#a rescue neatly sorts into Before and After

[laurfilijames]

Breathe

Part 10

Pairing: Will 'Ironhead' Miller x female reader

Words: 6.5k

Warnings: Rated E, 18+. Swearing. Alcohol consumption. Fingering. Squirting. Oral sex (F receiving). Masturbation (M). Description of a heart attack and administration of CPR.

Summary: Comfortable domestication sets into your routines after Will officially moves in with you, and a quick stop at the grocery store on the way home from the gym earns Will another reputation at Publix.

A/N: Thank you to everyone who continues to follow this story and pour on so much love and excitement for it! With the events in this chapter, I'll urge anyone who has never learned or is set to renew to please get certified in CPR as you never know if and when you may need it! (In case anyone is wondering I've been watching far too much Bondi Rescue, already have a kink for first responders, and work in healthcare so this is the result 🤣)

Series Masterlist

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Will pulled another one of his t-shirts out of the box he was unpacking and shook it loose from its current fold, refolding it and then tucking it neatly in the drawer that had been designated for him in your dresser.

All of his things were moved into the house thanks to the help of the guys, and after a couple of sleepless nights due to his insomnia put to good use, almost everything he owned had found a new place intermixed with yours, leaving him with only a few more boxes to sort through.

The usual anxiety he got from disorganization was calmed by a sense of peace he hadn’t experienced in as long as he could remember, the normal stresses of moving his belongings yet again whisked away by the comforts of your house already feeling like home to him, the disarray of clothes and personal possessions that made him tick seeming small compared to the joy that was so immense in his heart.

“Hey,” your soft voice sang as you entered the room, walking up behind him where you carded your hands up his back and pressed a kiss on his shoulder.

Will smiled and covered your hand with his after you had wrapped it around to his front, glancing over his shoulder at you to see your face as much as he could.

“I was thinking you might want something to eat. Are you hungry?”

“Hmm, yeah,” Will confirmed, the grumble in his stomach unnoticed until now with how focused he was on putting things away.

“Okay, I’ll go whip us something up,” you offered, puckering your lips against his back one more time before peeling yourself off of him.

“I’ll do it,” he countered, taking an empty box and stacking it in another one on the floor. “You don’t have to do everything.”

He looked at you with a mix of appreciation and guilt, and you instantly knew a lot of your time living together would be spent with him trying to repay everything you did, never wanting you to lift a finger more than you should have to.

“How about we cook together then.”

Will’s smile was crooked on his gorgeous face, the grin bringing out the lines around his eyes that you loved so much, and he followed behind as you turned and walked out of your room, feeling his arms wrap around you to make you wobble with each step.

You laughed and held onto his forearms, squirming slightly as he rubbed his face back and forth on the side of your neck, a low growl reverberating through him.

He eventually released you, stalking you from a step back whenever you looked over your shoulder at him, pulling your lip in your teeth in seeing the ravenous glint in his eyes.

You decided to lean into this mood he was in, the confidence you felt from the way he kept staring at you making you work to tease him in subtle ways; casually touching your neck and chest with a light trace of your fingers, or slipping past him closer than was necessary to grab cutlery out of the drawer, your breasts brushing his arm as you did.

Looking over your shoulder to see if your flirting ways were getting a rise out of him, you giggled when you saw him shake his head ever so slightly, a quiet warning that only encouraged you more.

You had no reason to bend over to open one of the lower cabinets, but did so anyway, sticking your bum out purposefully in hopes he would take the bait.

Straightening yourself, you continued to face away from him, taking a pot and setting it in the sink where you flicked on the tap to fill it, accepting that you should try to make a valiant attempt at actually making dinner rather than only teasing him.

You grinned when you heard him approach, excitement bubbling in you as you anticipated his retaliation.

His large hand landed on your ass with a smack, playfully but with enough force to make every part of you ache, his tone full of wanting as he leaned over you from behind and spoke in your ear.

“Keep acting like that and we’ll be skipping dinner altogether.”

“Is that a promise or a threat?” you quipped, turning your body to better admire the way his t-shirt clung to his form as he retreated from you and reached up to open a cupboard, peering out at you behind the door with his eyebrows raised.

“Both. But maybe if you’re a good girl you’ll be made into dessert.”

Heat rushed through your body, your heart thrumming wildly in your chest as he shut the door with some force and closed the distance between you, his dominant stature looming over you and making you feel defenseless in the best way possible.

You closed your eyes, tilting your chin slightly to invite him to do whatever he wanted with you, reminding yourself to breathe as you stood waiting, your body completely still while arousal and lust ran frantically inside you.

You could feel him lean in close to you, the warmth of his body occupying your space, knowing his mouth was so close to yours and that his piercing blue eyes were watching you react.

Remembering once again to breathe, you forced yourself to release the air held in your lungs, your impatience growing as you continued to wait for Will to touch you in some way.

A quiet moan passed your lips with the breath you let out when he caught your chin with his hand, a firm hold on it with his thumb and index finger tucked underneath, angling your head back slightly more.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he whispered, the sound of awe in his voice making you smile, your chest swelling from his praise.

“I love you, sweetheart,” he added, his thumb moving to pull down your bottom lip before finally closing what little gap remained between you to kiss you. It was soft and sweet and full of a gentleness that was the opposite of what you were expecting, his hand letting go of your chin to land on your hips with the other one, squeezing your flesh before slipping them up and around your back.

You felt him exhale into you, his body relaxing and melting into yours, and after another minute of slowly tangling his tongue with yours he broke the seal of your lips.

His eyes were heavy when they flickered from your lips that were plump and moist from his and up the rest of your face until he met your gaze, his words coming out quietly but with a conviction you couldn’t deny.

“Let’s go to bed, dinner can wait.”

The house was full of laughter, bringing the biggest smile to your face as you cleaned up a bit in the kitchen, hearing Benny telling a funny story and all the other guys erupt loudly, the happiness you felt in hearing the sound of Will’s true laugh comparable to nothing else.

A full week had passed since he officially moved in with you, and tonight the guys were over for dinner to thank them for their help with moving all of his stuff over to your house; the pizzas almost all devoured and the empty beer bottles accumulating quickly.

Benny strutted into the kitchen as he called out a jab at Frankie over his shoulder, his broad smile greeting you and making yours stretch wider.

“Just remember,” he started, grabbing a couple of beers out of the fridge. “No take-backsies. I know more than anyone what a pain in the ass that one can be to live with but he’s all yours now.” His words came out serious but you knew Benny well enough to know he was joking, the look on his face giving away all the fallacy in his statement.

You laughed and shook your head. “Don’t worry, I’m not letting him go.”

“That’s what I like to hear!” he shouted, exiting the kitchen.

It had been another hour and Frankie, Santiago and Benny were all making their way out the door, Frankie supporting Tom as best he could as more than a few too many beers started to really show their effect on him.

“You sure you got him?” You heard Will ask Frankie as you rounded the corner from your bedroom.

“I’m fine!” Tom slurred, laughing as he tried to shake Frankie’s hold on him, only to stumble out the door and into Benny.

“Yeah, I’ll get him home,” Frankie assured Will, his tone sober and slightly annoyed, this not the first time any of them had had to wrestle his keys from him and drive him home.

“Thanks, man,” Will nodded, closing the door behind them once they all managed to find their way out.

He locked the door and turned around, puffing out his cheeks in a sigh as he raised his eyebrows at you with a knowing glance, then made his way over to the couch.

Will flopped down on it, resting his head back against it, his arms stretched out over the back while his legs splayed out wide.

You looked him up and down, never able to get over how long his legs were in his jeans that fit him so well and how you always found yourself desperate to straddle him whenever he sat like that.

Like he could read your thoughts, he beckoned you over with the tilt of his head, his smile crooked on his lips.

“Come here, sweetheart,” he purred.

You smiled as you slowly made your way over, watching him watch you with satisfaction and a slight deviousness on his face.

You went to grab onto his shoulders and straddle him, only to be stopped when he shook his head and spoke with a quiet demand.

“Not yet.”

You raised your brow and tilted your head, putting your hands up in the air to exaggerate not being able to touch him, a light chuckle sounding off his gorgeous lips.

“Get undressed,” he ordered, the hunger in his eyes making heat burst through your entire body, the need to get your clothes off even more pressing.

There was no time to waste with him sitting there looking like that, so amused and aroused, his confidence radiating through the room between you and into you as you began slipping out of your shirt and then pants, but slowed down when you got to your lacy set of underwear.

Nothing on Will moved other than his chest rising and falling with controlled breaths, his stoicism exciting you even more, his patience something to be admired.

You teasingly pulled the straps of your bra off your shoulders in turn, maintaining eye contact with him when you reached behind your back and popped the clasp open, squirming on the spot when it fell to the ground and exposed your chest.

Will tipped his chin up slightly, a subtle sign of his appeasement, his eyes seeming to glow as they floated over your breasts and then down your stomach to where your thong still covered you.

Hooking your thumbs in the waist of it, you slowly shimmied the tiny garment down your hips, only to stop and put it back in place, smiling when Will tilted his head in a somewhat cautionary way, making you abide and pull the underwear all the way down your legs as you bit your lip.

“Good girl,” he praised, his voice low and rough.

“Can I come touch you now?” you asked, hoping his answer would be the one you wanted.

He nodded, his smirk ever-present on his perfect face, and you made your way over to him with as much composure as you could muster, really just wanting to leap into his lap and attach yourself to him.

It wasn’t as easy to get your way as you had thought; Will spinning you to face away from him once you were standing between his legs, a small huff of disappointment blowing out of your lungs as you were made to face the rest of the living room.

“Don’t pout,” he chided, his fingers tracing up the side of your thighs and across your hips, then over the curve of your bum, the sensation divine and ticklish all at once.

You felt his face brush against your skin, his beard both soft and rough, and you hummed as you relaxed to his touch, every caress familiar yet just as exciting as the first one.

His hand slid between your legs, his long fingers running through your folds while his other hand gripped your cheek and pulled it apart, a needy whine sounding out of you involuntarily.

You heard him groan as he continued to explore you, feeling your wet coating his fingers, his nose grazing against your skin as he brought his face nearer to your ass, smelling your arousal and inhaling all of you.

The sound of his heavy breathing and feeling it blow out on your naked flesh made you smile, knowing how crazy he was driven just from you standing there ready for him, your curiosity as to what he would do with you next spiking as much as your desire.

With his patience fully spent, Will forcefully pulled you down onto his lap, his hands pressing firmly on your stomach and chest to angle you back against his front.

You could feel the heat pouring off of him through his shirt and jeans, the denim rough on your bare skin as you shifted slightly and wiggled your bum against the hard bulge you were sitting on.

“Fuck,” he growled, his mouth beside your ear, pressing a kiss to your neck as he grabbed one of your legs at a time and threw them over his vast thighs, spreading his legs further apart so yours automatically did too.

You were now completely stretched wide, your cunt exposed to the rest of the room in front of you, Will’s right hand carding down your stomach that moved with your laboured breaths until he reached your splayed folds and inserted two of his fingers.

Your hips immediately began to move the moment he started pumping his fingers in and out of you, riding his hand that expertly massaged you, your soft cries of pleasure breaking through the quiet air already.

“That feels good, doesn’t it?” he asked in your ear, his mouth reattaching to the side of your neck.

You nodded, only to have the option of moving your head stop when his hand that wasn’t between your legs came up and wrapped around your throat, applying the most gentle pressure that had you aching and even wishing he would hold it tighter.

“Will,” you breathed, begging for more, the tempo at which you rocked against his hand increasing, his fingers that were hot and slick from your body moving to toy with your clit.

“You look so beautiful like this, sweetheart,” he growled, his tone not matching the sweetness of his words but all of it making you climb to your high even more.

He inserted his fingers back inside your hole, the heel of his hand hitting your clit and providing a firm base for you to grind against, and he released his other hand from around your neck and let it land on your tits, tugging at your nipples to make you cry out even more.

He kept you firmly against him, your skin rubbing on the material of his clothes with such contrast, your nudity feeling dirty and sinful and adding to everything you were feeling.

“That’s it, baby,” he encouraged, his voice strained as you ground on his throbbing cock through his jeans. “You’re gonna squirt all over me, yeah?”

His question rang out through the blood that rushed in your ears, your orgasm imminent and coming on fast, and knowing you were going to make a mess on him brought you to the edge, heat and pressure coiling at the base of your spine as he continued to roughly fuck you with his fingers.

You attempted to close your legs as your climax ripped through you, only to have Will keep them locked apart how they were by pressing his own further out, forcing you to feel every single part of your high as thoroughly as you could, the pace he kept with his hand not faltering.

You screamed and gripped his forearm hard, knowing you were leaving claw marks in his skin, your entire body spasming as you succumbed to everything he was giving you.

There was no rest when you were done, his fingers still working you relentlessly, determined to pick you apart as much as he could.

“Good girl, you're not done yet,” he hissed, keeping the same harsh rhythm that made you break in the first place.

You jolted against him, wailing and pleading, your body calming just enough to start the build on your second orgasm.

“Fuck! Will!”

“Come on, sweetheart,” he encouraged, his breath hot on your damp skin.

His large form supported you as you arched back into him, pressing hard against his front where he felt so solid compared to how boneless you felt from the intense pleasure he was providing you, and with even more persistence, Will’s fingers made you fall apart again.

The orgasm was even more profound than the first, and just as he had predicted he would make happen, you squirted all over his lap.

“Fuck, that’s it, keep going,” he praised, not letting up as he made sure to draw out every second of euphoria, the mess you were making not his concern right now.

You glanced down at his arm that was still working between your legs, noticing his tattoo glistening with your wet, the movement of his fingers on you finally slowing.

About to make a request to return the favour by offering yourself for him to use in which ever way he wanted, you were robbed of the chance, Will efficiently placing you off his lap and onto the leather cushion that was now slippery and getting on his knees in front of yours that he was forcing apart with his hands.

He looked at you hungrily, ready to devour you, his glance almost a warning that made your breath halt in your lungs as you waited for him to pounce, his fingertips gripping at the softness of your thighs.

“I need to taste this,” he huffed out, his chest moving exaggeratedly with heaving breaths.

Will dove his face between your legs, licking a broad stripe up your inner thigh until he reached your soppy cunt, your body shuddering in reaction to more stimulation on your oversensitive sex.

“Fuuuuuck!” The word was drawn out, your head falling back against the couch as you arched into his face, his hands pulling you closer to him as he dragged you to the edge by gripping under your ass.

He ate everything he had coaxed out of you, his groans of appreciation rumbling through you, and you opened your eyes when you felt him remove his hands from your body, watching him unbuckle his belt and then open the button of his jeans, the sound of his zipper pulling down making an excited noise blow passed your lips.

He continued to lick and suck at your clit, swiping through your folds and then swirling his tongue around your swollen bud, giving it a pull with his lips as he peeled his boxers down enough to release his throbbing cock and take hold of it, his breathing and intensity of his movements on you increasing after just a couple of strokes on himself.

Knowing he was transferring your juices from his hand onto his cock to lubricate his actions turned you even more feral, his muffled groans driving you even more crazy with lust.

“God, Will!” you cried, reaching behind you to grip the back of the couch with your hand, riding his face that he kept pressed firmly on your center, your eyes closing again despite being so desperate to see him jerk his long cock in his hand.

He was focused on his task, destined to make you shatter for a third time only now on his tongue, your pleasure adding to his own.

“Fuck, baby, I’m gonna come again!” you wailed, and Will stayed exactly how he was, maintaining the same pace and pressure on your aching cunt as you crumbled, the only change being on his cock that he pumped furiously.

You exploded on his mouth, your cry sharp as your body convulsed, hardly noticing that Will had left your body and stood before you in your weak, fucked-out state as soon as you had finished.

Your tired eyes opened slowly when you felt his fingers under your chin, holding your face up, his thumb swiping on your lower lip where he gently forced your mouth open.

You looked up at him with love and obedience, letting your jaw hang for him, watching his gorgeous face contort with pleasure as he continued to work himself.

The muscles of his stomach and legs flexed wildly as he started to release, his moans growing louder as his load shot out onto your lips and tongue that you stuck out to catch a taste, not shying away from being covered in his cum, angling your torso forward to get yourself directly in the path of it.

It felt wonderfully warm on your skin, landing on your chest that had now cooled slightly from your sweat, your nipples hardening as it dripped down the curve of your breasts and tickled your sensitive skin.

Your smile was almost deranged as you looked up at him, the man who you loved and would do absolutely anything for, never feeling more powerful and sexy than you were now as you sat in your own mess while covered in his, the smell of your love heavy in the air.

He knew it too, his own crooked, sated grin tugging up the one side of his lips as he caught his breath, his hand returning to hold your face as he looked down at you with pride.

“You look gorgeous, sweetheart,” he spoke lazily, his orgasm taking away any tension in his body.

Your grin stretched out even more, the most satisfied, warm feeling running through your veins, your eyes closing as you bit your lip and caught another taste of him and relished in the way he loved and praised you.

“You don’t mind if I just run in quickly?” you asked, watching Will nod his head again in confirmation as he turned left at the stoplight.

“Yes! It’s fine,” he chuckled, amused that you had now checked with him twice that he didn’t care if you stopped in at the grocery store quickly on your way home from the gym. “I can get some stuff to barbecue for dinner tonight.”

“Yeah? Okay,” you agreed lightly, happy he was choosing to come in with you and didn't seem too bothered by it.

Will pulled into the Publix parking lot and found a spot near the back that was away from all the other cars and big enough for his truck, raising his eyebrows at you as he turned the key in the ignition and unfastened his seatbelt.

“Let’s go,” he chimed, opening his door with a somewhat forced smile, and you sensed a bit of hesitation growing in him as the amount of occupied parking spaces indicated the number of people inside.

You met him on the other side of the truck after getting out where he stood waiting for you, taking your hand in his before walking through the lot together.

“Thanks for coming with me,” you said softly to him, turning your head and pressing a kiss to his shoulder as you walked.

He gave your hand a squeeze and smiled at you, his sigh audible as you stepped in through the automatic doors.

“Why don’t you go grab what you need and I’ll meet you at the checkout?” he suggested, his eyes surveying the store rather than looking at you.

It was busy, families and couples and even more people on their own weaving in and out of the produce stands with their carts, and you knew Will already wanted out of there as quickly as possible.

“Okay, I’ll be quick,” you promised, already stepping away from him to get a move on despite not wanting to let go of his clammy hand.

Will cursed under his breath as he made his way through the produce section, regretting his decision of coming in as he felt a slight sense of panic start to creep up his spine, and he began counting his breaths to himself as he grabbed some peppers and zucchinis and then moved to where the fresh meat was displayed.

He picked out a pack of chicken thighs and felt some relief that he had efficiently got everything he needed for dinner, only to remember the bottle of olive oil at home was almost empty and he would have to go through more of the store to get to the aisle where it was stocked.

He breathed out a sigh of relief when he turned down the aisle and it was empty aside from a gentleman facing one of the shelves who he assumed was in his sixties, passing by him quietly to stop in front of the bottles of various types of cooking oils, glancing at the prices and regions they were from.

Will reached out for a bottle, stopping when he felt a heavy hand land on his arm, making him shuffle it against the other ones on the shelf and almost fall off.

“What the f–” he started, his hand raising quickly in an instinct to protect himself while his anger did the same in his alarm, the groceries he was holding falling to the ground. When he saw it was the man he had passed dropping to the floor beside him in a heap, he immediately changed his tune, his confusion and defensiveness switching to act on the first aid training he’d practiced his whole career.

“Hey, hey,” he called, doing his best to guide the man carefully to the floor so he didn’t hit his head, a look of pure terror in his eyes as he stared at Will desperately. “It’s okay, buddy.”

“Fuck!” Will cursed, whipping his head around to look for help as the man immediately went unconscious.

Will’s index and middle fingers landed on his neck to check for a pulse, carefully waiting for a couple of seconds only to feel nothing beating against them.

He quickly positioned himself at the man’s side and placed his hands one on top of the other in the center of his sternum, beginning compressions and counting each one in his head.

One, two, three, four, five…

Each second felt like an eternity as Will waited for someone to pass by the aisle, unable to believe with how busy the store was that there was somehow no one around.

…eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen…

Finally someone walked by.

“Hey! HEY!” Will shouted, his voice a boom amongst the normal sounds of chatter and generic music playing overhead, the beep of the cash register scanning food carrying on as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening.

The other man Will had yelled at stood frozen behind his cart, only nodding his head as Will instructed him what to do.

“Call 911 and ask an employee for a defibrillator. Now.”

The guy fumbled for his phone in his pocket but to Will’s relief was on the line with the 911 operator right away, and thankfully someone else noticed what was happening and came over to Will.

“What can I do?” they asked, kneeling beside the unresponsive man.

“Tip his chin up and back to try to open his airway,” Will explained, still compressing on his chest.

About a minute later and already into his second round of chest compressions, an employee skirted around the corner with the defib in hand, moving quickly to open it.

“There should be scissors in there,” he explained, still counting in his head. “Cut his shirt off.”

They did as they were told, quickly exposing the man’s chest as Will continued to press on it where his unbeating heart lay beneath, trying to get it pumping again.

“Put one pad here…good, and the other there,” he nodded, indicating the spots where they needed to go with his head as he continued what he was doing.

Will stopped doing CPR once the automated voice instructed him to stop touching the patient, waiting for the defibrillator to assess and confirm if a shock was needed, wiping the sweat dripping from his face with his hand.

When you heard an employee who was stocking a shelf say to another as you walked by that there was an emergency happening a few aisles over, your heart immediately jumped into your throat.

Automatically, you started hurrying through the store, glancing down each section you passed in search of Will, trying to calm yourself and reassure your racing mind that it was unlikely it had anything to do with him, knowing nothing like what happened to him before in this store was likely to happen again.

You slid between a group of people crowding around the end of the condiments section, standing by and watching the scene before them that you eventually were able to see for yourself.

Will’s wearied, blue eyes instantly met with yours as you locked in on him kneeling beside an older man who paramedics were now attending to, the apparent excitement starting to settle as the man who, from what others were whispering beside you, was ‘dead’ only a minute ago.

Will gave you a nod that told you he was fine as he continued telling the paramedics what had happened and how many rounds of compressions he had performed, and that after two sets of CPR, the man’s pulse returned after having been unresponsive for exactly four minutes and fifty-three seconds.

Knowing there was nothing more he could do now that the paramedics were treating him and he had regained consciousness, Will stood and stepped over to you, placing his arm around you so his hand landed on the small of your back.

You felt it shake against you slightly, but he nodded again to confirm he was okay when you asked, his deep breath blowing out as he pressed a kiss onto your forehead.

A woman beside him clapped her hand on his arm appreciatively, congratulating him on his efforts. “You’re a hero!”

A few other people standing close agreed with her claim, and Will shook his head and glanced over at you, his voice quiet when he spoke.

“Can we get outta here?”

“Yeah, of course,” you agreed, not taking your eyes off of him as you slipped through the crowd and made your way out of the store.

It was silent after his door slammed shut, and you watched as Will stared out the windshield for a minute before sighing out slowly and then looked down at his lap.

You didn’t say anything, simply reached over and placed your hand over his, smoothing your thumb on the back of his hand until you saw the tension he held in his body visibly relax, his shoulders dropping and the flex in his cheek releasing.

His next sigh mixed with a bit of a laugh, shaking his head as he finally spoke.

“Maybe I'll have a better reputation at Publix now.”

You squeezed his hand, watching him continue to look almost defeated even though what he had just done was truly amazing, knowing how much guilt burdened him from the first incident he’d had at the store.

“You’re a good man, Will,” you proclaimed, feeling it to be the most true thing that’s ever come out of your mouth other than your love for him, your heart aching for him that he would never believe it no matter how many lives he saved or good things he did to make up for the ones he’d taken and choices he’d made.

When he remained quiet, knowing his mind was going a mile a minute and beginning to torture him with things he could no longer control, you leaned over the console and reached for his face, landing your palm on his cheek to get him to look at you.

“Hey,” you called, softly, and he smiled weakly as he turned his head and glanced over. “Do you want me to drive?”

He shook his head again, leaning slightly into your palm for a second as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“No, it’s okay. Driving will give me something to focus on. Thank you though,” he said, genuinely, his hand covering yours that still remained on his cheek, kissing your palm before peeling it off of him so he could press a kiss on your knuckles.

“Let’s go home,” he added, adjusting his body against his seat to shift his tired muscles before putting on his seatbelt and turning the key to start up the engine with a low roar.

“I’m gonna have a shower,” Will announced when you got in the door, still needing one after the gym and even more so now after the stress of the emergency at the store.

“Yeah, okay, enjoy,” you said, giving him a quick peck on his lips.

Your eyes lingered on him for a moment, and he looked at you honestly, his tone true when he spoke.

“I’m okay, sweetheart, I promise.”

You smiled. “I know you are, Will. How about I sort us out some dinner? You must be hungry after all that.”

He held his stomach and sighed with a grin, “I’m starving!”

You giggled and nodded, stepping toward him again to wrap your hands around his middle to hug him, angling your face up at his. “Okay, go get clean and then I’ll get you fed.”

“Mmm,” he hummed, kissing you slowly. “I’ll never deserve you, baby.”

His hands stroked your hair as his eyes swept over your features like he would never fully grasp that you were his to love and vice versa.

“But you do,” you corrected, a smile dressing your lips when a smirk formed on his.

Will finally broke your embrace and disappeared to the bathroom, leaving you to go to the kitchen where you pondered what to put together for a meal while standing in front of an open cupboard.

You had really needed to grab a few things at the store, the pantry looking sparse and the fridge brighter than normal with all the empty spaces in it, and closing the door, you decided it was worth spending a couple extra bucks to order in some comfort food after a trying day.

Even though it wasn’t remotely cool outside, you decided some hot, spicy Pho would be the perfect choice, quickly ordering it on a delivery app and smiling when it was confirmed to arrive in less than twenty minutes.

You went into the living room and closed the curtains, grabbing two blankets from where they were neatly folded on the ottoman along with some pillows and placed them on the floor between the couch and coffee table.

A few candles were now lit and brought a warmth to the room that you loved so much, and you turned on the tv, selecting Seinfeld, knowing Will would appreciate having a familiar favourite on that would be easy to watch and take his mind off the excitement of what happened.

The sound of the shower was still going, and while waiting for the food to arrive, you ran down into the basement quickly to stick a clean towel in the dryer for a couple of minutes, hoping you would make it back up the stairs before Will was finished.

You slipped in the bathroom door that was left ajar, placing the hot towel on the vanity for him to use when he stepped out, taking a moment to admire his naked form standing beneath the stream of water, looking statuesque and godly.

Forcing yourself back out of the bathroom and not into the shower with him, you answered the door after hearing a knock, bringing the bag of food over to your cozy set-up.

You had just finished setting it all out when you heard Will walk in, and looked up to see him smiling brightly, his hair wet and sticking up a bit, his grey track pants low on his hips that made his bare upper body appear even longer.

“The warm towel was a nice touch,” he smirked, striding over where he wrapped his hands around you and pulled you into him, kissing you fiercely.

You giggled against his lips, your hands spreading out over his warm skin that was still tacky from his shower.

“Good.”

“What’s all this?” he asked, nodding behind you to the two giant bowls of soup.

You shrugged, “I thought it would be nice after everything that happened. Plus our options here were something between cereal and a can of tuna.”

Will’s eyebrows rose on his forehead in agreement, and he nodded as he looked at you with warmth and love in his blue eyes.

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

With full bellies, you moved onto the couch, snuggling up to Will’s side with his arm draped comfortably over you to keep you close to him, his occasional laugh moving your head along with that of his chest as you rested against it.

“I’m glad you were there with me today,” he said quietly, his fingers lacing with yours as he did.

“I was the one who dragged you there in the first place.”

He huffed a small laugh, his eyes crinkling at the sides as he looked down at your entwined hands.

“Maybe we were meant to be there,” he admitted, his voice quiet almost as if he was thinking out loud.

You nodded in agreement. “I think so.”

“I hope he’s doing okay,” he added, giving your hand a squeeze as he thought about the man’s family, hoping he was lucky enough to have someone to love and fuss over him through his recovery, realizing more than ever what it meant to have someone to love you with their whole heart but knowing that if there was such a thing as luck in this world, he had taken it all.

Will tilted his head to see your face better, staring at you for a minute before speaking with quiet conviction.

“I love you so much.”

You reached up and rubbed his cheek, his beard soft on your skin. “I love you too, Will.”

“I feel like I can’t tell you enough.”

Your smile faded out as you took in the perfection of him, the warmth in his eyes and the fullness of his lips, your eyes trailing down to his chest where his clean, porcelain skin harboured his heart that held more love in it than anyone you had ever met before.

“Then tell me again,” you whispered.

He leaned closer to you, his lips temptingly close to yours while maintaining eye contact that made your breath stop.

“I love you.”

---

Taglist:

@sotwk @dailydragon08 @sunnys-day @thedreadandthefugitivemind @glassgulls

@littlenosoul @glitterypirateduck @momia2910 @maggotzombie @rmwarn90

@paintlavillered @casa-boiardi @stealfromthedevil @kmc1989 @justreblogginfics

@spaghettificationandpretzels @whatever-lmaoo @steviebbboi @charethcutestory02

@daryldixonpls @christinhunnam @hp-hogwartsexpress

[crypticminx]

Hi! I loved ur telling Felix if pregnant fic so could we get a p2? Maby e Felix helping reader a morning sickness. Just fluffy ❤❤

Hi my angel!!! here you go! Xoxo

Pregnancy with Felix ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

AN: part two to my headcanons, very fluffy xoxo

- Felix would grow to be exceedingly close and overbearing of you at all times–all within good reason, of course. You felt incredibly tired? No problem, his usual disorganized bed would be neatly prepped and cozy for you with a cup of tea waiting on his night side table. Morning sickness? He was behind you as you would throw up all of your unpleasant remains from the previous night, holding back your silky hair while he gently circled his palm along your sore arched back in soothing motions

- Felix would favor sleeping in with you even if that foolishly resulted in the ignorant academic missing his first morning class, but you were immensely important to him in comparison to his repetitive lectures. He’d wrap you deeply into his chest, entangling both of your legs and arms to construct some sort of warmth from each of your bare bodies. When you’d finally close your eyes to try and regain your interrupted rest, Felix would slide his hand down to just below your ribs and on your abdomen. Though you were barely showing, he could already feel some sort of connection to what was inside of you and it made him feel affectionately sympathetic. Most of all, it made him cherish you even more and from that moment onward, he was destined to continue to treat you in a way that differentiated him from any other sort of love you had ever received.

- It would be too soon for the two of you to move into Saltburn, a manageable idea Felix came up with on a whim upon the two of you trying to discuss the reality of your soon to be future that included a baby. Felix, who terribly wished he could stay with you to attend to your doting needs at every passing hour of each day, still had his classes to attend. You would carefully decide not to continue any further studies, withdrawing yourself from all your classes. Much to your angry parents dismay as they harshly yelled at you once the whole truth unraveled from your apologetic mouth through the lines of a telephone in an empty hallway. They were far away, convenient enough for you, but hearing their harsh tones of pure disappointment made you mentally feel like you had been hit by a bus; paralyzed with sadness among all your other unwanted hormones. Felix, seeing you shamefully walk back into his room was to the rescue as he tried his best to reassure you. There was nothing more he despised than seeing your pretty little eyes swell with tears that were caused from people who should've been supporting you.

- “Y/n, darling, look at me” he would softly cup your flushed, tear-stained cheeks, “I could pay for your education whenever you'd want me to, y’know?” You only nodded at him, sniffling as you felt yourself trying to keep it together. “In fact,” his dark eyes scanned the room before their full attention was back on you, “what do you say we go get a place together, yeah?”

- Felix was soon to follow in sharing the news with his parents and judging by the huge grin he sported on his gorgeous face after hanging up on the telephone, you knew that their reaction was eons away in contrast to how your folks retaliated. And with everything finally being put into motion, a flat just on the outskirts of where campus was located was hastily granted and approved to you and Felix. “Mum was practically screaming with joy,” Felix admitted as he ran his fingers through his hair, shaking his head in the process while his mind painted the image of his mother beaming with delight at the thought of a Catton grandchild.

- You imagined your flat to be cute, cozy and fitting, but this was Felix Catton we were talking about. Opening the doors after receiving the keys to your shared place, you were stunned at how breathtakingly modern and posh the interior was. A large living room accompanied with what seemed to be an extraordinarily comfortable sofa, marble stained countertops in a kitchen that was larger than your previous dorm room all topped together with 4 exquisite bedrooms. It was a strange feeling, not unsettling, but very downright gracious as you could see everything playing out as if it were a movie. Candles would be lit on the dining table, the mouth watering smell of dinner you just prepared would be flowing in the air, and there would be an eager infant placed on your hip waiting to be fed. As you’re about to feed your young, Felix would walk in, looking exhausted from a tiresome day, but happy to see the two most important people in his life.

- “So?” he would interrupt your thoughts as he could see you relishing the moment. “I love it,” you would breathlessly vow before Felix could only respond by lifting you off of your feet and cautiously twirling you around the hardwood floors of your flat.

- As the months would slowly start to progress and evolve into life with Felix, you felt at ease for once and being able to have time granted to you allowed you to focus on yourself and your pregnancy, making everything less complicated. You could take any given moment to rest and let your body prepare itself for your child. Felix would do everything in his strong willed nature to find the best doctors for you, being in attendance for every appointment with you, and always kept himself in line for having access to all of your desires.

- Changes–lots and lots of changes. Watching your stomach slowly swell outwards was fascinating and you had accompanied a new profound sense of gratefulness for yourself. Most of the girls your age would probably die if they had to say goodbye to their wardrobe of short skirts and tube tops, but that didn't matter to you anymore, what did was your baby. Felix, on the other hand, was constantly in a state of awe whenever he was around you. His protective hands were always placed on your bump, caressing it with the utmost care possible, all while extensively praising you. “So so beautiful seeing you like this, my darling,” he'd gently whisper in your ear as you laid on top of his lean body, enjoying the spell he'd put you under that was his touch. “Carrying my baby,” he hushed, kissing the top of your head, his fingers unable to stop themselves from stroking one of your sensitive breasts. “You're only going to get more beautiful.”

- With all the happiness, there were also many challenges that you faced. Feeling extremely emotional more days than others, it was mainly the rare moments that Felix wasn't home or around to embrace you with his devoted presence that made you feel like you were missing out on a chunk of events that you should've been at. Felix rushing in after a late lecture that took more of his daunting time than it should have, he swung by you, only giving you a quick pat of a kiss on your forehead, before he rummaged his tote bag of schoolwork away on an empty counter. “You're in a rush,” you observed as he changed his button down into something that seemed far more relaxed and calm. “Uh yeah,” he hurriedly spat, focussing more on fixing himself up, “Oliver and I were gonna head to the pub with a few of the guys, celebratory post midterm drinks and all that.'' Oh, you tried your hardest not to sound letdown by the fact that you would probably spend the majority of the night alone on the sofa continuing to read a catalog you had zero interest in. Felix wanted to hurdle himself to the front door, but feeling tension in the air that was so strong he could cut it with a knife, he paused and glanced at your face that was slowly becoming struck with sorrow. In response, he slowly padded his feet towards you. “What's wrong?” His tone was relaxed and not full of distraction. You sighed, feeling guilty for stopping him in his tracks, “I just feel like I've been missing out on everything,” you found your mind speaking out loud, too late in stopping yourself from speaking the truth. “I miss going out with you, being carefree and reckless,” you pouted, feeling like a fussy child. “Oh, sweetheart,” he took a seat beside you, “I can assure you’re not missing anything, in fact, I'd rather be with you all the time.” it was true, Felix didn't care for his past ways, he was more occupied in his life with you and he'd never trade that for any sleazy party. He rested a loving hand on your stomach, “this is far more important to me.”

- Felix’s favorite pastime hobby with you would be picking out names for your little one. Dressed in nothing but cozy knee high socks and an oversized T-shirt, courtesy of Felix, you would lay a journal just above your bump as your attentive ears would listen to all the ideas sprouting from Felix, smiling as his quick mind came up with more suggestions. “Genevieve for a girl?” he gave you a weary smile, not feeling too confident. “It's beautiful, but too posh and old, no? He chuckled, “mum would have a field day with that one,” he exaggerated his expression, raising his pierced eyebrow before rolling his smitten eyes. “So that's a no, I presume,” you giggled as you crossed it out with your pen.

- Your shared moments that were filled with ambience of love were your favorite times. Soaking every ounce of alone time you could get with Felix because before you knew it, the simple times would turn into long sleepless nights—and not the ones you favored the most with him. Felix would run a bath filled with relaxing salts for you to lay in as he would wash your locks and all parts of your body for you, letting his hands do the work as your head would tilt back in ease, letting all your soreness peacefully exit. The moments spent in bed mainly included Felix resting his head on your bump, freely talking to your child as his voice carried you to sleep. “I love you and your mum so much,” he kissed your bare skin with his soft lips, hoping not to stir you out of sleep, “daddy cannot wait to meet you.”

[peachetteprice]

WAIT i need to say this but idk where to post it but we're all Price enjoyers here so listen up

neighbour!Price or bestfriend or coworker, or whatever, being absolutely disgusted by your boyfriend/husband for not being ''man enough'' to claim you properly. Price thinks why isn't he putting a baby in you yet? haven't you two been together for months now? he's not doing a good job at it! let Price show you and your partner how it's done.

sorry, i am just weak for traditional slightly misogynistic Price, you hear me? good day

Oh... oh dear... I fear you may be on to something, anon... I'm choosing coworker!Price, because that's the first thing that popped into my head... 🧡

Naturally, coworker!Price studies you over a three-month period after the wedding, pressing his stomach against yours as he goes to hug you in farewell for the weekend, as all male coworkers do, such as he's reasoned for the past two years, analysing how your stomach never once bulges and pushes him away from the weight of a bain, despite the ring on your finger having been there for double that amount of time.

When the office Christmas party comes around, it's a secret-santa sort of affair. There's one final gift under the tree in the foyer. It's small, neatly wrapped, placated with a bow and a tag with the words 'from your secret santa' in luxurious cursive. It seems a thoughtful gift for anyone, and you haven't had yours yet - it's been two hours, and you just want to go home so you can shower and determine whether your husband's cock needs caring for - so, when your boss pinches it from the ground and plops it in your lap, it's a momentous occasion.

Sacrificing its beauty for curiosity, you rip open the wrapping paper to reveal a box, a cardboard one, and inside the box... one pink rattle with a cotton bunny tailing the end of it. It would have made a fine gift for an expectant mother, like the receptionist, Emma, for example, except that you're not pregnant, and you voice exactly that to whichever stranger in the cohort was responsible for the gift, expecting to hear a hushed giggle from Ian, sodomised Ian, the creep, who's always ogling the fold in your cleavage whenever you enter the breakroom.

A voice pipes up. It's not Ian's.

"You're not?" It says.

John says, instead of saying 'that bastard', like he wants to.

"No. But... I suppose if I'm ever thinking of having kids anytime soon, I'll... I'll hold onto it." And mutter a very sarcastic 'thank you, Ian,' under your breath.

Which John hears. And it angers him.

Without you even knowing, after everyone leaves the office, he's tagging you on the motorway home, hands gripping the steering wheel hard enough to wrench it from its socket with thoughts of running you off it, careening you into the barrier and heroically coming to your rescue, using the ruse of having just popped to the shops before home, before sweet-talking you like that bastard never did, bending you over the bonnet and stuffing a baby inside you like a true man should with his darling wife, cock fat with semen and weeping cum into that tight, velvet cunt of yours, too cock-drunk to even speak, drooling onto the metal plane of the front of your car as he cements your marriage with a baby, a chubby, healthy one, born from his cum and his cum only.

But you depart from the motorway via the next junction to stop for petrol, and he's too enraptured by the thoughts of fatherhood that he continues straight, right hand in his underwear, eyes dazed as he bursts his load, pretending its you and not his boxers to which he's gifting his precious cum.

| Masterlist |

[swordfright]

what are your logistical questions about the guard dog au?

Ohhhh boyyy. Well. First of all I'm sorry it took me like a month to answer this, I got busy.

I wanna start by saying I wasn't around when Guard Dog AU was created, it was before my time (just barely) but I have read dozens of fics with this premise so bear in mind that I thiiiink I have a pretty solid understanding of how GD is supposed to work?? But I could be wrong about some details, in which case please feel free to correct me! Also, I wouldn't normally poke holes in someone's AU because at the end of the day, AUs are supposed to be fun fantasy what-if scenarios and not airtight canon-compliant thought experiments. The only reason I feel comfortable doing it with Guard Dog is because, from what I can tell, this AU wasn't created by any one specific person, it just sort of manifested on twitter in like 2021 and now there are literally hundreds of pieces of fan content about it. What I'm saying is, Guard Dog is The People's AU and that's the only reason I don't feel weird answering this ask.

Yeah, so. My logistical questions are as follows:

What's Sam's motivation for letting Q borrow Dream?

When in the timeline is this taking place? (because that affects EVERYTHING)

What threat is Dream purportedly guarding Las Nevadas from?

How does Dream's presence change the preexisting dynamic in Las Nevadas?

What is Quackity actually getting out of this?

Who does or doesn't have the revive book at this point?

I'll try to address these as neatly as I can. So, my understanding of the premise: Quackity somehow gets Sam to agree to let Dream out of the prison so he can live out the remainder (or some unspecified portion?) of his life sentence acting as security for LN. In some variants it seems like this is happening after Dream gives up the revive book, but in other variants that's not the case or it's left unclear. There are a couple points at which this feels implausible/OOC, namely:

1.) Sam would never let Dream out, even on parole. He does not want Dream under anyone else's watch. He wants Dream in Pandora at all costs. You cannot convince me he would just let someone borrow the prisoner for a bit, for any reason - especially not Quackity, who imo Sam probably sees as a greater threat to his authority as warden than almost anyone. Think about it: aside from Sam, Q has probably had the most consistent contact with the prisoner during his incarceration; Q's violence and general temperament mean that Sam likely knows Q killing Dream is a possibility, and that without the warden's supervision this could very well happen. Sam obviously isn't concerned for Dream's wellbeing, but he does want his prisoner alive because otherwise he's not a prisoner and Sam's not a warden. So yeah. "Just me and him" line etc etc. Dream ain't never gettin' outta there if Sam has anything to say about it.

2.) What is Dream actually capable of contributing to LN? In other words, would initiating Guard Dog actually pay off for Quackity in tangible ways? It depends on where in the timeline we are. If this is happening post-torture era or even mid-torture era, Dream is likely physically incapable of performing the feats of combat he was capable of prior to prison. Hell, even if Guard Dog era is happening instead of the torture era, Dream has still been in prison for a while and is probably already experiencing the disabling effects of prolonged malnutrition and neglect. So if Dream is known for PVP and his PVP skills took a severe blow recently, then what use is he as a security guard? Which brings us to the next question...

3.) What threat is Dream even guarding LN from? Quackity's foremost enemy is Technoblade, who has largely peace'd-out between Doomsday and Jailbreak. Q is evidently not eager to reignite a direct conflict with Techno because he got his ass handed to him last time. Also, he's aware that Techno and Dream are allies, so why would he put Dream in a place that's easier to rescue Dream from than Pandora? You could argue that maybe by publicly turning Dream into a glorified slave laborer Q is indirectly flaunting his power (the power of ownership) in Techno's face, but I don't see this as terribly likely given that (based on some of the visitation dialogue) Q misunderstands the nature of Dream and Techno's relationship. Critically, he doesn't seem to realize that they are comrades in addition to allies. And I think flaunting ownership of Dream would only make sense if you thought you were really hurting Techno in the process - Quackity just doesn't seem to have picked up on the fact that this is even a possibility. Based on all this, the enemy Dream is supposed to be fending off probably isn't Techno, so who is it? Las Nevadas is pretty much a neutral state. Q has people he doesn't like, but his list of Actual Real Enemies is surprisingly short. The population of the server is also comically small, so like...intruders? What intruders??? It's not as if Q really has to worry about strangers breaking in and robbing him or something, which is usually what guard dogs are for. My current answer to this question is that the threat would have to be the Egg. Possession by the Egg can turn people you know into strangers, and the entity that is the Egg can travel/infiltrate new spaces by way of the vines. Also, this conveniently answers the sub-question of "what threat can Dream defend LN against that the actual members of LN couldn't?" If you suddenly have to worry about contamination, it makes sense that you would send someone disposable to deal with the contaminant - not your own friends or employees. Speaking of which...

4.) Dream's presence in LN would change the faction's dynamic and Quackity is sooo poorly equipped to navigate that. Quackity's whole shtick is that he's charismatic because he can't be strong. He's volatile, conniving, violent, insecure, hedonistic, profit-motivated and has poor impulse control, but he's also able to project confidence and affability in ways that have been advantageous to him. There are two sides to Quackity and he seemingly likes to keep them separate. If Guard Dog is happening after the torture arc, then Quackity is used to showing the worst aspects of his personality only around Dream. In Pandora, he's a torturer; in Las Nevadas, he's a leader. So what happens when those two places effectively become the same place? If LN is Dream's new prison, how is Quackity supposed to act there? Sure, he's not particularly kind and caring when dealing with his staff (most of them were recruited via intimidation, after all) but they've never seen the side of him that Dream has seen. How is he supposed to maintain that authority over Dream while continuing to be the version of himself that Fundy and Purple and Foolish and co. know? Quackity talks a big game about (and makes gestures toward) not caring that people know about the torture, but he obviously does have reservations about it. When Wilbur asks him about visiting, he dodges around the question. When he discourages Foolish from breaking in, he's weird and cagey about it even though he knows he needs to come clean. When Tommy confronts him about the torture directly, he says "Don't ever say that, not even as a joke." He's defensive. This is another one of Q's hilarious contradictions: he wants to enjoy the benefits of being known as a dangerous person without the downsides of people being actually scared of him or finding him repulsive. He wants to have his cake and eat it too, and Dream's presence in Las Nevadas puts that impulse in jeopardy. There's a big difference between people suspecting you may have done some torture vs people actually witnessing that torture firsthand, or even seeing its aftereffects. Not to mention, there are now other people for Dream to interact with besides Sam, Q, and the prison guards! That changes things, even if Dream isn't allowed to speak to them directly. In Pandora, Bad and Ant had one job, which was to keep the prison running and keep Dream inside it - that's not the case with the LN crew. These people have shit to do! Foolish is building Quackity a replica of the Eiffel Tower, he doesn't have the time or interest to be a prison guard. I could go on but you get my drift. Things would get so weird so fast.

5.) The revive book complicates all of this. If Dream actually did give up the book and Sam understood how to use it, I could be convinced that maybe he would let Quackity borrow Dream for a bit - because hey, if he kills Dream then Sam can just revive him! However, I don't feel confident saying that Q wouldn't just kill Dream immediately after getting the book. We know Q enjoys torturing Dream, but we also know that he seemingly gets bored of it after a while. We also know he has at least some level of concern for propriety/his own rep, so he does have plausible reasons to just straight-up kill him after getting the book. Like, he got what he wanted (necromancy knowledge + a fun 3 months of recreational activity) and if he kills Dream then that's one less person to potentially spread word of Q's uhhhh proclivities around the server - which, again, he paradoxically does seem to care about. Even if Q's plan was to relocate Dream to LN to better access to his fave chew toy and never intended to kill Dream, would Sam believe that?? Q can't directly go against the warden's orders when he's visiting Pandora because that would be stupid and dangerous, but in Las Nevadas? Hm. I think Sam may see Guard Dog as an attempt on Q's part to move the prisoner to a location fully under Q's control so that he can kill Dream without risking retaliation from the warden. Basically, I think this au only has a chance to work in a scenario where Dream has given up the revive book to Sam, but not to Quackity. Because otherwise, Sam just wouldn't let him go. Quackity does want the revive book, but moreso he enjoys torturing Dream, so I do find it semi-plausible that Q would initiate Guard Dog even if he didn't have the book yet.

Ummmm so yeah! These are my questions and thoughts about Guard Dog! i think it's a really fun AU with a lot of potential, but there are kinks in the premise (pun intended) that I find it difficult to wrap my head around. anyway please talk to me about this because I think about it all the time and I wanna hear some other folks' takes too.

[froguemorgue]

The Cryptic Cryptid

truly a standalone drabble

"historical" lams but its the 20th century for... reasons

@lil-gae-disaster you've unleashed my many, many drafts of one-shots I never completed for AO3. here is ANOTHER (very different) vampire au with the boys.

cw: non-gory physical violence

It happened on a Wednesday early in the evening before the sun had even set. What happened wasn't the sort of thing you'd expect to happen on a Wednesday. The middle of the workweek, completely and totally average. So when John invited his boyfriend over so they could cook dinner together after their long days at work, he didn't expect to be pinned to the floor of his apartment by his neck.

But that's getting ahead of the story. It was Wednesday, wintertime, peaceful, about four PM. These days, John felt happy. Like, really happy. The sort of happiness that comes from contentment, not distraction. He didn't need alcohol, drugs, random sex, sleep in excess, or exercise in excess. He was balanced. He would soon finish his last semester of his undergraduate. His internship was working out well, he had long finished his finals, soon enough winter and spring would pass by in a flash and he'd be graduated and already he was well on his way to the next phase of his life; he'd recently visited his family down south and enjoyed the company of old friends and his sweet younger siblings (how grown they were becoming), his sister was enjoying her first year of college herself out in France, he rescued a very quiet and not at all bothersome elderly cat who was well cared for by his boyfriend during his trip, and above all else, he recently realized something about himself: he truly had not an ounce of him left that cared more about being gay than he did about being with Alexander. It was the early 90s and it absolutely was not cool with a lot of people to be gay, but John didn't care. He didn't care who it affected or how his life might be more difficult during his career.

Love, it's so strange and wonderful. It didn't matter that he didn't know how or when to tell his father about the life he was really living up in Manhattan. He just knew that he loved Alexander and they were talking about moving in together soon. "By summer, for sure, if not sooner than that," they'd agreed, and laying on the floor by the Christmas tree as they talked about plans for the future, John was the happiest he'd ever been.

He wasn't alone in that. Alexander, too, had never felt so happy, but something was itching at him. He had tried for so long to ignore it. That afternoon, it was just impossible. And John had been so excited, too. He didn't even think anything of the photos at first. It'd begun with him mentioning an elective he was taking on browsing historical records and primary documents. Essentially, it was completely innocent, even as John chattered happily about doppelgängers and old photographs and conspiracies and a particular case about an unknown woman who seemingly appeared in multiple photos, portraits, and descriptions from different time periods, stretching back at least six hundred years. Some conspiracists attempted to track this supposed immortal's whereabouts and prove that it could, indeed, have been the same person, but of course, that was a crack theory and the professor, while he liked to lecture on it and how primary documents allow historians to both make up fictional narratives and understand nonfiction truths, did not believe it himself.

This fascinated John, but Alexander had no idea that he was actually accruing his own research. He laughed it off a month ago.

On this particular Wednesday, Alexander hung up his scarf and hat and gloves and coat, set his boots neatly by the door, and flopped down beside John on the sofa. The television set was playing some old western film but it was muted and the radio was quiet in the kitchen. The environment was completely normal for when John was focused on something. But grades had already closed, so there was no reason for him to be doing traditional homework. Alexander leaned in with a quiet greeting, head on John's shoulder. He out his cold fingertips on John's neck and complained, "I'm so cold!"

John laughed a little, took his hands and tried to warm them both with his own for a moment.

Alexander then asked, in a voice that was gentle and sincere to match the setting, what it was that John was so wrapped up in. "You've only been home an hour," said Alexander. "Something's really got your attention, huh?"

John began to smile, excited to show him his research. "You're going to love it."

"Yeah?" He turned his head to actually look at the papers and sketchbook in John's lap. He saw a flash of a photo of himself before John flipped back to the beginning of the book. His heart could have stopped beating right there. He remained silent because maybe this was all innocent.

John showed him the first page. West Indies, circa 1698. It was an ink engraving from a wanted poster for a pirate by the name of Lionette. "'Fearless as a lion yet quite little in stature, this criminal, the Lionette, or Little Lion, as he has been so deemed, was once a privateer for French traders out of the West Indies. It is unsure from whence he hailed, however, he is, on more occasions than not, surrounded by numerous ruthless sailors aboard his ship Le Conquérant. The fiend's primary goal is to undermine profits by thieving from trade ships of all charges. It has been reported that he does not always sink the ships, instead, in many cases, Le Conquérant and her crew take charge of the ships and resell the goods to gain personal wealth.'" When John finished reading, he nudged Alexander. "Fearless and short in stature sure sounds like you!" he laughed. "And he might've come from the Caribbean, too. Plus, look at this drawing. Nothing crazy, but maybe it was one of your ancestors or you in a past life, huh?"

Alexander forced a dry scoff. "Hah, yeah."

"So that was the oldest one I found. The next one was probably the... seventh I came across? And it's just an unidentified enlisted soldier during the American Revolution, but it looked too much like you not to include it."

"I'm sorry, did you say this was for an assignment?"

"Well, no," said John, "it's actually just because that class was so interesting. I never meant to start this project at all, I was actually researching primary documents during the first world war on the library computer, but this— here, wait for me to get to it! I didn't put this in chronological order for nothing. But this dude looks like you, huh? Even the other soldiers he's standing beside makes it look like your height and weight."

"Right. That's so funny," he said, attempting his best to brush it off. When John showed him the next portrait of a soldier during the revolution, this time the French Revolution years later, Alex said, "Wow, that's crazy."

"I know. And then this one? Regency era Alexander, isn't he so cute? Best part is, I got the scans of the back of this portrait too, and all it says is 'Fr. Alex, 1821.' For Alex!"

"What an insane coincidence. But who'd want a portrait of themselves as a gift?"

"You, probably."

"All right."

"Portraits aside, this one's insane, right? A photograph of a group of westward wagoners around the mid to late 1840s, and look at this guy."

"This one actually does look a little like me."

"More like that might as well be you in that photo," he joked.

"Right."

"Then we skip many more decades and there's this one in the early 1890s, taken out west. You know," John teased, "you never told me you looked so good as a cowboy. It would've made me fall faster."

Alexander's brain raced so quickly out of control that he didn't answer. So, John went on. The World War 1 photo was definitely the craziest and it was coupled with a microfilm of a half-tarnished letter from the soldier who sent it, talking about the war, about wanting to raise children, about missing his dearest. The signature, return name, and otherwise any indication of who sent it was all but ruined, besides a couple letters. And, boy, doesn't it look like it could say "Alexander"?

Then there was the one from a queer bar in the mid 1920s. Then, finally, the protest in '67. "I haven't gotten anything better than these. You've probably noticed I swiped a couple of these from your place, I had noticed them in a box when I was helping you clean and I was curious. So I looked elsewhere for photos, too. There were some descriptions which matched you, but at some point I really did feel like I was chasing some stupid conspiracy and I just wanted to keep the solid evidence."

"Evidence of what?" demanded Alexander, a little irritated and feeling backed into a corner. "Why are you going through my stuff without permission?"

"Are you upset," asked John with a wry smiling, actually only teasing, "because you're some kind of immortal? Is that why you had those photos?"

"Oh, get bent."

"Come on," he laughed, "are you mad? I don't understand. Did I do something wrong? I can actually hear your heart pounding."

"You're messing with me."

"Now, why would I do that?"

"You are!" he insisted, feeling his chest heavy like it was difficult to breathe.

"I didn't think you'd react like this but if I took it a little far..." John was visibly confused and startled but Alexander couldn't see that. He could only feel his own blood pumping so loud in his ears, and it made him angry and afraid and hungry.

"I'm happier than I've ever been in my life, John."

"Okay?" John tried to touch Alexander's face but he smacked his hand away, anticipating an attack, and snatched the book from John's hands. "Hey." Without a reply, Alexander kept it from his reach so John stood to try to get it back and that's when Alexander all but tackled him to the floor.

That's how they got there: John's head turned awkwardly to the side and Alexander's forehead pressed against his jaw. He was breathing heavily and John was so confused by the turn of events that he didn't do much to react. He only wondered, silently, where this had come from. Alex had never been weak, not really, but John always thought himself stronger: taller, broader, always besting him when they sparred. He wondered if it had been some sequence of having caught him off guard that he fully bodied him like a linebacker.

Alexander exhaled against his neck, mouth open, then closed his lips for a brief kiss to his flexed carotid artery. He immediately sat back, still holding John down. John wouldn't have guessed in a hundred years that he was one more half-formed thought away from being bitten into like an apple.

John turned his head now that it wasn't being pressed into the floor. "I haven't been tackled like that since high school. Well. Minus the kiss on my neck."

"Hah, yeah." He looked down and suddenly felt glad that he didn't do what he'd momentarily considered doing. "Sorry. Are you okay?"

"...Was it weird that I found all those pictures? Are you mad because I went through some of your things?"

"It wasn't weird. I mean, don't go through my stuff without asking, John, that's so not cool. But... I was, you know, trying to joke but it came out wrong. And I... God, you know I just can't keep my hands to myself."

"It felt like..."

"What?"

"Don't know. Never mind." He slid an idle hand up Alex's leg and took a deep breath.

"Can I keep the book? And have those photos back?" asked Alex.

"I made it for you. But why did you have those pictures?"

"Same as you. Everyone sees a short redhead and immediately thinks it's me. I want to kiss you."

"I want dinner before seven P.M."

His heart was returning to normal. He smiled a little, embarrassed at himself, how vulnerable he'd been, how he'd nearly threatened John. He kissed John's stubbly neck again where he'd wanted to bite. "Dinner. Yeah. Uh, did you show it to anyone else?"

"No. Would it matter if I had?"

"'Course not. Just, uh, you know how some conspiracy theorists can be. And cryptid hunters and otherwise those who believe in silly stuff like doppelgängers, reincarnation... ghosts and vampires..."

John sat up with him. "Think I'd know if you were a vampire."

"Hah."

"Seriously. I'd figure it out sooner or later. I ever tell you that when I was younger, my father once told me that we're descendants of vampire hunters?"

"Um. No. Those are real?" he asked with a strained smile.

"Not officially. Just some medieval French Catholics who were paranoid and probably consumed a lot of mold with their meals."

Alex's laugh came uneasily.

"So, yeah. Bona fide vampire hunter here."

"Yeah, okay. Let's just make dinner."

"Hey." He gently tugged on his chin so he looked at him, then pecked him on the cheek. Something felt wrong between them. He wanted to believe Alex, and he did at first, but...

They got up. Everything felt sort of okay again but John couldn't help himself every time he caught a glance at his boyfriend and wondered what could possibly be the reason for his earlier reaction and as he explored the possibilities - these insane scenarios - he wondered whether he'd be put off by them.

For example, if Alexander was a time traveler or had been reincarnated as himself over and over again, that'd probably be fine. It'd be crazy and silly, but he knew he wouldn't be upset.

However, if Alexander was something else, like...

"Mince the garlic while I do the onion?" John asked as he handed it to him. "Two cloves, the book says."

Alexander took it without a trace of hesitation and peeled away some of the papery skin. So, maybe not. Or maybe vampires being allergic to garlic was a myth. He could go in the sun, too, and he didn't have fangs, though he had always acted strange around blood, said it made him nauseous, but that was a lot of people.

"Not a vampire, then?" teased John, though it lacked his usual energy.

There came the hesitation. Then the dry, "Ha, ha," from Alexander.

"Y'know, you can tell me if you are. Something like that."

Which only earned an eye-roll from Alexander, who'd begun to press the flat of the knife against the second clove to free it from its organic wrapper. John's eyes flitted between the knife and Alexander.

"What?" asked Alex dryly. "Planning on how you'd impale me if I was?"

"Of course not. I was wondering what you're doing with the garlic."

"Makes them easier to peel if you do this. See?" He showed him the motion against the already-peeled garlic. "I love teaching you cooking tricks, Old Money, but it's sad nobody else taught you. You should have been taught family recipes, or at least common sense in the kitchen."

"Don't remind me how pathetic my life is."

"Oh, it's not pathetic. You've been very lucky to grow up the way you did. It's just a little bit... you know, it's a skill you missed out on. So I'm teaching you now."

"Thanks. How could I impale you when I still have so much to learn in the kitchen?"

"That is not funny, John."

"Why?"

"It's completely unsettling."

"Yeah, tackling me's unsettling, too. I'd have no reason to impale you if you weren't a vampire," he joked, reaching out to touch his arm but Alexander jerked away toward the garlic he began to mince with impressive expertise.

"You shouldn't want to impale me under any circumstance," quipped Alexander. "It's not 'vampire hunting' in your bloodline, it's systemic abuse of power. It's slave traders, witch hunters, and oppressors. The Christian occult."

"The Christian occult?"

"Yes. The biggest occult there is."

"You can't be serious. You know my family is religious."

"Yeah," said Alex, knife down, "and you were groomed into believing it. None of it's real."

"I believe it is."

"Trust me, it isn't. You can either be a Christian and a vampire hunter or be with me but not both."

"You can't ask me to renounce my faith, that isn't fair."

"And joking about killing me is?"

"If you were a vampire, which you aren't because they don't exist. You're being so weird."

"Okay, John, hypothetical for you: what kind of monster would I have to be for you to actually kill me? I'm the same man I've always been, same conversations and intimacy, but you find out there's a catch. What am I?"

"That's a stupid question."

"Would you kill me under any circumstance? The answer should be 'no.'"

"I don't know, what if you were going to kill me first? Or somebody else?"

"I have no reservations swearing with my whole heart that I would never even think about killing you. And I wouldn't so much as hurt anyone who didn't deserve it so, I guess my question is, if it was justified, would you help me get away with murder? Or would you go all Catholic on me?"

John had a feeling Alexander was dead serious and for some reason, the conversation didn't unsettle him. He should be worried about his boyfriend presenting hypotheticals about murder. "Are you some kind of serial killer? Seriously. What's with this?"

"Do you believe I have good intentions or not?"

"I mean, yes, but—"

"Okay, so be honest. Would you cover for me if I committed a crime, even if it's a crime you detest? I'll know if you're lying to me."

John huffed once heavily. "Um, I guess if they deserved it, sure."

"And what if I was a monster? Something not human? Would you be afraid of me?"

"You're freaking me out."

"It's just a question. If I wasn't human, would I still matter to you?"

Alex had put his hand on John's elbow and stood before him with purpose. That's when John knew the truth. The freaking out about the photos, the response, the questions. The need for reassurance. "I love you, Alexander. Your mind and your heart, not just that you're... flesh and bones with a pulse. And if you were some kind of... alien or vampire or whatever... well, what's more thrilling than forbidden romance between a vampire hunter and a vampire?"

Alexander set the knife down completely, acutely aware of the garlic still on his hands. He didn't want to wipe the scent all over John so he made fists, his heart just as tight. It wasn't exactly a secret that they were in love. They were talking about moving in together, after all, but it wasn't something they has ever really said in such seriousness. So he answered, "I love you, too."

With a slight smile, John cupped his jaw and said, "Good! Can we please cook dinner peacefully, now?"

"Sure thing, my handsome pile of flesh and bones with a pulse."

John pecked his cheek and they did just that. But that was all that needed to be said and John knew. He knew and he couldn't let it go.

For weeks, John researched feverishly, even into the new semester. He even called his father and took up all the time he could spare by asking questions about their ancestry. "Vampire hunters? Haha, what's made you interested in this?" To that, he'd told him a bit about his class and sprinkled in a lie about researching ancestry for extra credit. In return, his father told him all he could about their unsavory history. And John wrote everything down.

He studied Alexander's behavior. He wasn't planning anything and he meant what he said in the kitchen that night, but he had to have proof before he confronted his boyfriend. After that, he'd need to know what to do. What would be his duty? What would be his desire?

When they slept next to one another and Alexander excitedly pushed them forward on their plans to move in together, John worried himself over these questions. Who and what was this creature he slept next to? Could he trust him?

And was Alexander going to kill him that night he thought he'd been found out?

[pareidoliaonthemove]

Tête-à-Tête

Part Two

Part One is: here

Her uncle was true to his word. Which both did and did not surprise Kayo.

After all, the man had sworn vengeance on Jeff Tracy and International Rescue, and he pursued that vengeance with a single-minded determination. On the other hand, he broke all sorts of promises – both explicit and implied – in the course of that pursuit.

In any case, Kayo was once again bound, gagged, and blindfolded, before being bundled off out of her uncle’s hideout. Unfortunately, the goons were efficient, and Kayo had no inkling of where she had been taken.

After a final parting gift of a dose of a short-term knockout drug, she was deposited – unrestrained – neatly beside Thunderbird Shadow. Once she came around the goons were long gone and the winds had eroded all trace of their passage.

Kayo was shaky on her feet, so she did a quick assessment of her condition, and reluctantly put in a call for help.

It was now a race between the GDF and International Rescue to see who would get to her first.

Twenty minutes later and the GDF had won the race; her brothers being held up by the collapsed skyscraper that had held their attention for the past … it was now sixteen hours.

The GDF medics had cleared her of any permanent damage, only the lingering effects of the drugs her uncle and his minions had pumped into her. Once her body cleared those out, she would be fine.

Colonel Casey was in the process of debriefing her on her details of her ‘encounter’ when the roar of multiple Thunderbirds shook the GDF flyer. Five minutes after that all four earth-bound Tracys had boarded the flyer; and John’s hologram popped up from her wrist comm, even as Scott muscled his way into the room, his brothers following.

Colonel Casey’s decision to debrief Kayo in the on-board conference room of her Command Flyer was typically foresighted of the women.

Once the Tracys had reassured themselves that Kayo was, indeed, as physically okay as the GDF had reported, they retreated to the far side of the conference table – John transferring to Virgil’s wrist comm –, and listened intently as the debrief continued.

Kayo was going over the physical description of the interior of the Hood’s lair for the third time (Virgil had shunted John to Scott, and was using a 3D rendering art programme he could somehow access through his wrist comm to build a model based on her description), when the door opened, and an nondescript-looking NCO marched smartly to Colonel Casey’s side.

The man saluted, and passed over a holodisplay, and Kayo could only just make out the words ‘pathology report’, ‘substance analysis’ and ‘urgent’.

Casey dismissed the man, and speed-read her way through the files.

The storm of emotions on the older woman’s face had Kayo’s hackles rising, and the Tracys edging towards her.

Scott was the first to break, moving to stand and read over the Colonel’s shoulder.

Casey looked back at Kayo, “What did The Hood tell you about the drug he administered?”

Kayo frowned, remembering. “He said it had cost him a lot of time and money to source; that it was new, and guaranteed to work, with no side effects. Oh, and he has already used it! He implied that he had used it on politicians and businessmen to extract personal information he was blackmailing them on.”

Casey paused, considering. “Did he tell you this before or after he administered the drug?”

“After.”

“And what questions did he ask? If you can remember the exact words he used, it could be important.”

Kayo stared at her a moment, perplexed, before Scott nodded to prompt her. She shut her eyes, and replayed events in her mind. It was surprisingly easy to recall details.

She spoke slowly, reluctantly. “He asked, ‘And so, Kayo, my beloved niece, how are you these days?’, then ‘I told you, my dear, I just want to catch up with you. So, how are you?’.” She paused. “Next was ‘The Tracys are keeping you busy? Not too busy, I hope. It wouldn’t do for you to be overworked.’ And then, ‘And how is your dear father? It has been a very long time since I have had news of my beloved half-brother.’”

Kayo paused, considering, but a small voice insisted that the next questions were rhetorical, and therefore not questions. “The last thing he asked was, ‘Do you still love me?’” she concluded, quietly.

Colonel Casey’s face softened. “I’m sorry, Kayo, but I had to ask. Your bloodwork came back, and we identified the ‘truth serum’ he used on you. It is a new formula, and one that is very tightly controlled, as it is extremely effective. But the Hood lied, while there usual side effects of disorientation are not present, it has a very nasty side effect in that it makes the subject … suggestible. Anyone given this drug is very vulnerable to instructions or alternative information provided whilst they are under the influence; and the influence is very difficult to shake, even after the drug has worn off.”

Casey sighed, “It appears that the Hood is making an attempt to recruit you by trying to reinforce his relationship with you.” Her gaze softened, “Please, Kayo, be mindful of this, and be careful whenever you next encounter him.”

Kayo nodded. “I will, Colonel. My father has warned me about my uncle ever since I was a little girl. To side with him would be to betray my father.”

“And I am both glad and sorry to hear that, Kayo.” Casey looked at the holofile in her hand, again. “Was it only ‘family matters’ that you discussed?”

Kayo opened her mouth to speak, hesitated a second as the little voice whispered insistently in her head again.

“Yes, Colonel Casey. That was all we talked about.”

Notes:

This was never originally meant to be a two parter, but the Hood went off on a tangent, and he really isn’t the type of person who would act out of sentimentality. On screen, he always has a plan, though in the beginning IR can outwit him, later on, he becomes sneakier, with back-up plans and redundancies in place.

[the-rebel-archivist]

15 10 Lines of Dialogue - Frederick Amell

Rules: Share 15 or fewer lines of dialogue from an OC, ideally lines that capture the character/personality/vibe of the OC. Bonus points for just using the dialogue without other details about the scene, but you're free to include those as well!

Tagged by @dreadfutures, thank you! Tagging @askweisswolf, @magicmissiled @theluckywizard

"You promised that I could live as a hero in a way that no other Grey Wardens have been able to, believing it was what I wanted. Perhaps it was, once, but now I taste only bitterness and the emptiness of a lonely future. I spend my days hating and loving you by turns, never sure which emotion is the truer."

“Let me in to your plans. You say Kieran has a destiny before him; teach me to understand it and let me help you. I need a purpose, like you have purpose.”

"I knew every flagstone, every chest placed neatly at the foot of every bed. It was a prison, I know that now, but for sixteen years it was where I passed every minute of every day, laughed with friends, ate meals, lost myself in tales of adventure."

"If you can’t find inspiration in standing where legends once walked there’s someone else who’s more than happy to listen to me go on.” He turned away from her and knelt down before his beloved war hound, Calenhad. “Let me tell you the stories about the Rebel Queen,” he began.

“I’m not afraid of death, not really. I fear my death having no meaning. I fear going on a quest that may ultimately be a fool’s errand to lengthen my life, losing the time I might have had with my family, and dying anyway.”

"My travel companions look to me like I’m the Maker returned; some have even taken to calling me “Warden-Commander” again even though I am nothing of the sort. Without you to ground me I fear that I may return with an inflated sense of self-importance and then what will become of me? I shall be truly insufferable. Clearly I must be rescued from myself."

“But what use am I if not to pester you until you smile at me, my carnivorous plant of a woman?” “Do not restrict me to an object of admiration, nor yourself to the position of admirer. ‘Tis a folly I abhor. Discover your use without my involvement.” “Perhaps you’re right.” He sighed. “Nevertheless, I should like to stay as we are forever.” “Would you forget your duty and the destiny that has been appointed for you? The man I know, his head full of ambitions toward heroism and tongue singing the praises of the great kings of this land would not. We would both tire of an aimless life devoid of purpose within a fortnight.”

"They were supposed to be happy here. They were supposed to be protected, but they had been abandoned by the ones meant to keep them safe! What use are the Templars if their only solution is to murder indiscriminately without trial or attempt to differentiate victims from instigators? Both mage and Templar were affected by Uldred’s machinations, their minds no longer their own, and yet only the mages needed be sacrificed in the name of safety."

“Everything that is in my power to grant you, you have. The protection of my body and my magic I will grant to you, your favours I will wear with love and pride, all of my devotion I lay at your feet, but I can give you no more. I am your servant, my queen. That is all.”

"Let anyone who comes after know that we were happy here. Grievous duty beckoned but while these walls remain may they remember the love of those who came before."

[stitching-in-time]

Voyager rewatch s3 ep13: Fair Trade

This is an episode that I actually don't think I'd ever seen from start to finish before this. I know I saw the beginning of it on a rerun at some point, but I got bored and didn't finish it. I can't say I blame myself, since it went pretty predictably, and I'm not a huge Neelix fan.

I can still appreciate Neelix when they give him good material, but I don't really feel that this was. Whenever Star Trek deals with anything concerning illicit drugs, it always ends up feeling like a preachy after school special. Of course narcotics are bad, the drug trade is bad, we already know. It's low hanging fruit for a show that's supposed to take on controversial topics, and I don't think I've ever seen them actually address it at any more than surface level- never anything about how hopeless conditions lead people to drug abuse, or the political forces that push them onto vulnerable populations. And this one is no different, it's just a long cautionary tale about the dangers of not telling the truth, all told through the lens of a very black and white sort of morality, that's predicated on a certain level of privilege on the part of both the Starfleet characters and the people who write them.

To have Neelix encounter his former criminal partner who tries to draw him into one last scheme may be a classic trope, but it feels a bit out of character. Neelix seems too squeaky clean at this point to have ever been involved in deliberately shady dealings. I suppose he did lie to Janeway and the crew to get them to help him rescue Kes in the pilot episode, but they were still basically strangers then, and he was always more of a 'lovably scrappy' type character than a hardened, morally grey criminal. By now, in season 3, he's so indoctrinated into Starfleet ways that I don't think it would even occur to him to do anything sneaky without asking the Captain and getting her permission first. Plus, if he'd been involved in smuggling schemes before, he'd know that 'one last job, what could go wrong' is always a precurser to the scheme going very wrong.

He could have and should have just told the truth from the beginning, and the crew probably would have done what they could to help. It's a valid idea to explore how he might have been feeling insecure and useless knowing they were leaving the part of space he knows, but I think it could have been a b-plot that didn't need so much screentime. Honestly it reminded me of an episode of Tangled: The Series, where Eugene encounters his old partner in crime and has to hide it from Rapunzel when he gets pulled into one last heist. Even characters from a Disney princess movie could figure out the importance of telling the truth and sticking to your newfound principals in half the time it took Neelix here.

Things I did enjoy in this one were the first introduction of adorable Vulcan engineering officer Ensign Vorik, and seeing Voyager's little supply room where they keep all their containers they use on missions. Between this and the last ep, where we saw the environmental control room for the first, and I think only, time, we're seeing more little nooks and crannies of the ship than we have in the past few seasons, and I really adore little things like that that fill out the world of the ship. I love knowing that they have to use certain containers for certain types of materials, and that the have to go look through the piles of them by hand like they're looking for the right lid in a messy tupperware cabinet, lol. (Part of me feels like that's a Voyager thing, too- like the Enterprise would have it all neatly organized, but the Voyager crew are all such a mess that they let their store room just get like that, and don't talk about it to the Captain in the hope she never notices.)

We get a nice scene with Tom leveling with Neelix about regretting his lack of honesty in his past, and another frustratingly oblique reference to Tom's totally-not-Nick-Locarno accident. I know they had to keep it legally distinct for copyright purposes, so they just avoided it all together by only talking about it in vague terms, but I do wish they'd have actually just settled on a different story and used it on the show. When I was a teenager, I read Jeri Taylor's novel with all the Voyager character's backstories, where she did actually explain what happened with Tom, and I think that should have been something that was explored on the show, at some point, since it was a huge deal for his character, and definitely informed how I thought of him when I watched the show after reading it. But alas, I can't think of a single episode where it was even mentioned, let alone given it's due, so we have to make do with crumbs like this.

Anyway, despite this episode being extremely formulaic, I did appreciate the very last scene, where Captain Janeway, despite being angry, tells Neelix he's part of a family now, and he has a responsibility to them all. She sends him to scrub exhaust conduits for a punishment, but Neelix couldn't be happier to hear from the Captain that he's an integral part of the Voyager family, and that she wouldn't even think of letting him go. It's a lovely moment, and makes me a little emotional to hear Janeway literally call the crew a family. I love my little Voyager space fam.

Tl;dr: A rather predictible storyline that feels like an after school special. Not one of my favorites, but has a few good moments, especially for anyone who likes Neelix a lot.

[nellie-elizabeth]

His Dark Material: The Enchanted Sleeper (3x01)

We're back, and it's the final season! This episode picked up right where we left off, without missing a beat. My thoughts and feelings are remarkably similar to how I think I was feeling a couple years ago when season two was on the air. Let's dive in.

Cons:

The church stuff is such an important piece of the puzzle especially here in the third season/book, but I still find myself the most bored whenever we flip back to dealing with Fra Pavel, and that whole world. It's not that it's bad, necessarily, it's just sort of... dour, and slow, in a way that I don't feel gripped by.

I also thought Will and Iorek's interaction was a bit oddly paced? I get that there's a lot of book to get through very quickly and we only have eight episodes to do it, but Will finds Iorek, immediately challenges him to a duel and then uses the knife to cut through a bit of his armor, showing that he has a weapon too powerful to beat. This is straight from the book, and yet it felt very contrived and way too easy that Will would think of this idea right away and it would work so neatly. Maybe a small thing, but just thought I'd point it out.

An eternal complaint I have about this show is that the daemons are not front-and-center enough on the screen, which makes it easy to forget about them sometimes. Which is a problem, when so many key story elements are contingent on whether or not a person has a daemon with them or not. More visible daemons, please!

Asriel's stuff I mostly liked, but his whole army-gathering plan just gives him such a strange energy, like, he's the one guy who's got it all figured out and so he gets to be the one to say "fuck you, God"? I get that it's more complicated than that, it's just that Asriel's almost too much of a bad-ass here and I'm not sure I entirely like it.

Pros:

I loved all the stuff with Lyra in the cave with Mrs. Coulter. The spooky dreams where she sees Roger in an unfamiliar place, all the moments when Pan is awake and trying to rouse Lyra before Mrs. Coulter can put her to sleep again... the little Deaf child who is bringing supplies to Mrs. Coulter, believing she's helping a woman to awaken her daughter from an enchanted sleep. I loved the atmosphere, the inherent creepiness, and the fact that Mrs. Coulter really is, in her own twisted way, trying to protect Lyra. That's been true from the start, no matter how evil she might be in other ways. She knows why the church is after Lyra, and if she has to imprison her daughter to keep her away from dangerous folk, she'll damn well do it.

I also liked our introduction to Baruch and Balthamos, Asriel's new angel allies. They're tasked with bringing Will (and the knife) to Asriel to join in his growing army against God himself, but Will is determined to find Lyra first. Knowing how this story is going to play out, it's so satisfying to see Will stick to his convictions and go after his friend first. I'm continually just so impressed by everyone's performances; there was such a depth of emotion to Will's determination to find Lyra. Also loving that they didn't chicken out on the gay angels thing. That's from the book too.

Mostly, the Asriel stuff was pretty cool. You gotta love this dude rolling up with his magic flying machine powered by his thoughts, his bad-ass white tiger at his side, rescuing political prisoners and recruiting cool and interesting allies to his bizarre cause. Dude wants to kill death itself, I'm sure that'll be fun to see. McAvoy is doing great things with this part, is all I'll say.

This is a brief review, because there's another episode that's also out and I want to get to that one as well. By and large, pretty happy with all the setup we're getting here. This book is absolutely bonkers with all the stuff that has to happen in it, so I'm anxious and excited to see how well they pull it off!

8/10

[visions-dreamers]

Hell, Iridescent

By LushDanielSon

December 15, 2020 0429

I was living in a relatable and uneasy world: school was mediocre, work was unfulfilling, I was struggling to make a love life, and family conflicts prevented most happiness in our lives together; body cyber-enhancements were commonplace; conflict plagued the streets, and a plague had plagued the streets; the country's politicians were at a loss of any agreements, and the world-wide civilization seemed at a loss of any agreements.

I was visiting the city, enjoying the sun with my ill grandma, Baledona*, my unusually amplified, sober and progressive mother, my laughable, young sister, and our pet, Richard, who was a strange animal - sort of like a cross between a cat, squirrel, and raccoon. Conversing outside their apartment complex in their neighborhood square where the garden was, we stood among a few trees and flowers. Upon discovery, I was not thrilled that my sister had ordered a 50-pound plushie Pokeball and a pair of shoes off my phone, which I had just noticed from an email. I didn't even know if she knew that she had bought them. My girlfriend, Dajita* - one of the cocktail waitresses - thusly walked past us all and she and I smiled at each other as she headed to the bar that was about to open nearby. I picked up my sister, who was almost too big to be held - though I promised myself that I will always be strong enough to be able to - and I stared into her eyes and examined her playful attempt at makeup detail.

“Christmas is coming soon, and if you like what you ordered, that's what you are going to get.” She understood my joke and chuckled.

The sun was rising over the valley, and a new type of day was to begin and change our lives forever.

I was partaking in a raid which I was summoned to. A gang of thugs was terrorizing a local business, and I was professionally tasked to help them as the first line of rescue. Past the calamity of evacuation and avoiding a hoard of their guards, I entered the main stage room on a high floor of the building where three intruders were shaking down and interrogating the company’s head boss. I snuck up and grabbed one of them from the back in a chokehold after sonically disabling his auditory systems. A speedy cybernetic fistfight ensued between the culprits and me! When guns were finally drawn by them, I bailed before they had the chance to open fire on me. My intervention only needed to give the hostages enough time to escape.

From a dead sprint I slid across the gravel outside, far away from the building, and sat up against a police cruiser. Taking this cover, I was safely hidden next to a hoard of rescue and police vehicles that were rushing to the burning scene. There was a pandemonium of screaming, fleeing business people and emergency staff. The boss I had saved collapsed next to me, quickly thanking me for helping him see his kids again. We gazed at each other's eyes for a few moments, and amid the rush and noise he ran away to be with his family. I lay there in the churned gravel, observing the SWAT team line up and begin their offensive into the building.

The world seemed to melt away in front of my eyes - an unreal distortion of the reality I once thought I knew. I was carried - on what seemed like a platform - from where I was, in a spectating manner, past the raid I had just escaped from. Past blocks of towering concrete city residentials to more open plains, I was carried towards a row of fighter jets that were neatly lined up and facing away from me on the outskirts of a train yard. A crowd of people, scurrying like ants, crowded behind them. { Censored *1} I had no choice but to helplessly witness this, and I was filled with the intensity of grief, anger, and madness!

I was carried higher, and I was delicately turned so I could have a panoramic view of this realm. The grassy freeway beneath me held long columns of unmoving vehicles, the lake glistened and lined lush mountainous plains to the right, and to the left I was captured by a hellscape of the city I once knew - a city born in front of a wall of mountains. I gasped! I froze. My eyes widened, and I became weak and breathless. Hell seemed to pall in the sky above the metropolis, and it rained down souls of insanity and mutation. Even the buildings themselves were morphing into something unknown and grotesque to me - rusting into an atramentous city. I then noticed the movement of people far below me on the freeway running from it like dark sand grains sliding down a fiery volcanic slope. From what was in this curse of ruin, I did not know, but I heard the screaming of monsters.

I was devastated from this observation of the end of the life I had just lived, and I worried greatly about my sister somewhere out there in the smoke. I wondered what was to come of me - of us - and why I was spared from the direct immersion of the fallout of this civilization. I lied down and cried myself to sleep on the metallic platform guiding me through the cataclysm.

I awoke, and my shifting perspective had taken me south, long past the city valley and into a whole new world. It was iridescent, warm and radiant. Though I had just seen my whole origin become cancerous and die, I was not burdened by fear - just grief. But this place seemed entirely untouched and safe. I drifted amidst castles, dancing trees, arching rainbows, colorful gardens, brave animals, cozy village homes, and finally down stone alleys. I spread out my arms and felt the walls as I was lowered to a gate in front of a palace fit for royalty. My spectating had finally come to a stop.

"I can feel EVERYTHING! It's all REAL!" I accepted this presentness of lucidity, and I took my time to ground myself within it. Touching the stone architecture of the gated area, I closely examined the sharp, volcanic texture. The stone’s jagged, porous surfaces scraped against the skin of my fingerprints similar as the bare, ancient desert mountains I have climbed over the years would. As if they were of the same serrating rock, this sensation brought forth memories of more pleasant times.

I dismounted the metallic platform and sauntered through a grand, polished bronze gate. This led to a wide and tall, open room with an exotically designed pond that was stocked with colorful fish and small islands. Rows of flourishing plants and marble benches decorated the hall, and large, ornate windows flooded the room with sunlight.

I was curiously identifying a fish when I heard the familiar cry of my dear pet Richard! Quickly he scuttled up next to me, jumping into my arms. We nearly cried together because we knew we were safe there, finally knowing someone we love is found. We were embracing each other, like a master and companion reuniting after years apart - except it was only moments. Droplets formed in my eyes as Richard made his enchanting little animal sounds of joy, wagging his tail and burying his face in my chest.

He abruptly halted his celebration and stared up at me, and in my disbelief, he SPOKE to me. His brown eyes stared distantly into mine, as if he was overtaken by the memory of something vitally important.

“The one you are looking for is right around the corner in the ballroom. His name is Santa. There is hope in finding our sister! She is alive in the city, and you need his guidance! Your sister needs your help, Daniel!”

A wave of emotions devoured me, and I became immobile and speechless for a moment. The reality of the disaster had returned to me. I delicately set Richard down onto the tile and turned around to where he glanced. He hastened through the archway into another room such as this, which was now growing with buzzing, disembodied voices. I followed, anxiously feeling the first steps towards what I knew was to be a living hell - the journey to save my sister.

Censors

* Names changed for privacy

*1 - Censored for Graphic Imagery

Links

Atrium Carceri & Cities Last Broadcast   -   An Atramentous City   -   YouTube

[sapientiiae-a]

   “Your Highness,” Lieutenant Marras gave the Princess a polite and proper bow before straightening back up, hands tucking neatly behind his back. His smile to her is pleasant yet tense. “There’s been an incident, I’m going to have to request you go rescue Sheik.” 

   He’s tired, it’s too early for this, he’s not even supposed to be here today. Why did all his days off have to end with him getting dragged here for one reason or another? The King’s testy, a testy King makes for an on edge Sheikah, and neither of those two things mixed together were good. He’s trying not to appear as tense as he was, kept his arms loose at his side. He was still very hyper alert of every single move the King made. 

   “Why would I steal jewelry from the Princess’s bedroom?” He asks, not much of a defense but still vocal at least. If he’s going to steal from the Royal Family, he’d steal from someone he’s not always around. Of course Sheik would be the first one looked at for something like that. He doesn’t even know what exactly is missing, Zelda hadn’t said anything to him or appeared upset. Which means it went missing either before he saw her again, after he left yesterday, or whatever was taken she really didn’t care all that much about. 

   The only jewelry Sheik owned was two necklaces. One was his mother’s, a silver Sheikah eye of truth she made and a small golden triangle she gave him. That was it. Both of which were quite precious to him, and Sheik doesn’t place sentimental value on very many things. 

   The King turns and throws something at him. Sheik twists enough to avoid being hit by it, his red gaze briefly flickering to one of the journals he writes reports in, before turning back to the King. “Your daily logs of Zelda’s activities are missing things. I can tell. Intentionally vague. Are you really always by her side or are you purposefully omitting things to miss your own activities.” What sort of mental holes did he have to jump through to reach that conclusion. Sheik omits the stuff that aren’t important or he can’t tell him. Like her little secret trips with him, their quiet meeting spots where they’re alone, the longing glances and soft touches. 

   He'd sooner drown himself in Lake Hylia than write about those things.

   “The maids heard Zelda remark last night that one of her necklaces and a matching set of earrings went missing. Things like that sell for quite the price.” 

   He owned his own house. What use did he have for money? Sheik literally lived and breathed to serve these people. Money didn’t do him much and if he really wanted some pocket change, Granny lets him work around the shop. He’s actually been doing that recently, which is why he takes a couple extra days off from the Castle. He’s saving what he has to buy something. 

   Ironically for the very person he was accused of stealing from.

   “Who can vouch for your location last night?”

   Are they going to hang him? Maybe they’ll lock him up in the dungeons and leave him down there to die. Quite the mirror of what they had the Sheikah do inside the Shadow Temple. 

   “My mother’s dead spirit is unfortunately my only alibi.” He should not mock the King right now. He really needs to learn to bite his tongue. 

The gentle rapping of knuckles against her office door — one, two, three times — was unexpected, though she immediately assumed it was one of the maids (considering she knew it was Sheik’s day off and presumed he would spend it in Kakariko). When she’d called out for the person behind the door to enter, she hadn’t expected to hear Lieutenant Marras’s voice. Immediately does her head snap up from her paperwork, watching as he gives a polite bow and smiles. The smile, however, was deceiving — she can tell something hides behind it.

The news he relays (even if she’d known there had to be some news) was more surprising than his visit. She’d never expected Marras to approach her on Sheik’s behalf, even with what she now knew of the two, though she could certainly respect (appreciate even) this display of concern. His request, however, was not something she understood.

“Rescue Sheik? Explain.”

Lieutenant Marras wastes no time in explaining what was happening, though he is certain to give her a quick synopsis rather than a detailed play by play for the sake of saving time (and Sheik). 

She does not delay — doesn’t even allow the lieutenant to finish before she rises from her desk and rushes for the door, managing a quick “thank you” as she brushes past him and through her office door into the hall. To say that she was livid was an understatement. There were a lot of things her father had done, particularly when it came to Sheik, that left her outraged. But going so far as to accuse Sheik of stealing from them? From her? That was his boldest move yet.

Sheik had been nothing but loyal to their family, and he’d never questioned any of the tasks given when her father sent him on his missions (Zelda did enough questioning for the both of them). He’d always been quiet and obedient, following the king’s every command and most of hers as well.

He may have been a lot of things (a Sheikah, someone capable of dark magic, an assassin), but a liar and a thief were not amongst that list.

And her father should have known better.

When the princess arrives at the king’s office, she does not bother with knocking or any of the other typical formalities. Instead she throws the door open, barging in without permission is a frenzied rage. Her gloved hands are balled into fists at her side and she feels as if her blood boils within her veins.

“Father! What is the meaning of this? Word around the castle is that you have had the AUDACITY to accuse Sheik of stealing from me? Explain yourself!”

She’d all but marched up directly to him, standing but a foot away with a biting indignation in her glare, chest heaving. Her and her father had their fair share of spats and disagreements (inevitable given some of his shady practices), but this was the first time she’d stood up to him to this extent.

And she had no intention of backing down.

[aboutanancientenquiry]

A young Black American Classicist talks about the depiction of Africans in ancient Greek pottery (and explains why Herodotus is his favorite ancient Greek)

“ Constructing the African: A Panoply Interview with Najee Olya.

We’re delighted to have the chance to speak to Najee Olya, a PhD student at the University of Virginia, USA, working on the dissertation, Constructing the African in Ancient Greek Vase-Painting: Images, Meanings and Contexts. Before beginning doctoral study, Najee earned a B.A. in Anthropology and Classical Civilization at the University of Illinois at Chicago and an M.A. in Classics at the University of Arizona. In the field, he has participated in archaeological excavations in Italy at Etruscan Populonia at Poggio del Molino, and since 2018 at Mt. Lykaion in Arcadia, Greece. Najee is currently a William Sanders Scarborough Fellow at the American School of Classical Studies in Athens, researching vases in Greek collections and their archaeological contexts. The next academic year will see him take up a post as the Bothmer Fellow in the Department of Greek and Roman Art at the Metropolitan Museum in New York. In this interview, Najee offers insight into his research on Africans in ancient Greek pottery… 1) What contexts do you think ancient Greeks and ancient Africans are encountering each other in? I think that the primary context would be in Egypt. Given that there are Greeks in Egypt in the Archaic period as mercenaries and at Naukratis, it must be there that Greeks are encountering not only Egyptians but people from elsewhere in Africa, especially from south of Egypt itself—what the Greeks generally referred to as Aithiopia (not to be confused with the modern state). I also suspect that major hubs of maritime trade would have been the sorts of places where Greeks encountered people from Africa, at various ports and emporia – trading posts - around the Aegean and the wider Mediterranean. Conversely, I’m inclined to think that direct contacts on the Greek mainland were somewhat limited. That said, in a major city like Athens, for example, the interest in Africans among potters and vase-painters seems to indicate at least some kind of familiarity with what Africans looked like that doesn’t appear to come from just seeing artistic depictions. Moreover, there were almost certainly foreigners and people of foreign descent working in the Kerameikos in Athens, so it's impossible to rule out that at least one or two may have been from Africa. There’s also Athens’s port at Piraeus, which saw a lot of traffic from a variety of traders and merchants.

Above, a janiform cup (ie. two heads back-to-back like the god, Janus), showing an African and a European, Attic c.500-450BCE, The Art Museum, Princeton University: 33.45. 2) Who are the Africans depicted in Greek pottery – what trends are there? There are three categories, as far as I can tell, into which the Africans depicted in Greek pottery can be grouped. Two of these are fairly straightforward mythological episodes and scenes of daily life. The third is more difficult, and consists of imagery that doesn’t fit neatly into either of the two other categories. In terms of the mythological episodes, the main figures from Africa are Memnon and Andromeda. The pair are both said to be royalty from Aithiopia in the mythological tradition. Memnon was king of Aithiopia and an ally to Troy in the Trojan War, where he led a huge army from Aithiopia before eventually being killed by the hero Achilles. Andromeda was an Aithiopian princess who was offered up as a sacrifice to appease the ketos serpent, a sea monster sent by Poseidon to ravage the coasts of Aithiopia after Andromeda’s mother Cassieopeia had boasted that she (Cassieopeia) was more beautiful than the Nereids. Andromeda was rescued by Perseus, and the two married. In vase painting, Neither Memnon nor Andromeda are shown as African themselves, but there are instances in the iconography where Memnon is shown preparing to depart for Troy attended by African warriors. In the Andromeda scenes, she is shown being bound between stakes for the ketos monster, sometimes in Persian dress. There are Africans on a number of the Andromeda vases. There are some mythological traditions which associate Memnon and Andromeda with the Near East, so this might explain why they are not depicted as African themselves.

Above, Andromeda with African attendants, Attic pelike c.475-425BCE, Boston Museum of Art, 63.2663. Next, there are depictions of the hero Herakles in Egypt and Libya. In Egypt, he encounters the pharaoh Busiris, who wants to sacrifice the hero to end a drought. On pottery Herakles is shown routing Busiris and his priests, who are always depicted as African men. In Libya, Herakles is accosted by the earth giant Antaios, who waylays strangers, forces them to wrestle, and then adorns the temple of Poseidon with their bones after he has killed them. Herakles defeats Antaios by lifting him from the ground as they wrestle and cutting him off from the Earth, from which he derived his strength. On pottery, physical contrast is shown between the two as they wrestle—Antaios has a long unkempt beard and hair, similar to Egyptian depictions of Libyans.

Above, Heracles fights Busiris, Attic pelike c.500-450BCE, Athens, National Museum: CC1175. As for images from daily life, we have African stable-hands, warriors, and some attendants at the grave. These figures can generally be identified by their very curly hair and prominent noses. The last set of objects includes things like plastic vases, which show either full African figures or African faces alone or paired with women, satyrs, Herakles, and Dionysos. Finally, there are alabastra, a shape that rather circuitously made its way to Greece from Egypt, used for perfumed oil which depict African warriors.

Above, An African groom cares for a horse, Attic kylix c.490, Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1989.281.71. 3) Some Africans seem to be represented rather beautifully; other depictions feel a bit… off. What’s the balance between realism, idealism, and hostile caricature in ancient Greek depictions of Africans? On the whole, I would say that most of the depictions are not hostile caricature. I can think of one example, a lekythos in the National Archaeological Museum in Athens, which shows what seems to be an African woman being tortured by satyrs. There is also at least one image of a figure who may be African shown wearing shackles and is unambiguously an enslaved person. I do not think, however, that it is possible to definitively call either instance caricature. Plastic vessels made in the form of African youths being attacked by crocodiles have sometime been interpreted as cruel, mocking images, but one can just as easily say that these show interest in the river Nile and awareness of its dangerous fauna. Aside from these examples, however, I think that many of the images are either ambiguous or benign. It is difficult to know what the representations were meant to convey to ancient Greek users. When it comes to realism, the images are realistic to a degree, but as with all ancient Greek art, it is superficial and illusory. Especially when it comes to pottery, I think that one has to remember that the medium and its convention limit just how true-to-life the representations can be. The end result is something of a pastiche of reality and imagination—the vase-painter selects the subject matter and then executes it in his own way, but the final product will always be constrained by things like the limited colour palette and the curving surface of the vase.

Above, an African youth attacked by a crocodile, Attic rhyton, c.350BCE, Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge GR.58.1865. 4) Overall, what does pottery add to our understanding of ancient Greek ideas about Africans and Africa? First and foremost, I think it reminds us that ancient Greece was part of an interconnected ancient Mediterranean. Also, that “ancient Greece” spanned three continents, with settlements and poleis not just in Europe but also in North Africa and Western Asia. Pottery tells us that ancient Greeks were interested in depicting foreign people such as Africans, and while it is difficult to interpret all of the different representations, it is clear that potters and vase-painters found Africans an intriguing subject, and that the purchasers of Athenian vases did too. The representations, in a general way, seem to indicate that Athenians were thinking about North Africa in particular, especially Libya and Egypt, where there were permanent Greek settlements. What they specifically thought about Africans is harder to determine from the pottery itself, but it does not seem to be the case that Africans were viewed any differently than other foreigners. Certainly, there was a general chauvinism toward non-Greeks, but Africans do not appear to have been singled out more than other groups, such as Persians or Scythians.

Above, An African in trousers, Attic alabastron, c.500-450, The J. Paul Getty Museum: 71.AE.202. 5) What would you like to see improved in terms of using pottery to increase general understanding of Black people within ancient Greek culture? One thing that could use some improvement is the terminology used to describe the artifacts, which is often simultaneously both outdated and anachronistic. In scholarship this is due in part to the rather small corpus dealing with Africans on Greek pottery, much of which is several decades old now. Also, you will often see in museums or on museum websites descriptions that assume the depictions of Africans on vases are slaves, without any explanation, or descriptions that make use of discredited race-essentialist anthropology to discuss their physical characteristics. I think that it’s extremely important to rethink how Greek vases with depictions of Africans are presented in museums, as those are the spaces where the wider public is most likely to encounter the artifacts. Some museums are already making efforts to rethink their use of language for the objects, such as the J. Paul Getty Museum and the North Carolina Museum of Art. I was recently asked by a curator at the latter to write a new label for an Athenian black-figure vase in their collection which has a depiction of Memnon and one of his African warriors. Hopefully the number of museums revamping their descriptions will increase going forward.

Above, King Memon with African attendants, Attic amphora by Exekias, c.575-525, British Museum, B209, previously 1849,0518.10. 6) Perhaps you could tell us a bit about your Fellowships – what they are, how they work? I’ve been fortunate enough to have been awarded several fellowships that allowed me to study in Greece — from the American School of Classical Studies at Athens (ASCSA) and the American Philosophical Society (APS). I started out at the American School in 2017 with a scholarship for the Summer Session, which is a six-week course involving travel around Greece to archaeological sites and museums. I came back to the ASCSA two years later in 2019 with a fellowship to participate in the Regular Program, which is an academic year spent in Athens, travelling around Greece more than the Summer Session. Now, I’m wrapping up my third stay at the American School with a fellowship as an Associate Member. This time, I’m focused entirely on working on my dissertation and taking the opportunity to revisit artifacts in museums relevant to my research, in addition to obtaining special permission to photograph many of the vases outside of their displays. I received a Lewis and Clark Grant from the APS in 2019, which allowed me to do field research in Greece. I travelled to archaeological sites that are documented as having had material from Egypt excavated there, created an archive of photographs, and got a better sense of the sites and their topography from first-hand observation. Finally, in September 2022 I’ll be at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York for a year as the Bothmer Fellow in the Department of Greek and Roman Art. The fellowship will allow me to complete my dissertation and to access a number of the vases included in it, as well as the Met’s libraries. It’s worth keeping your eyes open to see what opportunities and funding are available. 7) Who’s your favourite ancient Greek? It might be an obvious answer, but I will say Herodotus. I first read the Histories almost fifteen years ago as a Classics undergraduate, first in translation in a course taught wonderfully by Nanno Marinatos, and then in ancient Greek language courses. I think that it must be Herodotus’s interest in different cultures and his efforts to understand and make them legible for his readers that resonated with me, especially as someone who had already studied a bit of anthropology and archaeology before I came to Classics. As much as I enjoyed Herodotus years ago, I had pretty much left him behind until I selected my dissertation topic at the end of the first year working on the PhD. Since then, I’ve been revisiting him, as he famously writes about both Egypt and Aithiopia. I still read the Histories with a sense of wonder, but now I appreciate the complexity and sophistication of the work even more. Herodotus is one of the people from antiquity that I’d love to have a chat with if time travel were possible! Many thanks to Najee for sharing his expertise!”

Source: http://panoplyclassicsandanimation.blogspot.com/2022/06/constructing-african-panoply-interview.html

Panoply is the blog of historian of ancient Greece Dr. Sonja Nevin and of animator Steve Simons.

[bluelolblue]

I LOVE THIS SO MUCH I WANT IT IN A BOOK OR SOMEWHERE AAAAAAAH

QUOTING TIMEEE

The way John puts himself in front of him 😭 🥺

Reluctantly, he let go, and just as he'd expected, Santino lunged towards the wall. John was too fast and put himself in front of Santino's fist before he could make contact. Santino stopped short, flushing even harder at the frustration of having to restrain himself in that state.

GOING TO THE BEACH angy Santino storming off "The beach >:["

"Where do you think you're going?"

Through clenched teeth, "The beach."

OMG WHAT JOHN THOUGHT 😭 he cares so much ❤️‍🩹

Horrifying scenarios flashed through John's mind, of Santino walking out into the ocean and never coming back. His heart did a sickening sort of drop. "Why?"

This whole part AAGGHH stubborn angry Santino 😭 but I laughed when he said "You're not invited" HSSHHS

"Salt water is good for healing wounds. You want me to take care of myself so badly? Fine. Maybe I want to go for a swim."

"That will burn like hell."

"GOOD. But it's healthy, so you can't stop me."

John practically growled in frustration. He couldn't argue with that. He just grabbed his coat. "l'm coming with you."

"You're not invited."

"I don't care. I'm going to make sure you don't do anything stupid."

Just casually tossed his clothes at John's face 😭 but John understood his pain 😞

Santino stripped down immediately and threw his clothes in John's face. He would have laughed at the pettiness of it if he didn't know how much pain was raging inside of Santino right now. So he just caught them and folded them neatly over his arm so they wouldn't get covered with sand. Then he crossed his arms and watched from the edge of the water.

OMG DAMN JUST IMAGINING IT POOR BABY 💀

John could see the red blooming across the slash on Santino's side. The wound wasn't deep at all, but it looked awful. It was long - an arc from the top of his ribcage on the right side to below the navel on the left. And it was still bleeding.

AWW POOR SANTI OMMGG AND ALL JOHN COULD DO WAS WATCH HELPLESSLY 😭

Based on the sound he made, it couldn't have felt good. It was a kind of yelping scream that he bit off with a long stream of swearing in ltalian. John frowned hard. He knew what that felt like - he'd been in the ocean after a job before, by necessity, and it stung something awful. But all he could do was watch helplessly.

HE IS CRYING AND I WILL CRY TOO, that must've hurt so bad and John came to rescue 😞

He plunged back in, up to his chest this time, and screamed again. This time, John couldn't tell if it was pain or frustration or self-hatred, because it gave out into sobbing. He was crying so badly that John was worried he was going to double over into the waves. "That's enough. I'm coming out." He kicked off his shoes and trousers, set down their things, and waded into the frigid water.

I'll end up quoting everything BUT THIS WHOLEEE PART 😭💔 but my heart melts every time John calls him "love" ❤️‍🩹

"Come on, love. Let's go back to shore yeah?"

"No. I-l deserve this." Santino didn't hug him back. He just stood there shivering terribly.

"Why?"

"Because I fucked up! They had to punish me. And l'm so angry, John. I'm so angry, and there's nothing I can do. I can't even be angry at them. Ijust have to play nice because I'm powerless and it's all my fault."

"No you don't. You're allowed to hate them. You don't have to hate yourself."

Finally baby admitted it hurt him a lot, you little stubborn ass Santino 🥺

"Okay. This hurts too fucking much anyway. Cazzo, I didn't expect it to be this bad." His heart was still racing against John's chest, probably from sheer pain.

"Yeah...'m not surprised. Let's go get the salt out, I brought stuff to take care of it so it doesn't hurt as much on the walk home."

AWW 😭 he stayed curled up against him :3

"You didn't deserve that."

He melted into the kiss and stayed curled up against his lover, trying to regain some body heat, but he couldn't bring himself to reply.

Fuck that whole organization YESS 😭

"You didn't, Santino. They did this to you because they're on a power trip. Because the whole organization runs by making people feel trapped and small, and it pisses me off."

His answer was slow and very quiet. "Honestly...i don't want that to be true. lf that's true, then I have to do something about it."

FUCK YEEESSS POWER COUPLE MOMENT 🖤💙🖤💙🖤💙

"We have to do something about it"

AAAHHHH I LOVE IITTTTTT SO MUCH NOW IT'S THEIR TURN TO FIGHT AGAINST THOSE BITCHES

HENLLOO ✨️💖

I have this idea for some time, and it's something I wanna write one day, BUT I think you'd really like this idea bc it's hurt/comfort and Santino at the beach! I'm curious about your thoughts or if it's inspiring yk 👀

Santino having a wound, that's not fully healed, or not healed at all and he wants to go to the sea to feel that salt kinda "bite" his wound, he wants to feel that pain because he thinks he deserves it or whatever other reason.

John tried to talk him out of it just because he knew it would hurt, but then again, sea water could help the wound heal faster. So, John insists for Santino's own safety that he goes with him. And eventually Santino agrees. Of course it hurt and burned, it's salt on the wound and Santino maybe thought it would be easier but it hurt a lot.

Santino wants to make himself suffer even more 😞

AAAAAAAA this one cut DEEP for me!! Your asks are so good lately (well, always, but especially this one). It's so dark but honestly this is a topic that I love to write about and I think it says a lot about Santino and what he's going through. What a brutal scenario, Santino is really suffering. But John is there to make sure he's safe and build up his self-esteem, as always.

Also, as a note: the ocean is not recommended as a source of salt water to put on a wound even if it does help sometimes, because there's bacteria in the ocean! So don't try this at home.

🖤💙Salt in the Wound💙🖤

TW: self harm via salt water, attempted self harm via breaking and punching things, blaming himself for abuse, concerns over potential suicidal behavior (there is none actually attempted), Dead Dove Do Not Eat

“LEAVE ME ALONE!”

“I am not leaving you alone like this!”

The bedroom was wrecked in every way that wouldn’t be permanent. Pillows and blankets thrown around the room, the desk overturned, even the curtains torn down. John had stepped in to stop Santino from tearing up his own poetry, but he’d let him flip the chair and splinter its legs against the floor. And why was all of this happening? Because Santino had been punished by a High Table emissary. The Adjudicator and company had approached them in the middle of the Continental lobby, informed Santino that he had broken some inscrutable rule John didn’t even know about, and then slashed him across the gut in front of the whole room of people.

After the wound was patched up he had just sort of…gone quiet. It was obvious he blamed himself. He brooded all the rest of the day, until finally John pressed him about what was wrong and he exploded.

“Fuck off, John! Get your hands off of me!” He had Santino’s arms pinned behind his back so he wouldn’t punch the walls. Reluctantly, he let go, and just as he’d expected, Santino lunged towards the wall. John was too fast and put himself in front of Santino’s fist before he could make contact. Santino stopped short, flushing even harder at the frustration of having to restrain himself in that state.

“Get out of my way.”

“No.”

Santino stared at him for a long moment, his jaw set hatefully. Then he turned to walk out.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Through clenched teeth, “The beach.”

Their home was only a short walk from the ocean, and in this mood, Santino could make it there in five minutes. Horrifying scenarios flashed through John’s mind, of Santino walking out into the ocean and never coming back. His heart did a sickening sort of drop. “Why?”

Santino whirled back to him with his chin in the air, the picture of passive aggression and mock innocence. “Salt water is good for healing wounds. You want me to take care of myself so badly? Fine. Maybe I want to go for a swim.”

“That will burn like hell.”

“GOOD. But it’s healthy, so you can’t stop me.”

John practically growled in frustration. He couldn’t argue with that. He just grabbed his coat. “I’m coming with you.”

“You’re not invited.”

“I don’t care. I’m going to make sure you don’t do anything stupid.”

Santino’s scowl softened for a fraction of a second, replaced by something miserable and touched. But then he just growled back, grabbed his swim trunks, and marched out the door without another word.

They were silent on the walk to the beach, with the sun sinking down against the waves in reds and oranges as fiery as Santino’s expression. John began to hope that he’d cool down by the time they got there, but he had no such luck. Santino stripped down immediately and threw his clothes in John’s face. He would have laughed at the pettiness of it if he didn’t know how much pain was raging inside of Santino right now. So he just caught them and folded them neatly over his arm so they wouldn’t get covered with sand. Then he crossed his arms and watched from the edge of the water.

With his shirt off, and then his dressing thrown to the ground as well, John could see the red blooming across the slash on Santino’s side. The wound wasn’t deep at all, but it looked awful. It was long – an arc from the top of his ribcage on the right side to below the navel on the left. And it was still bleeding.

Santino took a first step into the water and already flinched. The evening wind was picking up and it was ice cold. “Maybe you should do this tomorrow,” John suggested. “Like noon? When it’s warmer?”

The very idea of sparing himself any pain seemed to just make Santino even more furious. He only turned back long enough to glare at John and then suddenly dashed forward, until the waves were up to his stomach.

Based on the sound he made, it couldn’t have felt good. It was a kind of yelping scream that he bit off with a long stream of swearing in Italian. John frowned hard. He knew what that felt like – he’d been in the ocean after a job before, by necessity, and it stung something awful. But all he could do was watch helplessly. At least Santino was standing still now, and seemed to be reconsidering. He even took a few steps back until the cut was mostly above the water line again.

But irritation with his own weakness seemed to give him a second wind. He plunged back in, up to his chest this time, and screamed again. This time, John couldn’t tell if it was pain or frustration or self-hatred, because it gave out into sobbing. He was crying so badly that John was worried he was going to double over into the waves. “That’s enough. I’m coming out.” He kicked off his shoes and trousers, set down their things, and waded into the frigid water.

He wasn’t sure if Santino heard him or not, because he didn’t move at all until John’s arms were around him.

“Come on, love. Let’s go back to shore, yeah?”

“No. I-I deserve this.” Santino didn’t hug him back. He just stood there shivering terribly.

“Why?”

“Because I fucked up! They had to punish me. And I’m so angry, John. I’m so angry, and there’s nothing I can do. I can’t even be angry at them. I just have to play nice because I’m powerless and it’s all my fault.”

“No you don’t. You’re allowed to hate them. You don’t have to hate yourself.” He realized they weren’t just talking about The Adjudicator, but about everyone who had hurt Santino. Especially those who he didn’t couldn’t bring himself to hate. His own father. The water swirling around their bodies was deathly cold and John felt himself starting to shake too, but he ignored it and held Santino as close as he could.

For a second, Santino cried harder against him, but it seemed to bring some kind of cathartic release. Finally, he went calm and hugged John back. He seemed drained. “Okay. This hurts too fucking much anyway. Cazzo, I didn’t expect it to be this bad.” His heart was still racing against John’s chest, probably from sheer pain.

“Yeah…I’m not surprised. Let’s go get the salt out, I brought stuff to take care of it so it doesn't hurt as much on the walk home.”

So Santino allowed himself to be led back to shore. John wrapped him in a towel and poured a fresh water bottle over the cut to rinse it. That stung too, and he was already back to whining about the pain, but John didn’t mind. As long as Santino didn’t want to make himself suffer. He kissed him hard. “You didn’t deserve that.”

He melted into the kiss and stayed curled up against his lover, trying to regain some body heat, but he couldn’t bring himself to reply.

“You didn’t, Santino. They did this to you because they’re on a power trip. Because the whole organization runs by making people feel trapped and small, and it pisses me off.”

His answer was slow and very quiet. “Honestly…I don’t want that to be true. If that’s true, then I have to do something about it.”

“Yeah.” John wove his fingers through Santino’s curls and studied his face. He was so precious, so fierce, so full of life. A world in which a person like Santino could be hurt over and over again until he wanted to hurt himself too wasn’t one that John could stand for. “We have to do something about it.”

[fuckingfinwions]

Dark!Fingon buys slave Maedhros from Morgoth.

Canonish timeline through the flight of the Noldor and Maedhros’s capture. But when the Nolofinwean host arrives, Fingon doesn’t charge off north unprepared (or maybe he tries, but doesn’t find Maedhros and so turns back). He works with his father to build a fortress and train an army. 

Eventually, the Noldor under Fingolfin can negotiate with Morgoth from a position of strength. Fingolfin is willingly cedes the Silmarils as part of a mutual non -aggression pact. He doesn’t like agreeing not to attack his father’s murderer, but he doesn’t expect Morgoth to actually be left in peace - the Feanorians won’t let him while he holds the Silmarils. There’s symbolic wereguild exchanged for the dead elves and orcs that ‘happens’ to work out exactly even. So Morgoth rules the north and the Noldor and Sindar rule the rest of Beleriand, with elves and orcs mostly giving each other a wide berth. There’s a pair of embassies or similar at the border, so that diplomatic requests can be heard without either king going into the other’s territory.

Fingon walks in the Angband embassy and says he wants one of the prisoners. (There are also a lot of Sindarin prisoners, as Morgoth says they’ll be released if Thingol negotiates for them, and Thingol will not some so close to Angband, but there wasn’t much chance for Noldor to be taken prisoner.) He offers a cloak from Valinor blessed by Manwe in exchange. Morgoth likes powerful magic, especially if it’s stolen from the other Valar, even when it burns him, so he accepts.

Maedhros was in Angband for decades longer in this timeline than the canon timeline though. Morgoth has always been his overall master, but he has been transferred from one general to another as  reward before, and on the trip to the embassy doesn’t initially notice it as different.

Fingon is determined to keep it that way. That is, Maedhros is no longer in Angband, but he belongs to Fingon as surely as he did to anyone.

Maedhros is brought in naked to the embassy, and immediately kneels on the ground without looking around.

“Maedhros, I’m so happy to see you! It’s been so long, but everything will be alright now that I have you.”

“Fingon? What are you doing here, Angband is horrible! You should get out while you can.”

“Don’t worry, you’re not in Angband anymore, and you won’t ever have to go back again.” Fingon reaches out a hand to tilt Maedhros’s head up and force him to meet his eyes. (eye contact promotes trust and shows sincerity! physically manipulating Maedhros’s body reinforces that he doesn’t get to make choices! win/win for Fingon!) “I bought you from Morgoth. You’re mine now, not his, and I have no intention of sharing you.”

“Oh. What do you desire of me, Master?” Maedhros is confused, but that’s not new, and this phrase rarely makes things worse.

Fingon kisses him. “I desire you, in every manner possible, for the rest of your life. I already a few things ready for you in my rooms in Hithlum. Not clothes yet; I wasn’t sure your size, but jewelry and more pillows for the bed and such.”

Maedhros nods. “Thank you.” Maedhros has learned not to hope, but he’s either going to be allowed multiple hours a week lying in a bed or Fingon has a pillow fetish.

“There’s no need to thank me when you haven’t actually seen it yet! Come on, let’s go.”

They go out to Fingon’s horse and ride back south. Fingon brought a spare cloak, so Maedhros is more dressed than he has been in years.

It’s a long journey, several days. At night, Fingon fingers Maedhros open, then fucks him hard and fast. He asks Maedhros to blow him in the mornings to save time, and sometimes when they stop for lunch.

Over the next several months Maedhros realizes how kind of a master Fingon is. Fingon usually wants sex to feel good for Maedhros as well as him. He doesn’t whip Maedhros just for the hell of it. He gives clear orders like “get on your knees so I can fuck your throat” rather than making Maedhros guess. He generally likes when Maedhros is loud, and if he doesn’t will gag Maedhros rather than punishing noises. Most amazing of all, Maedhros sleeps in the bed beside Fingon every night. Maedhros is incredibly comfortable, and has no need to worry about not waking up in time to serve his master - Fingon’s right there, and Fingon doesn’t even have to wait for him to wake up to start fucking him.

The most painful part is removing Morgoth’s brands. Even with a sharp knife, slicing off skin hurts.  But Fingon is kind for this as well. He ties Maedhros up before the surgery, in case Maedhros has trouble holding still. The biggest marks, like the one on his inner thigh as big as his hand, Fingon even has Maedhros drugged for the removal. Fingon explains that the pain killer is difficult to make and also he’d rather Maedhros not become addicted, but just this once it’s worth it. The cuts are always bandaged after, and Fingon lets Maedhros ride him while they’re still raw, rather than Fingon holding him down and causing pain from a carelessly placed hand.

The only mark Fingon makes on Maedhros is small, just a couple inches long, and done with a needle rather than a branding iron or a sharp knife with salt rubbed into the wound so it will scar. “Property of Fingon” tattooed behind Maedhros’s balls isn’t surprising, and is reassuring that Fingon really will keep him.

[inthepeakymidwinter]

Teach Me. (Thomas Shelby x Reader)

Summary: Y/N is a secretary dealing with the usual creepiness of being a woman in a male dominated workplace. *cough* Thomas Shelby to the rescue. *cough* TW: Drinking Word Count: 1225 (It was a Thomas fic I couldn't skimp on this obvi) A/N:(This might be one of the last stories I keep up with. I LOWKEY might have arthritis so this was the one thing I wanted to work on tonight before I die at work tomorrow and have no more energy for the rest of the week 💀 anyway ENJOY!! I still wanna write more of this because its so cute and i can tell it will get STEAMYY) Tags: @globetrotter28 @theshelbyclan

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It had been three weeks since the start of my new job as Secretary of Shelby Company LTD. I was doing what I knew how to do best. Calling clients, scheduling appointments, working with the rest of the girls in the back to help coordinate others schedules and get ready for all the big meetings the Shelby boys were in. I knew nothing about horses or gambling but that was okay, Polly told me everything I needed to know between meetings and somehow, I was able to keep up.

After spending 9 hours sorting through old mail and calling to make appointments, I was ready to end my day. I was tired of the Shelby boys coming up to my desk just to make crude remarks and then walk away. Between the “are you working hard or barely working?” comments and the weird “I’m better now that you’re here” flirtations I was ready to give up the job I needed most but the girls that worked with me just told me to tell them to “fuck off”. I was too kind to be able to do that and not feel guilt for it. The only Shelby that truly treated me like a human was Thomas. He was the middle brother and the most professional. I admired his work ethic, and how he would put pressure on the other boys to be more professional.

It was almost time for closing the shop when a man in a dark coat walked in. He had the familiar peaky blinder cap on, and I immediately sighed. It was probably Arthur, the oldest of the Shelby boys. He usually came in to take a bit of cash and go gamble at the fighting matches on the corner. I continued to file my paperwork as normal until I heard footsteps walk up to my desk and I sat straight up to look at him. It wasn’t Arthur like I thought it was. In fact, it turned out to be Thomas.  He took off his cap to reveal his dark hair and short sides, a typical cut for the peaky blinders. “Do you have any clue where the rest of the papers are for my newest horse?” He asked me in a frustrated tone. I thought to myself about where I put his papers and then the location finally dawned on me. “They’re…uh- in your desk sir… I put them in the middle drawer on the right” I stuttered. He saw right through me and his eyes glimmered. He thanked me quickly and started to walk away, but it looked as if something bothered him deeply. I saw him stop in his tracks and turn towards me once more.

“Y/N…Come to my office when your done” He requested. I gave him a gentle nod but on the inside my heart had just leapt out of my chest at his request. After my anxiety spiraled for a few moments, I finally got the courage to go up to his office. One half of me was convinced I was going to be fired but the other half of me said I needed to pull myself up by the weak straps on my black mary janes and storm into his office unafraid.

When I finally brought myself into his office, I was surprised by the view of two glasses of some brownish alcohol sitting neatly at his desk. “Y/N, please… make yourself comfortable” Mr. Shelby stood up from his black leather office chair and gestured to the seat in front of his desk. I held my breath and walked over to the chair in front of his desk. I pulled at the edges of my skirt before neatly sitting down and crossing my legs. I watched Mr. Shelby begin to sip his drink before sitting down after me. “So what’s this I hear about Arthur stealing from the safe?” He raised his right eyebrow and looked at me for answers with his oceanic blue eyes. I sunk in my seat and frustratingly brushed my forehead. “Mr. Shelby, I don’t want to get in your private busine-“ “Y/N if there’s something you know…It’s best that you tell me” He raised his voice at first but calmed down the second I looked up at him.

“Mr. Shelby…I don’t want to tell you because he makes…advancements...and I really don’t want to get on his bad side” I sighed deeply and looked down at the floor.

“Advancements?” Thomas asked with both eyebrows up this time. “Uh-…Unwanted…romantic advancements” I murmured. He chuckled for a moment and drank from his glass once more. “Y/N, that’s just Arthur. Actually, that’s probably half of the Shelby boys. Tell you what…I’ll tell him off if you just tell me what’s going on, eh? Deal?” Thomas bargained.

I gave him a sheepish nod and spoke up, “I see him every Friday…leaving from the safe and when I walk home at night…I see him at the fights around the corner.” Thomas nodded and took a deep breath. “Thank you, Y/N,” He thanked and reached for the second glass of alcohol. “Drink with me, yeah?” He asked. I took the glass in my hands and asked him what it was. He paused for a moment to look in my eyes and he realized that I was asking him a genuine question and not joking. “It’s whiskey” He smiled. “There’s a lot you don’t know, eh?” Thomas asked me as I put the drink up to my lips.

“Only some” I spoke and decided to take a big swig of the liquid. Almost immediately it felt like I was on fire, and I started choking on the bitterness of the drink. “Easy, Y/N” Thomas raced over and got me a glass of water from his beverage cart on the left side of the room. He handed it to me, and I grabbed it like it was my last drink on earth. I coughed one last time and placed the drinks on his desk.  

“Mr. Shelby…I do know some things…I know a lot about being a secretary…and I also know that I won’t be drinking again” I chuckled. He smiled softly at me and ran his hands through his hair. “Y/N how old are you? I don’t think you told me when we hired you” Mr. Shelby questioned and sat back down at his chair. I began to comfortably shift in my chair and looked at Mr. Shelby. His eyes met mine and my face flushed. He was similar to me in that he dressed quite professionally every time I saw him around the office. His coat always matched the color of his suits and there was never a day that went by where he didn’t say goodbye to me. “I’m 22, Mr. Shelby” I answered him.

“Well…you have a lot to learn, Y/N” He spoke low and took another drink.

“and I would say…You have a lot to teach Mr. Shelby” I flirted. I don’t know what got into me with that drink, but it was exuding a certain confidence in me that I had never felt before. Thomas smirked at my reply and drank once more. “So I’ll teach you then” His smile matched mine and I felt my cheeks heat up. I could tell this was not going to end well for the both of us.

[muertawrites]

Tenderness (Eddie Munson x Reader)

(is it weird that i named this after such an upbeat-sounding song? maybe. does it fit eddie’s vibe perfectly? yes. i’d like to think it’s a guilty pleasure song of his. parts one and two, also named after 80s songs i like.) 

(jesus christ that smile <3)

With Wayne Munson’s trailer reduced to nothing but a pile of twisted metal and shattered wood, the only place Eddie had to wait out the rest of his recovery was in your bedroom. 

Convincing your parents to let him stay was a hard sell. Your house didn’t have a spare room, and despite how respectful Eddie had always been - hell, despite you managing to get his murder accusation overturned - they couldn’t bring themselves to trust him. Especially not in your bedroom. With you. At night. With the lights off, the door closed, and a finite amount of inches between you. But, defiant as ever, you’d already sifted through the rubble of his bedroom, salvaged anything you could that meant anything to him (namely his guitar, his dice set, some of his favorite books and cassettes, and a few of the Polaroids he had of you together) and set up shop for him in your room. The day he was discharged, you marched him through the front door with confidence - or, as much confidence as a man on crutches with two black eyes and several hundred stitches in his body could manage - ignoring the knit brows and concerned whispers you were met with. 

“He’s staying,” you told your parents in no uncertain terms. “He isn’t in any kind of shape to be having sex with anyone, since that’s what you’re worried about. And we’re two consenting adults anyway so it’s none of your business.” 

Eddie chuckled as you maneuvered him up the stairs, leaning heavily on you for support. 

“Didn’t think you’d be that kind of nurse,” he teased, flashing you a flirtatious grin. 

You bit your lip as you smiled back, trying to hide just how appealing the idea really was to you. Eddie couldn’t help but lose his breath at the sight of your teeth sinking into the plush, velvety skin. 

“Shut up, Munson,” you bantered. “You didn’t even have any game when you were perfectly healthy.” 

Getting him comfortable on your bed was difficult. He was still incredibly sore, his torso bandaged and his ribs bruised; he moved like a man five times his age, groaning with any pronounced pressure or extended stretch of his limbs. You worked him into a sitting position, helping him out of his jacket and shirt so you had easy access to any dressings that would need to be changed. Once they were folded neatly on the mattress, you knelt before him, coaxing his jeans off his legs, the healing flesh beneath spotted sickening hues of purple and green. If he weren’t in so much pain, he’d have let himself indulge in the pleasurable image of you taking off his pants; instead, he watched you in a dreamy haze, zonked out on whatever meds the hospital pharmacy had provided him. 

After Eddie was leaned up against your headboard, nestled safely within a fortress of pillows and blankets, you presented him with what you managed to rescue from the remnants of his former home. 

“I didn’t find much,” you apologized, watching him run his fingers over the snapped strings of his guitar. “But I brought back what I could. Your porno mags were done for.” 

Eddie laughed, looking up at you with those wide, soulful eyes that made you want to float away into the atmosphere. A snarky retort danced to the tip of his tongue, but fell completely flat on his lips. He couldn’t even joke - he was just so thankful for what you’d done for him. Naturally, however, he couldn’t think of the words to actually come out and say that to you, so he occupied himself with sorting through his cassettes. 

“Oh.” 

He paused when he came to one without a label on the case; just a piece of notebook paper scribbled with the words FOR EMERGENCIES in red ink, his chaotic scrawl taking up as much space as it possibly could. 

“Uh... here.” 

He handed the cassette out to you. You furrowed your brow, hesitantly accepting it. 

“What's this?”

Eddie anxiously cleared his throat.

“It’s, uh... I made it. After Dustin told me music could help.” 

You opened the case, unraveling the crumpled piece of paper within. There was a list written on it, the black scratchings bleeding and hardly legible, but in a sequence you would recognize anywhere. 

They were songs. Your favorite songs. Twelve of them, each close to your heart for a different reason, but all earth-shatteringly personal in their own way. 

You gazed back up at him, blinking away the tears that had started to form in the corners of your eyes. 

“Eddie...” you whispered. Your voice cracked, words faltering and dissipating completely before you could get them out. He blushed, peering at you timidly from under his lashes. 

“I couldn’t let him get you,” he admitted. “The thought of losing you... fucking terrified me. Fuck, that’s why I even got up in the first place. I thought I was as good as dead, but then I thought of you... of leaving you alone with just Steve and those other dipshits to comfort you, of never seeing your face or... or hearing your laugh again. I couldn’t do it. So I got up and just... fucking ran. Ran for my fucking life.” 

He let out a breathy laugh, tears rolling freely down his cheeks. 

“I thought running made me a coward,” he whimpered. “But I ran for you when it would’ve been easier to just lay down let myself die. I ran for you because... because... I couldn’t leave you. Not without saying goodbye.” 

You sniffled, a baffled smile cracking across your features as you wiped at your face, fingers shaking as they dabbed at your tears.

"Eddie Munson," you breathed, "if I didn't know you better, I'd think you were in love with me."

He chuckled, blushing furiously. Both of you kept weeping, the sounds of hiccups and congested breaths filling the silent space around you.

"You know the nurse who discharged me thought we were married?" he told you.

You laughed, reaching out to brush a speck of saltwater from the round of his cheek.

"Really?"

He nodded, grinning.

"Yeah. Told me it was weird they didn't have a spouse listed on my chart. What's worse is I knew immediately she was talking about you."

You couldn't stop smiling. His hand found yours in his lap, taking it within his and kissing it, running his lips absently over your knuckles. His thumb grazed the back of your palm, his rough, calloused skin feeling softer than cotton. You could hold him like that forever.

"I love you," you whispered.

"Oh, thank god," Eddie gasped. He fell forward into you, clunking his forehead against yours, to which you could only laugh. "I didn't know if I should say it, I'm so sorry. I love you so fucking much."

You took his face in your hands and kissed him, your lips slotting together like they'd always been meant for one another, a key into a lock. He tasted of dry blood and weak hospital coffee, sweeter than anything you'd ever savored. His mouth was chapped, his kiss tender. When you pulled apart, he met you with the same gorgeous smile that stole your heart in the first place.

"Kiss me like that every day," you begged. "Promise me."

"Oh, angel," Eddie exhaled. "I would give you my soul if you asked for it."

The mattress you'd set up for yourself in the corner of your bedroom was promptly removed. Seeing how happy, how safe you were sleeping in Eddie's arms, your parents stopped questioning whether or not he should stay.

🌹💀 get your eddie fix 💀🌹