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bradshawssugarbaby · 7 months ago

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Take Your Time - Evan "Buck" Buckley x Reader

summary: Evan Buckley is getting ready for parent-teacher interviews with the parents of his kindergarten class. He wasn't expecting to hit it off with one of them.

a/n: this is my first 9-1-1 fic (and first non-TGM one in a long time) but I had this idea and after @sarahsmi13s and I discussed it, I went with it!

pairing: teacher!Evan "Buck" Buckley x single mom!reader

warnings/content: mentions of divorce, single parent, Buck getting a crush on reader.

word count: 2k

Evan Buckley let out a heavy sigh as he checked over the schedule he’d made for parent-teacher interviews. Teaching kindergarten was quite the change from the fourth and fifth graders he’d been used to, but so far, the seventeen little darlings in his class had been, for the most part, a refreshing new experience. He’d struggled initially, trying to find ways to entertain a classroom of five year olds, but after a week or two, he’d found his groove, settling in nicely in his new surroundings. The school district he’d transferred to was underfunded, a stark difference from the well-to-do private school he’d worked at for the previous three years, but, he appreciated the change - the private school circuit wasn’t for him, he’d learned, and the longer he stayed, the worse it seemed to feel staying in it.

Buck looked up at the clock and furrowed his brow. He had exactly 45 minutes before parents and caregivers would start filing in, eager to meet their son or daughter’s new teacher, probably reacting with shock or surprise to learn that a man was teaching kindergarten, like his new co-workers had done when he started. He wasn’t sure what was so strange about the concept, but for some reason, it felt like a lot of people couldn’t wrap their heads around the idea. He sighed as he got up from his desk and headed down the hallway, the sound of his footsteps echoing as he strolled down the empty corridor.

In the small staff lounge sat a few round tables and aged chairs, upholstered with vinyl and flattened padding, hardly comfortable to sit in for any length of time. On the counter sat a coffeepot that looked to be about as old as Buck was. He’d been hesitant to use it before, questioning both the sanitation and safety of it, but, if he was going to be hosting these interviews until well into the evening, he needed something to get him through the next four and a half hours. He just hoped that coffee would be strong enough.

Back at the comfortable familiarity of his desk, a mug of burnt, flavourless coffee in hand, he looks around the classroom, surveying the layout in an attempt to determine if he needed to make any last minute changes in the next twenty minutes of free time he had. He sighed, realizing there wasn’t much that could be done to improve the room with the small time-frame and limited budget. Twirling a pen between his fingers, he looked out the window, watching the clouds rolling in the California sky. Focusing his attention for a moment, he looked down at the stack of papers, neatly situated on the desk in front of him.

“Right,” he said to himself as he started sifting through the papers, ensuring each student was sorted according to the rudimentary schedule he’d made. “You’ve got this, Buck, you can handle it. A dozen and a half kindergarteners and parents. It’s fine.”

Right on cue, the first parent entered the room at 4 pm, escorting their young daughter in the doorway, ushering her to a seat. Buck stood from his seat for a handshake, awkwardly accepted by the parent. He sat back down and nodded his head. It was going to be a long night.

“Alright, Holly, are you ready to for Mommy to meet your teacher?” you asked your five-year-old as you stood in the hallway outside of her classroom.

It was later in the evening, the 7:45 slot being the only one you could make work with your hectic work schedule. Holly nodded her head excitedly, tugging on your hand as she tried to pull you into the classroom. You started cycling through a dozen of scenarios in your head, each one playing out how the parent-teacher interview was going to go. You knew very little about your daughter’s teacher, admittedly. You knew a form had come home with Holly on the first day of school, introducing them, but a coffee spill later, that form ended up in the trash before you had a chance to read it.

“Holly!” her teacher smiled warmly, crinkles by his eyes softening as he looked at your daughter. “I’m Mr. Buckley,” he nodded, extending his hand out to you for a handshake. “Mr. Evan Buckley.” He laughed, his cheeks turning red.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Buckley,” you smiled. His grip on your hand was firm, yet gentle. He dropped your hand after holding it a moment longer than he might’ve needed to, before taking his seat at his desk.

“Please, you can call me Evan,” He nodded, smiling as he took a seat. He gestured to the empty chairs in front of his desk, “Please, have a seat.”

Once seated, Evan folded his hands neatly over the stack of Holly’s school work. A pair of tired baby blue eyes looked at you, meeting yours with a softened expression. You could tell he’d been at the school for hours, probably wishing he’d chosen another career choice at this stage, having been stuck in this building since at least 8 am. His dark blonde hair was neatly brushed back, strands held in place with styling product. His dark green sweater accented his pale skin, cheeks rosy and pink from a little too much sun, the pale blue collar of his dress shirt laying flat against his sweater’s neckline - he somehow looked exactly how you’d imagined a male kindergarten teacher to look, and nothing at all like how you’d imagined all at once.

“Holly’s an exceptional student,” he began, nodding his head. “She’s always there to help her friends, and she’s been hard at work practicing the letters of her name. She’s been making some great attempts at writing her name.”

“She has, has she?” You beamed, looking over at Holly, who was now nodding proudly at you.

Evan produced a few sheets of paper with Holly’s name sprawled across the page in large, clumsy handwriting, on brand for a five-year-old child. He shot Holly a smile, sharing in the pride she’s showing for her work.

“It’s been a team effort, but Holly’s been able to write it by herself for a few tries. We just needed to figure out which hand she felt most comfortable trying to write with first, right Holly?” He smiled, flashing a row of perfectly straight, white teeth, a smile you’d expect to see on a poster in your dentist’s office.

Holly nodded her head in agreement as you and Evan continued to discuss Holly’s progress in school, how you’d been struggling the past six months since her dad walked out, and how you were relieved to hear that it hadn’t impacted her performance in school.

After what only felt like a few seconds of discussion, you looked over to see Holly yawning, her eyelids looking heavy with exhaustion. The clock on the wall said 8:20 pm - your meeting had gone 20 minutes over the scheduled time, and now, Holly would be getting to bed later than usual. Quickly, you stood up, shaking hands with Evan once again.

“It was nice meeting you, thank you for being so supportive of Holly and helping her settle into school.” You started, nodding your head. “I really appreciate it.”

Buck let out a sigh, the clink of metal keys against the ceramic dish on the table by the door echoing throughout his quiet apartment. It was 9pm on a Friday, and instead of going out with his friends, like most late twenty-somethings, he’d be tucked in on the couch within the next five minutes, takeout containers scattered across his coffee table. He set the paper carry bags on the counter while he rummaged around the kitchen for a clean fork. He knew he should have run the dishwasher before he left that morning, but in his hurry to make it to school early enough to allow time to set up for meeting parents all evening, he’d forgotten half a dozen things he’d planned on doing.

Settling for a plastic fork that he’d found in the back of a drawer, likely stored away from a previous takeout meal, he grabbed his food and sunk down into his couch, a heavy, exhausted sigh drawing from his lips. He began tucking into his dinner, tv remote in the other hand as he shoveled veggie fried rice into his mouth. Sports highlights droned on in the background, something about how the World Series was progressing, two teams Buck didn’t care enough about to pay attention to battling it out for the championship.

As he flipped through the channels, he found himself unable to focus his attention on anything. Well, almost anything.

The only thing his mind could focus on was the last parent interview he’d had for the night. The one with Holly’s mother - a newly single mom who was trying her best, but had to balance a hectic work life with an impending divorce and a five-year-old.

“Thank you for being so supportive of Holly and helping her settle into school, I really appreciate it.”

The woman’s voice echoed in his head, her gratitude evident on her face as she spoke. Buck couldn’t help but feel his heart swell with joy when he heard how she spoke so positively - a welcome change from the disdain and boredom he was met with from the vast majority of parents he spoke to. Blank stares and uninterested nods, “mhmm”s and a couple of “why are we even doing this? It’s kindergarten.” – but not with you.

With you, it was entirely different. Smiling and laughing as you talked, a sense of concern for you washing over Buck as he listened to your concerns about Holly’s transition into school now that your ex-husband had taken off. As he watched you talk, the prettiest set of eyes he’d ever seen fixed on him, your perfect pink lips pursing into the sweetest pout he’d ever seen as you thought, mulling over what Buck was telling you about Holly, dewy, sun-kissed skin accented beautifully by your floral print dress, a light, acid-washed denim jacket draped over your shoulders, framing your figure like a work of art.

The next morning, Buck rubbed his bleary eyes, blinking a couple of times to orient himself. He’d fallen asleep on the couch, again. It wasn’t unusual for him lately, most nights he ended up dozing off before he made it to bed, but usually, he woke up in the middle of the night, making a tired stumble up the stairs to the loft of his apartment where his bed awaited.

He frowned as he looked around the room, sunlight pouring into the living room, washing everything in a bright, golden glow. He sat up on the couch, eyes scanning the room for his phone. He reached down behind a couch cushion, pulling it out with a tired grunt as he stretched muscles that had tensed through the night. His blonde eyebrows furrowed at the time, sighing as he realized the time. He settled back down in the cushions, scrolling aimlessly on social media, trying to catch up on updates he’d missed from friends from past week.

Buck froze when he saw one of the pictures, shared last Saturday, a familiar face smiling at him from the screen. He checked who posted it –- the girlfriend of a friend of his – and his eyes widened as he saw the name of the person tagged. Confirmation that it was, in fact, you. His palms began to feel clammy as he realized you were a friend of a friend, that, if he’d gone out with his friends last weekend, he would have met you under different circumstances, shared a couple of drinks, and, maybe, invited you back to his place if you were interested.

Now, however, things were complicated.

Dating the parent of a student wasn’t entirely forbidden, was it?

#evan buckley x reader #evan buckley #buck x reader #buck 911 #buck #evan buckley 911 #evan buck buckley #evan buckley x you #evan buckley x y/n #buck x you #buck x y/n #evan buck buckley x reader #evan buck buckley x you #evan buck buckley x y/n #911 fic #911 fanfic #9 1 1 #9 1 1 fanfiction

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abbysimsfun · 1 month ago

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Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 76 (A Happy Harvestfest With One Greedy Little Genius)

Despite their busy schedules with work, Heather and Conrad hosted most of her family in Brindleton Bay for Harvestfest dinner. Ash would start school soon, and Heather could scarcely believe how fast time had gone. It seemed only yesterday she brought him home from the hospital in Henford where he was born.

Heavily pregnant herself, Heather's sister Holly spent most of the night napping in the upstairs guestroom, while her husband Kris and daughter Tetra hid out in the bathroom when the number of strange people made the infant uncomfortable. But otherwise the house was full of love and celebration, just as Harvestfest was meant to be.

Everyone ate so much there were no turkey leftovers! And though Heather was an incredible chef who had mastered gourmet cooking in their quest for ambrosia, Conrad stepped up to make this year's grand meal. Not only would it help him with his own cooking skill in their quest, it let very-pregnant Heather rest and enjoy the day with her family.

By the time everyone left, they were exhausted but content that nothing had spontaneously caught fire this time, unlike their last Spooky Day party.

A few weeks after his birthday, Ash lost his first tooth. A little genius with perhaps a hint of Landgraab greed, he was so excited for the Tooth Fairy's visit, Heather worried he'd try to pull the rest of his teeth before they were ready to fall out!

"Are you going to put that tooth under your pillow tonight?" asked Conrad.

Ash shook his head. "No, I'm gonna save it and take it to Daddy's! He told me when he was a kid, his Tooth Fairy gave him ten whole simoleons - per tooth!" Heather and Conrad exchanged wry looks. "With inflation, who knows how rich she is now!"

Conrad laughed as Heather balked. "How do you know about inflation? You're five."

"Gramma Nancy taught me about inflation," he said with a shrug. "She said when I run the company one day, I'll have to know a lot."

Heather forced a smile, but later that night she texted Malcolm.

So this is weird. I heard your Tooth Fairy got caught in the last recession and the going rate for our son's teeth is still ten simoleons.

Malcolm: ...Did he bring up inflation?

Ten! (Which is still outrageous) No more! And don't let your mother make him feel like he has to run Landgraab Corp. one day!

Malcolm: Alright, I'll tell him. I swear.

And your mother...?

He didn't respond. Even if Malcolm couldn't or wouldn't pick this battle with his mother, Heather wanted her son to work harder for whatever he wanted in life than his father ever had. She wanted him to understand responsibility despite the privileges he'd been born into.

He took out the trash, cleaned the litter boxes, fed the animals - even the beetles in the insect farm, and always did his homework. He even loved to help Conrad rake the leaves as long as he could jump and play in them when they were done!

Just as outgoing as he was as a toddler, he spent as much time as he could with his friends. He loved playing on the pirate ship by the wharf with Scotti Holiday, whose parents, Summer and Travis, had befriended Heather over numerous trips to the vet with the Holidays' dog, Kona.

"Be glad there's only going to be one at home," Scotti said. "Mateo is annoying and all Courtney does is make messes." She was about a year older than Ash. Even though he was a genius, he thought six-year-old Scotti knew more about life than he ever could.

"I'll have another one soon too, but that brother or sister will live in San Myshuno with my dad."

"Do you see your dad a lot?"

Ash shrugged. "Not as much as you see yours. I see Conrad all the time, though."

"But Detective Gordon's not even your stepdad. He can't even discipline you when you do something bad."

"I don't really do bad things..."

Scotti laughed. "You're so funny, Ash Landgraab."

Even as Heather and Conrad marveled at how fast Ash had grown, the days passed at a snail's pace as they waited for his little brother or sister to be born. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 1 Summary | Gen 1 Start

NOTE: The pose before the cut is from the Us 3 pose pack by @katverse. I used the all-in-one version (there are 5 poses) and caught them between pose flips, but I also caught Gord breaking into the shot! So this is now one of my favourite family portraits on the walls of their home. 🥰

NOTE 2: I'm itching to post Saturday's post early. Should I do it or is Saturday fine? It's a really good episode. 👀

#sims 4 #sims 4 gameplay #sims 4 screenshots #sims 4 legacy #sims in bloom #ts4 #ts4 gameplay #ts4 legacy #ts4 screenshots #sims 4 story #ts4 story #legacy challenge #sims legacy #ts4 legacy challenge #gen 2 #brindleton bay #harvestfest #cassandra goth #mortimer goth

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phantoms-world-and-more · 1 year ago

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An idea came to me reading a fic where Danny was a kryptonian. What if Amity Park instead of being a city in the USA on Earth was once a city on Krypton (in what would be a kryptonian version of early 21st century or at least about 100 years before the planet blew up). Basically almost everything that happened in cannon DP happened and everything is mostly the same but with a more alien then earth tone to it.

After Phantom Planet Danny's parents except him being part ghost, the government overturn the Ecto Acts, and he able to finish high school and goes on to college after which he is happily welcomed to for work for KASA (Krypton Aeronautics and Space Administration). He becomes an Astronautical engineer. Danny is in his early thirties when he is testing out a new experimental space ship engine for KASA. While doing a flight test Danny's ship losses signal and no one can find it (kind of what happened in the show Farscape).

100s of years go by Krypton explodes baby Kal-El is sent to Earth where he grows up to be Superman. The JL suddenly get a signal/warning about some alien tech on the edge of the solar system. They send one of the Green Lanterns to take a look, where they report a spaceship dead in space. They don't expect any life forms but surprise because of his ghost half Danny was in a sort of suspended animation. He is brought back and wakes up in the Watch Tower.

Just Random ideas...

Kryptonite is the crystalized form of ectoplasm because of this Danny is not effected by it.

Danny's kryptonian name is Daniel Fen-Ton

The phantom zone projector was originally called the Fen-Ton zone projector or is was based off a Fen-Ton gadget.

Years after Danny disappears Krypton starts turning on ghost again, so the town of Amity, which now has a symbiotic relationship with ghost, vote to pull the whole town into the Ghost Zone. So it is not blown up like the rest of the planet though Danny does not know this in the beginning.

Danny has an easier time learning to use Earth technology then he does the Kryptonian technology in Superman's Fortress.

Danny also has slightly easier time when getting the regular Kryptonian power set due to the yellow sun because he went through something similar when getting his ghost powers.

Danny adopts Connor almost immediately. Maybe during Danny's time there was laws about cloning and clone rights on Krypton. Also while Connor is not a replacement he sort of fills in the void of losing Ellie.

While Superman has no idea who Danny is, Kara/Supergirl has a faint idea because he was briefly mentioned in her Krytonian History class. Also she is happy to have someone who can natively speak the kyrptonian language even if it has older vocabulary. Don't get her wrong its great to speak it with Kal-El but he learned it later in life.

Holly char this is amazing!

How many people will have a stroke when they see Danny casually pick up a piece of kryptonite? Batman? His normal Kryptonian contingency plan won't work. Luthor? There's a version of superman IMMUNE to Kryptonite. Clark? What the hell do you mean you can touch kryptonite

I think after Danny explains everything about his past and species so many people are going to just...give up. Hahaha a stronger version of superman who isn't effected by kryptonite, goodbye world

Connor will be ecstatic, Danny will do ALL the dad stuff, teaching him their language, proper training, engineering lessons and you bet he's going to use jazz's psychiatrist stuff on this kid

Danny's probably going to get mega-depressed, all his hard work breaking the racism against ghosts only for that to come back a few years after he left? And he can't even fix it again because their world went bye-bye

Also- here me out

Co-pilot Valerie

#fic prompt #daily prompt #dc x dp #dp x dc #funny #ectoplasm is kryptonite in the dc universe #Just in liquid form #Danny is from krypron #Danny adopts connor

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hawkinsschoolcounselor · 5 months ago

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Prediction for the start of season 5

I've been going crazy trying to figure out just how they'll transition into season 5. It certainly seems like "life goes on" in Hawkins despite everything that happened at the end of season 4. While it does seem like there's a military presence in town, there are clues that quite a bit of time has passed.

Aside from dates left on papers on set and whatnot, which could potentially be faked to throw people off, we see character differences that indicate time. El's hair has grown back. It's hard to tell just how long it is now, but it looks to be at least as long as it was in season 3, if not longer. We've seen little of Hopper, but we've been able to see set photos of David with a long beard. Then there's Holly, who seems older even taking into account the casting change.

This tells me we're looking at an approximate 8 months to one year time skip. While we might see some immediate aftermath from after the ending of season 4, the bulk of season 5 seems to be set in late Fall/early Winter of 1987. This isn't taking into account a possible rumored second time skip considering they're only halfway through filming.

So, how do we go from the end of the world to almost a year later? Well, there wasn't much that could be done in the position our heroes are in. Here's what I think happens after that final scene in the field.

Shortly after the "earthquake," an Army Corps of Engineers detachment arrives to help rebuild, overseen by Lt. Col. Sullivan. They proceed to block off affected areas for "safety concerns" under the pretense of having to seal up the fissures to allow for later rebuilding. In reality, they are setting up research stations and entry points while also preventing anyone else from getting in...or anything getting out.

Blocked off from being able to go after the weakened Vecna, and now faced with the concern of Sullivan possibly finding El, the heroes have to regroup. They both need to be able to hide El and have a safe base of operations. Agent Stinson arranges to set El and Hopper in the old WSQK radio station under the guise of the station being under new ownership.

While researching, I found out that many old radio stations had emergency shelters built by the government during the Cold War in case of a nuclear attack. Like the Dept of Energy Lab before it, the radio station would serve as a legitimate front for getting equipment and other resources they may need for what they're really up to. The shelter would also provide a place to hide their real activity and keep El safe. It may also even potentially provide access to the areas the military blocked off if the shelters contain escape tunnels.

We would essentially find out that the time since the end of season 4 were spent with the heroes trying to find a way into the Upside Down to get Henry while he's weak. However, it's just not possible with the military presence. The mission turns to trying to monitor both the military and the Upside Down threat until a window presents itself.

What might be the event that provides this window? I have some ideas.

The military breaches a Gate, which allows for Upside Down creatures to get out.

El has a breakthrough in her search for Max, providing them a critical clue.

Henry comes back to full strength, leading to Will getting Harry Potter-like visions of his plans.

Problems I have with this idea:

El is once again living in hiding, just as she did in season 2. I can't imagine she's able to get any kind of education unless Owens' people can set her up with tutoring.

The Byers being in town would certainly tip off Sullivan, and it doesn't look like they're lying low. I suppose they could feign moving back to Hawkins because they think she's dead.

What is up with Owens, and would his people even have the ability to do anything after the losses sustained from Sullivan's actions?

Why the hell would anyone even stay in Hawkins? This isn't the first disaster the town has dealt with in the past few years. I suppose it would cause property values to plummet to levels that could prompt a rich family to buy up land in preparation for owning everything after rebuilding. There was a Turnbow Land Development & Realty ad seen on set.

Does anyone else have thoughts on this?

#stranger things 5 #byler #stranger things 5 speculation

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joeys-babe · 11 months ago

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Backstory

As an Ohioan born and raised, you knew the name Joe Burrow. You had connections too.

Your dad coached for the Ohio University football team at the same time as Jimmy Burrow, Joe’s father.

It wouldn't be till years later, in mid-2022, that you would first meet Joe.

You two would meet at a family dinner that your families had together. Your dad and Jimmy wanted to catch up, along with introducing each other to their families, and Joe was the only one of Jimmy’s three boys who was able to make it.

You would be a liar if you said he wasn't attractive because he was, but you were too nervous to approach him.

Who wouldn't be? He was having an insane career in the NFL with the Cincinnati Bengals, and he was just oddly intimidating.

Throughout the dinner hosted in your parent's backyard, you found yourself in a secluded corner by yourself when Joe walked over and sat next to you.

It was almost insane how you two immediately hit it off. The more you guys talked the more you realized Joe was a normal guy, just had a known name.

He was very sweet actually, and surprisingly flirty. You were aware of the fact that he had just gotten out of a relationship so you held back from seriously flirting, but later that night before he left he'd ask you something you'd never forget.

“Could I maybe get your number? I had a lot of fun with you tonight, and stop me if I'm misreading things, but would you like to go to dinner sometime?”

You assured him that he wasn't misreading anything and exchanged numbers.

A week later you guys would go to dinner, which led to a date, and another, and another, till Joe finally asked you to be his girlfriend on December 20th, 2022.

There were a few obstacles you two would have to learn to overcome. One of those things is having to be long-distance. You were still in college at OU in Athens and Joe was in Cincinnati.

You had your doubts that it would work, but Joe deserved a chance from you.

Another obstacle was how people preserved your relationship because of your age gap. When you guys started dating, you were nineteen, and Joe was twenty-six. You and Joe didn't care though, because it didn't impact your relationship directly.

These imagines follow you and Joe through dealing with the many obstacles your relationship has to overcome, but you wouldn't want to do it with anybody else.

Imagines

Peewee

Call It What You Want

Let It Snow*

Holly Jolly Christmas / Merry Christmas, Goofball

Nonsense*

L-O-V-E

Already Gone

She's Gone

Wish You Were Here

Heartache Tonight

What Is Life

Got My Mind Set on You / Against the Wind

Try and Love Again

New Kid in Town

Gentle On My Mind / This Night Won't Last Forever / I Don't Want to Miss a Thing

Runaway / Ain’t No Mountain High Enough

Blurbs

(Holly Jolly Christmas / Merry Christmas, Goofball)

Life in the Fast Lane* / Oh! Darling*

(L-O-V-E)

#joe burrow #bengals #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow x reader #joey b #cincinnati bengals #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow series #joe burrow smut #joe burrow universe #Spotify

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dwobbitfromtheshire · 1 year ago

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Stuck Between a Jock and a Metalhead

Summary: Nancy, on a whim, decides to visit Steve at Scoops Ahoy, which leads to her overhearing confessions from Steve that leads her to think about the decisions she's made. A few days later, she decides to come back. She finds him being hit on by the town freak. What's a girl to do? Oh, get stuck in a freezer with the both of them.

A/N: Oops, I made this chapter a little angsty. I do love Nancy now, flaws and all. Oh, the title is a play on for stuck between a rock and a hard place. Thought it was funny.

Chapter One

Nancy Wheeler was confident in her decisions, to say the least. She never really doubted when she was in the right. It was a constant struggle, though, to look at someone's else's side of things. It was why she loved looking at the facts, put plain and simply before her. The facts are that she was interning at the local newspaper and that the news reporters seemed to hate women or look down on them at least. They surely didn't respect them.

"I mean, like what year are we in now? There are tons of female news reporters. Get ahead of the times!" Nancy complained.

"Well, there's a reason why people call this town so conservative. Will this town ever be willing to change?" Steve asked, shaking an invisible magic eight ball. "Sources say: unlikely. I mean, now, they really won't be subject to change with the way this mall moved in and took away their businesses."

"The same mall you work at?" Nancy asked in amusement. "By the way, what the hell are you wearing?"

"I can't believe you're just now noticing. This is my uniform," Steve said and flipped the hat back onto his head.

Nancy had stopped by Scoops Ahoy after coming into the mall to try to find Holly a birthday gift. She had spotted Steve behind the counter and had to stop in. Now, here they were, in the back room conversing like old friends. Steve stood up from the table and slowly twirled around before striking a pose. His back was to her, and he peered over his shoulder, his hand over his mouth as though he was shocked. His rear end was sticking out. He looked like he got caught doing something he shouldn't. Nancy burst into a fit of giggles.

"You're an idiot, Steve Harrington," Nancy said softly.

"And you're - uh - anyway, yes, this is my uniform. It's completely fucking embarrassing but not as embarrassing as being too stupid to get into anywhere," Steve said.

"Despite what I said before, you're not stupid. Although, you can be an idiot at times. It's not who you are, and if your dad ever makes you feel like that, then just send him my way. I'll kick his ass," Nancy said.

"You're the only person in the world I believe could actually take that asshole," Steve said.

"Thanks. I should probably go. I told mom I would be home soon," Nancy said, getting up.

"One thing first, and I'm not sure it was my place to say, but this job of yours. . .you're not getting paid, your skills aren't being put to good use, you have to ask what else am I getting out of this? What else am I learning?" Steve asked.

"Well, I'm learning what not to do," she said, and he laughed.

"You know, it's okay to give up something that's not working for you, and it's okay to fight for it. Whatever decision that works best for you, Nancy, it's okay," Steve said.

"Stop saying okay. I hate that word," Nancy said softly.

It made her stomach turn the way he said it softly, reminding her of the way he said it that night he told her to go with Jonathan. A small portion of guilt nestled in her stomach. She shook it away and smiled.

"It was good to see you again, Steve," Nancy said. "We should talk again soon."

"Definitely," Steve grinned. "Did I help at all?"

"Yeah, actually, you did," Nancy said.

As she walked out of the break room, she passed Steve’s co-worker Robin. She gave Nancy the stink eye. She wondered if it was because she thought there was something between her and Steve. Was Robin jealous of her? Did she want to date Steve? Or was she dating Steve? God, Nancy hoped not. She blushed, realizing that she had no right to be jealous of someone she didn't have any interest in anymore. . .or did she? Nancy walked briskly away, moving out of the parlor and towards the exit as quickly as possible. Halfway towards the exit, Nancy realized that she had left her purse. When she walked back in, there was a closed for lunch sign out front. She went in and headed towards the break room. She paused by the door when she heard her name.

"You're friends with your ex?" Robin asked. "That's a little. . . Unusual."

"I take what I can get," Steve said.

"What does that mean?" She asked and paused. "What? Are you still in love with her?"

Nancy sucked in a breath and waited hopefully for the right answer.

"I mean, I don't know. I guess so. How does one fully stop loving Nancy Wheeler?" Steve asked. "I just want her to be happy. If Jonathan makes her happy, then I'm happy, too."

"It doesn't kill you inside every time you hang out to see her with another guy?" Robin asked.

"Well, this is the first time we hung out in a while. After it all. . .ended, Nancy invited me to have lunch with her Jonathan, but I couldn't. . .it was too painful. I spent lunch in my car blasting Careless Whisper and crying. I got my heart broken, and I didn't have any friends. I mean, the friends I had I walked away from. They were assholes, yes, but I knew Tommy all of my life, and he wasn't always like that. My parents were never home, still aren't, and I just had no one. The kids I started to babysit helped a lot, but considering they were kids and one of them was Nancy's brother, I couldn't exactly talk to them about this," Steve said. "Before we broke up, I tried everything to befriend Jonathan because I knew how much he meant to Nancy. I guess I just didn't want to admit how much."

Nancy pressed her hand to her mouth, tears filling her eyes as she tried to muffle her sobs. She didn't know anything about all of that or the fact that Steve tried to make friends with Jonathan.

"You didn't want to lose her. The fact that you tried to befriend him says a lot about you," Robin said. "I wouldn't have been able to do that."

"I can't hate her for making the choice that she did. I was never enough to be it for her, but I respect her choice even if I don't like it. I can't force her - " Steve choked up. "I can't force her to love me."

"So pathetic," Robin said softly with a hint of affection and Steve laughed.

"Definitely pathetic," Steve said and paused. "I miss her so much that it's stupid. I just wish that I could move on. I think I'm trying too hard. I guess I can't force that either."

"I think I can help with that," Robin said in a mischievous voice. "It requires me taking over the whiteboard, though. What are your preferences?"

"Men, women," Steve said.

"I meant like how do you want me to tease you mercilessly while I do this, but that is. . . That is good to know," Robin said. "Um, right, thanks for telling me."

Crying softly, Nancy quietly and quickly walked away. She'd get her purse some other time. She ran all the way to the bathroom and locked herself in a stall. What he had said then was something she always suspected about Steve, but she never asked, never wanted to be pushy about that part of his life in case he wasn't aware, but turns out, he was. It was all the other stuff that was overwhelming her. She couldn't stop picturing Steve alone in his car, crying. She had so wanted to believe that he had been fine, that he wouldn't be affected by what happened. Or maybe she just hoped that he wouldn't care because it was easier to escape the fact that she fucked up. She didn't intend to hurt Steve, but she did it anyway, and maybe there was another reason why she didn't want to think about how he felt or that moment at the school. She didn't want to think about him walking away from her after begging her to tell him that she loved him. She didn't want to think about him telling her it was okay or hearing him call himself a shitty boyfriend. It was easier to ignore all of that than to admit that she didn't feel like she deserved him.

Jonathan doesn't deserve for her to think that way either because her relationship with him means something, doesn't it? Everything happened so quickly. Maybe that was why she wanted it to happen so fast. Why she had acted the way she did with her feelings for Jonathan? She wanted to destroy her relationship with Steve, to make him hate her the way she hated herself, and she wanted him to feel guilty the way that she did with Barb. She was so mad at her before she died. Why couldn't Barb have understood that it was her choice to have sex with Steve? That the moment he talked to her, it was decided, and the very moment his lips touched hers. She bought a new bra, bought a new sweater, and she even lied to her mom about why she needed birth control.

"This isn't you, Nance," Barb had said.

"Why couldn't you have just gone home?" Nancy whispered to the empty bathroom.

The real person she wanted to be angry with was Barb, and how grotesque was that? How could she be angry at Barb for being in the wrong place at the wrong time? No, because if Barb had gone home and just let her make her choice, then Barb would still be alive. Nancy's stomach rolled. That's what Steve represented, not his guilt because he did nothing, but her own for being so angry with Barb before she died and for being angry after. The real person to be angry with, she knew, was Dr. Brenner. He was the man who started all of this, who led Barbara to her death. If she could bring him back and kill him again, she'd kill him a thousand times. She couldn't go down that road again. She knew the risks she took when she sought justice for Barb. She risked the whole damn town to do it. She wasn't sure she could put something like on Steve again because she still loved him, and he deserved better than that. Nancy wiped her face and came out of the bathroom to find Robin leaning against the wall. She was holding her purse.

"You left this. I saw you run in here. Damn, you're fast," Robin said and handed her the purse.

"Thanks," Nancy said, taking the purse and Robin narrowed her eyes at her.

"You came back for the purse. You heard us," Robin said, and Nancy didn't say anything. "You still love him."

"He deserves better," Nancy said.

"Doesn't he also deserve to make that choice for himself?" Robin asked.

"I - why do you care so much?" Nancy asked.

"I'm a firm believer in second chances. Without them, I wouldn't be here. My mother thought she'd never see my father again or to tell how she felt, but the chance came around again, so . . . Here I am," Robin said, raising her hands up in a shrug. "Gotta believe that there's hope for everyone."

Nancy stared at her for a moment, trying to figure her out. She washed her hands and dried them off.

"Don't tell Steve about this," Nancy said softly.

"Tell him what?" Robin shrugged and left the bathroom.

When Nancy walked into the house, Holly was playing barber shop with Mike's hair while he screeched that she was pulling his hair on purpose. Judging by the mischievous look on Holly's face, she was. Nancy smiled and shook her head before walking into the kitchen where her mother was making lunch.

"Hey, Nance. Did you find what you were looking for at the mall?" Karen asked.

"I think so," Nancy said softly as she stared at her mother.

She realized then where the choice she made with Jonathan was leading her. It was the path that she thought Steve would lead her down to: an unhappy marriage. She still liked Jonathan right now, and she wanted to continue to like him. Not that her mom didn't love her dad. It's just that she didn't like him very much. She wanted a partner that she not only liked but loved as well.

"We like Steve, but we don't love Steve," Murrary had taunted.

Nancy blushed furiously. He had been wrong. She should have said something then, defended Steve then because it was true. She liked Steve, and she loved him too. As much as she cared for Jonathan, as much as she liked him, she didn't love him the way that she loved Steve. The more she thought about Steve, the more she started to remember everything that she loved about their relationship. She remembered nights when they would curl up and watch Tom Cruise movies. They would both gush and giggle over him. Thinking about it now, he definitely had a crush on him like she did. She remembered watching him bake, and when a Bob Seger song came on, he would pull her in his arms to dance. He wasn't afraid to let her lead either. It wasn't just Bob Seger. It was Queen, Bowie, and Madonna. Occasionally, it was stuff like Eddie Van Halen, too. She loved the fact that he didn't just have a particular genre that he loved. He appreciated all sorts. And when she had to babysit Holly, he would come over to help, and he was always so good with her. He was good with both Holly and Mike. She loved the way that he wasn't afraid to be an absolute dork. Her dad was a quiet man, but he always some managed to pull a conversation out of Ted, and he loved to help her mother in the kitchen. She remembered all if without the cloud of guilt weighing her down.

"Nancy, honey, are you okay?" Karen asked.

"I messed everything up," Nancy burst into tears.

Chapter Two

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pa-pa-patato · 21 days ago

Text

Thinking of what the questers would do after the quest

Felix: I think he’d writing his new book about the quest while waiting for Boris to finish high school before going back to adventuring

Boris: like I said he’s going to school , he’s gonna make new friends his age and he’ll be as much a normal teenager he could be let him be a child After that he travels with the circus both as a mechanic and some times performer

Bendy: he’d probably be very liked by other people later on so he gets forced into meeting cause he’s the only one that most trust to fair play When he’s not doing that he’s in college with holly

Holly: like I said she’s in college with bendy and when they finish they make that store with magical things to help people Some times she goes with Felix on his adventures

Alice: she’s a detective. Tried to be a doctor on surface at first but quickly realized she wanted something more exciting So she became an detective (she often ask cupbros for advice when trying to figure if she’s looking at mafia business or not)

Mugman: my boy becomes a pilot he gets married to Cala and quickly becomes a dad he gets his happy ending cause I said so

Cala: she owns her own flower shop and she does catering for weddings and stuff like that She’s a working mom and I love her

Cuphead: he definitely still does dirty work at first but everyone else pull him out quickly so he tries. For the first time in…..forever…. he tries…. He doesn’t have patience to be service worker. He doesn’t want to go to college. It feels wrong to be a detective or any law enforcement for that matter. He has enough money to not work but he’s bored useless. So he gets a hobby sculpturing. He makes cups and vases Then he decorates them, he starts making more complex things until he starts sculpturing people. He’s good very good and after few years He’s the one that makes the statue in questers honer. And he feels happy ….and angry and sad and nervous also almost constantly but….he’s happy now..and that enough for him

#bendy and boris in the inky mystery #inky mystery #babqftim #the inky mystery #babitim #quest bendy #quest cuphead #quest mugman #quest boris #quest felix #quest alice #holly may #cala maria #questers headcanon #headcanon #their all are so dear to me you have no idea #my sillies #my favorite idiots

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adoristsposts · 1 year ago

Note

justin herbert winning superbowl and proposes to y/n on the field

author's note; oh ABSOLUTELY anon u ate with this idea!!! singlehandedly bringing me out of my writing slump summary; the superbowl was supposed to be justin herberts biggest win of the day- but he can't help himself from making it just a little better. word count; 5k warnings; mention of underage drinking, nsfw joke Lol! unedited characters; Reader x Justin Herbert

There was no world in which you weren't shaking with nerves and anticipation. You had grown up watching the Super Bowl on television. You had honestly never really paid it much mind unless your local team had made it through, and even then it was usually your teenage excuse to have a few friends round and sneak a few drinks. In the past couple of years, however, football had become integrated into your life in the form of a 6'6, 236 lbs sweetheart. When you and Justin had begun dating, the idea of it lasting had been far from your mind. You complained incessantly to your girlfriends about his schedule. "He's always busy!" You had whinged to them, far from dramatic. He always had practice or a game or team bonding. Finding a time he could carve out for you was hard. But damn, did he try. And it worked. Three years later, you looked forward to the familiar thump of his football bag hitting the floor on a Sunday to alert you to his arrival. After a win, he'd come to find you with a grin on his face and wild eyes, usually peppering you with kisses. A loss, however, meant he immediately took a solemn shower and put all that gentle giant weight on you to lie in your arms and soak in your affection. This year had been filled with wins. After two losses at the start of the season, the team managed to turn the tide and keep a strong string of games going. The result was enough to put them head-to-head against the Kansas City Chiefs in this year's Super Bowl.

And the Nevada heat was not helping you stay calm. You half wanted to peel your Herbert jersey off and stand in a refrigerator until the game was over. You were nervous for all sorts of reasons. Firstly, you wanted Justin to win. Secondly, you wanted Justin to get through the game without getting injured. The injury to his ribs last year, he liked to joke, had scared you more than it had hurt him. You would be happy with any result as long as he left the field in one piece.

So far, it was a close game. 21-31 in the fourth quarter, with the Chiefs leading. You couldn't figure out how you felt. You were bursting at the seams with pride as is, but you were desperate for Justin to win what he had been working towards for so long. Justin had played an incredible game so far. You and his family kept repeating so to each other, like a mantra that he would continue doing so. You wanted nothing more than to see them win this game, even if watching was growing more difficult with each passing second. Mitch and Patrick, his two brothers, watched standing up. They either perched, staring and analyzing the game in a way only a football player could, or paced whatever stretch of ground they could, discussing their conclusions. "He's doing great," Holly said, not really aiming the words at anyone. Your hands were clasped in hers, and you gave her a squeeze. The sweet moment was interrupted by Patrick's yelp. Your gaze snapped back to the field, and Holly let go of your hands as both of you stood up. There was a wide opening, where Keenan Allen was waiting. Justin's snap made it to him, and Allen set into the most determined run you had ever seen. He dodged defense, with help from Chargers players doing their best to block them from his path. And then- "Touchdown by Keenan Allen! The Chargers are beginning to close the very small gap between them and the Chiefs!" The announcer called. You and the Herbert family erupted in glee (as you had with every previous point.)

With just under a minute now left in the last quarter, 28-30 was beginning to seem like it would be the final score. Both sides were not letting anything or anyone pass. You could practically feel the tension radiating from the players. No one had sat down since Keenan's touchdown. The electricity in the box was too much for anyone to stay stationary. Your hands were clasped, pressed to your lips as you watched your boyfriend set up. He got the ball, pulled back, and paused. "Go!" Mitch yelled like Justin could hear him. And then, like he could, Justin started running. They had set up close enough, he could make it- you could see he was going to make it. You had never heard louder yells than in the second Justin made it to the endzone. The clock after that ticked down painfully slowly. But second after second, the Chiefs were unable to score any points that would put them back in the lead.

Then the game ended, and the Los Angeles Chargers had officially won the 2024 Super Bowl. You were right behind the Herberts as the four of them rushed out of the box and down to the field, Patrick dragging you next to him with a handful of your shirt. "Slow down!" You laughed at him. "You're dating a Super Bowl winner, there's no slowing down now!" He exclaimed back at you. You felt the warm flush of giddiness and pride. Justin was a Super Bowl winner. Your boyfriend. Your lovely boyfriend. When you made it down, the field and sidelines were already flooded with family and friends. A sea of red and blue. You were sure the pure, unadulterated joy radiating off of you was salt in the wound for the Chiefs players, but the moment you locked eyes with your boyfriend you didn't care. In a surge of energy, you raced towards him, your large smile somehow growing even bigger. When you reached him, you didn't even care that he reeked or that his pads were wet with sweat. He picked you up on impact and twirled you around. "You won," you told him. When he put you down, he kissed you quickly but passionately. "I'm so proud of you, babe." You said. "I love you." "I love you too." He said, smiling down at you. That damned height. His family caught up, hugging him and crying and showering him with love and congratulations. Once their excitement had faded a little, Justin wrapped an arm around you and pulled you into his side. He pressed his lips into your hair and mumbled something. "What?" You asked, pulling away. "Marry me." He said clearly this time. You froze. His eyebrows lifted as he waited for your answer, a shit-eating grin uncurling on his face. You couldn't think of what to say except for "What?" "Marry me." He repeated. His words sounded so sure, and the way he was looking at you- You reached up a hand and grabbed the front of his pads to pull him down to kiss you. This time not short, but definitely just as passionate. "Yes," You told him against his lips, "Of course I will." "Woah! Slow it down on the PDA, Justin." His dad laughed. Justin pulled away from you. "Sorry, dad." He apologized, "Just excited." "Don't let the Super Bowl get to your head," Mitch joked, reaching up to slap his little brother lightly on the back of the head. "It's not just that," Justin began, "I just kind of.." he scratched the back of his neck, unsure how to explain it. He looked to you for help. "I think we just got engaged?" You said, not breaking your gaze away from his. Holly let out a yelp of excitement, but Patrick beat it by a mile. "I call best man!" He yelled without missing a beat. From near you, Sebastian's head turned. "What did I just hear about a best man?" He asked. Justin rolled his eyes and groaned like the question annoyed him. Underneath it all, he was bursting with the anticipation of telling everyone. He had been pondering when to ask for months. There was a ring in the drawer of his bedside table that had been waiting for him to finally propose. But of course, he had to choose the spontaneous moment that felt right. He wished you had a ring to show off to the boys, but instead, he just had to tell them, "We're engaged!" The team exploded with cheers and congratulations, all still riding the high of the win. Still under his arm, you looked up at your now-fiancee with a sly grin. "Go shower and get changed. You and I are in for a very fun night." You told him under your breath. His eyes widened and his eyebrows raised in a cheeky expression. "You're on," He retorted, beginning to walk away. "But don't forget baby, I'm a Super Bowl winner! It'll be a fun month." You ignored the curious glances his family and teammates gave you at his comment and tried to hide your bright red cheeks.

#adoristsposts #justin herbert #justin herbert fluff #justin herbert x reader #justin herbert fanfic #my little princess (he's 6'6 and 236lbs)#nfl #nfl fic #my bbg idk what else to say #anon ask

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lostloveletters · 8 months ago

Text

Big Girls Don't Cry (Bucky Egan x OC)

Summary: After a night out spirals out of control, Holly thinks she's doomed to be a haunted house. Bucky’s brave enough to let the light in.

Note: An angsty first kiss for Holly and Bucky…I’m so overwhelmed by the response to the MotA fics I’ve posted so far, thank you so much🖤 There's going to be a parallel Woody/Brady-centric fic to this, which is why I included a decent ensemble here lol. Do not interact if you're under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: Descriptions of a panic attack and related self-inflicted injuries; mentions of death and grief (hurt/comfort). Inevitable historical inaccuracies. Ends on a somewhat suggestive note, but nothing explicit.

Holly was exhausted when Bucky asked her to go to the pub in town with him and some of the other pilots that evening. She initially hesitated, but between his near insisting and her notion that a break from the base would do her good, she accepted the invitation. When she found Woody later on to ask if she was going, Brady had already invited her, a light blush spreading across Woody’s face when she told Holly. The overall group of seven required pushing two tables together and stealing some empty chairs.

“Holly, your drink’s on me. I got $4.50 when you won the last typing contest,” Bucky said.

“You bet on it?” Buck asked.

“I knew she’d win.”

“Beat her own record,” Woody added.

Buck shook his head, smiling a bit. Holly liked Buck a lot, especially the way his face lit up when she asked him about Marge. Seemed to be physically lighter, too, like the weight of being one of the de facto leaders of the 100th was off of his shoulders for that moment in time. He’d get almost flustered if he realized he was rambling, apologizing for taking up so much of her time talking about his girl even though she was the one who asked him.

“Which is why I’m buying my sailor a dark ‘n’ stormy, and the rest of you are on your own.”

She laughed, “Thanks, Bucky.”

‘My sailor.’ He had taken to calling her after they listened to the Nationals-Yankees game together. But she apparently inherited her sailorship from Stan, her preference for rum and penchant for cursing around Bucky (and few others), made him designate her so.

Nevermind she had only been on a boat a handful of times, one of which was the ship that brought her over to England from New York, and no, she didn’t know any sea shanties. He took it upon himself to learn one from a local laborer who worked on schooners at the turn of the century. Of course, Bucky had been drunk when he tried to teach her the song, remembering half of the lyrics and ad-libbing the rest. She left the singing to him.

She still had one secret–an anchor tattoo on her upper arm. An impulsive decision she and Stan made together when she accompanied him to San Francisco the week he shipped out to the Pacific. The same week she met Woody, and the rest of her life started before she could blink.

Being in the pub with everyone was the most normal she’d felt in a while. She hoped could finally shake whatever stormy clouds had made their home in her mind over the past year.

“Hey Holly, you’re from DC, right?” Curt asked abruptly. “You ever meet the President? See him around the neighborhood or something?”

She laughed. “No, unfortunately I’ve never run into President Roosevelt at the drug store.”

“How would he even do that? He’d get mobbed,” Crank said.

Woody nodded. “He’s probably got a mean security detail, too.”

“Well he can’t spend all day in the White House!”

“Why not? Heard they got a bowling alley in there,” Buck said.

“Woody, I’ll get you a beer?” Brady asked, his voice low among the clamor of what President Roosevelt did for fun in the nation's capital.

“Thanks, John.”

Holly sneaked a glance at her best friend when Brady stood up and headed over to the bar. She wasn’t sure if Woody had told him that Holly knew about them. There were few, if any secrets between Holly and Woody, and guys were certainly no exception.

“Look, if I were the president, I’d wanna know my neighbors,” Curt said.

“If you were president,” Buck repeated, toothpick between his teeth as he smiled. “Listen to him.”

“Hey, anybody can run,” Curt said. “That’s what it says in the Bill of Rights or something.”

“That doesn’t mean you should,” Crank said.

“You got my vote, Curt,” Bucky announced, setting his and Holly’s drinks on the table.

“Thanks, Bucky. You’ll be my VP.”

Bucky grinned, sitting next to Holly. His arm settled on the back of her seat, his fingers brushing the ends of her curly hair.

The next few minutes was a game of musical chairs as everyone else came and went with their drinks of choice, Brady taking the seat next to Woody as soon as it was open.

Holly found herself leaning against Bucky as she drank, nursing her dark ‘n’ stormy with the intent of making it last until it was time to leave. He was the only person she felt comfortable enough to be in such close contact with besides Woody. He felt like sitting next to the radiator in her childhood bedroom, and she nearly nodded off after some time, Buck and Bucky in the middle of some conversation she couldn’t follow.

Curt returned to the table with what must have been his third or fourth beer of the night.

“Hey Bucky, some of these blokes are lookin’ to play darts,” he said, motioning behind him.

Bucky nodded. “Hope they’re ready to cover my tab.” He threw back his whiskey and gave Holly’s shoulder a gentle squeeze as he got up. “C’mon, doll.”

Holly didn’t remember much of what happened between then and when she heard it. An entire chunk of time morphed into a hazy blur in her mind. Vaguely remembered cheering for Bucky and Curt. Then Curt called an RAF pilot an asshole, and a fight nearly broke out before fizzling down by the grace of god. Or maybe Buck stepped in. Bucky had something to her before his turn, an aside she laughed at, but couldn’t recall.

Different conversations around her jumbled with one another, stringing together in a cruel way only her own mind could conjure up for her. She heard him clear as day.

“Stan?” she whispered, her voice crazed with illogical hope.

Her heart raced. She looked frantically around the room for a sign—any sign of him.

But Stan was dead. There’d been a funeral with a body. His mother wept over the open casket. Her own mother had written as much. Sent her the funeral program which remained hidden among her belongings.

She kept the accompanying memorial card on her person at all times. A nice photo of Stan in uniform. His full name. Dates of birth and death. A bible verse and a little mention of his service in the Navy.

Stan was dead. Had been for over a year.

Her chest tightened, pulling like a rubber band about to snap. As the room closed in on her, she barrelled through the pub patrons, paying no mind to who was in her path, only that they were between her and a door.

The cool night air shocked her skin, but it wasn’t enough to snuff out the burning in her lungs. Panic overtook her brain. With a strangled shout, she curled her fist, unleashing months of unspoken grief directly onto the brick wall in front of her. Pain struck her hand like a bolt of lightning, but she could breathe again.

Her knuckles split open, bruises blossoming across her fingers in the darkness. “Fuck!” she shouted, both in pain and disbelief at herself. “Motherfuck–”

The alley door slammed open, chaos from the bar ringing in her ears as she looked wide-eyed at the person who interrupted her. A tense mortification swept over her body.

She’d been doing so well. Kept the self-destructive thoughts at bay. Used to chew on her bottom lip until it bled, the pain of broken skin and taste of copper strangely grounding when her mind wandered too far. Hadn’t done in it months. But she never exploded. Not quite like this.

Bucky stumbled forward, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. “Holly?” he asked, his gaze drifting down to her hand. “Jesus, what happened?”

Of course he would be the one to witness her breakdown. She wished it were Woody, but she sure as hell didn’t want to ruin her best friend’s night out with her boyfriend either.

Woody was used to it. Holly was always too embarrassed to go to a nurse, so Woody would sit her down and carefully apply petroleum jelly to Holly’s raw lips, eyebrows knit together in concerned concentration as her fingers brushed across the cracked, scabbed over skin. Didn’t care if she had been working for over twelve hours straight or was in the middle of something else.

But Bucky wasn’t Woody, and she never wanted him to see her like this.

Holly stared at him, trembling as he took a tentative step toward her. Tears welled up in her eyes. She frantically rubbed at them with her sleeve. She let out a shaky breath.

“Holly,” he repeated. “Are you alright?”

“I felt like I was going to explode in there so I came out here and…” She flexed her injured hand and winced. “I heard someone talking. He sounded just like Stan.” She swallowed a lump in her throat, feeling more pathetic as she explained herself. “I guess my wires got crossed.”

“Hey, it happens,” he tried assuring her. “You think you’re the only one?”

Holly shook her head. “Even when I got the letter last year, I still showed up and did what I had to do. Didn’t miss a day.” She was silent for a moment. “I don’t know why tonight was so different.”

“Don’t beat yourself up over it.” He took her bruised hand, whispering an apology when she hissed in pain. Examined it as best as he could in the cover of night. “At least not any more than you already have.”

“I punched a brick wall. I’m not gonna be able to type tomorrow,” she said, quickly adding, “I can’t go to a nurse. They’ll ask what happened, and I’d rather crawl in a hole somewhere.”

He shook his head. “C’mon, I’ll patch up that hand for you. It’s probably not even that bad.”

“Don’t cut your night short because of me.”

Briefly, almost enough to convince her it was just a trick of the moonlight, he looked uncharacteristically sheepish. “It’s the least I can do for making you come out tonight.”

“Bucky, you didn’t make me do anything. I don’t want to be some wilting flower who’s too afraid to keep living. Stan wouldn’t have wanted that for me. I just wish my brain would get the message.”

“Well, I’m sure Stan wouldn’t have wanted you to walk all the way back by yourself if you didn’t have to,” he said.

She smiled weakly. “Yeah, he’d chew me out for that.”

So would Bucky, if this had happened and he hadn’t found her. If she walked back to Thorpe Abbotts alone in the dead of night with nothing but the stars to keep her company. She never cared for them, especially not after Stan. They gave the night glistening teeth that tore her apart far too often for her to be comfortable beneath them.

“Hey, what about darts?” she asked, a good distance away from the pub.

“I pulled Crank in. He can hold his own. Besides, if there’s an angry bartender hunting me down on the base tomorrow, you could probably hold him off for me,” he joked, lightly elbowing her side. “You got one hell of a hook.”

“Stan taught me.”

“He taught you how to fight?”

“Sort of, but he was probably thinking more along the lines of self-defense instead of getting into fights with brick walls.”

“That wall had it coming. If you didn’t punch it, I probably would’ve.”

She huffed out a laugh. “Will you tell that to Chick so he doesn’t kill me tomorrow?”

“He’s not gonna kill you. Might be pissed that his best typist is gonna be out of commission for a few days, though.”

“I can still proofread. Or sort mail. Or—“

“Let me worry about that, alright?”

Holly hesitated. “Alright.”

—————

Bucky had the keys to the Air Exec office, empty for the night, and sat Holly down at her desk. He disappeared for a few minutes, but returned with an armful of peroxide bottles, absorbent cotton, and a roll of gauze.

“Geez Bucky, don’t waste all of that on me.”

“If I brought you to a nurse, they’d use it on you, anyway.”

He pulled up a chair, his knees touching hers as he took a closer look at her hand beneath a desk lamp. His eyebrows furrowed as he considered the dried blood, cuts that had already begun to scab over, and a particularly gnarly knuckle that didn’t sit quite right.

“I don’t think it’s broken, but one of your knuckles got dislocated. I’m gonna clean your hand and then pop it back into place.”

“Fuckin’ A,” she said. “I learned that from Stan, too.”

“Do you know what that means?”

“No. Neither did he.”

He snickered, grabbing the peroxide and some cotton. “What was Stan like, anyway? Sounds like an interesting guy from what you told me.”

“Stan was…” She paused. Nobody asked her about Stan. All anyone knew was what little she offered. What was he like? “He cursed like a—well, he was a sailor. Of course he was a Nationals fan. Loved detective novels. We’d have ones we’d read together and see who could figure out the big plot twist first. His front tooth was chipped, but god, he had the best smile. I’m talking serious wattage—“

“Wattage?” Bucky repeated incredulously.

“Okay, I made that up—think electric! He could light up a whole room with just his smile,” she emphasized with a smile of her own. “You know what I mean?”

He glanced up from her hand to her face for a moment. “Yeah, I do.”

“What else…we had this goofy thing going where we’d play tic-tac-toe in our letters to each other. I started doing that because I’m not great at writing letters. I never know what to say, but I wanted him to still look forward to getting them from me.”

“How’d you meet him?”

“I just started secretarial school when he got a job at this fish market up the street from my house. I remember thinking he was so handsome, he almost looked out of place,” Holly said, her voice soft for a moment. “Well, I’d spend so much time there that my mom would complain about how awful I smelled by the time I got home. I asked him out first.”

Bucky laughed. “You’re kidding.”

A wide grin spread across her face. “I wanted to make him mine before he could even think about another girl, so I went in one day and said, ‘When are you gonna take me to see a movie?’ Most guys wouldn’t have liked that, but Stan got a kick out of it. He’d tell the story to anyone who’d listen.” She paused. “I think what really scares me is that at some point, I’ll remember him for longer than I knew him, and I’m always gonna be…like this.”

“I’m gonna set your knuckle back in place now,” Bucky said, his voice low, almost contemplative.

Holly tensed, staring at the ceiling while Bucky pushed against her bruised knuckles. Bone clicked back into place. She groaned. Clenched her good hand into a fist, blinking away tears.

“Barely flinched,” he said. “You’re tougher than you give yourself credit for, doll.”

She smiled. “Thanks, Bucky.”

They were quiet as he finished bandaging her hand. The room was almost chatty though, buzzing overhead lights, ticking clock on the wall, a leaky pipe somewhere. Among them, a thought broke free from the confines of Bucky’s mind.

“Stan was lucky to have a girl like you waiting for him.”

Glassy brown eyes, wavering with the weight of the world, stared back at him in silence.

He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Holly. I shouldn’t have—”

She kissed him, her bandaged hand caressing his cheek. Weeks of silently longing, lusting, and wondering, answered in full as she moved her lips against his. Nearly forgot to kiss her back until he felt her pulling away.

He placed his hand over her bandaged one, still tenderly cupping his face. The gauze was rough against his skin, a contrast to the pads of her fingers. He curled his fingers around hers, her blunt nails lightly scraping against his cheek.

She gasped against his lips. “John.”

A shiver rolled down his spine as he brushed his thumb over the bandage he’d just finished wrapping, her knuckle that he set back in place for her. All for her. And she kissed him first.

‘I wanted to make him mine.’

Mine.

Her dulcet tone echoed in his head until he couldn’t think of anything but kissing her again, offering himself to her as the sole object of her affection.

Mineminemineminemine. “Holly, baby—” He was trying so hard to be coherent, nearly choking on his words until finally uttering, “I’m all yours.”

#bucky egan x oc #john egan x oc #bucky egan x ofc #john egan x ofc #masters of the air #bucky egan #john egan #masters of the air x oc #mota x oc #mota oc #masters of the air oc #ch: holly

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mulders-too-large-shirt · 4 months ago

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s3 episode 4 thoughts

here we are!!! i actually turned off auto caps on my phone for this; that’s how serious this blog is getting. don't worry, i'll probably remember to turn it back on before i send an important email.

i haven’t seen an ep in a few days and i feel like it has been 80 years. the last episode wasn’t the greatest, so our time apart feels even longer.

this episode is about a guy named clyde. clyde bruckman is a hell of a name. i’m expecting a real cowboy. a guy who knows his way around a horse. he probably spits chew in a certain fashion. we shall see if i’m correct.

(editor's note: op found that clyde was not a cowboy, but something just as special... a friend <3)

we open with a man reading a magazine article on predictions, written by a celebrity psychic. we later learn that this fellow doing the reading is, in fact, clyde bruckman. and elvis being dead but buddy holly being alive has got to be one of the greatest theories i’ve ever heard. i WILL incorporate this into my belief system.

allegedly, buddy holly is going to open at a big music festival. and this is how i learn that lollapalooza was a thing even before chappell roan visited... but we all know that when she steps on that stage in a few short weeks it will blow anything secretly alive buddy holly could have cooked up in his wildest dreams. "the night the music died" <- crazy thing to say about a time before miss roan was even born. anyway...

bruckman ran into someone in the street. feels like a chekov’s gun moment but who knows.

hint: it was!

now the clumsy man is at the psychic. and he says he saw his own future and he seem himself doing things that are “out of character”. now that's suspicious~

OH??? clumsy man just killed the fortune teller and says she should have seen this coming. HUH???? clumsy murder man needs to be punished …our psychics deserve federal protection.

we are at the scene of a murder. a different murder, because this one did NOT take place in the psychic's room. “they say the eyes capture the last thing a murder victim sees” “so what do they say about the entrails?” “yuck” LMAO i giggled a little….

they’re talking about some guy in vague terms, that he’s “unorthodox” and “a kook”, and then mulder walks in and it looks like they’re talking about him but the investigator says “who the hell are you” HAHAHA that got me as well

so the murderer left behind the eyeballs and scully says that they made a profile for the killer and i’m thinking yaaaaay they worked together <3 i love that spooky mulder, the well-established profiling expert, is willing to collaborate. but with her only.

and also the house is filled with porcelain dolls

mulder knowing the professional name for the people who read tea leaves… unfortunately i love him so bad.

THEN the real star of the show rolls up. it’s the psychic from the cover of the magazine we saw clyde reading earlier. CROWDED w paparazzi. he's got a vague european accent going on here. hold up is that jon favreau in the background. i received no clarification on if that was him or not.

psychic is describing a guy who could be literally anyone “white man with facial hair… or not” “tattoo somewhere on his body” wow king of specifics. it's like he's in the room with us. /s

the agents are watching him do this and share a glance and i want it on a poster it’s sooo cute <3

celebrity psychic says he lost the vision from negative energy and then gets right up in the agent’s faces. they handle it pretty well, all things considered. because i would be telling him to back tf up.

he asks mulder to LEAVE!!!! he has been diagnosed with negative energy. she leans in and says “i can’t take you anywhere” LMAOOOO so he stands outside and then the psychic says that skeptics like mulder make him sick. yeah i laughed!!! so what!

description of our guy: “white male, 17-34, with or without a beard, maybe a tattoo, who is impotent” <- wow.

back to the clyde cam. he's selling insurance. telling some guy that he is going to die in a car crash. well this is an effective life insurance sales policy. or not, because he doesn’t close the deal!! sure would have worked on me.

back home, he takes out some moldy cabbage that looks like a guy’s head into the trash. takes out his neighbor’s trash as well, and sees a vision of the dog eating her remains. (sabrina brier voice) oh!!!

(wait i just realized i reference that video all the time and have never cited my sources. if you are unfamiliar with the legendary "oh!" moment please click here)

back to the plot at hand.

clyde asks if his neighbor has enough dog food. thoughtful man. BUT he sees a body in the trash!

this episode is making me giggle <- don't remember what prompted that note but it was true.

clyde, who reported the murder, says that he knew the eyes were cut out, but she was found face down... so. how do you know that. site your sources. “well it just figures”, he says, and it absolutely, and i cannot emphasize this enough, does not

they bring him to… a murder scene. dun dun dun!

he thinks they're pranking him and asks to see their identification again (sees mulder’s badge) “i’m supposed to believe that’s a real name?” yeah get him again for me.

he sees blood at the crime scene and throws up which... yeah. that’s pretty messed up. he emerges from throwing up and starts saying and doing the same things as the earlier psychic. but then he starts getting... a bit more specific. allegedly, the woman was having sex with the killer before she met her end.

“well then, what’s wrong?” “sometimes, it just seems that everyone’s having sex except for me” LMAOOOOOOOOO clyde you are too real

scully looks soooo confused and i love it

all of a sudden, he sees one of the many dolls as a bloated corpse head, and announces where they’ll find the body then… hands the doll to mulder. which is not the first time we have seen him holding a doll. it is an interesting visual. what are they trying to tell us??

scully isn’t buying it. why does clyde know all this stuff? “i don’t believe he’s the killer”, says mulder, and she responds with, “i don’t believe he’s psychic” yeah that’s the dynamic i love. and she is sooooo pretty.

mulder goes to the dude’s house and he knows exactly what is going on. but then clyde seems shocked it's him so we are getting mixed messages here.

he asks mulder if he wants to know how he’s going to die, and mulder says yes after stuttering a little and i’m like WOAH where is this going… but clyde responds with “no you don’t”, which, okay yeah, i don’t think i could handle that either

(he goes on to try and sell mulder insurance)

clyde says the future is inevitable. or if he does get involved… what if there is the whole butterfly effect thing? and then he immediately agrees to going along with the investigation. king of not having an answer. the indecisive representation we deserve.

mulder you’re so pretttttyy... look at him watching clyde touch some brass frogs and base conclusions off of them.

scully arrived at the door as mulder has his head FLAT ON THE TABLE lmaoooo

so, it appears that clyde can ONLY tell how people are going to die. nothing else. now is that useful to this investigation? it's arguable. maybe they can find an angle.

clyde says that the scrap of fabric he’s holding comes from mulder’s new york knick’s t shirt (which was a thing that happened in 1x13 when he was testing that other psychic!!!! ohhhh i remember! do not think i forgot!! and i was confused as to why he would have a knick’s shirt if he was from new england... perhaps he knows no loyalty to geography when it comes to sport)

but mulder denies that it is his shirt anyway, so.

they found keychains on the bodies, and clyde is going on about all the personal information of whoever owned said keychains. it turns out he just sold the guy an insurance policy a few months ago lmaooo... but he knows he was murdered! the death power strikes again.

scully is driving. clyde is in the passenger seat. mulder is sticking his head in between them, asking how he receives his psychic transmissions. it's funny. he wants to know how being a psychic works! so is it like, visions, or dreams or something?

he then implies that mulder will die by autoerotic asphyxiation <- HELLO????? he looks at scully after receiving this news. as if she can possibly defend him against such an accusation.

they’re in the forest looking for a body and clyde explains he knew “the big bopper” was going to die.

scully says she doesn’t believe in that stuff, and even if she did, she wouldn’t believe that story. damn, just really going for his throat, huh. he seems to believe her indignation is over the fact that he liked the big bopper better than buddy holly and he defends himself.

they try to get the car out and mulder’s suit gets all dirty (this is sad to me, a mulder suit enjoyer) but gasp!!! the car is RIGHT OVER THE BODY. that has to be bad for finding evidence. so he did know exactly where it was!!!!

they have a thread from the scene, and have presented it to clyde. “but don’t you have crime labs that analyze these things for you?” he asks scully “yes. yes we do” (pointed glare at mulder) LMAOOOO but he says it takes time!!! and they still haven't analyzed the other thread. so please please please just give your powers a go.

he doesn’t want to help out, but mulder says he wants some insurance. on the fiber, not actual life insurance :( clyde was so excited to tell him the benefits of general mutual!!!

clyde is describing mulder being stalked by the killer sometime in the future, and all of a sudden scully’s up and asking him for more details like she believes it. awww. it’s sweet in a way. does she believe in psychics? no. is she still gonna take detailed notes when one says mulder is in any slight danger? yeah. and don't worry about that seeming to contradict her belief system. she is complicated beyond simple characterizations of skeptic or believer.

he seems to think that the killer will slit mulder’s throat at the investigation, but he doesn’t want to tell him. he DOES tell him that he will step on a pie before whatever happens to him, happens to him.

thank you to the subtitles for clarifying that clyde was imitating johnny carson because they reference would have been lost on me. i know, i’m uncultured, i’m sorry. i’ll google it though. okay, as i thought, he was a late night host. see? we get an exchange of knowledge on this blog, i learn about johnny carson's way of pronouncing the word "killer" and you can use sabrina brier's "oh" in conversation now.

it seems the killer sent clyde a letter saying he’ll kill him. and he’ll be dead before they can get him help :( noooo i like mr bruckman!!! :(

back to the killer. he’s getting a tarot reading and says he’s looking for a guy he’s gonna kill. the man doing the tarot reading smiles nervously, because what do you say in such a situation.

they seem to have bought clyde a pie after his earlier ramblings on the subject, and he kindly asks scully if she wants some, but she denies because she must study background checks instead of relying upon visions. he asks if she is jealous. a good banter between them.

back at the tarot place, the reader mentions a woman. MAYBE A REDHEAD...? stay away from her…

clyde is going on about seeing himself in bed with scully. HELLO??? “it’s just a very special moment neither of us will ever forget” huh. laughs nervously. what the fuck. is she gonna find him dead or do we need to call HR.

(cries editing this, now that i know how the episode ends)

it seems the tarot card guy is about to get murdered. but back at the hotel room with clyde and scully, they’re playing cards and she’s talking about moby dick and macbeth misinterpreting prophecies...

but despite the denial, SHE ASKS HIM HOW SHE DIES??? he says “you don’t” and that is exactly what i like to hear <3

she seemed really serious about it too, like she didn’t want to admit that she was curious, initially deflecting. oh best believe i WILL psychoanalyze that.

LMAOOO okay so this is the episode where mulder says the “chantilly lace” line and she makes that face. he's referring to another thread found at a murder scene, but i saw it in a gif and i have been thinking about it since then.

she slaps his chest with the file and says good luck as he goes to babysit the old man psychic. it was very affectionate. do it again.

mulder is in bed. it’s sleepover time with the old man. “you’re not one of those people that turns everything into a sexual symbol, are you?”, clyde asks, seemingly self-conscious about revealing his recurring dream. mulder says no, but i’m unconvinced.

anyway, he talks about seeing himself dead, and how his body fades away. we see a cgi decomposing body and it’s quite gnarly. maybe it's clay? and all his skin faded away and he becomes bones. kinda gross tbh. but he says he feels at peace.

there’s been another murder, so another guy is gonna babysit our clyde, and i’m thinking noooo don’t trust this other guy!!

scully says she feels bad, that clyde has convinced himself he is a psychic and it’s taken all the joy out of his life :(

okay, the guy babysitting him seems to be telling him jokes. clyde says he won’t die of lung cancer so he lights up. and i'm thinking, buddy, he did not rule out emphysema.

hang on. that is a lighter we have seen before. in the hands of old lady who shall be eaten by dogs. now is this a mass produced object or are we about to witness the end of clyde!!!!

“don’t open that door for anybody”, says the babysitter, and clyde then immediately proceeds to do so. and who is it knocking but the psychic killer delivering their room service!!!

killer is asking clyde why he does these things and it’s “because you’re a homicidal maniac” well that would explain it! and then he stabs the babysitter. but clyde has delayed his fate by telling the murder he doesn’t kill him now. seems he believes him. clever thinking.

scully realizes that the killer is the bellhop at the hotel after seeing some more lace. which mulder describes as “woman’s intuition” yea <3

back at the hotel. mulder is in the kitchen. he sees the killer with the knife. it is all going down as clyde described it. now if there really is a pie do NOT BE DISTRACTED. OH there is a pie. and he knows he has to turn around, so he turns THE OTHER WAY. noooo!!!!!

they get in a struggle!!! mulder’s bleeding, and scully gets off the elevator just in time. she shoots the murderer. no hesitation on taking a life, she will kill a motherfucker for mulder. i love that about her.

and scully only got there because she took the wrong elevator!!! more pondering on the meaning of fate!!!!!

i love when one of these bitches is on the floor in pain and the other comes over and comforts them. i think i need that in my life just once. it would heal me.

but the question is: where is bruckman?

they go to find him and they only find a dog tied to the door?? and a letter to scully. it’s the dog from before, the neighbor's pet. the letter from clyde says to take care of his neighbor's remains. and he asks if she wants a dog, and that you can’t blame him for the dog’s actions. so they go into the room.

BUT IT IS BRUCKMAN THAT IS DEAD IN THERE. it looks he took pills and suffocated himself. scully looks so so so so so sad.

AND OMG!!! SHE IS HOLDING HIS HAND WHILE HE IS IN BED AND CRYING. JUST LIKE HE SAID WOULD HAPPEN. WAIT THIS IS SO SAD.

so that must be why he say a head in a bag at the start of the episode, it was his own death... and the killer was right, he did get to clyde before he was caught, he just didn't attack him. huh. funny how prophecies play out.

cutscene to her on the couch WITH THE DOG IN HER LAP. and an ad from the earlier eastern european psychic is on the tv. she throws the phone at him.

A DOG!!! a dog. okay, a lot to think about, but first and foremost we have scully with a dog <3 and it sits in her lap while she watches TV. and it MAY have tasted human flesh, which i feel is a hard thing to get past, but clearly she has done it. she has done the emotional labor of knowing that fuzzball knows what human meat feels like. and she has faith that this dog will not do the same to her. that is an awful lot of trust for a new dog. but we do know she loves animals. so perhaps she trusts the puppy.

i always pictured her with a big ol mutt from the pound. but a little dog can be just as good of a friend. and it WAS a rescue. that is important!

okay. back to the episode at hand, dog aside. even though it is a BIG deal to me and i'm honestly being so brave by not going on a monologue about what scully having a dog means to me. this episode was definitely comedic, and like the earlier comedic episode, i liked it a lot! but the ending made me so sad :( it was a pretty abrupt tone shift.

still. the episode was SO good. i kept pausing every few seconds to write things down because they made me laugh or otherwise intrigued me (thinking of scully playing cards and explaining macbeth. or chantilly lace line. or "i can't take you anywhere". i will try not to think of mulder's potential death by choking himself for my own sanity)

and i liked clyde a lot. we get a lot of one time characters who we will never see again and so it’s good when those characters make an impact in the short amount of time we share with them.

and i’m always gonna take a light-hearted episode, as light-hearted as a show where serial killing is a daily occurrence can be. it does go to show though that there wasn’t always a consistent tone throughout the story. and i do find that interesting. i am part of a generation where we typically get 6 hour long episodes of a tv show per season, and they’re so condensed there is very little time for exploration with genre or tone. in general, i have loathed this about modern television; the death of the filler episode has been lamented by people far more eloquent than myself.

the only thing i dislike about this format- doing a silly episode- is that if the next episode ends up being really dark it’s like, woah man, the whimsy, where did it go? last season we got humbug, which was SO fresh and funny, and then within the first 3 minutes of the next episode, a baby was killed by a train. so i lowkey got whiplash. but then again, i watched those episodes back to back, so maybe having a week between them seeing them air as they hit TV would have softened the blow. feel free to chime in with your theories on the nature of genre and how pacing of episode viewing effects that experience.

overall, a very good episode. i rank it up with humbug as one of my favorites, which is again funny, because i love the extreme angst and the silly. i paused to take so many notes because i liked so many things that i think i should someday rewatch it again and get a smoother experience haha

#now i'm pondering on the explorations in tone a 24 episode season of television allows you to have #is there a constant tone in this show? beyond the spooky? how would i describe it to a friend? all questions i am asking #i meant that i said about scully not being as simple as falling into mere “skeptic” or “believer” categories btw #i don't think she will fully admit it to herself but that's a conversation for another day when she's ready to have it #because clearly at this point in time she isn't.#but there have been things and i notice them. that is all.#there is a dog now which is huge.#but who will care for it when she must fly off to some sad little motel to investigate the latest grisly tragedy?#maybe her friend that plays the cello will come and let her out. maybe her mom if she's in the area still. a dog is good for the soul.#especially because she just lost missy.... no i'm sad now :((#juni's x files liveblog #the x files #txf

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bradshawsbaby · 2 years ago

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Looks Like Christmas

Pairing: Rooster x Wife!Reader

Author’s Note: This is another contribution to @notroosterbradshaw’s #hello december playlist challenge! It was inspired by Michael Bublé’s version of It’s Beginning To Look a Lot Like Christmas. Cass, thank you so much again for putting together this challenge! It’s been such a fun way to celebrate my favorite time of year with some of my favorite characters!

For those who read it, see if you can spot the reference to Underneath the Tree in this one!

Warnings: Enough Bradshaw family fluff to give you a toothache.

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas Toys in every store But the prettiest sight to see is the holly that will be On your own front door

Humming softly along with the Christmas music that was jingling from the speakers of the entertainment system, you leisurely made yet another lap around the Christmas tree, carefully arranging the string of multi-colored lights across the dark green boughs in a way that would maximize the twinkling effect once all was said and done.

It was a slow process, made all the slower by the fact that you kept stopping every couple minutes to take a few steps back and admire your handiwork from across the living room, but you didn’t mind. Stringing the lights on the Christmas tree was actually one of your favorite parts of the decorating process, right behind actually getting to decorate the tree. What other people, including your own husband, found to be an incredibly boring and tedious chore, you found peaceful and relaxing. Getting completely swept up in your task, you would have had no idea how much time had even passed, had it not been for the fact that you were keeping a mental tab of how many Christmas songs had played since you’d gotten started.

By the time you finally reached the bottom of the tree, the familiar strains of It’s Beginning To Look a Lot Like Christmas had just started swirling around the living room. Moving to the other side of the room, you crossed your arms over your chest and tilted your head to the side, eyeing the tree critically.

You rather had to agree with Michael Bublé. It was beginning to look a lot like Christmas. And you absolutely loved it.

Yesterday had been a complete and total whirlwind, with it being Nick’s first Thanksgiving and all. You’d been frantic about making the day as special and memorable as possible, on top of seeing family and friends, to the point that Bradley had forced you to go sit down on the couch and actually enjoy the time you had with your four-month-old son.

“Honey, I know you have your heart set on it, but we don’t have to decorate the apartment for Christmas tomorrow,” your husband had told you later that night, once you were both in bed. “You must be exhausted. Why don’t we just take tomorrow to rest?”

“Not decorate for Christmas the day after Thanksgiving?” you blinked, certain you’d misheard him. That was like blasphemy to your ears. You’d been decorating for Christmas the day after Thanksgiving for as long as you could remember, a tradition you’d had no qualms about introducing Bradley to.

Bradley chuckled, kissing your surprised frown away. “Yeah, should have figured I’d get that reaction,” he teased, wrapping an arm around you as the two of you snuggled up under the covers. “It was only a suggestion, babe.”

“Don’t even joke around like that,” you told him, your eyes crinkling in humor as you started to laugh softly. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”

“Sorry, my little Christmas Queen,” Bradley grinned, tucking your head under his chin and pulling you close to his chest.

You were more than happy to proudly wear the moniker of Bradley’s Christmas Queen. Christmas was your very favorite time of year, and nothing brought your heart more joy than bringing the warmth and happiness of the season into your home. Each ornament, each decoration, each little knick-knack that you placed around the apartment told a story—stories from your childhood, stories from Bradley’s childhood, stories from the life the two of you had built together. That was why today was so meaningful to you.

And this Christmas would be the most special one of all, you thought with a smile, lifting the sweet little Baby’s First Christmas ornament that you and Bradley had picked out together, before your precious little bundle of love had even been placed in your arms.

Running your fingers over the delicately embossed bauble, the sound of beloved Christmas carols filling your ears, you didn’t even hear the sound of your husband’s footsteps behind you at first.

“Look who’s up from his nap, just in time to help Mommy decorate the tree,” Bradley’s smiling voice came from behind, wrapping around you like the coziest, most well-loved blanket.

Turning with a bright smile, your heart melted at the sight of Nick sitting up in Bradley’s arms, eagerly reaching out to you with a large, gummy grin.

“There are my boys!” you cooed, carefully placing the ornament you’d been holding down on the coffee table and hurrying over to your two favorite guys, holding your hands out to your son. “Did you get a good nap? Huh?” you asked in a sing-song voice, tickling Nick’s belly lightly before taking him into your arms.

“Well, it was alright,” Bradley yawned, stretching his arms over his head. “Oh, you were talking to him,” he added with a teasing smirk.

You rolled your eyes playfully, pressing a kiss to the top of Nick’s head. “Listen to Daddy, huh? Already with the bad dad jokes,” you stage-whispered to your son in a conspiratorial voice.

“I heard that. Don’t listen to her, Nick. Your old man is a gold mine of comedy,” Bradley insisted, resting a hand on your son’s back as he leaned over to peck your cheek.

“Maybe unintentionally so,” you winked, rocking the baby in your arms as he buried his chubby fingers in your hair and began tugging.

“Sounds like Mommy’s been spending too much time around Uncle Jake,” Bradley sighed, which elicited a loud laugh from you. “See, Nick? I always know how to make her laugh.”

“Mmm, you do,” you nodded, leaning up to peck his lips. “I’m sorry for teasing. You are very funny,” you assured him. “Daddy is very funny,” you added, looking down at Nick.

Your son just babbled incoherently in response, a little bit of drool dripping down his chin in his enthusiasm, which you wiped away with a gentle finger.

“It’s already looking great in here, honey,” Bradley said, hands on his hips as he began gazing around the living room.

Your husband had been an absolute champ getting the tree and all your decorations over to the apartment in time for you to start decorating today. Being that there was only so much room in your apartment, a lot of your stuff had been put in storage, also known as Penny and Mav’s basement. With Mav’s assistance, Bradley had managed to get everything up to your place by the time you’d woken up that morning.

Which is why he’d happily accepted when you’d suggested that he go lay down at the same time you were putting Nick down for his nap.

You didn’t mind getting things set up on your own, content to listen to your favorite Christmas songs as you opened boxes and determined where everything needed to go. But you were glad that your husband and son were here now, ready to help put the most important touches on the tree.

“Thank you,” you beamed, shifting Nick in your arms and gently taking a hold of his hand as he attempted to pull on your necklace, the necklace that Bradley had given you to wear on your wedding day. The necklace that had belonged to Carole. The necklace that you hardly ever took off. “I should especially thank you for being so patient in wrapping up the lights for the tree last year. It made my work so much easier this year,” you laughed, stepping closer to the tree so Nick could look at the lights in question.

Though you loved getting ready for Christmas, you could fully admit that you were not a fan of cleaning up after Christmas. Taking down the decorations was the most depressing day of the year in your book, and you got rather impatient when it came to putting certain things away.

“Honey, you know that’s going to be a disaster come next year,” Bradley had chuckled last January, watching you unwind the lights off the tree and throw them into a heap on the floor. “Let me wrap them up,” he said, patiently winding them around his arm until they were bound in perfect, neat little loops.

“My knight in shining armor,” you told him, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Every Christmas Queen needs one,” he winked, capturing your lips with his own.

“Very true,” you laughed, beaming as he helped you put away the rest of the decorations.

“See? I told you a little patience would pay off,” Bradley smirked, pinching your butt playfully.

“Well now you’re officially on light-wrapping duty for the rest of our lives,” you joked, giggling as you adjusted one of the snaps on Nick’s onesie.

“Whatever you say, baby,” Bradley nodded, smiling down at you with a sweetly indulgent twinkle in his eyes. “So should we start decorating then? I know you’ve got us on a strict schedule,” he winked.

“You’re absolutely right about that, Lieutenant. I’m the Admiral when it comes to Christmas decorating in this house,” you teased, jokingly pulling rank.

“Trust me, Nick, we better do what she says,” Bradley warned your son, lifting him out of your arms and settling him against his side. “No one takes decorating more seriously than Mommy.”

“And don’t you forget it,” you smiled, walking back over to the coffee table to pick up the ornament you’d been holding earlier. “Look, sweetie, this ornament is just for you,” you said, holding it out to show Nick. “Daddy and I picked it for you before you were even born. It says Baby’s First Christmas,” you explained, pointing to each word. “That’s you. You’re the baby,” you cooed, poking his belly softly and kissing his nose.

Nick gurgled happily once again, bouncing in Bradley’s arms.

“Oh, yeah, he’s a big fan of that,” Bradley beamed, pressing an affectionate series of kisses to the side of your son’s face in quick succession.

“Do you want to put it on the tree?” you asked with a smile, holding the ornament out to your husband.

“No, you do it, baby,” Bradley insisted, patting Nick’s back gently. “You’re the one who went through hell to bring him into the world. Seems only right,” he added with a lopsided grin.

God, you loved him so much.

“Can’t argue with that logic,” you nodded, winking as you stepped over to the tree and chose a spot right in the center, carefully draping Nick’s ornament over the branch.

“Look at that, buddy. Front and center,” Bradley murmured, pointing enthusiastically at the tree until Nick’s gaze followed the direction of his finger. When your son just stared at the tree, mouth hanging open, Bradley began laughing. “I think he likes it, honey.”

“Do you? Do you like it, sweet boy?” you asked, grinning when you witnessed another luminous smile light up your son’s face. “Do you want to help Mommy and Daddy decorate the rest of the tree?”

Nick let out a loud little babble in response, which you and Bradley took for eager assent.

Decorating the tree took much longer than it had in years past, namely because you and Bradley kept passing the baby back and forth between one another as you grabbed ornaments out of the box and began dispersing them across the branches, stopping every now and then to point out a particularly shiny or interesting looking one to Nick. Your son, the sweet, docile angel that he was, just stared at everything you showed him with wide eyes, seemingly as entranced with Christmas as you had always been.

“Looks like we’ve got another big fan of Christmas in the family,” Bradley winked, setting your son’s bouncer down at the foot of the tree so that the two of you could get a break, while still keeping Nick included in the festivities.

“It’s in the genes. Very powerful stuff,” you replied, your eyes dancing with merriment as you knelt down to carefully settle Nick in the bouncer and strap him in. You smiled and dropped a kiss on his forehead when he began kicking his feet happily.

It was only when you stood back up to continue decorating the tree that you realized the music you’d been playing had come to an end. It had been playing for hours, since you’d first started setting up.

“Oh, baby, can you go turn the music back on?” you called to Bradley from where you were currently standing at the back of the tree.

He didn’t verbally respond, but a moment later, you heard the familiar notes of a classic tune floating across the room once more. And then suddenly, there was a strong pair of arms wrapping around your waist from behind, and a very familiar mustache brushing against your neck as your husband began peppering you with kisses.

“Mmm,” you sighed contentedly, lowering your hands to rest them over Bradley’s forearms and closing your eyes, enjoying the feel of his kisses.

“I love you,” Bradley whispered against your ear, nipping lightly at your earlobe.

“I love you, too,” you whispered back, leaning against his chest and reveling in the feel of his strong, protective arms holding you close.

“I was thinking,” he began slowly, his voice sounding like warm honey as his lips moved against the shell of your ear. “Maybe once Nick is asleep for the night, you and I could have a little private fun by the tree. You know, just like last year,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your ear.

You smirked, though your cheeks flamed at the memory of the time you two had spent under the Christmas tree last December. “Hmm,” you hummed, turning slowly so that you were facing him and wrapping your arms around him. “Only if you can guarantee that you’ve been a good boy this year,” you winked.

“Oh, very,” Bradley nodded eagerly, pecking your lips. “The best.”

“Then I’d say it’s a very strong possibility,” you told him, your lips pressed against his.

The look of absolute victory on your husband’s face made you grin from ear to ear.

“But first we finish decorating,” you told him, wagging a teasing finger in his face.

You didn’t think you’d ever seen him move so quickly to fill in the empty spots on your Christmas tree.

Another hour or two slipped by as you and Bradley put the finishing touches on the tree, and then finished decorating the living room. Between the hot cocoa that Bradley made, the music chiming merrily in the background, the lights twinkling all around, and your sweet baby boy cooing happily in your arms, you couldn’t think of a better day you’d ever had in your life.

At one point, you turned around and saw that Bradley had taken Nick back into his arms, walking him around the tree and pointing out all the different ornaments, and the bright, multi-colored lights. You stopped what you were doing at once, taking this opportunity to just soak in a beautiful, candid moment between the two people you loved more than anything else in the world.

Getting to see Bradley become a father, getting to witness the way he loved your little boy, was a gift that you never wanted to take for granted.

Struck by a sudden burst of inspiration, you hurried over to the drawer where you had left the small Polaroid camera that you had recently purchased. Holding it up to your line of sight, you quickly snapped a photograph, Bradley turning his head to look at you only after you’d done it.

“No paparazzi, please,” he joked, holding up a halting hand in your direction.

“Sorry,” you smirked, lowering the Polaroid as the film popped out. “A hot man with a baby? Too sexy to resist,” you teased.

Pulling the photograph out of the camera, you waved it slightly, giving it a few moments to fully develop. When it did, you looked down at it and beamed. It was a beautiful, perfect shot, and one you would cherish always. Both Bradley’s and Nick’s gazes were transfixed on the Christmas tree, Bradley pointing towards an ornament that had been his when he was a little boy.

“What do you think?” you asked, holding the picture up for him to inspect.

“Oh my God,” Bradley breathed out, eyes widening as he looked down at the picture. He just stared, not saying anything else for a moment.

“What is it?” you asked in confusion, glancing between him and the Polaroid picture several times.

“I have to find something,” Bradley said suddenly, gently placing Nick in your arms and marching deliberately over to the cabinet where you stored all the photo albums in your possession.

“Baby, what is it?” you asked again, stroking the back of your son’s head as Bradley began flipping determinedly through a few older albums.

“Look at this, honey,” he exclaimed suddenly, evidently finding what he had been looking for. “Come look at this,” he told you, moving over to the couch and sitting down.

Curiosity piqued, you sat down beside him, settling Nick comfortably on your lap.

“Look,” Bradley smiled, pointing at a small photograph, almost the same size as the Polaroid you’d just taken. The caption beneath it read Bradley’s First Christmas in Carole’s strong hand.

When your eyes beheld the image that Bradley was pointing to, your breath caught in your throat instantly.

It looked almost identical to the photo you’d just taken of Bradley and your son. The man in the photograph was holding a little boy in his arms, hand lifted as he pointed eagerly at one of the ornaments on the Christmas tree. His bright, laughing smile and mustache were the mirror image of your husband’s, just as the baby boy in the photograph looked like your son in every way.

“It was my mom’s favorite picture,” Bradley said softly, gazing at you as you stared down in shock at the photo of him and his father. “She took it while we were decorating the tree, same as you did just now, honey. I just—I can’t get over how much—look,” he breathed out, laying the photograph you’d just taken next to the picture in the photo album.

The similarity was almost too great to be believed.

“I feel like it’s my parents’ way of saying that they’re here with us,” Bradley whispered, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “With you. With me. With Nick,” he went on, resting a hand on your son’s back. “It’s just—it’s amazing. You’re amazing.”

“Me?” you asked in surprise, eyes widening as you looked up at him. “I didn’t do anything,” you argued, shaking your head slowly.

“Honey, you did everything,” Bradley insisted, cupping your cheek in his hand. “You’ve made this place our home. Everything that we have is so special because of you. And I just want you to know how much I appreciate that. How much I appreciate you. Thank you, baby,” he told you, resting his forehead against yours. “Thank you for being my home.”

You felt tears trickling down your cheeks as you reached up to touch your husband’s face, gazing into his warm brown eyes. “Thank you for being mine.”

Setting the photographs down on the coffee table, Bradley pulled you into his lap, Nick starting to doze off on your chest as the three of you sat bundled up together, taking in the peaceful glow of your newly decorated Christmas tree.

“This is all I ever wanted,” you whispered, laying your head in the crook of his neck as you rested against his chest. “This is all I need for Christmas.”

Bradley smiled, kissing you softly and wrapping his arms around you and Nick. “This is all I need forever.”

#hello december playlist challenge #mr. & mrs. bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #mrs. bradshaw #rooster x wife!reader #rooster x reader #x reader #x female reader #top gun #top gun: maverick #miles teller

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celestemagnoliathewriter · 1 year ago

Text

The Red Pencil

A not-quite-microfic written for @thethreebroomsticksficfest A Very Harry Birthday mini event! Happy birthday Harry!

Harry steps into his Year 5 classroom, tucking his too-large, dingy white shirt into his equally oversized grey trousers. His glasses slide down the bridge of his nose and he pushes them back, looking up at the colorful calendar next to the blackboard.

“Move!” Harry is knocked to the floor by Piers Polkiss, Dudley’s rat-faced friend. Harry deflates; he expected a Dudley-free classroom, as Aunt Petunia demanded her Ickle Diddykins be placed with Mrs Croft, the sought-after Cedar class teacher. Harry is in the Holly class with Miss Turner, a new teacher, who doesn’t notice one of her pupils is rubbing his scraped elbow.

Harry stands, only to be pushed against the wall by another one of Dudley’s friends, Gordon, who laughs and finds a seat next to Piers.

“Is everything all right?” asks a wispy voice. Miss Turner fiddles with her big, beaded necklace and blinks down at Harry. He peers around her, where Piers and Gordon are eyeing him threateningly.

He won’t say a word.

“Yes, Miss Turner,” Harry replies dully. “I slipped when I was looking at the . . .”

“Calendar?”

Harry nods and turns to face the grid, noticing his name printed in one of the squares.

“Why is my name here?” he asks, pointing to the square. His Year 4 teacher always put his name on the blackboard if he misbehaved; Aunt Petunia would lock him in the cupboard all night.

Miss Turner frowns. “Your birthday isn’t on the 31st?”

Harry glances at the calendar once more. He finds Piers’s name in the square reserved for 28 July. An American film about dinosaurs was released that day; Dudley and Piers went to the cinema for it. They returned to taunt Harry, saying that an animated orphan was far better than a real one.

Swallowing the memory, he counts the squares. If Miss Turner’s calendar is correct, his ninth birthday was only three days later.

“I didn’t know I had a birthday.”

“Everyone has a birthday,” Miss Turner says, confused. “Did you forget?”

Other boys and girls are watching them, falling silent. Harry feels his cheeks grow hot. He knew he had to have a birthday, but Aunt Petunia told him she didn’t know when it was, which is why he couldn’t have a birthday party or presents.

“I forgot,” he lies, as Piers and Gordon snicker at each other. Miss Turner shrugs and nudges him toward an open seat near the front.

The school bell rings only a few moments later, sparing Harry from further embarrassment. He keeps his gaze on the date shown in the grid, memorizing it so he won’t forget. 31 July 1980 is my birthday, he thinks repeatedly, wondering what that day was like for his parents. He knows they died when he was already over a year old.

Had his birthday been celebrated once, when they were alive?

“Harry Potter!”

Harry blinks up at Miss Turner. She holds out a red pencil, topped with a star-shaped eraser, wrapped with a golden ribbon. It has a card attached to it, with “Happy Birthday!” printed in big, bold letters.

“Here you are,” Miss Turner says, handing him the pencil. “We’re celebrating everyone who had birthdays in July and August.” She moves onto the next student, Gemma Rollins, whose birthday was two weeks before the start of term. Harry holds the pencil gingerly, the only birthday gift he’s received (that he knows of). He chooses not to write with it. It’s special, just for him, something Dudley can’t take away.

But Piers can take it away, and by lunch, it’s no longer in Harry’s possession. By the end of the day, Gordon snaps it in half and tears the star-shaped eraser in two. The card is in shreds, carried off by the wind.

Harry knows better than to complain. Now that he knows his birthday, he can tell Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon. He won’t get much for his birthday, if Christmas is anything to go by, but something is better than nothing.

It’s much later that day, after Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon have heard about Dudley’s marvelous first day of school, that Harry brings up his discovery. He’s done washing the dishes and finds Aunt Petunia in the garden, trimming the hydrangeas.

“Aunt Petunia?”

“Have you broken something?” she says, snipping a stem with a scowl.

“I found out when my birthday is.” He pushes his glasses up his nose, wishing they fit his face better. “The 31st of July. My teacher, Miss Turner, has a calendar with our birthdays on it.”

Aunt Petunia flinches. “It must be correct.”

“If I know my birthday now, can I get pre—”

“Only good, well-behaved boys get presents,” she snaps, twisting the head of a hydrangea clean off its stem. “Father Christmas doesn’t bring presents to naughty children. Why would naughty boys and girls get presents for their birthdays?”

Harry almost tells her he did get a birthday gift, a pencil, but Piers took it away. “Yes, Aunt Petunia,” he says miserably.

“Go to your cupboard. You’re going to get filthy if you stay out here.”

He shuffles away, avoiding Dudley’s chocolatey smirk and Uncle Vernon’s glare, and throws himself on the thin mattress in the cupboard. He feels something jabbing his side and hopes it’s not a mouse. Turning over, Harry sees the golden ribbon. The red pencil is on his bed, whole and untouched, with its star-shaped eraser and attached card.

With a grin, Harry stores the gift in an empty shoebox at the foot of his bed. He falls asleep, dreaming of flying, a gentle, tinkling laugh, and warm, hazel eyes crinkled with joy.

...

*The Land Before Time (1988) really was released on 28 July 1989 in the UK.

#harry potter #harry james potter #happy birthday harry

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williamprattz · 6 months ago

Text

EDANCY FIC RECS

↳ user williamprattz all time favorite edancy fics

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don't, don't, don't throw it away by roykentt [Completed]

Teen & Up • 72k words

Everyone in Hawkins, Indiana knows of Karen Wheeler’s three rules for raising her three children. Rule number one: No dating until college. Rule number two: Everyone takes care of Holly. The third rule, the most important rule, is to never go to bed angry. The first rule is rather infamous. What happens when Mike Wheeler wants to date one of the new kids in town and the only way to do that is to make his older sister, Nancy, date? Well, naturally, enlist the help of an unlikely student to be the one to try and tempt the angry and elusive Nancy Wheeler out on a date. The only thing Mike and his two best friends have to do in return is make sure that Eddie Munson graduates this year. It shouldn't be hard. Right?

[LINK]

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be my nightfire (while i close my eyes) by sunmaiden [Completed]

Teen & Up • 2k words

What if Nancy Wheeler agreed to join Hellfire club in Lucas’ absence the night of the game?

[LINK]

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Don't look at me like this by Kat_Of_Dresden [Completed]

Not Rated • 1k words

Robin thinks there might be something going on between Eddie and Nancy. Sure they are "just friends".... For now.

[LINK]

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marked for death by paranypmh [Completed]

Explicit • 10k words

better known as the edancy pirate au where they have far too much sexual tension in their sword fights to deal with like normal people

[LINK]

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the princess and the pub by mcplestreet [Completed]

Teen & Up • 16k words

When Steve proposes a plan of escape Nancy is forced to face whether or not the comfortable life she's always known is worth giving up for true love and her best friend.

[LINK]

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When you're near me darling can't you hear me SOS by fandom4fandom [Completed]

General • 2k words

Nancy realizes she's absolutely in love with Eddie Munson.

[LINK]

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The princess and the rockstar by Thecricketsarecalling [Completed]

Mature • 42k words

A slight twist on the series of events leading up to Season 4 of Stranger Things. Nancy knows things are ending with Jonathan, and out of nowhere...Eddie Munson walks into her life and changes everything. Maybe there's something else she's trying to protect when Venca strikes months later.

[LINK]

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can i waste all your time here on the sidewalk? by paranypmh [Completed]

Teen & Up • 3k words

Mike said he would be out of his Hellfire Club meeting at 8:30. Nearly an hour later, Nancy is done waiting for him and goes to find out where the hell he went.

[LINK]

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Sing me to sleep by Kat_Of_Dresden [Completed]

Not Rated • 2k words

Nancy can't sleep, Eddie helps her with his soothing singing voice.

[LINK]

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Pretty Eyed, Pirate Smile by roykentt [Completed]

Mature • 60k words

I know Eddie. He used to DM in Hellfire. Remember? She didn’t. She didn’t remember Eddie Munson or any of the other members of the band. But she knew the story. She knew that the moment their drummer and bassist graduated, a few years after Eddie had, the band started to gain momentum. It took them four years until they were breaking out into the scene in a big way. Like playing on MTV during prime hours big. Like selling out Madison Square Garden for two back to back nights big.

[LINK]

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School Bell Rings by fandom4fandom [Completed]

General • 3k words

Nancy Wheeler tutors Eddie Munson to help him pass his third senior year of high school. Along the way, feelings develop.

[LINK]

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one of a kind (of mine) by paranypmh [Completed]

Teen & Up • 2k words

nancy needs a shirt to wear, and eddie's got plenty.

[LINK]

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waking up to you by mcplestreet [Completed]

Teen & Up • 1k words

The morning after Eddie's first Corroded Coffin gig post-spring break he wakes up not only with a hangover but with a girl in his bed. Though he never expected her to be there he doesn't think he minds.

[LINK]

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pursuit of truth (no matter where it lies) by paranypmh [Completed]

Teen & Up • 9k words

The five things Nancy Wheeler knew about Eddie Munson, and the one thing she didn’t.

[LINK]

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Eyes Outshine the Horizon Line by fandom4fandom [Wip]

General • 22k words

Nancy Wheeler is the oldest of Queen Karen's children and the one with the biggest thirst for adventure. One night Nancy rescues the self-proclaimed "pirate" Prince of Hawkins, Eddie Munson. Doing this, Nancy quickly falls for him and longs to find a life on land. The sea warlock Vecna may be able to help her with that.

[LINK]

#my post #stranger things #strangerpairs #stranger things fanfiction #st fic #edancydaily #edancy #nancy wheeler #eddie muson

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orangerosebush · 6 months ago

Note

(prefacing by saying I haven’t yet read the fowl twins series so maybe that fixes things but I don’t it) I’m forever salty about the real lack of time spent on exploring Artemis and Juliet’s whole dynamic, because in theory it would be so interesting!! The inherent tension between her being a Butler but also the only other person really near Artemis’ own age growing up could have led to some interesting character moments between them, and I feel like we just get nothing?? Even in TEC when she finally gets to join the main team I feel like she and Artemis barely interact!!

Not-so-fun fact: :( Juliet is not in the sequel series outside of the following sentence:

“In times like these Angeline missed the Butler family, who had been bodyguards to the Fowls for centuries, but Artemis had swept one Butler off to Mars with him, and the other was in the United States pursuing a career as a professional wrestler.”

TFT: Deny All Charges

There are a few things that strike me about Juliet's character -- many of which are related to why she's tricky to slot into the narrative after TEC. The Fowl-Butler contract is interesting to think about RE: Artemis and Juliet as the next generation of each respective family.

While continuing the family legacy places particular burdens on Artemis, one must note that continuing the family legacy places the specific burden of subservience on Juliet. Her dreams would necessarily be put on hold for a Fowl.

After the first book, Colfer realizes that leaning too far into certain aspects of the Fowl-Butler historical dynamic reads as strange-to-troubling for a book set in the 21st century.

At least in the English version of the books (I cannot remember how this is handled in the French translation), Butler only calls Artemis "young master Fowl" in the first book.

Now, the lack of an explicit title does not change that functionally, Artemis occupies a certain station in contrast to the station Butler occupies. But it is at least a gesture at smoothing over parts of the Fowl and Butler dynamic that beg questions the books are not equipped to explore.

As such, just as Butler's dynamic throughout the series with Artemis does not allow for the narrative possibility of Butler starting a family (resulting in Artemis being supplanted by Butler's biological child as the focus of Butler's life), so too does Juliet's status as a Butler place her in a strange place narratively.

On the one hand, Colfer has Juliet choose her own aspirations over her status as a Butler in TEC; Juliet disappears from the later books to pursue her dream of wrestling in America.

Yet on the other hand, Juliet is pulled back into her role as a Butler when the twins are born -- albeit as "nanny" rather than bodyguard (though... much could be said about the emotional role Butler plays being more demanding than the physical role).

We do get some insights into how Artemis and Juliet relate to one another, early series, outside of Artemis' role as Butler's employer. There's this scene in the first book:

“'See to it, Juliet. To the letter.’ ‘Yes, Arty.’ Artemis frowned, but only slightly. For reasons that he couldn’t quite fathom, he didn’t mind terribly when Juliet called him by the pet name his mother had for him.”

I specify "early series", as, well -- I have to think that the way Juliet relates to Artemis would shift after Artemis:

Gets Butler shot (TLC)

Goes missing for 3 years in a way that is mildly traumatizing for Butler

Results in Butler having a heart attack (TTP) (“Butler had enough strength for three words. “Go…to…hell.” Then he clutched at his arm and collapsed. “Oops,” said Opal. “Heart attack. I broke him.”)

Uses Juliet to get to Butler when Artemis has the Complex

Results in Butler having another heart attack (TLG) (“He’s okay,” [Holly] panted. “But that bolt stopped his heart for a while. If it hadn’t been for the Kevlar in his chest…”Holly didn’t finish her sentence, but Artemis knew that his bodyguard had escaped death by a whisker for the umpteenth time, and umpteen was the absolute limit of the number of extra lives handed out by the universe to any one person. “His heart will never be the same, Artemis. No more shenanigans. He’s going to be out for hours,” said Holly, checking the fuselage’s porthole.”)

Dies again in a way that is moderately-to-very traumatizing for Butler (TLG)

#artemis fowl #juliet butler #domovoi butler

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smurphyse · 1 year ago

Text

Low Tide | Spencer Reid

Smurph's Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Part 9 of Routine Maintenance

Warnings: makeouts, dry humping, sexual negotiations, nipple play, rough heavy petting, hair pulling, interrupted sex

Summary: You give Spencer a haircut... which leads to something else. Later, you go out to dinner with Holly and Michelle and Spencer.

Spencer spent the week avoiding Honey, and she seemed to be doing much of the same. He heard through the grapevine that she spent most of it working on her boat. He didn't know how to address the kiss any more than he'd already. He didn't really want to get into it with her, and now that they'd been forced into this double date he was feeling more anxious by the day.

His car was in the shop still, and unlike every other town he'd been to in the last two years, he couldn't just hop in and drive away from his fears. He was stuck here for at least another three weeks, but as Friday finally approached, he found himself standing outside her apartment door.

He kept finding himself staring at the wall, knowing the only news from her might be bad news. He was making lists of shit to tell his therapist, all the reasons it had been a shitty thing for him to do, when it hit him.

Who gives a shit?

He'd be leaving soon, and she had clearly been interested in him. She didn't tell him to stop, not even when Rose and Emily showed up. Honey hadn't pushed him away or yelled. Instead, she'd kissed him back and moaned in his ear. He had nothing to feel bad about, and neither did she.

It was best to act like it didn't happen.

The last time he really saw her was when Emily left. They'd shared a hug and a long talk, then she went inside. He and Emily had a tearful goodbye full of hugs and promises to call more often, and since then Spencer still hadn't called the team. He should. Maybe tomorrow to let Emily know how it went.

Tucci's wasn't a high class restaurant according to Holly, but it was nicer than the ones in town. Spencer's hair had grown out so much in the last few years, and even after the bruises from the fight faded and he returned his brace to Dr. Altman, he was still struggling with his looks.

Spencer just looked so tired, and with his scraggly beard and overgrown hair, he decided it was time to make a small change. He didn't plan on wearing anything besides a nicer jacket and pants to dinner, but he still felt he owed Honey the decency of looking nice for their forced date.

He knew nothing would come of it, and he didn't want it to. He was a wanderer now, had no home, but he wanted to look nice for her.

Spencer's hand shook as he knocked on her door. He didn't even know if she could help him, but he'd yet to figure out where the barber shop was in town and he didn't want people to gossip around him after he cleaned himself up.

She opened the door in another pair of her trademark tiny shorts and a tight crop tank top. Her newly dried hair hung in ringlets down over her shoulders, the fresh scent of citrus and saltwater wafting from her after a shower.

"Hey," she breathed with an awkward smile. "Is everything okay?"

Spencer nodded, trying to ignore how good her curves looked in that outfit. She still wore her wedding ring around her neck, and he couldn't help but think about how it had felt to lick his way under the strap and taste her skin.

"Do you know how to cut hair?" he asked instead of kissing her like he wanted to. She leaned against the doorframe, tapping it as she watched him.

"Uh, yeah," she replied with a smirk. "Come on in."

She turned on her heel and went right up the stairs, expecting him to follow. His eyes went straight for her ass, watching as it jiggled with each step. She looked too damned good for how long it had been since he'd had sex. It was frustrating. Now that he'd gotten a taste of her, he just wanted more. But he was leaving soon. Not soon enough for it to not be awkward after. The last thing he needed was to be chased out of town under a cloud for fucking their beloved young widow.

Spencer looked around as he reached the top of the stairs, taking in the lofted apartment above the Inn. It was just a big open concept room with a kitchen in one corner, her bed in the other. A television was set up on the wall, a small dining table nearby. There was a room in the middle with an open door, and he could see the big clawfoot tub sitting inside the bathroom.

She had a lot of sea-related decor, mixed with a bit of boho. Her couch was bright orange velvet, with teal and pink throw pillows. She had gauzy white curtains embroidered with seashells along the windows. One of the walls was a brightly painted mural with flowers. The whole place seemed to be jam packed with ridiculousness that somehow fit Honey perfectly.

The walls were mostly windows, overlooking most of the town. It was beautiful up here, the view of the midday sun heading toward the ocean in the distance. Like Mattie May, she had pictures plastered all over.

He recognized Ernesto, Holly and Rico, though they were much younger. Rico had long hair and Ernesto’s hair was braided back. Holly looked more or less the same with his military haircut. There were pictures of more townsfolk, including some with Honey, but there was one that caught his eye.

It was of Honey, but she looked to be about fourteen in the photo on the mantle. A girl had her arm slung over her shoulder and flashed an easy smile at the camera, but she barely looked older than Honey. She also looked almost exactly like her. The broad expanse of the ocean in winter laid behind them, both dressed in puffy coats with red cheeks and bright grins. It must have been taken in her home town in Maine.

"My sister Madelyn," she said behind him. Spencer turned, feeling nosy and caught.

"I've never heard you talk about her," he muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets to quell some of his anxiety. "You're not close, I take it."

"We were," she replied with a soft smile. "She died when I was sixteen."

"Oh. I'm so sorry."

Honey shrugged, turning on her heel. She snagged a chair from the table and dragged it into the bathroom, beckoning him to follow. She patted the seat, then ducked down to open the cabinet under the sink.

The bathroom was small, with a freestanding tub and separate shower on one wall. The shower was encased in glass, hand laid tile against the wall and the floor. She had a vanity mirror in the center of the wall, the toilet on the other side.

She pulled out a little case and a cape, which made Spencer chuckle. "You do this a lot?"

"The only barber in town is nicknamed 'Wandering Willie,'" Honey replied, frowning. "And it's not because his name is William."

Spencer made a face and plopped down in the seat. Honey made quick work of tossing the cape around his shoulders and tying it. She gently tugged his hair out of the collar and ran a light hand through it.

"What do you want me to do? Do you have any pictures?"

Even though he had no cell service, Spencer had made a habit of keeping his cell charged and in his pocket. He pulled it out and unlocked it, then went about flipping through old photos of himself. Honey went to the sink while he did so, likely going out of her own way not to be nosy again like she had with his suitcase.

"I always liked it like this," Spencer muttered as he came across a photo of him and JJ. It was at Rossi's wedding, still a bit long but manageable for him. The shorter it was the more often he needed it cut and he wasn't a fan of strangers touching his hair.

Honey stepped behind him, looking at the photo over his shoulder. She smiled, "Cuuute. You look a lot different there."

"Yeah, it was a few years ago," he grumbled, feeling much older than he had when the photo was taken.

Honey tapped his jaw as heat rushed to his cheeks. "I like the beard, though. It's a good look on you."

Spencer bit back a rather foolish grin as she poked through her kit for scissors and a comb. Armed with them and a spray bottle, she shook it a little and smiled, "Ready Freddie?"

"Do your worst."

Honey made quick work of combing his hair. Her deft fingers flitted through his locks, trimming carefully. She was laser focused, those pretty eyes watching every snip of her scissors.

Spencer couldn't help but watch her through the reflection in the mirror. Her hair hung in ringlets, bouncing as she fluffed up his hair to see where to cut next. She pressed her tongue against the back of her teeth as she focused, lost in what she was doing.

She moved to stand in front of him, angling his bangs to see where she wanted to make the cut. Her hip leaned against his thigh, her upper body contorting a bit before she changed her mind. She moved to his other side but seemed to run into the same problem. She didn't seem to want to push her luck and touch him.

Spencer's hands threaded out from underneath the cape before he could really think about it. He palmed her hips and slid her onto his lap, and she put steadying hands on his shoulders to keep herself upright. His thighs spread to hold her in place, safe and upright.

Honey looked down at him with wide eyes and her lips slightly parted. Her cheeks dusted with reddish pink, looking far too innocent and kissable for his liking.

"Keep going," Spencer muttered, his voice husky. "Just do what you need to do to be comfortable."

Honey nodded, but there was no mistaking the uptick in her breathing. It wasn't panicked, and Spencer watched as the blotchy red inched its way up her chest. She wasn't wearing a bra, and he easily noticed her nipples begin to pop through the thin fabric of her tank top.

Her fingers shook a bit as she finished up the front of his hair. She set her scissors down and fluffed it up to eyeball it and make sure it was even. Her nails grazed against his scalp as she did it again, and Spencer couldn't help the way his eyes fluttered shut.

His hands were still on her hips, the pads of his fingers grazing her skin. Thanking God silently for crop tops, Spencer did his best to keep still. Her skin was so warm, and she smelled incredible. All he wanted to do was bury his face in her neck and breathe her in.

"You don't get touched enough," her voice came softly after a moment. "Do you, Spencer?"

Spencer struggled to peel open his eyes as her fingers dragged down and over his beard. He cocked a brow at her while she inspected the fuzzy mess. "What makes you say that?"

"Nobody enjoys getting a haircut this much," Honey smirked. She adjusted on his lap to reach for the scissors and comb again. Spencer did his best to accommodate her. He didn't want her to get up. She was also the only one he'd ever enjoyed a haircut this much from.

"More barbers should look like you, then," he replied smoothly. Honey flashed him a playful squint, pressing on the underside of his jaw to start trimming his beard.

The cool steel of the scissors scraped lightly along his jugular. He swallowed thickly, but willed himself to relax. Her soft hands danced along his jawline, but kept him firmly where she wanted him.

"I'm a bit nervous about tonight," she confessed quietly, her voice hardly above a whisper.

Spencer's brows furrowed, "Because of Michelle and Holly?"

Honey shook her head. She wiped the scissors along the cape before going back in, the smooth slices of the metal sending shivers up his spine.

"I feel like things are weird between us…" she murmured, still focused on what she was doing. She avoided his gaze, and Spencer could see that she was finished, so he put a hand over hers and pulled it away. He didn't want her to stop touching him.

She moved to get off his lap, but Spencer held her tighter. Her belly twitched under his touch, but instead of fighting him she simply deposited the scissors and comb on the floor before taking the cape off him. Letting it fall to the ground, she grabbed a fluffy brush and began sweeping stray hairs from his neck.

"I know you weren't drunk when you kissed me, and that you had second thoughts because of Emily and Rose." Honey spoke quietly, keeping her eyes trained on the brush tickling his skin while he kept his on hers.

"I don't want you to fix me," she declared, strength returning to her voice as she tossed the brush onto the sink. Her hands landed on his shoulders where she sat on her side on his lap.

Honey moved enough to bring one thigh over his spread legs, straddling him. Her eyes blazed as she watched him, her back arching just enough for him to feel under his heavy hands. Spencer swallowed down a lump in his throat as she gathered up the courage to continue. He knew she had more to say.

"I'm not just some sad widow looking for a man to come along and take me away from my grief." She was closer now. Charged air crackled between them as she licked her bottom lip and pulled it between her teeth.

"I'm leaving in a few weeks," Spencer reminded gently. "I don't have time to fix you, anyway."

Honey chuckled and brushed a stray hair behind her ear. She nodded to herself, "I'm well aware…"

She clicked her teeth and gave him those same hooded eyes she had the night before, blush flooding her cheeks. "I also know how boring it can be here without cell phones or the internet. Three weeks is a long time to do nothing, or try to pick up girls in a small town bar who live to gossip… and want more than a hookup."

"It's a lot of effort," Spencer agreed. The air was so thick between them, he couldn't help but wonder where the bomb was going to go off. She was hard to read, but he was beginning to see what she was trying to say.

Honey's palms smoothed over his chest, her breath picking up. She opened her mouth to speak a few times, seemingly deciding what to say. She closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them again they were deliciously dark.

"I could keep you company," she murmured, her voice dripping with heady need and nerves, like he might say no. "Give you something to do in the meantime, some stress relief."

Spencer adjusted beneath her, and it would be a lie to say that she wasn't getting to him. That damned scent of citrus and saltwater, those shy nervous eyes, and her curvy stunning body on his cock was almost enough to take her right there.

"What do you get out of it?"

Honey smiled sweetly, which only made him want to shove her against the wall even more. She leaned in, her breasts pressing against his chest as her nose nuzzled against his. Her lips hovered just in front of his as she whispered, "Three weeks of good sex and an escape from all the shit I'm dealing with outside of my apartment.

"You don't like me and I don't like you very much either," she continued, her thumbs rubbing along his collarbones as her gaze flicked to his lips and then back to his eyes. "I think we can find a way to take that out on one another."

Spencer couldn't help the wolfish grin that peeled open across his cheeks. Keeping one hand on her hip, Spencer tangled the other in her hair and pulled her quickly to him. Their lips crashed together, a surprised but excited yelp escaping from Honey's chest.

She was stubborn to the core, and Spencer found himself battling her for dominance right away. She gripped the lapels of his flannel, pulling him closer. Her strong thighs cradled his lap, and Spencer hooked a few fingers under her knee to tug her flush to his hips. Barely restrained moans echoed between them. His fingers tightened around her thigh, his cock straining in his pants until he couldn't take it anymore with her grinding down on him.

Spencer lurched forward, jostling her onto his hip. She never let up, her fingers tangling into his hair as she nipped his bottom lip. Her scent consumed him, drowning him in the fresh smell of the ocean and the need emanating from her. He carried Honey out of the bathroom and straight toward the bed in the corner. He wanted her now, and now that he had permission he was going to take her. Her thighs clamped down around his waist, but he managed to untangle her and toss her onto the mattress.

Her breasts bounced as she landed, and he descended on her in an instant. They clashed together in a flurry of teeth and tongue, pushing and pulling as she shoved his flannel from his shoulders. Spencer tossed it to the ground, his hands palming her tits through her shirt as she went for his belt.

She managed to get it unlatched just as the phone on the bedside table rang. Spencer pulled back enough to glance over at it, but she just pulled him close and moved onto his neck.

"Shouldn't you get that?" Spencer asked, his voice embarrassingly breathy. Honey’s insistent nipping along his throat was driving him crazy, but the shrill tone of the landline kept breaking through.

She groaned in irritation, wiggling her hips for more friction, “If it’s important, they’ll call again.”

Spencer was about to take that as a good enough answer when her palms flattened on his chest and suddenly he was pushed onto his back. Honey mounted him in one swift move, gripping his jaw tightly in her fingers and kissing him furiously. She did it like she was winning a fight, and he was more than happy to battle with her.

Gripping her hair, Spencer gave an experimental tug that elicited a beautifully dirty moan. Her hips jerked, grinding down on his clothed length. The phone faded into the background of his mind as it stopped its sharp crying through the apartment. Honey’s tight, smaller body arched with every swipe of his palms along her skin, sweet excited groans bouncing between them as they explored one another.

Her warm skin blazed under his hands as he threaded them under her shirt. Bringing them down, Spencer smoothed them over the curve of her ass and thighs, pulling her flush to him once more. The way her hips swirled over his dick drove him wild, the thought of himself inside her doing the same thing nearly made him burst in his pants.

Spencer sat her up, his palm spreading wide along her spine. Each breathy exhale and sigh made his vision blur, but he wanted to see her. All of her. He wanted to watch as she fell apart for him, piece by piece.

Honey didn’t fight him as he ran his fingers under her tiny tank top. She worked with him, arching her back and lifting her arms as he pulled it up. Her breasts bounced free from the thin fabric as she threw the tanktop to the ground. Spencer went straight for them, one hand palming her perfect tit as his lips went straight for the other nipple.

She gasped as his teeth grazed the sensitive flesh, her hips grinding down on him. Swirling around with his tongue, he pinched her other breast, swiping a soft thumb over as a weak apology before doing it again.

“Fuck,” she groaned, her hips working for some relief through her shorts. He was painfully hard, wanting nothing more than to toss her to the ground and fuck her hard with little prep, but he also wanted to savor it.

Honey’s fingers tangled tightly in Spencer’s hair, clutching him tightly to her chest as she moaned wantonly. She whimpered, low and needy, "Spencer, please, fuck!"

"Take off your pants," he commanded as he pulled off her with a soft pop.

Honey went for her button when the phone rang again. She sighed, her chest patched red and blotchy as she leaned over him to snatch it from the nightstand.

"No, no, come on," he begged pitifully as she pushed him into the mattress. She sat on top of him, her hand on his chest as she looked at the screen. She panted, her chest heaving. She was fucking stunning.

"Shut up," she told him playfully, grinding down on him for good measure. Spencer set his twitchy hands on her thighs, squeezing and bucking lightly to keep some of the friction going. Honey held the phone up to her ear, “Thunderbird Inn. How can I help you?”

Honey’s dark eyes fixated on him, her head cocking to the side, “Oh, hey, Emily.”

Feeling suddenly caught, Spencer’s eyes went wide, but then he squinted at her as she listened to the other end. She waved a hand in front of her face and shook her head, “I’m fine, really. I just got back from a run.”

Spencer was growing restless, so he trailed his fingers up lightly. Brushing them along her exposed skin, he delighted in the way she shivered and goosebumps appeared as she spoke to Emily. Her chest puffed out, eyes fluttering shut. She was truly beautiful, strong and unyielding like a port in a storm.

As he palmed her breast, she covered his hand with hers, holding him in place. Her eyes had a devilish glint as she watched him caress her body. His other palm smoothed up her side, tickling along her collarbone before he decided to experiment and see what she liked. Spencer spread his fingers over the column of her throat, getting up on one elbow to brace himself.

She watched him through those hooded eyes, lashes fluttering as she struggled to stay focused on the phone call. His hand flattened over her windpipe, tightening just enough to see her cheeks flush bright red, then he let go, opting instead to trail his fingers down her chest as though he didn’t know what he’d done. But he knew now what he wanted to… just how open she was to other things.

“How about this?” Honey gulped, taking a deep breath. “I’ll call his room to see if he’s there and then patch you through? I’ve got to put you on hold, though.”

Spencer shook his head, but she just squinted down at him. “Sounds good. Give me a few minutes.”

Honey pressed a button on the phone and pointed out toward the window, “I’ve gotta get ready for tonight, and you need to talk to your sister.”

“She’s not my sister,” Spencer grumbled. He fell flat on his back, mourning the loss of his boner and soon to be release. Spencer got up on his elbows and flashed her a cheeky grin, “I’ll be quick.”

Honey shook her head, “Uh-uhn. You’re gonna fuck me the way I deserve, and to do that we need a bit more time.”

She rolled off him, plopping down on the mattress beside Spencer. Her body heat blazed against him, and he let out a pained breath as he eyed her breasts. Playfully, he reached out and patted one with the flats of his fingers, making her laugh. He couldn’t help but smile back, chuckling a bit.

“Fuck you the way you deserve?” he murmured with a furrowed brow and a grin.

Honey nodded. “I didn’t stutter.”

Spencer laughed as he got up. He made sure to lean down and give her nipple one last light bite before he rose from the bed, and she made a delightful little cry at the feeling. He loomed over her as he adjusted himself in his pants, and she just lounged half naked on the bed and smirked up at him.

“See you later,” he muttered. Spencer leaned over the mattress and hooked his fingers under her knees, jerking her forward until she was nose to nose with him. “Wear something pretty, yeah?”

Honey smiled, and in a show of silliness he rarely got to see from her, she licked the tip of his nose and giggled. “Something with easy access?”

Spencer growled a bit and nodded, “I don’t have a lot of patience.”

Her pupils dilated in a millisecond, her kiss-bitten lip quivering. Spencer gripped her jaw tightly and gave her a rough kiss, relishing in the desperate little moan that made its way to his lips. He pulled away and turned on his heel without looking back, and by the soft exhale behind him he was feeling pretty proud of himself.

Maybe the next three weeks wouldn't be so bad after all.

I was struggling to keep myself together. My whole body was a livewire after Spencer came to my apartment for his haircut. I couldn't stop thinking about his hands on my body, or his tongue on my chest. Light bruises littered my neck and all I wanted to do was press on them to feel the sting.

Oh, if he fucked the way he kissed… I was about to be in big trouble. I needed the release, to fall into something that wasn’t my own pool of misery and let go. His heavy hands on me were the only real thing keeping me grounded the last few days. All I wanted was to touch him again and hear him make those deep guttural groans again. I have so much work to do on myself and my life, and this will be the one guilty pleasure I’ll have for a long while.

In reality it had only been a little over a month since I'd slept with Rico, but it felt like years after making out with Spencer. I was antsy, struggling not to think about just how toe curling it could have been if the phone didn't ring. Idly, I wondered what Emily wanted to speak with him so badly about, but ultimately decided it wasn’t my business.

I wasn't one for makeup, so I just opted to put some on my neck and keep my natural hair down and put on a sundress and some espadrilles. It was yellow with pink and orange flowers, landing just above my knees. I snagged a shawl in case the heat died down, and knowing we were going to a restaurant on the water that was more than likely.

I stood before my mirror, fidgeting and feeling suddenly quite self conscious. I haven't been on a date of any kind in almost ten years, or had to worry if I looked good enough for one. It hit me how ridiculous I was being, worried if Spencer would like the way I looked when the first time he kissed me I was covered in sand and sweat. The man obviously wasn't picky.

Michelle asked me to drive separately in case she and Holly wanted to spend some time alone together, so I grabbed the keys to my beat up Volkswagen bus and my purse, then made my way down stairs.

Spencer waited outside my door, hands stuffed into his pockets as he leaned against the doorframe. He stood up straight as he spotted me, breaking out into a slow smile.

"Holy shit," he breathed, his eyes raking me up and down hungrily. His hand reached out to touch the bright patterned skirt. "You look amazing."

"Thank you," I blushed like a fool. I waved to his outfit with a smile, "You clean up nice, Spencer."

He wore a simple buttoned up dark shirt with a red cardigan over it and khaki pants. His sleeve was bunched up under his watch, his freshly cut hair curled nicely with the product I'd put in it. He flashed me a crooked grin as he let go of my dress.

Holding out his elbow for me, he leaned down and murmured even though we were the only two in the hallway, "You ready?"

I took a deep breath before threading my arm in his, "As I'll ever be."

Tucci's was about a forty minute drive down the coast. Spencer lounged in the passenger seat as I drove. We didn't talk much, but his hand rested heavily on my thigh the whole drive. I didn't push him away, and I didn't want to. Instead, I reveled in his heat and his thumb rubbing soft circles into my skin.

The breeze danced through the windows, the warm summer evening turning the sky orange and dusty. We passed town after town on the lonesome secluded highway, until we were surrounded by trees and billboards. The fluorescent lights illuminated them in the coming darkness, and I didn't even realize I was speaking until I pointed at one.

"Do you think that God reads the billboards?" I asked quietly, not even sure where it was coming from.

Spencer glanced over my way and shrugged, "If He did, they probably wouldn't be there."

I wasn’t sure why, but I liked his answer. It fit him and the cynicism that permeated from his pores. Deciding to leave it at that, we instead flew down the highway to our forced get together with Holly and Michelle.

Tucci’s was busy for a Friday night at ten, people waiting in line outside. We spotted Holly and Michelle in the parking lot, with Holly standing a respectable distance away from her as Spencer followed closely behind me.

Holly had made a reservation, so we were seated soon enough, earning a few glares from the walk-ins. Surprisingly enough, Spencer acted the gentleman even though I knew he had no interest in this date or me romantically. He held doors open for me, and pulled out my chair. When the wine came, he insisted on pouring it for me as well.

I was never one to be told what to do, or taken care of, but I didn't mind this one bit. It was surprisingly…nice to not have to do anything myself. My nerves were on fire being in this setting anyways, in a restaurant on a dock, the ocean just outside the window we were seated by. It was nice not to have to make any decisions at the moment.

My stomach swirled with nausea that made me take breaks from the conversation to nervously sip from my glass. Luckily, with Holly and Michelle fawning over one another it took a lot of pressure off Spencer and myself, and we mostly let them do the talking. There were so many people packed in the tiny restaurant. It was intimately lit with candles and red drapery along the walls. Even though the windows were open, welcoming a slight breeze, I found myself sweating by the time dinner was finished.

This was how I was feeling when I thought I was pregnant, and the doctor told me it was just nerves. After multiple negative tests, I finally believed him, but sitting there trying to keep myself upright I cursed his diagnosis of anxiety and stress.

I needed to get my shit together. A panic attack was the last thing I needed.

The dock swayed with the water, and I rubbed a sweaty palm over the back of my neck to ease away some of my nausea. Spencer watched me curiously in between speaking with Holly and Michelle, who seemed to be having a good time and not noticing my mini freak out in a crowded place.

There were couples all over, leaning over white dropped tables in beautiful clothes. They spoke in hushed tones, even Holly and Michelle, clasping hands on top. Champagne flutes glittered under the lights, the occasional clinking of silverware on ceramic accenting the gentle music playing.

I missed Ernie… I needed him here, with me. I shouldn't be here. He should be here. He was the one everybody loved, and I was just the outsider who died with him that night, her body returning to shore.

I ran a shaky hand through my hair, trying to console my body. It didn't want to cooperate, and as sweaty as I was, I pulled my shawl tighter over my shoulders while goosebumps broke out on my skin. Sucking in a wavering breath, I closed my eyes for a moment before letting it go.

A hand on my knee got my attention, and I glanced up to see Spencer pushed forward in his seat across from me, obviously the one touching me. His brows furrowed and he squeezed me gently, cocking his head to the side.

I stared at him like a deer in the headlights, not sure of what to do. My legs begged me to launch from the table and run all the way back to Thunderbird. I didn't want to stop until I hit the bay and dove underneath the waves.

"I could use some air," Spencer seemed to decide for me. He stood and folded his napkin before setting it on the table, then held out his hand for me. "Care to join?"

I stared at it dumbly until he rounded the table, his palm up for me to take. Spencer flashed Holly and Michelle a smile, "I don't know this place very well. I don't want to get lost."

My hand moved on autopilot, clasping his tightly. Spencer pulled me to my feet before leading me out of the restaurant, his fingers laced in mine. His gait never slowed, laser focused on the exit as he weaved through the traffic of people coming inside.

The restaurant windows faced the water, but the entrance faced the parking lot with the dock wrapping around to the back. The walkway to the dock lay awash in fairy lights strung up between posts. The sun had dipped down behind the clouds, and now the small twinkling bulbs lit the way to the water. In my haze, I just let him lead me, trying and failing to keep my breathing under control.

A hand carved bench sat at the end of the dock. Boats floated in the distance, easing through the water. The waves crested and fell in a natural time, the crash followed by the hushing spread of the water hitting the surface. Spencer guided me to the bench and sat me down. Kneeling in front of me as I watched through glassy, tear filled eyes, he untied my espadrilles and set them to the side. I didn't realize how much I was shaking until he took one of my feet and pressed his thumb into the arch and my body relaxed.

"Just breathe," he murmured, watching me closely. His eyes held sympathy for me, but no pity. Tears streamed down my cheeks, grief I hadn't expected pouring through, but I refused to let myself completely fall apart.

I clutched the shawl tightly around my shoulders. I leaned against the cool wood and closed my eyes, listening to the ocean and her beauty. The soft rocking of the dock was surprisingly a welcome feeling, lulling me into a safe place I hadn't been to in a long time.

I thought of Isle of Honey, of Ernie. Long nights spent floating on top of the water, legs tangled together on the deck of the old schooner. We'd breathe in the scent of sex and the ocean, our hearts thumping in time together. I was in my safe place, with my safe person, just existing among the wild ferality of the sea.

"I'm sorry," I whispered after a while. Spencer had long since moved onto my other foot, massaging tension gently from my body. I wiped at my cheek and chuckled bitterly, "I'm sure this is really sexy."

All I truly wanted from Spencer was an escape, a few moments to let go and forget about everything going on. I wanted my uncertainty to fade into the background, for my guilt to calm to a simmer when it constantly roared at a boil.

Spencer made a face and set my foot gently on the dock. He eased himself on the bench next to me, his thigh touching mine, but he didn't move to hold me. I appreciated it.

"Some guys are into that, you know?" he replied cheekily, giving me a wink and a smile.

I sniffled through my laugh and shook my head, "So this is your turn on?"

Spencer huffed a bit, looking down at his hands. His voice was low and a bit sad. "That kinda thing takes a lot of time and trust. I don't find that much on the road."

I nodded. That trust was something I built with Ernie, but he never had the ability to be truly rough with me, which I had been fine with. Rico, on the other hand, was more interested in a quick barrel toward both our releases, and I didn't have the mental capacity to do much else. They had both been wonderful and attentive, and I would always be grateful for those experiences.

I nudged Spencer with an elbow, offering a weak smile through my swollen cheeks and likely red face. "I'm a big fan of the color system, and my safeword is 'applejack.'"

Spencer chuckled. His arm wrapped around my shoulders, pulling me close but not too tight. He was something to lean against during the storm in my heart, and I found myself snuggling into his side and pressing my palm to his chest.

Cinnamon and bergamot flooded through my nostrils, accented by the salt of the sea as we sat there. A few errant passersby came down the dock, saw us, and quickly turned around. We paid them no mind, just listening to the waves and enjoying the quiet.

"I haven't been on a date in ten years," I found myself saying. The ocean swallowed my words and took them out to the distance, but not before Spencer heard them. He pressed his cheek to the top of my head. "I know this wasn't really a date but… I don't know why it hit me so hard."

"Memories are like freight trains, Honey," he murmured. I felt him clear his throat, the soft rumble under my ear through his shirt. His fingers tightened around my arm. "You either know when they're coming on the schedule or you don't notice until the whistle blows behind you. Sometimes the whistle doesn't even blow, and it hits you."

I thought about that for a moment. He was right, and a part of me hated this broken man for knowing the broken part of me so well with so little effort. I wanted to hit him and yell and scream, but the broken part of me knew that was exactly what the broken part of him wanted to do too.

"That's the most depressing shit I've ever heard," I said instead.

The laugh that bubbled from his chest made me smile before it even broke the surface. Spencer guided a hand over my hair and kissed the top of my head as he chuckled to himself.

"Yeah, well, it's all I've got," he said as he pulled away.

Spencer leaned back on the bench, legs splayed and his arms laced over the edge. The fingers of one hand ran light lines up and down my shoulder. It only made my body relax more, melting into his side and reveling in the comfort.

Boat horns sounded in the distance, calling out to other ships in the night. The spotlight from a lighthouse down the coast cut through the darkness, pointing out toward the black. It was guiding people home, back to the land.

Sitting there, I realized I didn't want to be on the land anymore. Thunderbird would always be the place that took me in and became my home. For far too long I'd treated it like a tomb, my final resting place after a lifetime of mistreatment and uncertainty.

When I lost Ernie, I stopped moving forward. The lighthouse in the bay became my siren beacon, my way of screaming that I was the safe place now. I would keep everyone safe, I would guide them home. They could come to me for anything they needed, and I would provide.

Sitting then in the arms of a stranger who'd defended me and saved me, and I'd saved him, it hit me. I wasn't the port in the storm. I wasn't the place to go to escape the monsoon, the hurricane.

I was the eye of the storm. The place where all this started was with myself, and how I reacted to the world around me. I let myself loose from my tiny fishing town in Maine and descended hurricane Honey upon Thunderbird. I was a wild animal full of rage and regret, and they calmed me to a raindrop. I'd always be grateful to them for that.

The hurricane was back, and after ten years she wanted to rage again. I needed to find a middle ground. I needed to become the rain after the drought, not devastation or starvation.

I didn't have to leave Thunderbird forever. I'd spent ten years fixing up our old schooner, repairing the damage caused by the storm that ruined my life. It was almost finished, and in a way, so was I. I could do what Ernie and I always dreamed of, and sail off toward that horizon in hopes of swallowing the sun. Then, I could follow the lighthouse back home.

"Hey," I started slowly, easing my way out from under Spencer's arm. He looked down upon me gently, waiting for my direction. "You wanna get out of here?"

Spencer smiled. "Lead the way."

Smurph's Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Notes: Oh, I'm so excited for the sex next chapter... You have no idea.

Also, have you guy listened to any of the songs that these chapters are inspired by? Which one is your favorite?

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