#my own little st. christopher

[rockinoutinhell]

Happy 9-1-1 season 8 premiere day :) good luck to all. I'll be watching with my own little firefighter :)

[yeoldenews]

A Guide to Historically Accurate Regency-Era Names

I recently received a message from a historical romance writer asking if I knew any good resources for finding historically accurate Regency-era names for their characters.

Not knowing any off the top of my head, I dug around online a bit and found there really isn’t much out there. The vast majority of search results were Buzzfeed-style listicles which range from accurate-adjacent to really, really, really bad.

I did find a few blog posts with fairly decent name lists, but noticed that even these have very little indication as to each name’s relative popularity as those statistical breakdowns really don't exist.

I began writing up a response with this information, but then I (being a research addict who was currently snowed in after a blizzard) thought hey - if there aren’t any good resources out there why not make one myself?

As I lacked any compiled data to work from, I had to do my own data wrangling on this project. Due to this fact, I limited the scope to what I thought would be the most useful for writers who focus on this era, namely - people of a marriageable age living in the wealthiest areas of London.

So with this in mind - I went through period records and compiled the names of 25,000 couples who were married in the City of Westminster (which includes Mayfair, St. James and Hyde Park) between 1804 to 1821.

So let’s see what all that data tells us…

To begin - I think it’s hard for us in the modern world with our wide and varied abundance of first names to conceive of just how POPULAR popular names of the past were.

If you were to take a modern sample of 25-year-old (born in 1998) American women, the most common name would be Emily with 1.35% of the total population. If you were to add the next four most popular names (Hannah, Samantha, Sarah and Ashley) these top five names would bring you to 5.5% of the total population. (source: Social Security Administration)

If you were to do the same survey in Regency London - the most common name would be Mary with 19.2% of the population. Add the next four most popular names (Elizabeth, Ann, Sarah and Jane) and with just 5 names you would have covered 62% of all women.

To hit 62% of the population in the modern survey it would take the top 400 names.

The top five Regency men’s names (John, William, Thomas, James and George) have nearly identical statistics as the women’s names.

I struggled for the better part of a week with how to present my findings, as a big list in alphabetical order really fails to get across the popularity factor and also isn’t the most tumblr-compatible format. And then my YouTube homepage recommended a random video of someone ranking all the books they’d read last year - and so I present…

The Regency Name Popularity Tier List

The Tiers

S+ - 10% of the population or greater. There is no modern equivalent to this level of popularity. 52% of the population had one of these 7 names.

S - 2-10%. There is still no modern equivalent to this level of popularity. Names in this percentage range in the past have included Mary and William in the 1880s and Jennifer in the late 1970s (topped out at 4%).

A - 1-2%. The top five modern names usually fall in this range. Kids with these names would probably include their last initial in class to avoid confusion. (1998 examples: Emily, Sarah, Ashley, Michael, Christopher, Brandon.)

B - .3-1%. Very common names. Would fall in the top 50 modern names. You would most likely know at least 1 person with these names. (1998 examples: Jessica, Megan, Allison, Justin, Ryan, Eric)

C - .17-.3%. Common names. Would fall in the modern top 100. You would probably know someone with these names, or at least know of them. (1998 examples: Chloe, Grace, Vanessa, Sean, Spencer, Seth)

D - .06-.17%. Less common names. In the modern top 250. You may not personally know someone with these names, but you’re aware of them. (1998 examples: Faith, Cassidy, Summer, Griffin, Dustin, Colby)

E - .02-.06%. Uncommon names. You’re aware these are names, but they are not common. Unusual enough they may be remarked upon. (1998 examples: Calista, Skye, Precious, Fabian, Justice, Lorenzo)

F - .01-.02%. Rare names. You may have heard of these names, but you probably don’t know anyone with one. Extremely unusual, and would likely be remarked upon. (1998 examples: Emerald, Lourdes, Serenity, Dario, Tavian, Adonis)

G - Very rare names. There are only a handful of people with these names in the entire country. You’ve never met anyone with this name.

H - Virtually non-existent. Names that theoretically could have existed in the Regency period (their original source pre-dates the early 19th century) but I found fewer than five (and often no) period examples of them being used in Regency England. (Example names taken from romance novels and online Regency name lists.)

Just to once again reinforce how POPULAR popular names were before we get to the tier lists - statistically, in a ballroom of 100 people in Regency London: 80 would have names from tiers S+/S. An additional 15 people would have names from tiers A/B and C. 4 of the remaining 5 would have names from D/E. Only one would have a name from below tier E.

Women's Names

S+ Mary, Elizabeth, Ann, Sarah      

S - Jane, Mary Ann+, Hannah, Susannah, Margaret, Catherine, Martha, Charlotte, Maria

A - Frances, Harriet, Sophia, Eleanor, Rebecca

B - Alice, Amelia, Bridget~, Caroline, Eliza, Esther, Isabella, Louisa, Lucy, Lydia, Phoebe, Rachel, Susan

C - Ellen, Fanny*, Grace, Henrietta, Hester, Jemima, Matilda, Priscilla

D - Abigail, Agnes, Amy, Augusta, Barbara, Betsy*, Betty*, Cecilia, Christiana, Clarissa, Deborah, Diana, Dinah, Dorothy, Emily, Emma, Georgiana, Helen, Janet^, Joanna, Johanna, Judith, Julia, Kezia, Kitty*, Letitia, Nancy*, Ruth, Winifred>

E - Arabella, Celia, Charity, Clara, Cordelia, Dorcas, Eve, Georgina, Honor, Honora, Jennet^, Jessie*^, Joan, Joyce, Juliana, Juliet, Lavinia, Leah, Margery, Marian, Marianne, Marie, Mercy, Miriam, Naomi, Patience, Penelope, Philadelphia, Phillis, Prudence, Rhoda, Rosanna, Rose, Rosetta, Rosina, Sabina, Selina, Sylvia, Theodosia, Theresa

F - (selected) Alicia, Bethia, Euphemia, Frederica, Helena, Leonora, Mariana, Millicent, Mirah, Olivia, Philippa, Rosamund, Sybella, Tabitha, Temperance, Theophila, Thomasin, Tryphena, Ursula, Virtue, Wilhelmina

G - (selected) Adelaide, Alethia, Angelina, Cassandra, Cherry, Constance, Delilah, Dorinda, Drusilla, Eva, Happy, Jessica, Josephine, Laura, Minerva, Octavia, Parthenia, Theodora, Violet, Zipporah

H - Alberta, Alexandra, Amber, Ashley, Calliope, Calpurnia, Chloe, Cressida, Cynthia, Daisy, Daphne, Elaine, Eloise, Estella, Lilian, Lilias, Francesca, Gabriella, Genevieve, Gwendoline, Hermione, Hyacinth, Inez, Iris, Kathleen, Madeline, Maude, Melody, Portia, Seabright, Seraphina, Sienna, Verity

Men's Names

S+ John, William, Thomas

S - James, George, Joseph, Richard, Robert, Charles, Henry, Edward, Samuel

A - Benjamin, (Mother’s/Grandmother’s maiden name used as first name)#

B - Alexander^, Andrew, Daniel, David>, Edmund, Francis, Frederick, Isaac, Matthew, Michael, Patrick~, Peter, Philip, Stephen, Timothy

C - Abraham, Anthony, Christopher, Hugh>, Jeremiah, Jonathan, Nathaniel, Walter

D - Adam, Arthur, Bartholomew, Cornelius, Dennis, Evan>, Jacob, Job, Josiah, Joshua, Lawrence, Lewis, Luke, Mark, Martin, Moses, Nicholas, Owen>, Paul, Ralph, Simon

E - Aaron, Alfred, Allen, Ambrose, Amos, Archibald, Augustin, Augustus, Barnard, Barney, Bernard, Bryan, Caleb, Christian, Clement, Colin, Duncan^, Ebenezer, Edwin, Emanuel, Felix, Gabriel, Gerard, Gilbert, Giles, Griffith, Harry*, Herbert, Humphrey, Israel, Jabez, Jesse, Joel, Jonas, Lancelot, Matthias, Maurice, Miles, Oliver, Rees, Reuben, Roger, Rowland, Solomon, Theophilus, Valentine, Zachariah

F - (selected) Abel, Barnabus, Benedict, Connor, Elijah, Ernest, Gideon, Godfrey, Gregory, Hector, Horace, Horatio, Isaiah, Jasper, Levi, Marmaduke, Noah, Percival, Shadrach, Vincent

G - (selected) Albion, Darius, Christmas, Cleophas, Enoch, Ethelbert, Gavin, Griffin, Hercules, Hugo, Innocent, Justin, Maximilian, Methuselah, Peregrine, Phineas, Roland, Sebastian, Sylvester, Theodore, Titus, Zephaniah

H - Albinus, Americus, Cassian, Dominic, Eric, Milo, Rollo, Trevor, Tristan, Waldo, Xavier

# Men were sometimes given a family surname (most often their mother's or grandmother's maiden name) as their first name - the most famous example of this being Fitzwilliam Darcy. If you were to combine all surname-based first names as a single 'name' this is where the practice would rank.

*Rank as a given name, not a nickname

+If you count Mary Ann as a separate name from Mary - Mary would remain in S+ even without the Mary Anns included

~Primarily used by people of Irish descent

^Primarily used by people of Scottish descent

>Primarily used by people of Welsh descent

I was going to continue on and write about why Regency-era first names were so uniform, discuss historically accurate surnames, nicknames, and include a little guide to finding 'unique' names that are still historically accurate - but this post is already very, very long, so that will have to wait for a later date.

If anyone has any questions/comments/clarifications in the meantime feel free to message me.

Methodology notes: All data is from marriage records covering six parishes in the City of Westminster between 1804 and 1821. The total sample size was 50,950 individuals.

I chose marriage records rather than births/baptisms as I wanted to focus on individuals who were adults during the Regency era rather than newborns. I think many people make the mistake when researching historical names by using baby name data for the year their story takes place rather than 20 to 30 years prior, and I wanted to avoid that. If you are writing a story that takes place in 1930 you don’t want to research the top names for 1930, you need to be looking at 1910 or earlier if you are naming adult characters.

I combined (for my own sanity) names that are pronounced identically but have minor spelling differences: i.e. the data for Catherine also includes Catharines and Katherines, Susannah includes Susannas, Phoebe includes Phebes, etc.

The compound 'Mother's/Grandmother's maiden name used as first name' designation is an educated guesstimate based on what I recognized as known surnames, as I do not hate myself enough to go through 25,000+ individuals and confirm their mother's maiden names. So if the tally includes any individuals who just happened to be named Fitzroy/Hastings/Townsend/etc. because their parents liked the sound of it and not due to any familial relations - my bad.

I did a small comparative survey of 5,000 individuals in several rural communities in Rutland and Staffordshire (chosen because they had the cleanest data I could find and I was lazy) to see if there were any significant differences between urban and rural naming practices and found the results to be very similar. The most noticeable difference I observed was that the S+ tier names were even MORE popular in rural areas than in London. In Rutland between 1810 and 1820 Elizabeths comprised 21.4% of all brides vs. 15.3% in the London survey. All other S+ names also saw increases of between 1% and 6%. I also observed that the rural communities I surveyed saw a small, but noticeable and fairly consistent, increase in the use of names with Biblical origins.

Sources of the records I used for my survey: 

Ancestry.com. England & Wales Marriages, 1538-1988 [database on-line].

Ancestry.com. Westminster, London, England, Church of England Marriages and Banns, 1754-1935 [database on-line].

[capseycartwright]

oh what a terrible honor it's been (to learn that my blessings are things you call sins)

Hey God, it's me, Eddie. I hope you don’t mind that I’m sitting in your house thinking gay thoughts.

Eddie couldn’t help but giggle to himself as he thought the words. If he couldn’t be a bit silly while having a sexuality crisis in a Catholic church – when could he? 

Christopher leaves for Texas, Eddie goes back to therapy, unearths an emotional lockbox he had been fourteen years old when he buried, and has a lot of thoughts about how Buck is sunshine incarnate. In hindsight, it probably should have been obvious he wasn't straight.

ao3 link

t’s been a long time since Eddie Diaz had set foot in a church – of his own accord, at least. He’d been to the christenings and communions and confirmations of all of his various nieces, nephews, and cousins, he’d sat stiff in the pew as he’d watched friends, and family get married, trying his best not to remember how own wedding day, the way Shannon’s hands had shaken in his grip as they promised to love each other until death do them part, both of them young, too young to understand the covenant they were signing up to. Eddie had been there, for all those occasions, but he hadn’t gone to mass, or even sat in a church, just because he wanted to in a very long time. 

He wasn’t even really sure if he wanted to be there today, but it was a Thursday, and Christopher was in Texas, and Eddie wasn’t working, and he’d been having an extended mental breakdown for the last few weeks, and before he knew it, he was sitting in the pew of St Brendan’s Catholic Church, listening to a softly spoken priest with an Irish lilt to his accent – faded, after years in America, Eddie presumed, but still there, noticeable in the inflection of certain words – recite the Our Father. 

Eddie had never been to St Brendan’s before, but it felt like every other church he’d been to in his life. They didn’t all look the same, necessarily, though they followed the same format, rows of uncomfortable wooden pews and an altar decorated in gold, as opulent as it was suffocating. Eddie had thought it beautiful, before, the way Catholic churches were decorated in gold and jewels, believing for so much of his life that the wealth honoured God – but living life had made him learn the grandeur and displays of wealth were nothing more than indicative of the wealth the Catholic church had hoarded while their devout followers starved, all in the name of faith and of God. True faith didn’t need to be gilded in gold to be sincere, he’d decided.

Eddie had never been to St Brendan’s before, but mass was the same. It didn’t change – though the wording of some of the prayers did. He’d sort of been checked out of being a regular churchgoer by time they had changed some of the prayers, only discovering the difference when he confidently started to recite it wrong at his youngest niece’s communion, his mother fixing him with a glare so icy hell might have frozen over under the power of Helena Diaz’s gaze alone. He’d never learned the new ones, not really, and so Eddie just recited the one’s he’d learned for his own confirmation, the words falling from his lips, muscle memory more than it was faith now. 

Our father, who art in heaven – hallowed be thy name . 

Eddie couldn’t help but laugh, a little, as he murmured the prayer. Hallowed be thy name. He knew the prayer talked about God, their holy father, but the prayer had always made him think of his own father, of the way Ramon Diaz was a hallowed man in his own right, how he parented with an iron fist and expected to be obeyed. 

Things were getting better now, with his dad. Maybe – maybe that was part of the fear. Eddie had always been afraid of letting people down, but more than anyone, he was afraid of letting his father down – of seeing that look of disappointment set into every crease of his father’s face, an expression he’d been on the receiving end of for more of his childhood than he’d like to admit. Eddie had tried so hard to make sure he was never on the receiving end of that look again, but nothing he had ever done was good enough – not marrying Shannon, not the way he had tried to take responsibility for his young family, not the army, not the man he had been when he’d come home from Afghanistan. 

Distance had lessened the number of disappointed looks, but Eddie knew that was because he was simply not seeing them anymore; he was sure his father sometimes frowned at the phone when they’d finally call, silted conversation about Christopher and life at the firehouse the best either of them could muster. 

It wasn’t perfect, but it was getting better. 

At least it had been, until his parents had taken Christopher with them to Texas. It hadn’t helped their relationship – but it hadn’t hindered it as much as Eddie had expected either. He was never going to thank them, for the way they had swooped in, ready to take Christopher at a moment’s notice, but he could thank them for giving his son the space that he needed to process. Eddie couldn’t give him that space, right now, but he was grateful someone could. Still – he would be ready to drive to Texas at the drop of a hat when Christopher decided he was ready to come home.

Things were getting better, that was the thing. His dad called, every night, to update Eddie on Christopher’s day. Eddie could hear the familiar sounds of the Diaz backyard as his dad softly spoke, telling Eddie about how Christopher had been to the lake, with his cousins, and how he’d finished another book, and how he was helping Helena to make dinner, right then. It had filled the gap until Christopher had started to call Eddie himself, his voice tinny as he mumbled over the phone, things not quite back to normal, Christopher not willing to talk to him about anything except Marvel and Minecraft and how abuela’s tamales were better than Eddie’s, but better than they were, at least. 

Every time they were on the phone, Eddie reassured his parents that he was working on himself. He was back seeing Frank, every week, and at Frank’s encouragement, he’d joined a veteran’s support group. Eddie wasn’t exactly the picture-perfect military veteran he assumed he needed to be, to join a veteran support group, but the rag-tag group that met at his community hall every month weren’t exactly the flag-wearing, gun-toting veterans he’d expected them to be. James was a 63-year-old man from Massachusetts who ran the group – he had moved out to LA to live with his daughter after he retired and referred to himself delightedly as a stay-at-home grandfather. Luisa was a vet around Eddie’s own age, and she’d gone back to university after she got out of the army and got a fine arts degree. She liked to paint, and talked about her wife with a reverence and openness that Eddie could only admire. 

He hadn’t said a word the first time he went, and Buck had sat in the Jeep in the carpark, a ready-made escape plan for Eddie in case he decided it was all too much. Eddie had sat quietly as the group had chatted, drinking tea and coffee out of flimsy paper cups, and eating homemade biscuits – made by James, who, as it turned out, was quite the prolific baker – and he’d watched. He’d watched as the group had talked about their bad days, and their good days, and how they were coping with life after the military, and not a single glorious war-story was exchanged. 

That was when Eddie knew it was safe to keep going. He was never going to be a man who was proud of his service, and he didn’t want to have to attend a support group of people who’d talk about their time in the military like it was the good old days. He had spoken a little more, the second time he went – Buck doing his groceries, two streets away, rather than sitting in the carpark – and he’d introduced himself, his voice gruff as he tried to figure out what version of Eddie he wanted to present to the world. 

Eddie was still figuring that part out – the version of himself he wanted to be, that is. 

He was figuring himself out. That was the point. He was trying, he was really trying – and people could see that, Eddie was sure. His parents said they could, at least.

Which was why he was here – in a church not dissimilar to the one he’d attended every Sunday in El Paso growing up – on his knees, praying to a God he wasn’t sure he actually believed in for guidance. 

read the rest on ao3

[honeysmoonn]

dallas winston x shy and very talented musician reader? idk, but luv ur writing 🫶🏻

LOVE SONG — dallas winston

a/n: hope you enjoyed! sorry this took so long to get out haha

Six months since you left Tulsa. Left your family. Left your friends. Left the feeling of security in the town, the closeness of everyone. You used to hate knowing everyone’s business and everyone knowing yours but now you were got it didn’t seem so bad.

Six months since you left Dallas Winston, too.

You didn’t really have to leave, of course. But you wanted to.

“I’m leaving.” You popped the news to Dallas while walking home from the bar one night. He was tipsy, you figured he wouldn’t be too angry the next day because he wouldn’t have a clear memory.

You were wrong.

Dallas stopped dead in his tracks, the hand that was holding your waist dropped. “‘Hell you mean you’re leavin’?” He questioned. At this moment you remember the ground having a particular pattern, deciding to focus your eyes there instead of Dallas own daggers.

You took a breath in, the St. Christopher hanging around your neck was now unbearably heavy. “I’m going to New York.” You could have swore you saw Dallas brow furrow, even just for a second.

That night, Dallas didn’t ask for any more of an explanation. Even if deep down he wanted you to stay, he wanted to know what he did to make you want to leave. It wasn’t his fault, none of it was. But he felt if he had just been a little nicer to you, called you a broad one less time and you would have stayed.

That night Dallas invited you back to his place. You agreed, one hand holding his the entire walk there and the other gently pulling on his St. Christopher that sat around your neck. He held your hand as he pushed past drunk patrons of Bucks bar, he held your hand up the stairs.

In his room, you could still smell the weed you smoked last time you slept over. The neon ‘open!’ sign you were convinced Dallas had bought just for you was still on. A shirt discarded on the floor, your shirt, in the same position you had left it in.

Without thinking twice you made yourself comfortable, taking off your kitten heels and tossing them into the pile of your stuff near the end of the bed. Dallas himself lost the shirt from his body and climbed into bed. You hated how domestic your life with Dallas had become, you didn’t want to leave him now. Under the sheets you felt like nothing was wrong anymore. Just you and Dallas intertwined with no worries. No words.

But both of your heads were spinning. Dallas was just brave enough to speak.

“Why are you leavin’?” His voice was eerily quiet. He never spoke this soft.

You brt your lip but he couldn’t see that, your head resting on his chest and his arms wrapped around your warm frame. “I dunno…” You did know. “I just-“ Another pause and another breath Dallas took. “Remember when I played that song for you on my guitar?” Dallas hand twitched, he hoped he hadn’t noticed when he tightened his grip on your bicep but you did. “I wanna write music. And, I guess I think I’ll have a better chance doing that in New York.” Simple enough, right?

Dallas let out a scoff. A laugh. Of disapproval. “Doll, y’know New York is a big city, right?” You didn’t answer, instead grabbing his hand and tugging on the clunky silver ring he always wore. “You’re gonna get hurt out there.” Breath froze in your chest, much like it would on the coldest days of winter. But this time it hurt. “I mean, I ain’t wanna say it, but I… y’ know,” he shrugged.

“What? I ain’t know.”

“Don’t make me say it, doll.”

“Say what? You’re being real difficult, Dal.”

He sighed. “You’re sweet, I like you. Why not stay around here?” Even though his tone came off as rough and mad, his words danced carefully in your mind.

You frowned. He didn’t usually open up like this, you hated making him feel bad. “I mean, Tulsa isn’t that much of a tourist destination, right?” you mumbled.

His grip around you tightened. “Just… Don’t forget me when you get famous an’ all that.”

You giggled and Dallas felt his heart pound in his chest. “You know that would never happen.”

[warpedpuppeteer]

buddie drabble: buck brings home a stray cat and eddie says no…. until eddie ends up being the only one the cat likes and he falls in love with it; established buddie, fluffy, chris is annoyed that the cat likes his dad more than him even though he feeds it treats

Thank you for the super adorable prompt! It's not all exactly as you wanted but I tried to stick to the prompt as close as I can. Hope you enjoy ☺️🫶🏽! (Link to AO3 is provided at the end for those who prefer that)

Fur-st Mew-ting

“No”. Eddie puts as much authority that he could muster in his best dad-voice. “Absolutely not”.

As expected, Christopher but dad’s him immediately.

“Look how cute he is, dad! And he has nowhere else to go!”, his son tries his best to make his case with his best puppy eyes.

Eddie looks over Christopher's curls where Buck is lurking in the background innocently.

His boyfriend is still in his uniform because he came here straight from work, and he is holding the tiniest kitten Eddie has ever seen close to his chest. It looks unrealistically small in Buck's large arms.

And fuck. It is a very cute sight.

Absolutely not, he tells himself determinedly, even if his heart beats slightly faster at the devastating sight of Buck coo-ing at the kitten.

It's a scruffy little thing. Fur sticking out ridiculously everywhere, tiny paws and big pitiful eyes staring right into his soul imploringly as if it was coached by both his boyfriend and his son to do its best to wear Eddie's defenses down.

And dammit; it's working.

Buck meets his eyes and has his own best puppy eyes weaponized.

Eddie sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

Chris whoops loudly exactly like Buck and Eddie mourns the fact that their son is already learning Buck's frat boy ways. He makes a mental note to hide all the baseball caps in the house.

A tiny questioning mew joins their whooping.

The Ap-paw-intment

The first thing that Eddie does the next morning is to call the closest vet they could find to fix an appointment for the kitten. The girl on the other end of the line is cheery and polite and tells him they have a slot open at 4pm today. Eddie agrees easily and she asks for the name of the ‘pawrent’ for the appointment. “Eddie Diaz. And Evan Buckley”. “And your fur baby’s name?”, she asks innocently. Eddie wishes for all the strength and patience in the world as he looks at Buck who has his lips pursed, trying his best to pretend he's not laughing. “Baby Eddie”, he finally grits out. The girl, bless her heart, only goes quiet for a few seconds before thanking him and tells him they're excited to see them later. He hangs up, mortified. Buck finally laughs gleefully. “Oh the look on your face!” He puts the phone on the kitchen counter and scowls at his boyfriend. “Shut up, Buck. I can't believe you named the stupid kitten that”. “Hey!”, his boyfriend, who has the kitten on the table, gently folds its ears down, “don’t call Baby Eddie the s-word. He's named after my boyfriend you know”. Eddie glares at him, “a boyfriend who is re-thinking the decision of dating you currently”. Buck grins at him, unrepentant. “It was just a funny idea me and Chris had. He looked so excited about it and I couldn't say no”. Eddie just shakes his head knowing he's going to regret asking but he does anyway. “Why is that even a funny name?”. Buck gently lifts up the kitten to show Eddie like he couldn't already see from where he's making breakfast for them. “Because look at him! He looks just like you. Has the scowl and big cow eyes and everything!” Eddie scowls harder at him and Buck laughs so hard he nearly falls off the chair.

A fur-tunate coincidence

Baby Eddie settles down easily in the Diaz household (soon to be the Diaz-Buckley household but Eddie-the human one- is currently still working on it). The vet's appointment had gone well which didn't come as a surprise because apparently Buck and Chris had picked up the kitten from a shelter. A fact that only came to light after Eddie had agreed to house the scruff-ball. Eddie had done his best not to seem embarrassed everytime the vet said Baby Eddie while talking about the kitten. Even when Buck had gleefully told the vet assistant that the kitten is named after its other dad and pointed at him. They also find out that Baby Eddie is a girl. Turns out Buck and Chris had missed that part when they picked up the kitten. They refused to change her name despite Eddie's very convincing arguments though. She is now officially Baby Eddie Buckley-Diaz. Later that night, Buck had plastered himself on Eddie's back and mumbled, “I was only actually fostering her, you know. I didn't mean to make you an involuntary cat dad”. Eddie turns around in his arms. Buck has that look on his face, the one he has when he thinks he's done something wrong. “I'm not mad Buck”, he says softly. “I've been planning to either adopt a dog or a cat anyways for Chris' next birthday. It just happened a little early”. Buck's eyes light up, “really?”. “Really”, Eddie assures him and kisses him gently just to be sure. “I'm going to be a hands-off parent though. And I still don't like her. And she looks nothing like me”. Eddie tucks his face into Buck's neck, hiding his smile, feeling the thrum of Buck's laughter against his cheek.

A meow-ment of weakness

Buck has searched through all the drawers, the clothes hamper and the washing machine but his favorite blue hoodie is still nowhere to be seen. Frustrated, he heads to the kitchen to ask Eddie if he's seen it anywhere and stops at the entrance. Eddie is sitting by the kitchen table, doing something on his laptop, headphones on. He's wearing Buck's hoodie, sleeves pushed up to showcase his delectable arms. That's not what makes Buck stop and stare though. It's the fact that Eddie is wearing Buck's hoodie the wrong way around because he has Baby Eddie snuggled up in the hood of it. Baby Eddie has her head out, staring at the screen in fascination. As Buck watches on, Eddie pets Baby Eddie’s head softly with a finger and kisses her tiny scruffy head before going back to what he was doing. It's absolutely adorable and Buck thinks he falls even more in love with Eddie than he already has (he's going to put a ring on it soon, he's working on it). He takes at least 10 photos as proof and then calls Chris as an eyewitness just in case before confronting Eddie about the stolen hoodie and about him claiming he would be a hands-off parent just a few nights ago. When Eddie refuses to plead guilty to the charges, claiming he didn't realize it was Buck's hoodie and that it was just a moment of weakness because Baby Eddie looked lonely since neither Buck nor Chris were looking after her, Buck sends one of the photos to the group chat, grabs Chris and runs for his life as Eddie yells out “Buck!” when he checks his phone as his notifications go off.

Playing fur-vourites

To the disappointment of everyone involved, Baby Eddie has decided that human Eddie is her favorite human amongst them all. She follows him around like a shadow everywhere he goes, purrs up a storm whenever he comes back home from work, and snuggles up and falls asleep on him anytime he sits somewhere. Chris does get slightly annoyed at the development. “I give her extra treats but she still likes you more. That's unfair dad!”, he complains, as only a pre-teen could. Eddie feels bad for his son. He's not sure why the kitten has taken such a liking to him either. He'd rather she get attached to Chris or Buck instead. “Well, is it a surprise though kiddo? Your dad's really great. I mean, he's your favorite and mine too. So, it's not really surprising Baby Eddie likes him too right?” Buck attempts to placate him. Chris grumbles a little bit more but seems happy enough with the explanation. Of course, the fact that Baby Eddie chose that exact moment to butt her head against his ankle to get his attention might have helped as well. As Chris sits down on the floor to play with her, Eddie mouths ‘thank you’ at Buck, feeling warm. Buck simply winks at him, his stupid adorable boyfriend.

Pawrents, Interrupted

“This is all your fault”, Eddie accuses- unjustly if you ask Buck- when Baby Eddie climbs up Eddie's thighs to curl up on his chest. They had been busy making out on the couch as Chris was away at Pepa's for the night. Buck is already shirtless, hair a mess from Eddie running his hands through them, lips kiss-bruised. Buck looks at his boyfriend - pants unbuttoned, a hickey already blooming under his jaw and lips kiss-bruised just like his own- and snorts at him before smirking deviously, “to be fair, you do have very nice tits”. The pillow smack to his face was totally worth it if you ask Buck. (He does however, banish Baby Eddie into Chris' room, where her bed is, temporarily, while he apologizes to his boyfriend for his remark, very profusely and thoroughly in ways not suitable for a young and impressionable kitten's eyes to see. Baby Eddie might not have ended the night very happily but human Eddie very much did.)

Imagine Baby Eddie to look something like this lil one here:

READ ON AO3!

[henwilsonmd]

post 6x18: some out-of-order vignettes | ao3

4251 words

“Buck,” said Eddie, trying to school his face into something less fond and amused. “That’s my couch.”

Buck turned from where he’d been happily showing off the new piece of furniture he’d gotten with Natalia the day prior. “What?”

“The couch,” Eddie repeated, with a quirk of his eyebrow. “You bought my exact couch.”

“No,” Buck replied with a shake of his head. “No, it’s definitely different.”

read on ao3

Eddie looked at it—a three-seater in dark blue, velvet-y fabric with square corners and deep seats to accommodate his long legs. They’d picked out some nice white decorative pillows for it, and it’s certainly brand-new looking, but—

“It’s totally the same.” Eddie gave up on hiding his smile.

Buck looked back to the couch, tilting his head to scrutinize it. After a moment, he sighed, planting his hands on his hips. “Ah, fuck. It’s totally the same.”

Eddie groaned, letting his head thump back onto the edge of the cot behind him. “The pain meds are definitely kicking in.”

“Well, good,” snarked Buck from a chair next to him, attention half-focused on his phone in his hands. “That’s what they’re supposed to do.”

Eddie sighed, long-suffering. “You too?”

“Yes, Eddie, me too.” Buck replied, thumbs flying as he tapped out something on the screen in his hands. Probably to Maddie. Probably about Chim. Who was probably okay. “Your ribs are fucking broken.”

“Yeah,” Eddie said, staring at the ceiling. “And I know what they feel like. I’m fine, there was—other stuff going on.” He thought about that paramedic from the 133 shining a penlight into Hen’s eyes, frowning like he didn’t like the results and going back in to do it again. He thought about the constant jitter of Buck’s leg next to him, the constant worry for Bobby and Chimney who’d taken the other two ambulances before the three of them had managed to squeeze into another cab. “Besides,” Eddie pulled himself back on track. “Did you even get checked out?” He leveled Buck with a look that he hoped had more energy behind it than he had left.

Buck shrugged, powering off his phone with a click. “I’m fine.”

“There’s blood all over your face,” Eddie pointed out.

“Hen cleaned most of it up already.”

“There was more?”

“That’s—Eddie, I’m fine,” Buck said, turning towards him. “I scraped up my cheek and bit my tongue when I fell, and, sure, I’ll be a little bruised, but I’m fine.”

“You lost consciousness,” Eddie pointed out, and he swallowed around a dry throat.

“How… how did you know that?” Buck stuttered in reply.

Eddie gave his own shrug, picking at the edge of the right kneepad on his turnout pants. “I didn’t pass out. I radioed right after I’d gotten my bearings, but no one answered. Then, like, thirty seconds later you must have woken up.”

Buck, for a moment, held Eddie’s gaze with something so unbelievably devastated, and guilty—like the thought of not being able to answer Eddie’s call was the worst possible thing that had happened that day. Then he flicked his eyes down to the floor. “Okay, s-so, like, thirty seconds. I’m fine, Eddie. Really.”

Eddie frowned, thinking about those thirty seconds—an unbearable weight on his back, a growing pain in his chest, and the clawing panic as he listened to the silence stretching out on the other side of the radio and fought the mounting urge to plead, I’m still alive, please, I’m still alive down here.

And then how he’d breathed a hugely painful sigh of relief when Buck finally asked for a headcount, how he’d fumbled into his pocket for his St. Christopher medal and prayed—something he hadn’t done since that awful week of the coma. Prayed that he’d come home safe to his son, but also that Buck would be careful—that he wouldn’t do something stupid and destructive and reckless to save any of them.

That heady rush of gratitude when Buck had sawed the doors open, taking off his safety goggles and assessing Eddie’s situation with a calculating, heavy gaze.

Next to him, Buck cleared his throat, shifting in the chair. “Anyway, you broke three ribs, man. Let the meds do their job.”

Eddie huffed a laugh, leaning back into the pillows behind him. “Trust me, they are.”

Eddie sipped his Diet Coke, beer off-limits because he was still taking the Tylenol threes. “So, you finally got a new couch.”

“I had a couch before,” Buck pointed out, a matching soda in his hand for solidarity. “Kameron just—y’know, gave birth all over it.”

“Yeah,” Eddie said, snorting a soft laugh. “That must have been wild.”

Buck chuckled. “The baby didn’t want to wait, I guess.”

“Impatient little guy,” Eddie said. “Must be those Buckley genes.”

“Hey,” Buck protested, pointing a finger. “I can be plenty patient.”

“Sure,” Eddie agreed placatingly, but be noticed how there seemed to be something more behind the mirth in Buck’s eyes—the plastic pieces at the edges of his smile. He fought the urge to say I told you so—mostly because it would have been childish, but also because Buck hadn’t asked for his opinion at any step of the way, and Eddie hadn’t offered.

Eddie decided to wait him out—usually the best course of action when it came to Buck. Eddie understood intimately how much time it could take to parse through a mess of feelings in your brain and formulate them into words that would make sense to another person. Usually, Eddie would sit quietly and sip his beer while watching Buck’s feelings play out on his unguarded face, and after a minute or two Buck would haltingly begin to explain what had been going on with him.

Eddie had tried to explain that to Maddie when they’d both been nearly sick with worry over Buck’s post-coma mental state. “He’ll come to you when he’s ready,” Eddie had said over the phone. “You can’t force him to talk about it.”

“Eddie, you don’t know him like I do,” Maddie had protested. “He shouldn’t be alone right now.”

And Eddie had opened his mouth to say no, actually, I know him better than you, I know him better than anyone, but—that’s not true, is it? Why would Eddie know Buck better than his own sister, who’s spent the entire thirty years of his life caring for him, when Eddie’s only had him for—what, five years? Then subtract all the things they didn’t talk to each other about and all the issues they’ve had, and—yeah, who is Eddie to say what’s best for Buck?

And then Buck had knocked on his door and passed out on his couch and Eddie had felt righteously vindicated in a way that he almost wanted to rub in Maddie’s face, which was kind of bitchy of him to think.

So, Buck sipped his soda next to Eddie on his new couch, a storm of emotions clear on his face, and Eddie waited him out because that’s what he does.

Buck let out a sigh, and Eddie thought, here it is, he’ll let me in, and then— “Want to watch the Dodgers game?”

Eddie blinked. “Um, sure.”

And Buck turned on the TV.

Doubt roiled in Eddie’s gut.

“What about Hen?” Eddie asked, Buck’s hand tight on his arm as he helped him into the passenger seat of the Jeep.

“Karen already took her home, she’s fine,” Buck replied easily, before he shut the door and rounded the front of the car.

He’d left when Eddie had been taken back for x-rays, taking an Uber back to the station to pick up his car so he could come back to get Eddie and drive them both home. Eddie absently wondered when he would get a chance to get his truck from the station parking lot.

Buck hopped into the driver’s seat, fitting his keys in the ignition but pausing before turning the engine. He fixed Eddie with a gentle, reassuring look. “Seriously, man, everyone’s fine. Athena’s with Bobby, Maddie’s with Chim, let’s go home.”

Eddie swallowed, biting the inside of his cheek as he thought about just how close literally every single one of them except Ravi had come to something far more serious than some hospital bills and time off work.

His gaze slid to Buck, who flashed him that small, soft, close-mouthed smile that Eddie rarely saw—the one that made his chest feel warm and gooey.

“Okay. Let’s go home.”

The Dodgers were losing, and Buck wasn’t talking about it. Eddie tried not to either of those things get to him.

During a commercial break, Buck got up to throw their empty pizza boxes away, waving Eddie off as he moved to help.

When he came back into the living room, he paused under the overhang of the loft, just staring at Eddie.

“What?” he asked, a bit self-conscious.

Buck huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “I can’t believe I bought your couch.”

Eddie snorted. “Don’t worry about it, man. It’s flattering. You think I have good taste.”

Buck raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know if that’s it. Half the furniture in your house is from Target.”

Eddie sputtered. “I—what’s wrong with Target furniture?”

Buck, lowering himself back onto the cushions next to Eddie, raised his hands in a show of innocence. “Nothing, man. I just—I don’t know if I would call it good taste.”

Having no comeback, Eddie just whacked him in the shoulder.

Buck laughed, playfully pushing his hand away. “Hey, c’mon, don’t start shit when I can’t retaliate.”

Eddie smirked. “Why? ‘Cause you know you can’t take me?”

“No,” Buck denied. “’Cause your ribs are still fucking broken.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “I’m fine, Buck.”

“Well.” Buck crossed his arms, turning back to the TV as the next inning started. “Forgive me for wanting to be careful.”

For a moment, Eddie considered saying hey, maybe we should talk about how I could’ve almost died again? But Buck clearly wasn’t in the mood to talk about the big things, and Eddie didn’t really want to think about that yet either, so he settled for bumping their shoulders together.

Buck leaned right back into him, and neither of them moved apart—the comforting warmth of the contact buzzing in Eddie’s brain like the alcohol he wasn’t drinking.

Eddie smiled down at his hands. “You like my couch,” he teased.

“Yeah, yeah,” Buck groused, slouching into the cushions as they watched a batter swing and miss yet again. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Are you sure you’re both alright?” Carla asked, a worried hand hovering over his elbow. “I caught some of the collapse on the news.”

Eddie flashed her a smile before turning to pour two glasses of water—one for him and one for Buck, who was off in Christopher’s room. “We’re okay,” he said. “A little banged up, but the doctors said I should be back to work in six weeks or less.”

Carla narrowed her eyes. “You better take that full six weeks.”

Eddie set the Brita down and met her gaze. “I’m fine, Carla. Really.”

She sighed, crossing her arms. “I just—I worry about you, Eddie. Okay? I know you’d rather I didn’t, but I can’t help it.”

Eddie ducked his head and smiled, a bit, filled with that familiar half-disbelief that people really do care about him. “I know it doesn’t look like it, but—I was lucky today. That nothing worse happened, that—that Buck was there to pull me out.”

Carla scoffed. “Of course he was. I don’t think luck had anything to do with that one.”

Eddie tried to fight the blush off his cheeks—he didn’t know what to do with that. Carla’s surety that Buck would save him come hell or high water. His own surety that Buck would be ripping open the doors of that camper van any second now.

When she realized he wasn’t going to say anything, Carla cleared her throat. “I should go. You up for a hug?”

“From you?” Eddie responded easily. “Always.”

Carla pulled him into a gentle-but-still-desperate embrace. “Okay, I’ll get out of your hair.” With a frown, she brought a hand up to ruffle the wilting mess on Eddie’s head. “Your dusty-ass hair. Take a shower, alright?”

Eddie laughed. “Alright, alright.”

“It’s a little early for a welcome back party, don’t you think?” Eddie said as Athena hugged him in greeting, Christopher heading off in search of the other kids.

“You and Bobby are headed back tomorrow,” Athena pointed out.

“Yeah, and Chimney’s not back for another two weeks.”

“And you best believe I’ll throw another party for him.”

Eddie laughed, before venturing further into the house to greet everyone else. His ribs had healed perfectly, barely a twinge when he’d thrown himself onto the couch in triumph yesterday. Which—speaking of, Eddie’s phone was burning a hole in his pocket and he was doing a very good job of ignoring that.

Or, he was, until a lull in conversation found him standing alone in the kitchen and pulling it out of his jeans. No texts. Which—of course, they’d agreed to go for coffee after his shift on Friday, why would she text him before that—but, still. Eddie was nervous. Sue him.

His thumbs hover over the keyboard for a moment while he debates if it’s too much of a desperate move to text Marisol before they even go on a date. Christopher would know.

“Who are you texting?” asked a voice, and Eddie fumbled to turn off his phone and shove it in his pocket before someone could see… what?

He looked up to see Buck smiling at his antics, a beer in hand.

“Oh, it’s you,” Eddie sighed, leaning against the counter.

Buck sidled over to join him, staring out the windows at the backyard where the party was in full swing. “Just me. Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s fine,” Eddie replied, for some reason hoping desperately that Buck wouldn’t ask him about—

“So,” Buck nudged an elbow into his arm. “Who were you texting?”

—fuck. Eddie wasn’t sure why this felt like something he didn’t want to tell Buck, to whom he tells everything, but… they don’t really talk about their girlfriends? It was always, always awkward, and it always left him with a sour taste in his mouth.

But, Eddie’s excited about this. Marisol probably won’t be the one, or whatever, but—still. Eddie was excited that his brain was finally in a place where he could think about opening up his life to someone and it wouldn’t send him into a panic attack that landed him in the ER.

And Buck asked.

And Eddie’s not in the habit of saying no to him.

“Um,” he started. “Do you remember Marisol? From the—”

“—yeah, yeah!” Buck cut him off. “So, you were texting her?” He raised his eyebrows, a knowing glint in his gaze.

Eddie blushed. “Yeah, uh… we’re going on a date?” he said quietly, a pit of dread or something similar opening in his gut.

Buck was quiet for a moment, and Eddie risked a glance at his face. He just caught the edge of something shocked and maybe fearful in his expression before it cleared and was replaced by one of those huge, sunny smiles.

“Eddie!” Buck exclaimed. “That’s great! Oh my god, man, this is awesome,” he enthused, slinging an arm around Eddie’s shoulders and squeezing him close.

“Yeah,” Eddie chuckled, still unsure why part of him felt sick with guilt.

“Hey, ever notice how we always start dating at the same time?”

“No, do we?” Eddie lied, thinking about how he’d agonized over making the call and kept telling himself Buck’s with Natalia now, you should do this.

Buck laughed again, before he jolted with surprise and turned to Eddie, excitedly slapping him on the arm. “Dude! We can go on double dates now!”

Eddie frowned. “We didn’t last time.”

Buck shrugged. “Well, you didn’t like Taylor, so I figured—”

“I liked Taylor,” Eddie protested.

Buck snorted. “Uh, no, you didn’t.”

Eddie tilted his head in a you-got-me face. “I kind of didn’t. I thought you didn’t notice.”

Buck dropped his arm around Eddie’s shoulders again, making Eddie huff out a breath. “Oh, Edmundo, I always notice.”

No you don’t, Eddie thought, and then he ignored that.

“But,” Buck continued, a hesitation in his voice. “You—you like Natalia, right?”

Eddie didn’t really know her at all, except for how excited she’d been about Buck’s death-that-didn’t-stick and how angry that had made him. “Yeah,” Eddie lied again. “She’s good for you. And she has good taste in couches.”

Buck laughed, relieved. “Good. So—we’ll do a double date, yeah? Me, you, Natalia, Marisol.”

Fuck, no. Eddie thought. That sounds awful.

“Yeah, sure,” Eddie said instead. “That sounds great.”

Eddie was in the kitchen, pre-heating the oven to heat up some frozen chicken tenders because he didn’t have the energy to cook anything else when he felt little arms wrap gently around his midsection. It hurt his ribs, but Eddie didn’t have the heart to dislodge his son—not when these hugs were becoming rarer and rarer each day.

“Hey, kid,” Eddie said, turning in the hold and dropping a hand onto Christopher’s head. “What’s up?”

Eddie had already seen him, when he popped his head into Christopher’s room to find him sitting with Buck, a careful hand brushing the wounds on the man’s cheek. The sight had made something massive and unknowable bloom inside Eddie’s broken chest, threatening to choke him. He’d tamped it down and hugged Chris hello before heading off to shower, but apparently that hadn’t been enough.

Chris looked up, propping his chin on Eddie’s sternum. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he said, a tightness in his voice betraying him.

Eddie smiled. “Me too.” Even though it sparked the ache in his side into a bona-fide pain, Eddie leaned over to drop a kiss onto Christopher’s head—something he barely tolerates anymore. “Hey, the doctors said I’d be good as new in six weeks. Think you can deal with having me around all the time for that long?”

Chris laughed, bright and happy, and Eddie’s heart sang. “I’ll try,” he joked, and then something clouded passed over his face. “Buck’s okay, too, right? His face is bloody.”

“Oh, buddy,” Eddie sighed. Usually, he would kneel down to meet Christopher’s gaze, but he settled for easing himself into a chair and ignoring the concerned look Chris was giving him. “Buck’s totally fine, he just got scraped up a little bit. And today was pretty—pretty scary. For both of us.” He swallowed down the urge to berate himself for telling his kid he was scared, and it seemed to be the right move, because Chris nodded along with wide, careful eyes.

Eddie sighed again, settling his hands on his son’s shoulders. “But—tell you what. Buck’s gonna stay with us tonight, and he’s pretty bad at taking care of himself, right?” Chris giggled at that, and Eddie smiled in response. “So you and I are gonna have to be sneaky about taking care of him tonight, okay?”

Eddie expected Chris to give another sweet smile, and maybe to offer some comfort so earnest and childlike in its innocence that it made everything in the world feel right again, so he wasn’t quite sure to do when Chris burst out into loud, raucous laughter.

“Okay, what’s so funny?” he said, playing at being annoyed.

“It’s just,” Chris managed through his massive smile. “That’s exactly what Buck said. About you!”

Eddie just blinked in response, and Chris fell into peals of laughter again. “Okay,” Eddie said with mock-offense. “Okay, I see how it is. Gang up on the injured guy, why don’t you.”

“Da-ad,” Chris whined, fixing him with a very grown-up look. “We just care about you.”

Eddie pursed his lips, that unknown emotion threatening to drown him again. “Yeah,” he said, more choked-up than he would like. “I know.”

A small hand covered his, and Eddie flipped his own over to give it a squeeze. “Why don’t you go put on the next episode of María, okay? We’ll translate for Buck.”

Chris smirked. “You mean you’ll translate for Buck.”

“Hey, don’t sell yourself short, kid,” Eddie offered as Chris disappeared into the living room.

And later, when they were all piled on the couch, Christopher giggling at Eddie’s half-assed translations and Buck protesting that he understands more Spanish than you think, guys, the newest dose of pain meds forced upon him by Buck making his head more than a bit fuzzy, Eddie thought to himself: I wish it could be like this forever.

Buck shouted in exaggerated outrage to make Chris laugh, gesturing at some ridiculous plot point playing out on the screen, and Eddie let that huge wave of feeling bowl him over—that world-ending, all-consuming love.

Just this. Forever.

“Hold on, let me get this straight,” Hen said, a hand raised to keep Eddie quiet. “He has this whole thing about his girlfriends being couches, and the couch he finally bought is your couch?”

Feeling somehow embarrassed, Eddie just nodded. Hen shared a smirk with Chimney, sitting on the lawn chair that Maddie hadn’t let him move from for the entire party.

“That’s like—almost romantic,” Chimney snorted.

“What?” Eddie said.

“He’s been looking for the perfect couch, but it was yours all along!” Chim crowed, and Hen dissolved into giggles. She was definitely more than a little drunk.

“It’s so sweet, Eddie, come on,” she needled.

“Well, sure, but—” Eddie sputtered. “—romantic? Come on, guys.”

“No, you—you come on.” Hen said around a hiccup. “You guys are—Buck and Eddie! Eddie and Buck!”

“Yeah,” Eddie replied with a frown. “And you guys are Hen and Chim.”

“Nah, no, no, no,” Chim said with a wagging finger. “It’s not the same.”

“How is it not the same?” Eddie threw his hands in the air, one hampered by the half-full bottle in his hand. “You guys are partners, just like us.”

“Yeah, but,” Hen said. “You guys are partners,” she explained, trying for some hand gesture that must have gotten lost in the all the alcohol and rush of the party because she just ended up clasping her hands together awkwardly.

“You guys are crazy,” Eddie said with a long-suffering shake of his head.

“And you’re crazy about Buck,” Hen said in an it’s-so-obvious whisper.

Eddie drew back. “What?”

“Hen—” Chimney started, a hand on her arm.

She shook him off. “No, I gotta—Eddie, you and Buck are like, perfect for each other. You love him, right?” Her eyes were wide and earnest behind her glasses.

“Of course I do,” Eddie said automatically.

Hen gestured emphatically, whacking Chim on the shoulder like this proved her point.

“Hen,” Eddie said gently. “Did you forget that I’m straight?”

Hen scowled, like she did not want to be reminded of this fact. “Okay, but like—if Buck was a girl, you would have asked him out by now. You’d be like—fucking married by now.”

Eddie opened his mouth to respond, but found his mind stuck on Hen’s words. If Buck was a girl. Him and Buck, married. Eddie felt far drunker than he should be off just one and a half beers.

“Eddie, ignore her,” Chim cut in.

Hen frowned. “I’m going to find Karen,” she declared.

Eddie watched her retreating form, unsticking his tongue from the roof of his mouth. “He’s my best friend,” he said belatedly.

“Eddie.” Chimney kicked his leg. “Ignore her, okay? She’s drunk.”

“Yeah, but—” Eddie started.

“Look,” Chim sighed. “We joke about you and Buck sometimes, okay?”

“You do?” Eddie asked.

“Little stuff,” Chimney assured. “Just, like, you’re each other’s favorite person and you’re missing what’s right in front of you, or whatever.”

Eddie opened his mouth to respond, to refute—what?—but Chim continued.

“But they’re just jokes, okay? We know you’re both straight. I mean, it’d be great if you weren’t, or whatever, but that’s not the world we live in.”

Eddie’s jaw closed with a click. He sipped his beer.

“He’s your best friend.” Eddie looked back to Chimney. “And that’s—” He seemed to search Eddie’s face for a moment. “That’s enough, right?”

Eddie swallows. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Exactly,” Chim agreed with an easy smile. “So, don’t worry about it, okay? She’s just drunk and forgot that we don’t make those jokes in front of you guys.”

Eddie nodded. “Right. Besides, Buck has a girlfriend, and—I have a date on Friday, so…”

“You have a date on Friday?” Chimney exclaimed. “That’s great!”

“Yeah,” Eddie agreed, voice flat.

Chimney clapped him on the forearm, unable to reach his shoulder from his sitting position. “Look, man, you’ll find that perfect girl-version of Buck out there, okay? I believe.”

Eddie chuckled. “Sure.”

He looked out to the party—his eyes immediately found Buck, head thrown back in laughter at something Athena had said. The string lights of the backyard made his styled curls shine with a honey-colored fire, his fingers curled carelessly around the neck of a beer bottle made Eddie’s mouth feel suddenly dry.

Just this. Just you, Eddie thought.

“You’re right,” he said to Chimney with a hollow smile. “I’ll find someone.”

[diazheartsbuckley]

Inspiration Saturday/Seven Sentence Sunday 💕

I'm baaccckk. It's been minute but I've been away with my girlfriend for nearly a week and it's exam season which means that I should be working on my paper. But here we are and I came up with yet another AU lol. Aaaand also made a moodboard for it

Tagged by @wikiangela @jamespearce9-1-1 @daffi-990 @evanbegins @wildlife4life @disasterbuckdiaz mwah mwah mwah 💋

Soldier/War Correspondent AU

(Story and tags under cut)

Staff Sergeant Eddie Diaz bears the visible imprints of a life spent in the crucible of war. His sun-kissed skin and prematurely graying hair are a testament to the countless deployments and the myriad of challenges he has faced since joining the army at the age of 18. Eddie's stoic demeanor hides the depth of his experiences, and his piercing gaze reflects the proud resilience of a man who has faced the horrors of conflict yet remains committed to his duty. Despite being a decorated soldier, Eddie carries the weight of survivor's guilt, unsure if he truly deserves the accolades bestowed upon him.

The St. Christopher's medallion, a cherished possession given to him by his ex-wife, dangles from a chain around his neck, providing a glimpse into the personal talismans that anchor Eddie amidst the chaos of war. As a leader, Eddie embodies strength, resilience, and an unwavering commitment to his comrades, his very presence a testament to the sacrifices made in the name of duty.

In contrast, Evan Buckley, a 32-year-old war correspondent exudes the confidence of someone who has navigated the complexities of journalism for nearly a decade. His hard exterior and sometimes perceived arrogance stem from a deep understanding of his own capabilities and confidence earned through years of reporting from the front lines of conflict.

Despite his outward confidence, he carries the weight of the stories he has witnessed, and beneath the bravado lies a journalist deeply affected by the human cost of conflict. His journey as a war correspondent is fueled by a commitment to shedding light on the untold narratives and fostering understanding in the face of global turmoil.

And a little snippet inspired by 3 x 15 and the music video from the song 'Gone Away' by Five Finger Death Punch (my babies ahhh)

The crackling radio broke the silence in the aftermath of the ambush, blood staining Eddie's face, hands and armor. The air was acrid and filled with the smoke from the crashed helicopter, parts spread all around him on the ground, only adding to the vision of destruction. Eddie could barely lift his head to grab his radio, Command trying to break through. The realization of him and his fellow soldier, Sergeant Anita Mills, being the sole survivors of the ambush was slowly sinking in as he brought the radio closer to his face, his voice weighted with grief as he spoke into the receiver.

"Command, this is Diaz. Reporting three K.I.A. We need-... Requesting extraction from our current location. I repeat, requesting extraction and confirming three K.I.A. Chief Jennings, PFC Binder and Sergeant Norwahl are gone"

Mills looked at him with sorrowful eyes, her chest rose and fell in a strained and heavy pace, her head hung low between her knees, the weight of her armor pressing against her throat, restricting her breathing but she couldn't care less about herself in this moment.

The reply from Command crackled through the radio, the voice on the other end offering condolences laced with the stoicism of military protocol. "Acknowledged, Staff Sergeant Diaz. Our thoughts are with you and Mills. Proceed with caution, and we'll arrange for extraction once the area is secure"

He nodded solemnly, his eyes fixed on the wreckage of the helicopter, a poignant reminder of the friends he had lost in the chaos of war. Eddie and Anita found themselves grappling with the weight of confirming the loss of three lives, the echoes of grief lingering amidst the unforgiving and darkening landscape.

tagging!! @honestlydarkprincess @giddyupbuck @watchyourbuck @athenagranted @butraura @callmenewbie @cal-daisies-and-briars @jeeyuns @fionaswhvre @thewolvesof1998 @theotherbuckley @hippolotamus @steadfastsaturnsrings @poughkeepsies @spotsandsocks 💗🦋

[slotumn]

Take:

Rhea and the Central Church's problem isn't that they're the stereotypical unhinged religious zealots calling to kill heretics at the drop of a hat, it's that they're the establishment who have become impotent, complacent, avoidant, and more concerned with appearances than action. Rhea and the Central Church's failure wasn't them being "too ruthless," or "going overboard," it was actually being too soft and passive and doing too little too late in matters where it's literally their responsibility to act.

For more specific examples, Rhea gets accused of being excessive wrt Western Church and Imperial troops at Holy Tomb— but my take is that the real problem wasn't her being ruthless, it's that she didn't do it earlier when it really mattered.

Some of those "earlier" within recent years of canon include: attempted assassination on Rhea a few years back, guy with connections to imperial family (Volkhard) who used to be a big donor to the Church suddenly changing his attitude overnight after fucking around in a rival nation, Western Church becoming radicalized heretics. If Rhea channeled her Saint Seiros days and got pissed and cutthroat about those things and made the Church take major action over it as soon as it came onto radar, they probably wouldn't have gotten played as hard by the Slithers as they did.

You can't even call the Church investigating those overreaching into the nations' internal affairs or anything; "why was a Kingdom noble involved in a plot to assassinate the archbishop" or "why is a branch of our Church getting into heresy" or "why the hell are some people claiming Central Church was behind Tragedy of Duscur" are all perfectly fair matters for them to look into. And if an in-law of the Adrestian imperial house stayed in the capital of a rival nation for a year doing god knows what for undisclosed reasons, then I think he's hardly in a position to accuse the Church of being weird if they prod at him and go "hey it's been a while what have you been up to lately."

Yet the Church seemingly didn't investigate those in depth/honestly confront the parties involved, and even covered up the truth in the case of the Christophe incident. The motivation there was that they wanted to keep up the appearance that the Church is Doing Totally Fine™ and that the public can trust them to be Reliable And Normal™ even in times of turmoil— which really just seems to mean that they want to avoid admitting and reviewing their own fuck ups, or having visible conflicts/tensions with other major factions/within themselves for the sake of PR. And this eventually bites them in the ass because some of those other factions do not reciprocate this conflict avoidant attitude, not to mention that covering up the symptoms doesn't get rid of the problem.

All that to keep up appearances, and ultimately the result is Western Church and Empire seeing them as easy targets and being proven right about it. If you actually stop and think about the implications of Central Church having what should be very high security places (Holy Tomb and Mausoleum) in their home bases infiltrated and terrorized twice in one year, Rhea's personal reaction after it happens is basically the least of all the problems there.

So yeah the Central Church has decayed complacent impotent stupid establishment syndrome, not volatile crazy fanatics syndrome. And Rhea, at the time of canon as the Church's leader, has the problem of being fatally avoidant and thumb-twiddling until things get to the point some scary yelling isn't going to fix the situation, not being an aggressive control freak. (Again I think she would have been a better in-universe leader if she was proactively controlling shit at the time of canon instead of waiting for Sothis to come back and fix everything!)

The reason why I'm being pedantic about this is bc there are multiple ways religions and religious institutions can fail, and I think the fact Central Church's failure isn't them being the stereotypical unhinged fanatics actually makes things way more interesting— especially when contrasted with the fact that there are the actual unhinged fanatics in-universe (Western Church), and those guys hate the Central Church.

Also imo most everything I've diagnosed here still applies post-timeskip in CF— the Church is never proactive in a way that matters, and their final lashing out in Fhirdiad was never going to be enough to make up for their inaction before. They had a whole country on their side for five years and apparently they didn't do much with that, after the Empire already declared war on them. Hell, the Empire even takes a detour conquering the Alliance and they're just sitting there. Like damn Rhea if you were actually serious about winning the war then you should have been cultivating insurgents to send into Adrestia and burn Enbarr. Not sitting around in Faerghus then burning Fhirdiad at the last minute.

Tl;dr

Broke: Church Evil

Woke: Church Stupid

[novthewolf]

Could you please do George x fem!reader and they like grew up together and everyone thinks they’re dating and that leads to some kind of love confession please 😞🙏🏼

Would it really be so bad ?

Pairing : George Weasley x ChildhoodBestFriend!Reader

Masterlist : Here

Warnings : foul language, mild angst, crying, lots of fluff, english isn’t my first language.

Words :  2,1k words

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You grew up in Ottory St. Christopher, a small village where two other wizard families lived. One of which happens to be a huge family of red-headed pure blood. You only had one older sister, seven years apart from you. So most of the time, you would have to play on your own.

 

Fortunately for you, your neighbours had a pair of twins of your age, George and Fred. You spent so much time with them, you could have been their triplet! They loved your similar mischief, but you always had the capacity to see when to stop and the limits that couldn't be crossed, especially when it came to their baby brother Ron.

Maybe it was the reason you got closer to George in the first place. He was the most reserved twin, down to earth, and incredibly sweet. He taught you how to fly a broom, and you showed him some basic potion-making you had learned from Potion Kit for Little Wizards.

 

"There you go ! See ? I told you you could do it." You exclaimed proudly at his first-ever successful potion.

 

"Yeah, you've only had to show me six times..." He dismissed her with a coy smile.

 

"It doesn't matter; the most important thing is that you get it now." And then you kissed him on his freckled cheek.

 

From this moment on, you two started to share an increasing amount of physical touch : hugs, kisses on the cheeks and forehead, even holding hands ! Sometimes, you were found napping together on the couch during dinners or family events. All in complete innocence. Your parents thought it was simply adorable, commenting on how you two will end up together in the future. And you two always reacted with disgusted expressions and gagging noises.

 

The years went by quickly ; soon you went to Hogwarts, and you ran ammock over there instead. In school, a lot more people would notice the close relationship you two have. Your friends would always bring it up, but you always turned a blind eye, denying your feelings in the process.

 

"So what's holding hands ? We've been doing it since we were three; it doesn't mean anything."

 

"The kisses ? Oh, it's just a good-bye or good-luck kind of thing. It's what close friends do."

 

But over your fifth year, things started to take a different turn. You were feeling strange. It started small, like your thumb rubbing the back of his hands as you enjoyed the comforting warmth he offered you. Or the way your heart skipped a beat every time he called you 'love'. You tried your best to not think of what your heart was desperately begging you to understand. Overlook the way your cheeks lit up when George would give you his scarf in winter or how your ear would buzz every time you cuddled.

 

However, during that particular Quidditch game, you knew you were done for. George was, once again, giving his all to beat Slytherin's team. He kept swigging the bat as hard as he could, offering a great view of his still-developing biceps. Sweating, heave breathing, and red hair all over the place. You couldn't stop looking at him or blushing like a tomato. You almost didn't hear your friend nudging your elbow and yelling 'lucky you' through the roaring crowd. Confused but smitten, you didn't have the heart to answer her.

 

At the end of the game, a muddy George came running your way, arms wide open, to twirl you around in his arms. You saw his teamates sofetened faces, like witnessing a wholesome relationship between a couple. But all you could think about as you observed him talk about his exploits was :

 

God, I want to kiss him so bad.

 

You spent the aftermath of the game in your dorm, thoughts whirlwinding as you held your face in your hands and laid on top of your bed. What the fuck were you thinking ? The more you contemplated your feelings, the more you noticed some things.

 

Like, you realised that you never thought of dating anyone... No, really. When you envisioned your future, you always pictured you and George pranking and hanging out together.

 

"Y/N ? Are you  alright ?"George opened your door with a low creak.

 

You yelled, absolutely not ready to hear his voice in such a critical moment.

 

"Of course I am." You stuttered, making him face your back. "I just have a headache, that's all."

 

"Do you want me to stay and cuddle ?" He offered you a step closer to your bed.

 

Like a spring, you jumped to stop him by dismissing his attempt. "No ! No, go back down and enjoy your party; you deserve it." You met his eyes and smiled. He was taken aback, of course, but you were not ready to snuggle with him yet. Merlin, what would you do if you couldn't hug him anymore ?

 

"Okay... I'll come check on you later. I'll bring you a snack." George whispered. His hand went and stroked your forehead and temple. He was so gentle, you couldn't help but nuzzle against him. The skin of his hand shivered, and you felt him halt for a second. You saw his soft red hair flash in front of your eyes as you felt his lips kiss the side of your forehead.

 

Later that night, you woke up to find a slice of pumpkin pie on your nightstand and a blanket covering your waking form. George was an incredibly sweet person; he always has been. And yet your heart couldn't help but race wildly at his caring nature.

 

However, scared you would ruin everything between the two of you, you never said anything... at least for a year.

 

Over the last few months, you've kept up the same loving habits you two shared, but you always welcomed them with a different spirit. You loved him so much. But there was no way of telling if he loved you too. Well, of course he did, but you knew what you meant. And you couldn't even try to catch hints! His tender attitude was always present; George was always caring for you.

 

It's always' been this way.

 

Nevertheless, all your confusion and eagerness to confess were nothing compared to the jealousy and fear you felt when Professor McGonagal announced the upcoming Yule Ball. Every girl will come to ask him out. And there wasn't anything you could do to prevent that. No, you would have to be supporting, like the best friend he deserved. You could do it, for him

 

"Hey, wonder why you still didn't get a date for the ball." Fred questioned his twin with a mouthfull of food. You were cheerfully dining with your friends in the Great Hall when suddenly the question popped up. And, surprising enough, you had lost your appetite.

 

But George didn't have the time to swallow his food that Alicia interjected in his place. "Well, girls are not going to ask a guy out for the ball when he's already dating someone. It would be instant rejection." She laughed while playing with the content of her plate.

 

George chocked on his food and violently coughed. You rushed to help him while slowly feeling your mind slip away.

 

He was dating someone. Now, you didn't just lose your appetite; you also gained the need to cry. George is seeing someone, and he didn't tell you anything? You were his best friend!

 

"Wait. You're dating someone when you didn't tell me ?" Fred shouted, not helping his poor brother in the slightest. Who, by the way, shot him the nastiest glare.

 

George was gradually catching his breath as you rubbed his back gently. And, before you could stop yourself, you asked the question that was burning your lips.

 

"Who are you dating...?"

 

The redhead turned your way, swallowing hard. He noticed your glistening eyes, and you saw confusion settle on his face.

 

"No one-"

 

"You, of course!" Angelina interrupted, matter-of-factly.

 

You must have been gawking at her for a while, causing her smile to fade. Your cheeks were turning pink, and you squeezed your hand into a fist before stuttering.

 

"W-We're not dating, Angelina."

 

"Really ?!" Lee's eyes were gushing out of their sockets. "C'mon, you're kidding, right ? You guys have been together for ever !"

 

You groaned and hid your face in your hands. George was muttering gibberish, embarrassed out of his mind. You peeked at him through your fingers and saw him at a total loss of words. Letting out a shudder, you pulled on your hair and decided to get out of here.

 

"I'm off to bed. Good night, guys." You sprinted out of your seat, your right leg getting caught in the back. The pain was sharp, and you hissed, but you couldn't stay. That's it. Tears started to run down your cheeks. Your friends called out to you, apologising and asking if you were okay.

 

The walk up the stairs was torture; flashes of the past kept rewinding in your mind. You couldn't face George or any of your friends; you totally gave yourself out! Wiping your eyes to see where you were going, you headed to a hidden secret passage.

 

But before you could close yourself off, you heard your childhood best friend call your name. He had been running up the staircase to catch up to you. You held the trap open but sat still on the side of the entrance.

 

"Y/N, come on, talk to me." He kneeled beside you and put his hand on your right knee, rubbing the sore limb. "What's going on ?"

 

When he looked at you with such worried and pleading eyes, you didn't have the heart to blow him off. So you try to offer him a satisfying answer while preserving your feelings.

 

"Just... It's just what they say, you know. I don't even know why I am so upset."

 

You looked up to observe his expression. George's lips parted as his eyes scanned your own. He didn't know how to handle the situation. You waited for him to answer but couldn't keep gazing into his eyes.

 

"Yeah, I-I know, right ? Can you believe they thought we were  together ?"George laughed in disbelief.

 

"Would it really be so bad...?" You croaked, your tears clutching your throat. A sob escaped your lips, and you hid yourself by bringing up your knees.

 

"No, no, don't cry. Shh..." George didn't let you slip away. Instead, he brought you to his chest, and you laid on him. You started apologising to him for ruining everything. But he kept cooing to you, caressing your hair and kissing the top of your head.

 

Even when you had calmed down, you were too afraid to pull away from him, fearing you would lose him if you did. Still, you didn't expect him to speak up again.

 

"It wouldn't be bad. Merlin, Y/N, it's far from it. Being with you is the greatest thing I could ever ask for in this world."

 

You gasped but didn't let go, not yet. Even if you wanted to, George tightened his embrace, as if bracing himself.

 

"But... I'm so scared that my feelings would push you away. I couldn't bear to lose you. You're my best friend, and I  just His voice shivered, and you swear you felt tears fall down on your head.

 

"George..." You started, grabbing on his strong arms.

 

"I love you so much." He finally sobbed, his teeth gritting. "Just, please..."

 

"George." You urged. Your body left his, but you still supported yourself on him. Heart beating like crazy, tears strained your face, but with the slightest smile grazing your lips, you went and held his face with your hands.

 

He looked so frail. Your favourite red head was indeed crying, and his breathing was abored. He loved you. You breathily laughed and shook your head. George tried to mumble something that sounded like an apology.

 

"No... It's okay." You smiled and kissed his cheekbone ever so tenderly. "I love you too. Well, obviously, I do." You giggled. "But, I mean, I like like you too." You stroked his cheek with your thumb.

 

His beautiful, bright smile lit up his face once again. You felt his warm skin under your fingertips as he leaned forward and rested his forehead against yours.

 

You stayed like this for a while, eyes closed, enjoying each other's presence. A few minutes later, George sat up and kissed the tip of your nose. You hummed in response.

 

"At least we won't have to announce we're together." George jested.

 

"Too bad, I was ready to fight other girls to have you as my date for the Yule Ball." You fakely lamented.

 

"Pff, you wish ! I would have thrown an amazing surprise to ask you." He assured you in a dramatising tone.

 

You laughed and hugged him one last time before getting up and making your way to your dorm, holding hands and giving a brand new meaning to this once-innocent gesture.

 

You'll have to thank Alicia and Angelina later.

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[scifrey]

ART THREAD

I have had the very great pleasure of commissioning some beautiful art to celebrate the release of my new novel Nine-Tenths. I'm going to share them all in this thread (and hopefully add to it if I'm lucky enough to be graced with more) so you can appreciate the talent of these incredible artists.

by Christopher Winkelaar

Nine-Tenths is set in a world where all the nobility in Europe are homo draconis - shape-shifting dragons who have the ability to take human form. Every culture in the world have dragons living among the humans, but the European and Asian nations are the only ones where dragons were historically elevated to the roles of monarchs, nobles, and emperors.

In a world where the American Colonies rejected British rule, this meant they were also rejecting draconic protection--and so while they won their Independence in 1793, they were soundly trounced in the War of 1812, losing all of New England, including New York State, to the British. They were absorbed into the Canadas, except for New York City, which was reclaimed by the Dutch and re-renamed New Amsterdam.

The Canadian colonies expanded west, as they historically did in our world, through a series of broken treaties with the Indigenous peoples of the continent, and the reprehensible colonialist practices which put the settlers in power today. It also means they were able to expand further south, without the Americans to bump up against.

This also meant that the Americans were unable to expand as far south and west as in our world, coming up against Indigenous dragon-protected lands, such as the Oniagara, or Aztec and Incan empires, which grew further north after Spanish contact, and flourished.

Unlike in the current version of Canada, the land was legislatively divided into much smaller provinces than currently exist, each overseen by a hereditary draconic Lieutenant Governor, who report to the draconic Governor of the Canadas, who in turn reports to the House of Lords in England (also dragons). Each province is divided into Duchies, Earldoms, and Marquessates, presided over by a noble dragon family.

As dragons are long-lived, the current Queen of England is Elizabeth (the first one). As she has not yet passed, the Kingdom of Scotland as yet remains separate from England. Ireland too is independent, the Irish dragons having beaten back the English ones. However, Wales remains a satellite colony of England, as the betrayal which brought about it's subjugation and the trickery around the hereditary title "Prince of Wales" still occurred. (This an important plot point).

by @seancefemme

This is the first piece of art I commissioned for the novel, and you'll note it's now become the cover art!

Meet the heroes of our tale: barista and disaster bi Colin Levesque, stuck in the middle of his quarter-life crisis and crushing on his cafe regular, Welsh dragon Dav, the Marquis of Niagara (though of course, Colin doesn't know he's the Marquis, and thinks Dav is just some minor noble with nothing better to do all day than hang out and read).

by @ibrithir-was-here

Colin works at Beanevolence, an indie cafe in downtown St. Catharine's, in the province of Upper Canada (Southern Ontario in our world). It's owned by his bestie Hadi, and he was only supposed to be a barista until he'd graduated. But now he has his Sustainable Tourism degree, and no clue what to do next. He feels completely stuck. Luckily he has Dav to distract him.

Except that one day Dav distracts him too well, which results in a kitchen fire. As an apology for the inferno, and to help the cafe get back on it's feet while the repairs are under way, Dav volunteers as the new bean roaster, creating incredible and (and ultimately social-media viral) coffee roasts with his fire-breath.

by @ibrithir-was-here

Colin and Dav start a flirtation at work.

Which leads to...

by @teejaystumbles

Luxurious dates and late-night smoochies.

by @pinkpiggy93

Which also goes a little bit viral. See, it turns out that the Marquis of Niagara usually keeps a low profile, and his sudden romance with a human has the gossip rags and tabloids all in a tizzy.

But more than that, it puts Dav under the scrutiny of Francis Simcoe. He's the Lieutenant Governor of Upper Canada, a dragon with a hate-on for Dav, and the perfect ammunition to ruin his happiness.

Because, you see, it's against dragonic rules for dragons to be seen to be laboring in service of humans... and Dav's new gig at Beanevolence is about to--forgive the pun--land him in hot water.

➡️ Read Nine-Tenths Here ⬅️

[drgstrcowboi]

wet matches

Dallas Winston x GN!reader.

Dally’s matches are wet and he can’t light a cigarette. Good thing Y/N has a lighter on hand.

Light fluff, some flirty exchanges. Mild cursing, smoking, Dallas being cheeky, hard to get along with, and a petty thief. wc: ~1,800

“Shit,” you hear Dallas mumble under his breath as you round the corner of the Rexall.

It was a bright late summer afternoon in Tulsa, one of those where the sun can’t quite decide if it wants to shine in a friendly way or beat down on the back on your neck mercilessly. Despite the heat, Dallas was clad in his typical uniform of jeans and a leather jacket with the collar popped. It was a wonder he didn’t die of heat stroke standing there without any shade as he let out another string of mumbled curse words.

“What are you on about now, Dal?” you asked him.

He was leaning against the light pole with a cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth, face scrunched into a tight expression as he fiddled with a pack of matches. St. Christopher swung like a tired pendulum around his neck, propelled only the motion of his repeated attempts to strike a light off it. He’d done it so many times that a small friction groove had formed just down the face of a saint who must be exhausted trying to protect someone like Dallas.

“Wet matches,” he huffed, looking up at you before discarding another one of the broken fiddlesticks on the sidewalk, “goddamn things won’t light.”

You stuck a cigarette in your own mouth with a smile. It wasn’t often that Dallas Winston was in a position to need help at all, let alone from you, and it was kind of funny to see him struggle with the simple task of lighting a smoke. Most of the time he did it with such ease, almost like it was as natural as walking with his tilted glide.

“Here,” you said, hand outstretched with your lighter.

He looked at it, glancing up at you and then at the smoldering cigarette between your lips before bending down towards the unlit lighter. You scrambled a little at his movement, expecting him to take the lighter out of your hands instead of waiting for you to light his cigarette for him. With a quick flick of your thumb, the flame rose to the end of his cigarette, licking the paper first and then the tobacco as he puffed softly on the dog end.

“Thanks,” Dallas said as he pulled away, taking a step back from being so close to you. You hadn’t noticed the smell of his cologne when he first leaned in but when he pulled away you sensed the essence of cedarwood and leather drifting away from your nostrils.

“How’d your matches get wet?” You asked him, just trying to make pleasant conversation even though ‘pleasant’ and ‘conversation’ were not words you’d typically associate with Dally.

“They got left on the porch at Buck’s,” Dallas explained, “fucking things are useless now,” he added as he tossed the pack of matches in the general direction of a trash can with no clear aim for getting them in.

The matches scuttled across the concrete more like a tumbleweed than litter, falling end over end until they were a yard from the base of the can. You took a few steps forward and bent down to pick them up, letting the cigarette dangle from your lips again.

“It’s not good to litter, Dal,” you said as you threw the matches into the trash can and stood up. When you turned around he jerked his head up to meet your eyes, like he’d been caught looking at something he wasn’t supposed to. Which, frankly, was what he had been doing.

“What are you, some kind of tree hugger?” He deflected, looking away and down the street as he chided you, “they’re just matches.”

“Were you staring at my ass?” You asked him with a chuckle before taking a puff of your half-smoked cigarette.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Dallas replied, turning back to you as he flipped his own cigarette around in his fingers.

You thought it was a little peculiar how he help his cigarettes, with the smoldering end facing his body so he had to rotate his wrist around to bring it to his lips. It was small reminder of his years in New York, where people held their cigarettes like that to protect them from the wind. Just like his accent when he was mad or groggy or generally out of sorts, Dallas had a habit of flipping his cigarette around when he was knocked off his groove.

“What are you doing out here anyway?” Dallas asked, flicking ash onto the sidewalk by the toe of his worn boot, “don’t you have work or something?”

“Nah,” you exhaled, watching the smoke blow into the air with the force of your breath, “got the day off and time to kill, so I was just looking at the magazines in the drug store.”

“Anything good?” Dallas asked.

“Anything good what?” You replied, cocking your head to the side in confusion.

“In the magazines, stupid,” he huffed.

“Oh,” you replied, “no, not really, those rags are mostly ads anyway.”

“Listen, man, I wasn’t looking at your ass, okay? Just get that out of your head.” Dallas spat.

You were a little taken aback at his defensiveness, thinking that line of conversation, if you could even call this exchange ‘conversation,’ had been dropped by now.

“So what if you were, Dal?” you replied, “I don’t guess I mind.”

“Well I wasn’t, so just drop it.” He said before taking another deep drag.

“You know you can still light wet matches,” you informed him, trying to direct the subject away from your backside.

“What?” He asked, furrowing his brow line at you.

“Wet matches,” you continued, “you can still light them.”

“No you can’t,” he protested, “I just tried like hundred times, you saw me.”

“Sure you can, Dal,” you said, “you just have to be patient and let them dry out first.”

Dallas just narrowed his eyes at you and took one last drag of his cigarette. He discarded the butt of it on the ground, just like the wet matches, and stared down the street again. And again, you reached down and retrieved his litter with a sigh.

“Seriously, Dallas,” you started to nag him about the trash as you stood back up. His gaze was back on your body, not your eyes, but this time he didn’t rush to look away. His cover was blown and he knew it.

“I’m starting to think you’re just littering so you can watch me pick it up,” you finish.

“And what if I am?” He replied, taking a step towards you, “you gonna stop picking it up?”

“God, Dal, where’d you learn to flirt?” you teased, “I can’t tell if it was a bar or jail.”

“Both,” he laughed, leaning against the light pole again. The afternoon sun hit his brown locks at just the right angle, like someone was staging the street corner to take a photo or something.

“Anyway, I better get going,” you sighed, fishing in your pocket for nothing more than a purpose for your next step. You didn’t have anywhere to be, and neither did he, and you both knew that. Just a couple of loitering hoods on a street corner, so typical of a Tulsa strip that you might as well be gargoyles or a fixture of the architecture or something.

“Want to catch a movie?” Dallas asked, almost in a nervous tone as he gestured at the Circle Cinema down the street.

“I don’t know,” you shrugged, palming the house key in your pocket.

“Come on, Y/N,” Dallas urged, “it’s just a movie.”

“Fine, but you’re buying,” you agreed, taking a step in the direction of the theatre.

“No, we’re sneaking in,” Dallas corrected you, “right after I go swipe a new pack of matches. Stay there.”

And as quick the words came out his mouth, he disappeared into the Rexall, leaving you out on the street corner like a getaway car. Knowing Dallas, there was a 50/50 chance he wasn’t coming back out to catch the movie. He’d get distracted, or worse, caught by the same clerk who’d seen his sticky fingers in action hundreds of times over the years.

When he did finally come back out he had a shit eating grin on his face as he flashed his jacket open to reveal a few boxes of shoplifted candy.

“Where’re the matches?” You asked as he hurried you down the street.

“Ahh, I forgot ‘em,” he waved you off, “doesn’t matter anyway, you got a lighter.”

A few steps later, he picked up his pace as the door to the Rexall jingled open in the distance.

“Come on, hurry up, Y/N,” he pushed you forward, “you want to get caught or something?”

“Caught?” You replied as you jogged a pace or two to keep up, “I didn’t steal anything, Dal, you did.”

“Guilty by association,” he muttered as you rounded the corner behind the theatre.

By the grace of god and luck that only Dallas Winston seemed to possess, you two managed to sneak into the theatre with a jacket full of stolen candy before the show started.

Halfway through the movie, like clockwork, you both reached for your pack of smokes up in the balcony with all the other degenerates who couldn’t make it through a two hour film without a cancer stick.

You patted your pockets, looking for the lighter and coming up short only to glance over and see Dallas flicking it with his thumb in the dim light.

“What the fuck, Dal?” you whispered, “that’s my lighter.”

“And?” He replied, stretching his hand out with the flame to meet the end of your cigarette.

You obliged and let him light your smoke before playfully reaching to grab the lighter from his hand. He jerked his arm back and smirked at you before handing it over.

“When’d you take this anyway?” You whispered before being shushed by someone two rows back.

“Earlier when I noticed it in your back pocket,” Dallas replied with a softer smile this time.

A tossed pack of wet matches, a couple boxes of stolen candy, and trespassing in a shitty movie. That’s how Dallas tended to show his interest. It was no grand romantic gesture, but in his world it was pretty much a date.

And for the first time in maybe anyone’s lifetime, you were grateful for wet matches and that Dally ran low on patience and had a penchant for petty theft and littering.

“I thought you said you weren’t looking at my ass,” you reminded him.

“I was lying,” he said with a wink as he slung an arm lazily over the back of your seat.

[buckbuckleybegins]

Reposting it here. Little ficlet, happens right after the eddiechris convo we saw on the sneak peek! Prompt by @mazzystar24 and this post!

tags: ANGST.

•

Christopher has always been the elephant in the room since he left. The one topic that sticks in Buck’s throat whenever he considers bringing it up due to the fact that he can tell Eddie is suffering—even when he acts like he isn’t.

It’s been months now since that day Eddie’s parents showed up at his door to take Chris away from him… away from Buck. And Buck always feels so guilty whenever he thinks this because… as much as he loves and misses him, Chris has never truly been his. Even if Eddie’s made him his godfather, writing Buck’s name in his will… Chris isn’t his. He’s Eddie’s. And whatever feeling of loneliness, emptiness, and hurt he feels whenever he enters Eddie’s house and isn’t greeted by those curls full of laughter, smarts, and love—Buck knows Eddie feels it a hundred times stronger.

“I need to take him back,” Eddie says, still pacing around his living room. Buck—sitting on the couch after Eddie called him, urgently asking him to come over—wants to stop him, grab him by the arms and ground him before he spirals into a panic attack. Because Eddie looks frantic, terrified. He’s staring at nothing in particular with wide eyes, sweat glistening from whatever terrible thought his imagination is serving him in that moment. “He can’t—he can’t stay there, Buck. I can’t lose him.”

“Okay,” Buck says, calm and steady. For the first time since he’s arrived, Eddie looks at him—teary-eyed and scared out of his mind. And God, Buck can barely meet his gaze without feeling the exact same emotions crawl up his own throat.

“What do we do?”

Eddie pauses, covers his face with his hands, and looks like he wants to scream but instead just sobs. Buck’s heart shatters into a million pieces at the sound.

When Eddie’s hands fly off his face, he looks at Buck with a different expression. It’s still sad, but now there’s a quiet, simmering resolution that wasn’t there before.

“I’m going to Texas,” he says, looking Buck right in the eyes. “I’m going to take my son back.”

Buck feels his throat tighten at Eddie’s words, and this time, it’s his brain conjuring images after images of things he really wishes will never happen. But Eddie is suffering, and his suffering takes priority over whatever fear of abandonment Buck could ever feel. So Buck just nods and helps Eddie pack his bags.

—

There’s a sense of déjà vu when they reach the airport, and Buck quickly pushes it aside—or tries to, at least. Because it comes back once again, a million times stronger, as he looks at Eddie’s frame just outside the glass doors, bags in hand, ready to leave.

Ready to leave him—

But Eddie looks back. A smile on his face and a thank you on his lips. Buck wants to grab him by the hand, pull him away, and tell him not to go. Not to leave him as well, just like everyone else in his life because this time he doesn’t know if he will survive it.

But Buck doesn’t. Because Chris is away, Eddie is suffering, and Chris and Eddie have always been his priority. Is their happiness as important as yours? Buck remembers and he loudly declares to himself that yes, it is. Their happiness is so much more important than his.

Eddie notices, though. He always does. Buck never has to speak for Eddie to understand him. It’s kind of their thing. Their BuckandEddie thing. No words needed when you understand each other to the core.

Eddie takes a few steps toward him, lets his bag fall to the ground, and—does something unexpected. He unclasps the St. Christopher medallion from his neck, slipping it around Buck’s. His hand lingers there, warm and grounding, as if passing on a promise.

“I’ll be back,” Eddie says, a soft smile on his lips, full of this newfound determination. “We’ll be back,” he corrects himself.

Buck nods, smiles back, and he can’t stop the tears from falling down.

But, still? Still, he believes him. He believes that Eddie will be back, Chris in hand and happy.

And he keeps that thought close to his chest, his hand clasped around the medallion—the promise Eddie just made him. This time, he believes it. This time, he knows he won’t be abandoned again.

[jackiequick]

Joshua Nolan - As sweet as honey but forgetful as a wish 🍯

= Note: He is also considered an Disney/OUAT OC

-> Christoper Robin — Joshua C. Nolan

-> How lucky I am to have something, that makes saying goodbye so hard

~~~~

Full name: Joshua Christopher Nolan-Morozov

Character titles: Christopher Robin, Daring Charming, The Knight, Lost Boy

Nicknames: Josh, Col, Colten, Robin, Charming Jr, Monkey, Silly Ol’ Bear, Sweet Boy

Age: 16-22

Height: 5’9

Birthplace: The Enchanted Forest

Job: Peacekeeper, Knight, Prince

~~~

Parents: Snow White & Prince Charming — Amelia Parker & Nikolai Morozov

Uncles: Alexander Morozov (The Dark Prince), Cole Lensherr (Rumple), Captain Hook (Jeremy)

Aunts: Cinderella (Rochelle Romanoff) , Michelle Danvers (Charming) , Mal (Liane Felton)

Best Friends: Belladonna St. James — Golden Believer, Author, Black Swan

Sexuality: Into guy, girl or both?

~~

Face claims: Jacob Tremblay (young), Alexander Calvert (older)

~~~

— Personality 🧩

He teenager with a heart of gold, yet his journey through life has been marked by shadows of loneliness and uncertainty. Despite his innate kindness and compassion, Joshua often finds himself navigating the world with a sense of hesitancy and clumsiness.

He tends to be shy in unfamiliar situations, his steps cautious and his words often tinged with a hint of passive-aggressiveness as a shield against his own insecurities. Joshua's tendency to act before he thinks often leads to moments of forgetfulness and clumsiness, with questions arising either too late or too early in conversations.

Despite these challenges, Joshua possesses an unwavering determination to put his best foot forward, even if it means following someone else's lead. However, this inclination to defer to others sometimes lands him in trouble, as he struggles to assert himself in moments of uncertainty. Nevertheless, Joshua perseveres, his resolve unshaken as he strives to overcome obstacles and find his place in a world that often feels overwhelming and unfamiliar.

In addition, he is an invitation of light with a mere sense of darkness within due to be alone for so long and fear of being shut down for being an orphan. But he has an ability you can say, he can see people’s heart sometime’s before their action.

~~~

Skills:

Swordsmanship

Marksmanship (with guns)

Archery (Bow & Arrow)

Negotiation

Quick Thinking

Light Magic?

Favorite Things:

Music

Reading & Writing (he has a knack for taking down notes and references to his latest research)

Movies (comedic and acclaimed action movies)

His silly old bear

His blanket with a monkey imprint

Blueberry pie

Honey with a dash of salt (or any other favorite snacks)

~~~~

—Playlist 🎶

—Yellow - Coldplay, ‘For you, I’d bleed myself dry’

—Somewhere Only We Know - Keane, ‘And if you have a minute, why don’t we go talk about it somewhere only we know’

—Slipping Through My Fingers - ABBA, ‘What happened to the wonderful adventures, the places I had planned for us to go?’

—It’s Time - Imagine Dragons, ‘Now, don’t you understand that I’m never changing who I am?’

—You Are My Sunshine - Johnny Cash, ‘You'll never know, dear. How much I love you. Please don't take my sunshine away.’

—Dear Theodosia - HAMILTON, ‘Pride is not the word I'm looking for. There is so much more inside me now.’

—Lost Boy - Ruth B, ‘There was a time when I was alone. Nowhere to go and no place to call home’

—Fight Song - Rachel Platten, ‘Take back my life song. Prove I'm alright song.’

—Stand By You - Rachel Platten, 'Cause I'm gonna stand by you. Even if we're breaking down. We can find a way to break through’

~~~~

—Background 🎞️

Growing up in the real world, he just a newborn when he came. The only thing he has of his bio parents are a blanket with his name 'Joshua C.' that had a tiny little monkey imprinted next to his name. He kept it over the years and never let it go hoping to find his parents one day and understand what happened. Growing up, he was put in the system being raised by families here and there, he found people who cared for him and others who didn't.

He was close to be adopted once by it didn't go how he might've wanted due to a few legal mix-ups that happened. He was fine with it. He stayed with a couple of good friends who's parents were more than happy to have him live with them.

There he would read comic books like marvel & dc, watch a a lot of movies like Peter Pan, Tangled, Real Steel, The Dark Knight, Avengers, Star Wars. He would grow up mixing himself with ways to escape reality by watching shows, hanging out with friends and always trying to be a good person by the end of the day. Despite it being hard, he sometimes stole from stores to survive which caused him to be treated badly for his crimes.

He wasn't the best at Math or Science to a certain extent, but he was rather good with English and History for some reason. He did trouble reading for a while, a teacher told him it’s problem with ADHD that he would have to work on later in life.

He liked art too, always doodling in his notebook. Over the years he did trying searching for his parents and wondered about his name but never got a clear answer. His last name was given by the first ever family that took him called 'Nolan' and it kinda stick with him. He liked it but he always went with the flow of it all, feeling a little numb by the world around him watching everyone pass by as he stayed in the same spot wondering what’s wrong with him.

Did he screw up somehow?

—Despite the goodness he has gotten, being lucky with things. He did have his harsh moments like shaped him into keeping a guard up every once in a while. Poor kid has had his ass handed to him more than once.

Some families that took him one just wanted the money, he tend to get bullied at school for not knowing he was, he was shy so he didn't always stick up for himself so he ended up a little bruised growing up, but he had a mouth on him for sure. He was a kid, so he may act like a baby when he's hurt or something.

Joshua may be shy, kind, a little bitter like a lemon and like to maintain a positive outlook on life but he is strong willing, doesn't like to listen at times and destroy orders if allowed to survive, he will talk back in his own way and have his mind tinkering with other ideas. He has a small drive within him to go with the flow but keep his head up and make sure to things turn out alright.

He was a trooper!

———

—Little flashbacks 🌌

In the enchanted forest, when the land found out about Amelia’s pregnancy, people were overjoyed and curious. Gifts were brought by friends, polls were made on names, some of their friends went overboard with designs on the nursery and so much more.

The parents were most excited of all. With the plenty of things that happened in their world, they thought children were out of the question but fate stepped in to say otherwise. Plenty of names were made in the polls, adding middle names for good measure.

When it came to gifts, a certain women in purple couldn’t help the urge but to go shopping in the very markets for stuffed animals and clothes of all kind.

Prince Nikolai Charming walks into the nursery one afternoon as his jaw dropped finding stuffed animals of different kinds all wrapped with a bow. A bear, a tiger, a small pig, a rabbit, and plenty of others. For a moment he thought his wife went overboard when a sweet cloud of purple smoke came popping in beside him as the women inside it grinned.

“You love it?” She said picking up one of the stuffed creatures playing with it’s jaw and said, “This one is Eeyore! Isn’t he cute?”

“You spoiling my child, they haven’t even arrived yet.” He replied with a chuckle reaching for a silly ol’ yellow bear, “Aww.”

“But aren’t they darling?”

“They are. Very are more than welcome to stay in this castle.”

“Wonderful! I also have a stuffed owl being brought up soon.”

The lady of the home walked in to see her husband and friend playing with the toys as if they are were children. She smiled asking, “Did you buy the whole market?”

“Hey! When you marry a prince, you understand the life of shopping for glory items.” Said Mal with a grin, “You love it?”

“I do. Cole will have a say about this, thinking you’re doing this to have your name on the poll.”

“Oh please, we would never..I like Liana as a name.”

“I knew it.” Responded her husband with a cheeky grin, looking over at the blanket laying over the crib the the stuffed bear in hand having an idea for later. He smirked to himself.

Charming moved behind his wife, using the paws of the bear to play the drums softly of her belly hoping it would get a kick out of their son or daughter. And to their surprise, a small kick came in return that startled his wife but got a laugh out of him. Liane laughed too.

Charming laughed, “Our kid seems to like the bear. Hmm, how about Winnie..?”

“..Pooh bear..” She added running her fingers across the stuff toy.

That same night as the two parents were crawling into bed, Charming hasn’t let go of that bear since, using it to tap over his wife’s belly as she laughed telling him to stop.

But he didn’t listen as he said, “Shh we are having father and baby playtime.”

“You’re a menace to society.” She repiled in between giggles.

“I know. I was thinking, for names..Joshua?”

“Joshua? I like it—no, I love it. Our little Josh and for a girl..Nadia?”

“Oooh Nadia..how about Robin? Nadia Robin”

“Pretty works for both!”

The two of them thought name list for a moment as their child kicked their mother again. Charming laugh finding it silly how his baby thinks it funny to frighten their mother as she glared at him not finding it so funny.

She spoke up this time holding up the list as she said, “Joshua..Christopher or Colton, as a middle name?”

He thought about it and snort pretending for a moment a scenario, “Joshua Christopher go to your room, young man..yeah I like it.”

“And Colton?”

“Hmm..Colton Robin, come downstairs for dinner we’re serving chicken!”

“Oooh Robin this time?”

As the parents talked issuing out names and combinations, their son or daughter kicked every once in a while. He was like their little monkey inside their mother’s belly.

~~~~

It was a late night, Amara Snow sat in the rocking chair of the nursery sewing together fabric to craft the blanket for their newly announced son.

She hummed a little tune instead of sleeping being careful with the needle saying, “You are gonna love it out here, bubba. You can jump around, learn how to read and write, have picnics outside theses walls, go to balls where you can dance past your bedtime..oh and you can hear your father sing.”

As if on cue, the man of the house walked in carrying designs he had for the blanket hearing the last part of her words.

He joked, “I don’t sing, my son.”

“Yes you do.” She replied noticing the papers in his hand, “What’s that?”

“Drawings I made for the blanket to put right next to his name.”

“Oh let me see.”

He reaches down to sit beside her, holding out the drawings to be made into patches for the blanket. One of a monkey, the other of a bear, a bird, a leaf, a crescent moon and a lovely sun.

The two of them choose the monkey to fit their little man best, deciding to place the right next to Joshua’s name in a sweet stylish handwriting. Cole wanted a settle for a stylish font for the name which was a darling choice.

“Our little monkey.” Nikolai joked resting a hand on her belly as a little punch was given in return causing him to gasp, “I thought you were asleep. Go to sleep!”

It was as if their son refuse to listen and kicked his father’s hand again. It was Snow’s turn to laugh at his reaction hearing that their son would be ground til he’s 2, if he doesn’t go to sleep. Her husband sent her a playful glare asking if she found it funny as she nodded.

“Then again, we aren’t much sleepers either hon.” Amelia added mid laugh.

“Not helping.” He respond trying to hide his smirk but failed.

~~~~

They had their good times and they’re bad with little Joshua despite not being born yet. Times Amelia would feel tired, other moments across during her pregnancy having gotten into some delicate cravings and or not fitting into her old dresses.

It kinda actually kinda cute sometimes, with their friends laughing. Cole would walk into her craving salted caramel cookies in the kitchen stealing one out of her hand taking a large bite as she pouts and glares at him. Charming would admit his one of his favorite moments were the fact that she had theses cravings, which meant he can buy as many treats as he liked. She would sometimes find his stuffing his face with leftovers in the middle of the night instead of resting and he would just give her a witty comeback in return.

Rochelle sometimes find her trying to sew a dress that would actually fit as she giggled wondering, if she’s alright and needed any help as the brunette would only nod.

“Your son is killing me.”

“Don’t talk about my child that way.”

“Joshua is trying to use my body as a punching bag resulting in my sore back and the other times, I’m carving something like pie or pasta.”

“Atta’ boy, he’s going to grow up and have an amazing taste in food like his father.”

Nik would hold back a laugh at his wife’s glare knowing she means well, just tired. Other days she was rather relaxed and chilling like nothing happened, enjoying her time. Other time he would get a glare from her that was rather hilarious to him.

“Are you serious?” She added with a half smile.

He cup her face and smile, “I’m kidding, love. I know you tired but think of this as his way of entertaining you while I’m gone.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry..I’m being a whiny wife to you.”

“It’s not your fault, love. You have every right to be this way.”

“But, I sound like a little bitch..I love our son, I’m just tired..”

“It’s okay. You need to rest.”

“So do you! You have been riding your horse, watching over our friends and practicing you’re fighting with Marlene for weeks now.”

“I’m fine.”

“Nicholas. You need to sleep, I’m worried about you.”

He smiled at how his wife was able to create life and worry about him all the same time despite her tiredness amazed him sometimes. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and then one to her belly promising to draw himself a bath then get some rest later that night after dinner.

~~~~~

The day Joshua was born was an unexpected one. Within their friend group—found family—nothing is ever normal. Despite the circumstances of his birth and having only a few mere moments with him, a promise stayed true. Their son is a trooper no matter what and even if he felt alone in life, he never was due to his parents being there in spirt even if he didn’t know it.

Heck his dad was fighting knights with him in the hallways, holding a sword in one hand and his son perfectly safe in the other. He wiggled a bit didn’t cry, only whimpered softly at the sudden movements. Nik grinned to himself as his gaze fell to his boy.

It also helped that before closing the door to protect their son from danger, Nik reaches for his stuffed bear gently placing it right next to him, as he kissed his forehead. He smiled softly at his son sweet little face, remembering the framed photos of himself as a child at his old home when he just born.

His beautiful boy.

——

— Christopher Robin Era 🧸

The years when Joshua grew into his teenage-hood, he became more angsty and spiteful than ever before. Yes he was kind, humble enough and honest to everyone he spoke to. But he never felt truly valued or part of his pack. Despite being told time and time again by his father and mother, he was loved. He couldn’t fully comprehend the fact that he was meant to be home, safe and secure with them.

Especially with having an uncle so villainous as Alexander, and his adventures to different parts of the universe.

He decided to have faith in the possibility that he would get there someday and become worthy of the title, a part of the family. Because behind the awkward charm, clumsy tendencies, witty humor and gentle sarcasm held a lost boy from Neverland who was searching for comfort. And he found that comfort in old stuffed bear, Winnie The Pooh, who was there with him since day one of coming into this world as he never let go of him. He will forever be grateful for his father, Nikolai, for placing Pooh in the wardrobe that day, as that bear stayed with since birth.

-> He named Pooh bear, Winnie The Pooh, after the first kind person who treated him fair when he was only five. His kindergarten teacher Winnifred Robinson, as she was known to be a sweetheart towards him and his small set of classmates.

She could see a lot in someone by just the slightest hint of affection in her eyes. It instantly made Joshua smile and want to see the world instead of staying silent, allowing himself to explore creative ideas such as drawing and writing.

Due to spending so much time in her classroom, he would ask him about her thoughts on life and she would respond by saying whatever was on her mind in the most profound positive voice. Her voice was like honey.

Pooh brought support, reassurance and encouragement for him. Sometimes he would cuddle up with Pooh, looking up at the ceiling and just staring down at his chocolate brown buttons as the bear listened to him. It was like Pooh understood him in more ways than one.

Growing up, Pooh became his friend, as the two were going everywhere together. Hell, Joshua would eat his honey salted caramel cookies and play pretend that Pooh’s favorite treat was honey. When he was younger, he lost his silly old bear a couple of time in foster homes, as kids would throw the bear around and try to keep him away in the backyard to be dug up later. Which resulted in him having to wash the stuffed bear later on carefully and then put him on his bed for safety reasons.

-> When he was 14, Pooh ended up with a small cut on his chest and despite all of Joshua’s efforts, his sewing skills weren’t the best. He knew Pooh deserved a chance to look good and dapper in the eyes of his peers. So he found some cherry red fabric from the store across the street and kindly asked a friend, his caregiver at the time, to help him sew a shirt for the stuffed animals.

A few days later, Pooh was given a gift for his efforts, being a little cherry red shirt that covered his chest but left his belly open in the cutest way possible.

Joshua would muttered with a smile, “..silly old bear.”

As Joshua grew older, he became a bit colder than he expected to be but underneath that toughness, he was just as kind and loving as he used to be.

It just takes time for someone to see it, to listen and appreciate him for who he is. However to make sure he didn’t have his feelings hurt, he kept his guard up and watch his surroundings as much as possible. Which resulted in creating personas and short term alias with people he came across.

Some of alias came and went, but others stayed.

It’s how he met his first crush, Ginny Sullivan and her friends. Joshua was unsure of the girl and her two friends, so he decided to make himself an uneasy target and lie about himself.

He remembered he was rushing out of a store after stealing a small toy train, when he bumped into Ginny as she asked, “Woah, watch where you’re going, dummy.”

“So-sorry.” He said picking up his phone that fell on the ground.

“It’s cool. You’re in a rush?”

“More or less..”

“Where you headed?”

“Home.”

He left her on the streets alone until she crossed paths with the blonde girl again at the same spot. The second time, she stopped him, wanting to invite him out for a quick slice of pizza. He was 14 years old, he has nowhere else to be, no harm done right?

Wrong.

After that afternoon with Ginny, he grew to have a small crush on her. He never admitted it because he wasn’t interested in any relationship or anything, but he did regardless. She realized mid conversation she never asked him about his name, as Joshua blinked and said his name was Tim Robins.

And she surprisingly brought it.

Little did he know, Ginny was just using him to get something from the store across the street from the pizzeria. She wanted a pretty little bracelet from the back of the store. Because two weeks later of seeing each other, after a small date at McDonald’s, Ginny wanted to go to the store to buy some extra lipstick and Joshua shrugged deciding it would be a quick trip. He knew he wanted to sneak into that park on the other side of town later on, and she agreed to his request. Ginny grabbed her lipstick, an extra pair of sunglasses, a keychain and that cute little bracelet.

They were out of the store within a few minutes flat, sometime later the two of them were sitting lazily on the swings at the park, chatting and laughing. The two shared a small connection, with his parents always being busy and not having time for them (again, another lie on Joshua’s part), how they wished they could stop time and get a moment to breathe. Ginny smiled holding up the bracelet with a small chain of a flower on it, talking about how everyone is a flower and they just needed time to bloom.

Joshua felt that piece to his core and leaned in to kiss her cheek, taking Ginny by surprise as she pressed a small kiss to his cheek back.

However the moment was cut short, as two police officers found them, taking both teens to jail to be held overnight. Ginny lied saying it wasn’t her fault, that her “boyfriend wanted to treat her nice” as Joshua scoffed telling the officer the truth about what happened. That he had no idea that she stole the bracelet…

Let’s just say the next morning, Ginny didn’t talk to Joshua again and left the guy alone to take the blame. Once he got back to his foster parents, Joshua got a stern talking to and slapped for his actions, grounding him for a long period of time. Thankfully they didn’t press charges on the boy per say.

He climbed into his bed that day, laying down holding up Pooh and said, “Winnie, never fall for some dumb girl..she will just play you.”

He sighed to himself muttered, “..what am I doing? I barely go to school, don’t even bother to have friends..hell, I talk to my old stuff bear, no offense intended Pooh, I’m pathetic..”

“What does pathetic mean?” Said a tiny voice, who open the door to his bedroom with mousy brown hair, green eyes and wearing a blue dress.

His foster sister Darby, only 7 years old, who entered the room, allowing herself to sit on the bed without his permission to do so. Joshua just sighed and rolled his eyes at her explaining what the word meant as she nodded. She asked if he was in trouble and he just nodded.

“How long?” She asked pushing her bangs out of her face.

“No idea..” He answered with a sigh.

“..wh-so what are you gonna do now?”

“I don’t know. I’m screwed here..and I lied a lot about who I am..”

“Maybe you can find someone to tell you who you are?”

He scoffed, “Yeah right. The papers aren’t easy to find, Darb, I tried.”

“Well um…how about you make up a story?” She asked again digging her fingers into Pooh’s belly, “..like the drawings..”

“Like my drawings? Darb, I can’t just do that.”

“Yes you can! Like when you created those characters in your story like..um..Piglet, Tigger..and-and..”

“And Roo? The ones with Pooh I tell you about?”

She beamed and nodded, “Yes! Yes! Like the one where Pooh has a tea party with his friends and you invite me!”

He chuckled at that remebering that story, “I remember that. Pooh got his head stuck in a hole and his friends had to pull him out afterwards.”

“Yeah! You can do that!”

“..okay. Okay, I’ll bite, what would my name be?”

“I don’t know..”

Eventually he did figure it out. It took him a while, especially after his time with Darby’s parents were up, but he did. Joshua would spend time with his friends and the foster care workers, crafting little details of stories to tell one day in his book. He would sent the little drawings to the girl as she would write back in letter in appreciation for his stories.

He even wrote himself into the story as Carter Robins.

Of course, over the years after turning 15 and meeting his family, being his parents, aunts and uncles. Essentially spending some time Belladonna, finding his faith in people and understanding the truth to his history, he grew into changing the name.

He learned small details about his past experiences and hidden memories he had no idea about. Such as his full name, his skill set, his role in the world as peacekeeper among his friends and challenging his own thoughts on who he was meant to be.

It was nice yet difficult as his thoughts, opinions and feelings ate him away in confusion. He was always comparing himself to everyone else and wondered if he did belong there.

And he did. Because like anytime in Joshua’s life, it took time and patience to get to that point of acceptance in order to appreciate that account in his existence. As during an accidental encounter with Belladonna’s discoveries, two of them were sent back in time to the Enchanted Forest, before they were ever even considered ideas in their parent’s minds.

In order to get back and restore the small damage they done, the pair of friends had to go undercover as royals themselves. Thanks to Cole! Bella was not up for the challenge of disguising herself in some snarky little outfit in the beginning but as time passed she began to accept the plan.

Joshua took the lead during beginning of their trip, entering a Royal Ball (Princess Michelle’s party to where she would meet Rochelle for the first time) with Belladonna using fake names.

He announced them as Princess Leia Swan and used his middle name to refer to himself as Prince Christoper Robin.

——————

— The Eye Are Windows To The Soul 💫

Joshua's ability to perceive discern the intentions of others through his eyes is indeed a remarkable skill, one that sets him apart and adds depth to his character. His eyes serve as a mirror to the souls of those around him, reflecting their true nature and motivations with uncanny accuracy. Despite this extraordinary ability, Joshua remains humble and compassionate, using his gift for the greater good rather than personal gain.

His keen insight into human nature allows him to navigate complex social dynamics with ease, as he can see beyond surface appearances to uncover the underlying truths. Whether it's detecting deception or sensing genuine sincerity, Joshua's eyes serve as a guide in his interactions with others, offering him a unique perspective on the world.

One look into his eyes and you might as well served yourself a chance at being his friend or foe. It’s a pool of curiosity his eyes carry, that might even make the other wish they looked the opposite direction.

This skill not only enhances Joshua's ability to connect with people on a deeper level but also underscores his innate sense of empathy and understanding. By recognizing the complexities of human behavior, he is able to offer genuine compassion and support to those in need, making him a trusted confidant and ally to many.

In a world where words can often be misleading, Joshua's eyes stand as a beacon of honesty and authenticity, shining light on the darkness and illuminating the path towards truth and understanding.

————

— Overall Tale 📖

Joshua never thought himself as wanted, valued or respected enough to be cared for. As his journey from childhood to adolescence is marked by a profound sense of longing and displacement, coupled with moments of resilience and self-discovery.

Despite growing up in various foster homes and experiencing the transient nature of relationships, he finds solace in the companionship of his cherished stuffed bear, Winnie the Pooh. Pooh becomes more than just a toy; he is a constant source of comfort and a silent confidant in Joshua's tumultuous world.

Throughout his teenage years, Joshua grapples with a sense of identity and belonging, often feeling like an outsider looking in. He struggles to reconcile his desire for connection with his fear of rejection, leading him to adopt personas and aliases as a form of self-preservation. Despite his attempts to shield himself from hurt, he remains inherently kind-hearted and compassionate, traits that define his character amidst the chaos of adolescence.

Joshua's journey is also marked by pivotal encounters and moments of self-reflection. His brief but meaningful connection with Ginny Sullivan offers a glimpse of vulnerability and yearning beneath his guarded exterior. However, it also serves as a reminder of the complexities of human relationships and the importance of trust and authenticity.

As he navigates the challenges of adolescence, Joshua discovers the power of storytelling and creativity as a means of self-expression and healing. His alter ego, Christopher Robin, becomes a conduit for his imagination and a way to explore his own identity in a safe and nurturing environment.

Yes it will take time, however he is willing to take a step forward and make himself known to the people around him that he’s here to stay.

———

———

Ahh wow that was a lot! Sorry if it was long (i might add more stuff later you knows?)

Anyways please let me know what you think in the comments bellow, let’s chat!

Tags: @gaminggirlsstuff @gcthvile @missstrawbs2001 @haleripley @starkleila @cherrysft @mandylove1000 @yetanotherwells @topgun-imagines @buckysteveloki-me @sherloquestea @nakiaswg @carellmcu @ximehs and etc

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸(AHHHH IMPENDING BUDDIE REUNION IM SO SCARED I HOPE IT GOES WELL!!!!)

🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮(loving darling cranberry and I want Buck and Eddie to address their tension!)

🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨(switcharoo world now with a pending will reveal! Can’t wait!)

⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️(TWATYTK my beloved i love seeing happy established Buddie!)

🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊 (oooh we love a dramatic reunion in a rain storm!)

It is taking all my restraint to not send you 30+ emojis for each story because I’m just that excited about your writing! You’re wonderful thanks for sharing!

HI AGAIN!!!!! You can send as much as you want I've been getting some huge ones haha.

48 for 🩸(IT GOES A LOT OF WAYS):

---

Everyone is tired and emotional and overwhelmed. So even after Eddie has showered and changed into pajamas - and eaten another peanut butter sandwich and a full orange - they all agree to go to bed early without too much further conversation. Better to hash things out with a fresh mind.

“Do you even sleep at night?” Sophia had asked while Eddie’s mouth was stuffed full of orange slices. “Because most of the vampires we’ve met are semi-nocturnal.”

Eddie had scoffed. Like he’s some sort of creature. But, to be fair… His body would choose daytime sleeping if it had a choice. 

“Well, if I sleep during the day, I’m more likely to spontaneously turn into a bat when the sun goes down.” Eddie had retorted. 

When Sophia called him a dick, he knew he deserved it. 

Which brings him to now, hiding from them both a little, in the confines of a bedroom that is technically his, but smells like Buck. Feels like Buck. Has been Buck’s. Hiding from them is maybe an exaggeration. Maybe it’s that he doesn’t quite know how to balance his remorse and his love and his fear in their presence. 

Just as Eddie is about to give into exhaustion and actually go to sleep, there’s a soft rap on the bedroom door. 

“Come in,” Eddie calls.

Buck cracks the door open and looks through. 

“Hey,” Eddie mumbles.

“Hi,” Buck steps in and shuts the door behind him. His right hand is shut around something. “Got a sec?”

Eddie has all the secs. He has nothing else in his life. In fact, he’s not even sure if he’s aging or not. So he might have infinite secs. Though he still needs to shave, so maybe he’s not in suspended animation. 

“Of course.” Eddie says. 

“Forgot this earlier,” Buck mumbles. He walks across the room to where Eddie is sitting on the bed and presses something cool and metal into Eddie’s palm. 

He knows instantly what it is.

Eddie releases a shaky breath as he looks at the contents of his palm. His medallion. The St. Christopher medallion. The one he’d lost the night Kim killed him. The night he almost killed Buck.

“You had it,” Eddie says, squeezing the hard metal and looking gratefully up at Buck. 

“It broke off when…” Buck can’t finish.

“Oh,” Eddie fills in the blanks. “I didn’t entirely remember.”

Buck nods. “I had the chain fixed.”

“Thank you for keeping it safe,” Eddie whispers.

---

15 for 🦮 (they shall get there!):

---

It probably could have gone on like that - steady and unchanging - for a while, if not for Bobby and Athena’s dinner party. Usually, they’d have it at their house. In the backyard. A nice barbecue or something. But, because Bobby and Athena’s wedding plans were soured by Bobby’s suspension, Shannon dying, and Buck losing a leg, they never had a proper party. Just a small courthouse ceremony with the kids. So now they’ve invited their closest friends and family out to a dinner at a fancy seafood place in Redondo Beach, months later, to properly celebrate. 

This is, of course, not a problem on its own. In fact, it’s a lovely thing and Buck is very happy to be invited. Bobby continuing to include Buck in his life means more than Buck can properly express. 

The problem is the small fact that, on his way to an upscale restaurant in which he dresses in proper slacks and an ironed shirt, Buck decides to forgo bringing Cranberry. He really doesn’t think much of the decision at first. She’s okay home alone for a few hours. He’s got a wire crate set up for her now. And he’s not even driving. Maddie and Chim are picking him up.

---

30 for 🚨(I'm so close toa big moment I have to be careful what I post here):

---

It’s a loud afternoon turned quiet night. After Eddie gets home from the lawyer’s, fate changed in ink, he returns home to find a clingy, shaken Christopher. 

“Tia said you had a bad night at work and Buck said you were hurt but not as hurt as you could have been but you have bruises everywhere, and are you okay, Daddy?”

Eddie can’t fault him. He was scared of being lost to his son, too. So instead of talking to Buck about things, like he might have, they spend the day comforting Christopher. Spending easy, uncomplicated hours playing Mario Kart and watching movies. Buck builds a small cushion fort and orders them Chinese food for dinner. And really, truly, it’s a beautiful sort of day. The kind of day any parent wants to lock away in their memory like a little treasure. It’s just a shame it came as the result of everyone fearing for Eddie’s life.  

Christopher crashes early. The stress has clearly caught up with him. Eddie tucks him in and reads him a story and stays with him a little bit longer than he might, usually. He’s getting bigger. Older. Soon he won’t even want this. And Eddie will have only gotten a fraction of these years. To think, he was so certain fatherhood wouldn’t suit him. That he would be bad at it. Maybe he isn’t anything to write home about, but he thinks of how he pulled himself out of a watery grave for this boy, he thinks about how he is willing to plan for the worst to protect him, and Eddie thinks maybe he has some merits. 

He hopes, sincerely, that his life isn’t cut short. That he gets some time in this role. He loves it so dearly, now.

“I missed you yesterday,” Chris yawns as Eddie puts the storybook down on his nightstand. He cuddles his tiny body into Eddie’s chest. 

“I missed you, too,” Eddie whispers, stroking his curly hair. “So much.”

One day, maybe, Eddie will feel like his son is old enough to hear that he loved him so much he refused to drown. The same way Buck had refused to drown that day at the pier.

---

45 for ⚡️:

THIS IS A RATHER SPOILERY SECTION SO PROCEED WITH CAUTION!!!

---

The thing is, Buck can’t forget about it. Not just during the blurry, hungover morning after Maddie and Chimney’s wedding. But in the weeks after, either. His brain seems to have clamped onto it with a vice grip. 

Almost as much fun as we’ll have at our wedding.

A funny little sentence that Eddie didn’t seem to remember saying the next morning. Though, given the way Eddie complained about his hangover for the following fourteen hours, Buck thinks there must be a decent amount he doesn’t remember. The important thing is, Buck remembers. 

Buck remembers, and Buck can do with that information as he pleases. And what he pleases might very well be to give Eddie that fun, happy wedding he was drunkenly talking about. 

See, Buck thinks - after a totally reasonable amount of time spent considering this - that Eddie wasn’t just drunk and joking. He thinks he does want it. Even if he’s not saying so in sober conversation yet. When they got together, Eddie had said he wanted everything with Buck. And so far, the uncertainty about more children has been the only exception in that totality. But Buck knows Eddie takes marriage seriously. He knows Eddie takes them seriously. And he had really, truly seemed to love Maddie and Chim’s wedding. So it seems like a natural next step. Not just to check off boxes, but because the idea of celebrating their commitment to each other feels right. Buck wants that. If Eddie wants that too, then they should do it. 

So, three weeks after Maddie and Chim’s wedding, just as April is about to fade into May, Buck decides. 

He’s going to ask Eddie to marry him. 

He just has to plan how. 

☆☆☆

Eddie can’t stop thinking about it. It settled over him like a warm blanket when he was drunk at the wedding, but even sober and with distance, it still feels right. He wants to be married to Buck. 

If he’s going sheerly on impulse, and what his heart says, he wants to be married to Buck, like, yesterday. Two years ago, even. If he’s going with what his head says - notoriously known for confusing him and leading him down the path to self-doubt - Eddie has concerns. Not about Buck, of course. Never about Buck. Buck is, despite some of his more baffling moments, perhaps the most marriageable person Eddie has ever known. Truly just husband material. If Buck was the only variable, it would be a no-brainer.

Unfortunately, Eddie has a habit of taking no-brainers and adding quite an afflicted brain to them. 

It’s not Chris, either. Even with Christopher’s initial concerns about their relationship. If anything, marrying Buck would stamp out any of those doubts he had about Buck leaving. Hell, if they were married, Buck could do a pretty simple step-parent adoption, if he wanted. Not that Eddie has researched that. Point is, he thinks Christopher would be glad if Eddie told him he was considering this.  So, really, once again, as with many things, Eddie is the source of his own frustrations. Classic Eddie. Though beating himself up for wanting to think through a significant life decision like a marriage - a second marriage - doesn’t seem fair either.

---

And finally, 18 stormy sentences for 🌊:

---

Eddie chases after him. He closes the door behind him, thankful for the dampening effect on the noise of the storm. 

“Eddie? Hi.” Maddie says warily from across the bar. She’s holding a bundle of sleeping bags in her arms. 

“Hi, Maddie,” Eddie says.

“You’re dripping everywhere,” Buck tells him, not bothering to even look back over his shoulder. 

Eddie holds his tongue, despite his brain’s urge to point out the absurdity of this comment. 

Eddie tries again. “Buck-”

“Oh, it’s probably Evan.” He cuts him off. 

Probably. Not definitely. 

Eddie can work with that.

“Okay, Evan. Please reconsider."

[georgiapeach30513]

Step Into My Ride, Part 3

Summary: why Chris hates Ransom so much.

Pairings: Ransom Drysdale X Reader

Rating: explicit

Warnings:  explicit language, explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, restraints/tied up, voyeurism, cream pie, mentions of drug trafficking, unexpected pregnancy, arrest, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 3.8K

Previous

Series Masterlist

*dividers created by @firefly-graphics

He had eyed you for a while. He had dropped not so subtle hints that he wanted to take you out. He was typically the type of man you went for, and you couldn’t come up with a good excuse to tell him no, so you went. Against your better judgment.

Chris was nice enough. He was good looking. He was a cop. He was a good boy, and came from a good family. Exactly the type of man your mother would want for you, and still something felt off. Conversation was fine. It was easy. He loved to talk about himself, and you listened. Smiled at the right times, and even added just enough to his conversation. You complimented him enough, and Chris liked it.

Chris, however, did not think about the restaurant that he had brought you. Didn’t think anything of how he met you. Didn’t even notice his cocky nephew walk in with his woman for the night, but you did. Yours and Ransom’s eyes meet immediately, and you have to look down to the table to get your gaze off him. The two of you had been noticing each other for awhile, but you and he both were with other people.

Ransom’s mouth turns up into a crooked smile when he walks directly to yours and Chris’ booth. You gulp, looking at anything but him. Wanting to completely ignore what was happening, and then Chris’ hand grips onto your thigh, “Was there no race, Ranny?” He asks as Ransom and his girl slide in.

Ransom’s arm goes around her shoulder, but his stare is intently on you. “You would know. Cops were out hot like crazy tonight. So we just gave up. Lost a lot of money on that race.”

“You don’t lose money,” Chris snarls, pulling you closer to him. “You just gain.”

“Yeah, something like that,” Ransom’s voice is incredibly low, and you have to start fidgeting your fingers. He had this magnet that was pulling you closer to him. It was infuriating that you just had no self control, and you were on a date with someone else.

“Molly, I’d like you to meet my uncle Chris,” oh this was making things a lot more difficult. “Chris usually lets us know when the cops are a little crazy. Looks like he was preoccupied. So…what do you got here, Christopher.”

Chris introduces you to Ransom and Molly, and you immediately hate her. Hate that she had Ransom’s touching her, while you had a commanding hand on your thigh. Ransom leans back in the booth, his foot planting itself in between your own, and you try not to react. He was a cocky little fucker. Playing footsie with you while both of you were on dates. And you just so happened to be with his uncle.

“Yeah, I’ve seen this dame around. The past few times she’s been at the race, I’ve won big money. It’s like she’s my personal lucky charm.”

“And she’s on a date with me. You know, I think we should go,” Chris starts to edge himself out the booth, and both of Ransom’s legs hold you in place. He had no intentions of letting you go.

“I think you should stay,” his foot toes higher on you, and he chuckles when your legs drift further apart. “Come on, we hardly see each other anymore, Uncle Chris. I think we need to take this moment to spend some time together. What do you think, Lucky Charm?”

“Chris, we haven’t had dessert,” his booted foot rubs softly up and down your leg, getting as high up as your knee, and you get visions of fucking him in the bathroom. Making both your dates wait while he pounds into you with a hand over your mouth. “I hear they have really good cheesecake here.”

“I love cheesecake,” Ransom winks at you, and slick pools in your panties. Your body was heated up so much it was all the way in your cheeks. The urge you had to start grinding in your seat was making it harder to see. You wanted him. You wanted to push aside all reserves you had for Ransom. You need him all over your body. He was too bold not to know what he was doing.

“Fine. We’ll have dinner tonight. But then maybe you and I can spend some time alone. For our first date?”

“Yeah. Sure,” that wasn’t convincing in the slightest, and at least Ransom understood that. At this point you were throbbing so hard you were ready to sit in Ransom’s lap while everyone watched you bounce on top of him. It was unnatural and animalistic. But you wanted it.

Chris may be oblivious to things, but you weren’t. You saw everything. Ransom’s arm leaving Molly’s shoulder. The conversation quickly turning into just you and Ransom. The way you were trying to scoot away from Chris, and lean across the table to give Ransom your undivided attention. A moth to a flame. You were the delicate little moth, and Ransom was a ball of fire that you couldn’t look away from.

“Mother fucker,” Chris tosses his phone in his cruiser. Another call went straight to voicemail. There is no other place that you would be. He even saw you at the race for the first time. He had nothing else to lose.

He shouldn’t have left his post, but it didn’t seem like there was anyone checking for the hooligans trying to conduct an illegal race. There was a shift with you the moment that Ransom had sat down at the table, and he didn’t trust his nephew. Ransom always got whatever he wanted, and how he wanted it.

Chris was the bastard son of Harlan Thrombey. Barely even recognized by his siblings as one of them. Ransom was looked at as more important to the family, and he was a criminal. He was only a grandson.

“You son of a bitch,” Chris growls as he sees Ransom winning a race and going straight to you. Treating you like a common whore. His hand goes under your shirt, and cups your breast as he crashes his lips on yours. Basically fucking each other out in public. A needy little slut, and you were letting Ransom use you.

Trash. For all that Ransom had, he was trash. His mother and grandfather would be so disappointed. As would yours. Daughter of the school headmaster, and your mother was a model. Your grandfather was a state senator and grandmother the president of the D.A.R. Chris had looked into you. You deserved better than the life Ransom was pulling you into.

After this race there was only one place Ransom would take you, and Chris was going to wait and see just how close the two of you were to breaking up. He had his rituals. He only kept girls for a month. No more. And just before breakup, he sends you about your merry way after sex. Slowly growing distant

“Oh god, Ran!” Your shouts could be heard outside of the garage. If anyone wanted to watch, it would be easy. All the lights were on. There were no blinds on the windows. But to see you with your hands tied to the ceiling as Ransom fucks into you from behind infuriated him.

Ransom wasn’t even looking at your face, just his dick being sucked back into your cunt. Looking at how shiny your juices was making him. You were a tied up plaything. Even when your knees start to give out, Ransom grips tighter to your hips, keeping you on your feet. “Please! Please, Ran!”

“You’re almost there, Lucky. Give me one more, and I’ll let you rest, I promise.”

It felt like he had been using you for hours. Couldn’t even bother taking you somewhere special. Just tied you up like the rest of them. But even Chris couldn’t deny that this was different. It never lasted this long. He never talked to them. He never touched them with the care he was giving you. But the biggest surprise comes when you sigh, feeling Ransom’s warmth spurt deep into your womb, and his thrusts slow down.

Both of you panting so sweetly, and he pulls you back to him. Removing your hands from their restraints, and starts giving you the sweetest kisses. His hands drift down your front, and softly plays with your clit while you whimper in his mouth. And then Chris sees it; Ransom’s cum starting to leak onto your thighs. Ransom doesn’t do that. Even admitted boldly that he would never do that.

“You wanna stay here, Luck? Or you want to go back to your place?”

“Here, baby. Uhh,” you whine as he pulls himself out of you. You grab at his hand, sucking each finger clean, all while staring up at him like an angel. “Maybe you can make sweet love to me in that little bed?”

You didn’t even care that Ransom lived at the fucking garage. Ransom could have been anybody, and he chose to be a nobody. This pissed Chris off even more. You should already have been in his bed. You were his, and yet just another thing Ransom had stolen from him.

You swing your arms down, letting the cars rush past you, and solemnly walk back to the crowd. You didn’t know how you were going to tell Ransom. You were both adults though. Both of you were not careful. Both of you participated each time that you had fucked. But those tests did not lie. Every single one. All of them with the same result.

You wanted the baby, and wanted Ransom. And you weren’t sure if you could have both.

“Luck, what’s wrong?” Chris steps up behind you, and you flinch a moment. You know he wasn’t happy with how you didn’t return his calls, but you were — preoccupied. “Lucky?”

“Nothing,” but your lip trembles. “It’s fine.”

“Fine doesn’t make you cry at a race.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be patrolling?” Chris taps a police scanner, “Oh,” he holds up a partially smoked joint, and you decline without hesitation, causing Chris’ brows to raise.

“Since when did you stop smoking? I thought that was how you can stand to be around that prick.”

“Don’t say that,” your eyes look out into the distance, barely able to hear the rumble of the cars anymore. “I love him.”

“That came from nowhere,” the distaste was heavy on his tongue. You may love Ransom, but Ransom saw you as an easy lay. Someone that didn’t want to argue about having to sleep at a garage to stay with him. “You don’t even know him.”

“I do. I know him more than you think. He’s…he’s not like you assume. Not when it’s just us,” Ransom was the opposite of what everyone else saw. He was gentle, patient, kind, funny, and so loving. He never even wanted his hands off of you.

“Oh, you mean he doesn’t want to fuck you in a car, while there’s a crowd of people around you.”

You scoff. Chris didn’t fully understand. He couldn’t. He was rarely around the two of you. He stayed away, and when he was around it was just him glaring at Ransom. “Wow. You’re acting like they were surrounding the car and watching Ransom and me fuck. They weren’t even paying us any goddamn mind. I guess except you. What is you’re fucking deal?”

“He’s using you!” You shake your head, starting to walk away, but he grabs your wrist too hard. Not letting go of it. “Yes, he is. Letting everyone here know you’re off limits. He…Lucky you’re not even using protection. What happens if…” your breathing picks up, and finally, his hold loosens when your tears start back and your chest starts to heave.

“Oh my god. You’re pregnant. With…with his bastard.”

“My baby is not a bastard! You better shut your fucking mouth!”

“Luck, you can’t stay with him. You live in a studio apartment, and he lives in a room in a garage. You can’t raise a baby in either of those places. You know exactly what’s going to happen when you tell him,” he didn’t know what he was talking about. Chris was just feeding your worst fears. Ransom wouldn’t leave. Ransom would stay. He knew what unprotected sex was going to do.

“He’s gonna leave. He doesn’t want kids. You know how many times he told me he doesn't want kids?”

“Then maybe he shouldn’t have been coming inside of me. What is your problem? You — you don’t know anything.”

“I know Ransom. Just…let me be the daddy, if you need to keep it.”

“Had to add that ‘if’ in, huh? I’m keeping my baby. And I’m keeping Ransom. Thanks for the offer, Chris. Thanks for making a pregnant woman think the worst of her boyfriend. You know nothing about us. You think Ransom is winning all this money for dope? Why do you have to be such an asshole? I needed comfort tonight,” the roar of the cars returning. It wouldn’t be long until Ransom was beside you, and the two of you could talk.

“I just know how he is.”

“Did you know we found some land? Course you didn’t. You’re too busy being jealous. Chris, I like you. But I’m in love with him. I’m having his baby. And you can accept that or fuck off.”

“Luck, I don’t need you to hate me. I need you to know that the offer stands. I have stability with the police. I can offer you more than just this life,” with the headlights now visible you step away from Chris. You didn’t want to continue this. You wanted Ransom. You wanted to talk. Partying wasn’t for tonight.

“She’s pregnant,” Ransom slumps down in a chair in Chris’ office. “And I’m scared to death.”

“Because you don’t know how you’re going to break up with her?”

“What?” Ransom shakes his head, laughing at how uncomfortable this was. “No, we bought land. But I can’t build a house in such a short amount of time. I don’t have the money for that.”

“Unless you start selling,” Chris had long been trying to get Ransom to run for him. Said that he had the perfect avenue with the garage and the racing. Ransom wanted a relatively honest living. One that didn’t include drugs.

“No. I’m not doing that shit. I told you I wasn’t going to sell. I want an honest life at the garage, and extra cash from the racing. So much has been put back into the garage, and she gets it. Man, she’s perfect. I didn’t want kids, but one with her doesn’t sound bad at all. Are you kidding me? I can’t wait. I don’t care if we lived in a double wide trailer,” Chris rolls his eyes, settling back in his seat. “What?”

“A trailer?”

“They have nice trailers.”

“You could have money to build a house on your land.”

“I don’t deal in dope. I’ve got a kid coming. I can’t risk a felony charge for drug trafficking,” Chris starts to laugh, which only infuriates Ransom more. “You can’t guarantee just because you’re a fucking cop that I won’t get caught. I’m not running drugs. I’d rather ask my parents for money than risk losing my child and her. You know she wouldn’t stay with me. Luck is the real deal. She won’t stand by me if I’m arrested.”

Ransom pulls a box out of his pocket, opening it up and he stares lovingly at the ring. It wasn’t the most expensive, wasn’t even a real diamond. But he knew it was going to be beautiful on your finger, “She deserves something real. This was less than three hundred bucks, and at Walmart. I have to pick and choose. I’m going to do right by them. And our money is now towards a place to live.”

Ransom doesn’t say anything more, only stands up to leave, “Don’t come at me with that offer again. You need to get out of that shit, too.”

Ransom always had everything figured out. Knew how to steal his girl. Knew how to make extra money without risk of a felony. Knew how to change his mind to make a girl stay. Chris hated how everything came so easy to that fucking prick. He hated him. He hated Hugh Ransom Drysdale.

Chris takes a long toke of his joint as he stares at yours and Ransom’s trailer. Every light in the house was off. It is quiet. Serene. The only thing visible was Gracie’s night light casting pictures on the ceiling. He pulls out his phone, “They’re all there,” hanging up quickly, and settles back in his seat. Front row to Ransom’s worst nightmare.

You stir in your sleep. Your hand drifts up and down Ransom’s chest. “Shh, go back to sleep, darling,” Ransom mumbles, giving you a soft kiss on your head. He wraps an arm around you, holding you tight against him, “Love you, my Lucky charm.”

“I love you, Ran,” your voice is already getting heavier as the sleep takes you over again. You never wanted to miss a night sleeping next to him. Having his boxers so low that his groomed hair was poking out the top. Ransom was the best thing that had ever happened to you.

The team surrounds your home, someone stationed at every door, and every window. The master bedroom was to the east side of the house, and not a peep was coming from the room.

You jolt up in bed as the doors break in. Standing up trying to get to Gracie’s room before something hard hits you on the chest, “Stay the fuck down!”

“You get your hands off her!” Ransom screams as a police officer slams him face down on the floor. Tears fill his eyes as he watches you immobile. Hit so hard that they knocked the breath out of you. “Let her go! Lucky! Luck, darling, are you breathing. My god, she’s trying to get our daughter,” Ransom’s tears turn to rage when he hears Gracie’s terrified scream. “Let her get our baby!”

“Mommy!”

“She can’t breathe!” You finally gasp for air. Gaining more strength when you hear her voice again. “Let her go!” She needs you. She sounds so scared, and you can’t move. Could barely breathe. Struggling to say her name. You need your baby.

“Mr. Drysdale, do you have any weapons in the house?”

“Gracie,” you croak out. “Please, let me get my daughter. She’s crying.”

“She’s fine,” the officer screams in your ear, and then Gracie is able to run past someone. Seeing you on the floor, and screams, reaching for you. “Calm the child down!”

“She’s scared. She’s a baby! Please. Please!”

“If you let them go, I leave without a fight. There’s guns in the closet safe, along with some cash. Just let them go!” The officer holding Ransom down nods to your captor, and they release you, and you dash towards Gracie. Grabbing her up and pressing her close to your body, trying to soothe her tears.

“Ransom Drysdale, you’re under arrest for drug trafficking. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law,” you stare horrified as they lift him up to his feet. Cuffing his hands behind his back, and pushing him out the door.

“Daddy! Where are you taking my daddy! No! Daddy.”

“You have the right to have an attorney. If you cannot afford one, one will be appointed to you by the court,” they push his head into the car, but his eyes stay in front of him. Face as hard as stone.

“Can I get him some clothes?” You ask, still holding Gracie close to you. “He’s just wearing boxers. H-h-he needs shoes.”

“Mrs. Drysdale…”

“Let me get him some clothes, please? He’s been arrested for…for what?”

“Did you know anything about your husband’s drug running?”

“I-I-I…” you look out to the police cruiser, remembering the words that Ransom said, “I’m not speaking without a lawyer. Let me get him some clothes. And let — god, can our daughter see him for a second? Sh-sh-she’s scared, and you…you took her daddy.”

“Get him some clothes,” the officer says, following you into the bedroom where they were ripping everything apart. Sleep still addled your brain, and this was quickly becoming overwhelming. Your home was being destroyed right before your very eyes.

“Oh god. What…what are you doing?”

“Do you have somewhere else to go tonight?” Snapping his fingers, the other officers stop their search. Pointing over to the closet. Even what you grab out for Ransom to wear is heavily searched. Pockets pulled out, and shoes looked into before they give them back to you. “Ma’am, your home is going to be searched, do you have somewhere else to go?”

“Can I pack us a suitcase?”

“No.”

“What about her nightlight, and doll?’

“No.”

Dammit. “Can you get us some fucking shoes then? My god, what is going on?”

“Where are you going?”

“To Harlan Thrombey’s. Can I go see Ransom now?” Still an officer stays with you as you walk clothes out to Ransom. “Baby?”

“Tell Harlan to call my lawyer the minute you get in. Don’t talk to anybody. Don’t let anyone but Harlan and mom be alone with Gracie. Not even Chris,” you nod your head. You didn’t want to ask too many questions, because Ransom wouldn’t answer. “Baby girl, daddy is going to be away for a while.”

Gracie shakes her head no, reaching for her dad, “No,” you were getting about fucking tired of that word.

“Daddy! Daddy, don’t leave me. I get scared at bed time without you.”

“Gracie, you be good for mommy, and gramma, and Pappy, okay?” Gracie’s face scrunches up tightly. Tears pour down her face, still reaching for him. “Daddy will be back. No matter what, daddy loves you and mommy.”

“Daddy, no! Daddy, I’m scared!” The officer slams the door, separating you and Gracie from him, and he gives the top a tap, as it starts to roll away. “Daddy! I need my daddy! No, gimme my daddy back!”

“Ma’am, I suggest you and your daughter go somewhere else tonight.”

“Can you not…god, I have a studio with expensive camera equipment.”

“It’s all being seized,” he walks away from you, and you watch horrified as figures discard items in your home. You couldn’t watch this anymore. Couldn’t calm Gracie down.

Chris takes his final hit of the roach before tossing it onto the ground. Smiling to himself as he backs his car off your property. Ransom didn’t win this time. Finally he was getting what was owed to him. And finally Chris was going to get what always belonged to him. You. And now Ransom was almost out of the way. And there would only be you.

His. You were always his.

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[rockingreads]

Karl French [Editor]: This is Spinal Tap: The Official Companion (2000)

Tomorrow is November 11, or, as it's known to diehard rock fans around the world (and elsewhere), 'Nigel Tufnel Day,' in recognition of Spinal Tap's influential lead guitarist and autodidact philosopher's custom-made Marshall Amps.

As you know, they "go to eleven" ...

Some may call me obsessive, but I cite the 'mockumentary' starring Christopher Guest, Michael McKean, Harry Shearer, and Rob Reiner with alarming regularity: both in my writings and music industry day-job, and often to blank stares from my younger co-workers.

That's why this official companion for This is Spinal Tap, its ever-expanding surrounding and ensuing lore, edited by Karl French will interest only a peculiar breed of individual that, like Tap's audience, is growing "more selective" with every passing year.

It contains a "Prepilogue" written by McKean (a.k.a. David St. Hubbins), a chronology ("Tap'istory") of the parody band's history, credits and transcripts for the movie and its outtakes, lyrics, discography, and an exhaustive A-Z covering every (ahem!) inch of Tap ephemera.

Frankly, it's the gift that keeps on giving.

At least for idiots like me who regularly insert This is Spinal Tap's tropes, anecdotes, and classic one-liners into their everyday lives, and therefore feel the need to give this little "none-more-black" book pride-of-place on my bookshelf.

However, for most "normal" people, it will understandably reside, along with Spinal Tap itself, in the "where are they now" file.

p.s. -- I unfortunately don't own super-rare, over-priced vinyl copies of Spinal Tap classics like Brain Hammer, Intravenus de Milo, and Shark Sandwich (partly because they shipped Gold and were returned Platinum), but I proudly collect the records displayed here.

Featured Records:

Spinal Tap: This is Spinal Tap (1984)

Spinal Tap: "Hell Hole" (1984)

Spinal Tap: "Christmas with the Devil" (1984)

Buy from: Amazon