work?” 

Buck has seen the kind of breeds they use in service work. Labs. Goldens. Collies. Shepherds. Poodles. Active, upbeat dogs. Not like a mellow giant or something. 

“And I think you’re lonely,” Maddie adds, holding firm eye contact. 

Buck feels cold. 

---

21 for 🔮:

---

“Buck.” Bobby exhales. 

“Uh, hi, Bobby.” Buck replies, a little too quickly. Like he’s trying to speed through an uncomfortable interaction.

“How’re you doing?” Bobby asks.

Because he misses him. He misses him so badly. He misses him more than the others, though he would never say it. He can’t subside on sad little updates from Eddie. He can’t continue to throw small, not very subtle questions Chim’s way. He needs to know. From the horse’s mouth, as it were. 

Buck’s mouth twists with what Bobby knows is frustration. He sighs as he shrugs. 

“I’m fine, Bobby.”

But that doesn’t seem like the truth.

“Are you?” Bobby asks. 

Buck’s mouth twitches. “It’s whatever.”

He sounds like May or Harry. 

---

I WANT YOU TO KNOW THIS WAS OVER 1500 WORDS

[wild-lavender-rose]

Hi, I was just wondering if you're planning to do a part 2 for the Hawkeye story where the reader falls and gets hurt?

Hey! So, I was looking over that fic and realized that I promised a part two like, three years ago *face palms*. You are one of the many, many people who have asked me, anon and off, to write the second part of the story. So here we are! The long awaited part two of Falling. Enjoy <3

Falling (part 2)

Warning: description of injury, mention of surgery, cannon typical swearing, brief intense kiss

Time passed by without your notice. You existed in a haze, in and out of sleep as people existed around you, caring for your injuries. The pain that had been absent at first hit you like a bomb. You had a vague memory of screaming before they put you under, begging for the pain to end.

Three nails or four? You couldn't remember. Once, in the blurred existence of your concussion, you heard someone say five nails. Five nails buried deep within your thigh, extricated one by one in a three hour surgery. Twenty five stiches, that you knew for sure. You had asked Margaret once when you were lucid, watching as she changed your bandage with the discreetness of an expert nurse.

"Hawkeye did a great job," she assured you, with a kindness you didn't expect but gratefully accepted. "You'll barely have a scar."

Hawkeye had been there almost constantly. You didn't have to be awake to feel his presence. His presence felt like warm sunshine on a spring morning. You always felt safer, stronger, when he was around. If you had been in your right mind, you would have been embarrassed and ashamed because of his attention. But in your weakened state, you yielded to the attention.

At night, when you struggled to sleep from the pounding in your head, his fingers would card through your hair until you drifted off. He always whispered to you, careful to keep the noise around you lowered as you suffered through your concussion. He told you stories of his dad and things he would do as a boy. Some things were funny, some were sad. When you were awake you would thank him without meeting his eyes. And when you were resting, he would hold your hand. Once, you cautiously squeezed his finger, heart jumping when he squeezed them back.

You recovered over time, until you were well enough to sit in bed and eat the small meals that the nurses brought to you. Radar even brought you a piece of chocolate, and Klinger drove to a meadow three miles outside of camp just to pick you a bunch of wild flowers to put by your bed. Your vision was still blurry, so sometimes B.J. would read to you. Potter ensured that a screen was put up around your bed so that you could have privacy from the wounded soldiers. It felt nice to be cared for. But the best thing was being able to pretend, just for a while, that Hawkeye cared for you the most.

You were testing out your eyesight by trying to read one of Radar's bold printed comics when the sound of an argument burst into the post-op wing. It was Hawkeye and Frank.

"It's not my fault she couldn't keep her balance, Klinger's the one who,"

"Klinger didn't do one damn thing to make her fall, Frank. You were the one who told them to go up there."

"So?!" Frank's voice squeaked. "What should I have done, hang the banner myself?" He scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous."

Footsteps sounded, heading towards your screened in bed. You dropped the comic book.

"Go near her and I'll hang you by your toes, Frank. She's my patient and I gave orders for no visitors."

That wasn't exactly true. When Hawkeye said no visitors he really meant no Frank.

"You can't scare me." Frank sneered. "You're just using her little fall as an excuse to have her all to myself. You can't fool me, taking all the night post-op shifts so you can be with her."

Your heart stopped and stomach twisted. Your fingers fisted the blanket, straining to hear more.

"Shut up, Frank." Hawkeye's tone was even and deadly.

Frank scoffed again. "With the way she looks at you, she probably fell just to get your attention."

"Leave. Now."

Frank was silent. Maybe he had finally noticed the dangerous edge in Hawkeye's voice. You couldn't breathe. The silence filled the room, their words thickening the air.

Finally, without saying a word, the footsteps turned and walked away, followed by an angry banging against the swinging doors as Frank left post-op.

The silence stayed thick and overwhelming. You looked down, feeling self-conscious in the big shirt you were wearing. Some of the buttons were undone. You fiddled with them, shaky fingers trying vainly to button the flap closed. Tears of embarrassment began to make hot trails down your face.

Hawkeye entered your little makeshift room. You could feel his gaze on you.

"I need to go." You whispered, voice cracking. "Back to my tent, away from here."

"You're not ready yet. Your stitches,"

"I'll take care of them myself." You dropped the buttons and tried to wipe your tears away. "Please let me go."

"I can't."

"Please."

The cot squeaked as Hawkeye sat down beside you. You dared to look up at him, surprised to find an expression on his face you didn't understand.

Moving slowly, Hawkeye reached out to cradle the side of your face. It was an action he had done many times when he thought you were sleeping. He leaned forward. Before you had time to think your lips touched and time stopped.

Hawkeye kissed you deeply, earnestly, with a love you had never wanted and desperately craved. Shock melted into relief. Your hands found his hair while his thumbs wiped the tears off your face, kissing him as if his taste was your air. He leaned against you, hands sliding down to your waist.

You gasped softly into his mouth as he eased you back onto the bed, breaking the kiss as your thigh gave a painful throb.

"What's wrong? Are you okay?" Hawkeye hovered over you, blue eyes full of concern.

You nodded, hands sliding down to rest on his shoulders. "Are you just trying to make me feel better?"

A soft smile softened his face. "I have many layers of intention."

"What does that mean?" You asked, expecting a joke.

"I love you."

You blinked, your fingers freezing against his shirt.

Hawkeye nodded, smile widening into a grin. "I do, sweetheart. I love you."

Slowly, you smiled back. "I love you too."

"Really?" Hawkeye looked as if he had just won the lottery, his grin making your heart beat hard and fast. "Well then," his grip tightened on your waist. "Next time you want to get my attention, maybe don't fall off a support beam. Deal?"

You blushed and nodded, smiling into another kiss.

And that was the day you and Hawkeye fell for each other.

Fanfic Masterlist

[sockmeat]

 𝐅𝐄𝐌 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 -- 𝑫𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎𝒔 𝒅𝒐 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒆 (𝑨𝒍𝒍 𝑰 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌 𝒐𝒇 𝒊𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖) -- 𝐀𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑 (𝑯𝒂𝒛𝒃𝒊𝒏 𝑯𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒍)

(𝐰𝐜): 1,855

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: After finding your crush with another woman on Valentine's day, you prepare to hole yourself up in your house until your shame passes. But when they show up at your door uninvited with a proposal, you discover that not all hope is lost.

(𝐀/𝐍): I’m actually proud of this,, even if the pacing is absolute dog shit

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠(𝐬): Alastor’s a little forceful at the end (maybe, not really), Reader is a little bit of a dumby but that’s why I love her

                                                       𓆩♡𓆪

   Trudging around the house, you gathered everything you needed to survive the next few hours. It was a beautiful day out--the birds were chirping, the sun was shining, and the couples were buzzing down the street. It indeed was the perfect day. Anyone would be happy.

But here you are, on the verge of tears because of a man that was never yours.

    Of course he isn't yours. Everyone wanted him. He was polite, well-mannered, well-off, and attractive. He had a passion for radio shows and charming anyone he laid his eyes on--though, that could be unintentional. He had fair, olive skin, beautiful brown eyes to match, and shiny brown hair you would die to run your hands through. Who wouldn't be charmed by him? He's the perfect man.

    When you first heard of him, you followed your heart and applied to work at his studio. It was a miracle he accepted. You had no experience, after all. At first, you would only run errands for them and those he would speak with, but soon you became more. You would give him ideas and, to your delight, he never chastised you. He only encouraged your creativity. It wasn't long until you became a staple of the radio channel and Alastor became a staple in your heart.

    Like a fool, you believed he felt the same for you. You believed his heart and soul were made for you—that you were made for each other.

    Earlier today, you found him chatting with a girl, who had a small, heart-shaped box of chocolates in her hand. Her face was flushed as she looked up at Alastor with doe eyes. Margaret was known by everyone in town as a wisenheimer; why would Alastor choose her of all people?

    Your heart clenched at the memory. “I’m so stupid,” you whimper.

    Dragging your feet, you roamed into the kitchen, collecting your favorite snacks from your cupboards. As you left the kitchen, the radio triggered itself and began playing Alastor’s channel.

    “Hello and happy Valentine’s day, the holiday for passion and love! Nearly everyone has a valentine,” spoke Alastor, his voice nearly being covered by the feedback. You felt lighter at the sound of his voice. “Speaking of which, Arthur, do you have a Valentine?”

    Shuffling came from the radio before a foreign voice spoke, “As a matter of fact, I do. I have to get my wiggle on so I can meet with the missus for lunch. What about you, Alastor, do you have a valentine?”

    “Not yet, my friend, but I will by the end of the day. I’m dizzy with a dame, you see, but I haven’t seen her all morning!” Alastor sighs and Arthur hums.

“You’ll get her. Hey, butt me, will ya?”

    Out of impulse, you twist the dial to a random channel—any channel, as long as it isn’t his. Outgoing jazz music played on the radio and soothed your nerves. You kicked your house shoes off your feet and collapsed onto the couch, tossing the throw pillows and decorative blanket over your person.

    Now underneath the pile, all you could see was darkness. The song ended and another softer, smoother song played. Gradually, you pieced together a scene to cure your newfound boredom.

    A giant, golden room, bustling full of people. Every woman wore an elegant dress and every man wore a handsome suit with a unique flower. The room had a dozen pillars on the longest walls, parallel to each other, which extended to the highest point of the ceiling to make it appear round.

    On the ceiling, golden engravings complimented a giant mural. A few chandeliers hung from the ceiling, adding shimmers to the walls as the light deflected from them. Curtains, red as a rose, matched the velvet chairs that hugged the walls, all of which were empty.

All of it reminded you of him.

    You felt discouraged, the thought of Alastor bringing back the memory of him with Margaret. But you lit up when you remembered something—this is your dream! You could make anything you want happen.

    You could have a world where there was no Margaret, where you were the only dame that wanted Alastor’s hand—where Alastor only had eyes for you.

    Looking down at yourself, you concentrated on giving yourself a dress. A red, thin-strapped, sequin dress appeared on your body. Black, silk, elbow-length gloves showed themselves on your arms, and a fan in your hand to match. A pearl necklace made itself around your neck and a matching set of earrings clipped themselves to your ears.

Maybe you would never actually wear this, but you felt damn good pretending.

    Suddenly, the door to the ballroom opened. A silhouette appeared in the door frame. They strolled in quickly, cutting their way through the dancing couples and straight to you.

    As they grew closer, you recognized their face. Your heart fluttered when you realized it was Alastor. He wasn’t wearing his usual outfit; instead of a blouse and red vest, he wore an elegant, red suit with a black bow. His usual, pretty smile stretched across his face as he locked eyes with you.

    “Hello, my dear,” Alastor cooed, stopping in front of you and staring into your eyes.

    “Al,” you sighed, dreamily. “Hello.”

    Gently, Alastor brings a hand to your forehead. “Are you feeling alright? You look a little feverish,” he said rhetorically, already knowing the reason your face was hot.

    “I am now that you’re here,” you say confidently, moving your hands to his chest, suddenly feeling confident. Alastor’s smile grew as he looked down at you.

    Offering his right hand out, he said with a smile, “Would you do me the honors of being my dance partner?”

    “How charming,” you giggle. “I would love to.” Gently, you place your hand in his. Almost eagerly, he leads you to the dance floor.

    As if you were always there, you blend in with the others dancers effortlessly. Your right hand held his left, and your left hand sat comfortably on his shoulder as he held your waist with his right hand. You felt light as a feather as you waltzed across the dance floor, maintaining eye contact with Alastor at every step. Every movement he made was confident and purposeful.

    “You look ravishing, darling. I’ve waited all day for this moment,” he whispered, leaning close enough so you could hear him.

    “As do you, my love,” you gushed, heart fluttering under his gaze. Around him, you felt like an open book—one that he read as often and as thoroughly as he could.

    As the tension grew, your arms moved to loop around Alastor’s neck, while he moved to cradle your waist. He pressed his cheek against yours, nuzzling close to your ear to whisper sweet nothings.

    His murmurs were unintelligible, for you were too tired to understand, so you enjoyed the feeling of his breath fanning against your ear instead. The hairs on your neck stood on edge as you closed your eyes to appreciate the moment.

    You only opened your eyes when the whispers stopped and Alastor’s hand moved to your cheek once again. Once you came out of your bliss, you noticed the scenery changed. Instead of being in a ballroom, you were on a balcony.

    The sky was dark and littered with stars. The full moon hovered behind Alastor, making him look ethereal. You didn’t bother seeing what else changed. You were too busy admiring the man in front of you.

    “You have bewitched me—heart, body, and soul,” Alastor stated, breaking the silence. He led his other hand to cup your empty cheek. “I wish to never be parted from you from this day on. You’re all I think about. I’m crazy for you, my darling doe,” he broke eye contact for a moment to glance at your lips before looking back at you.

Like he was asking for permission.

“Oh, Al,” you mutter, thoroughly smitten by his words. “Please kiss me.”

    “It’d be my pleasure,” he hummed, tilting his head and leaning close. You reciprocated, excited to finally share a kiss with the one you’ve been pining over for so long. His eyes closed, as did yours. Your lips brushed against his—

    You woke with a jolt when you heard knocking at your door. “Rats,” you curse, throwing the blanket and pillows to the floor and scrambling to fix yourself. “Just a moment!” You yell, throwing your house shoes on and hastily fixing the couch, as well as your hair.

    “Are you alright in there? I hear a lot of movement,” a voice calls from behind the door. “Should I call for someone?”

    “NO!--I mean—” You yank the door open, breathless, and smiling. “See? Right as rain! No need to call for anyone,” You crowed nervously, nearly fainting when you saw the man you were just dreaming about holding a giant bouquet of roses at your door.

     “If you say so,” Alastor hums, glancing over your panting figure. “Right! I’m here for a proposal. Will you do me the honors of being my valentine?” He asks nonchalantly, pushing the bouquiet toward you.

    “Wait–I thought Margaret was your valentine,” you asked, ignoring the flowers and staring expectantly at Alastor.

    Alastor stepped into your house, prepared for the long conversation. “Margaret is merely a harlot, my dear. You have nothing to worry about, I assure you,” he explained without a beat.

    “...How do I know I can trust you?” You asked him, “You looked awfully happy with her.” That was a lie—you only saw the back of his head. You had no way of knowing how he felt in the situation.

    Alastor takes a step toward you, to which you take a step backward. “I love you. And I believe you love me,” he states, looking down on you fondly.

    “You’re quite wrong. This has only been an adventure to me,” you sputtle, feeling vulnerable under his gaze.

     “That isn’t true, my dear. I see the way you look at me. I hear how you talk about me. You are as infatuated with me as I am with you,” he takes another step.

    Desperate for distance, an advantage, you speak, “It is true! You smiled at me, I was flattered. It was an adventure for a holiday mood,” you tell him, stepping back until your back met the wall.

     Alastor takes a moment to place the bouquet on the couch before resuming his approach. “You may as well take my heart, It’s already full of you. You walked with it the day we met,” he vowed, placing his arms on either side of you.

    “You’re a fool, Alastor,” you shutter, silently relishing in his presence. Alastor smiles brightly, pressing his forehead against yours and looking deep into your eyes.

    “But isn’t any man who falls in love?” He asks, guiding one of your hands to the back of his neck as he leans close. With one swoop, Alastor pressed his lips against yours, locking you into a kiss. Your heart soars in your chest.

You finally got the man you desire most. Maybe dreams do come true.

                                                        𓆩♡𓆪