a carnival had been the perfect idea for a date. there were rides, prizes and endless amount of snacks. a movie was his backup plan, but alec didnât want to sit in the theatre for two hours and not talk. there was plenty to learn about stevie reid and going to a movie wouldnât have helped him. he wanted her to talk his ear off, tell him everything and anything about music, comics and lord of the rings. he wanted to know just how adventurous she was âwould she want to go on every ride? try every exotic food the carnival had to offer? try to become a carny herself? the possibilities were endless and he loved being kept on his toes. heâs a nervous wreck. no matter how easy-going her atmosphere was, alec couldnât help but put his foot into his mouth. sometimes he wished he could permanently turn his mind off or sew his mouth shut. heâs sure she doesnât want to hear his babbling, besides, how was that going to help him learn more about her.Â
alecâs going to apologize (a habit of his) but when he feels her hand slip into his own the words get caught. perhaps this wasnât going as bad as he thought. her hand is soft, incredibly soft and he canât help but think how perfect their hands mesh together. almost as if they were made for one another. sheâs better than him when it comes to the bottle toss. alec had tried to knock over the six bottles, but missed with all three balls. however, they proved to be no challenge for her and heâs sure she could kick his arse. though he figured that the moment he met her, this was just a reminder to never piss her off. she gives him the prize; a plush ET. alec could hear his dad already, complaining about letting a woman win him something, a doll at that fact, but he doesnât care. following traditional stereotypes was boring and stevie certainly wasnât either of those things.
 he liked that about her. he tucks the plush underneath his arm, a deep blush spreading through his cheeks as he takes her hand once more.theyâre walking now, stevie scoping out her next conquest. alec thinks sheâll go for a churro or cotton candy, but honestly, his mind is still wrapped around the gift. she didnât have to get him anything. she couldâve given herself the prize, so he found it very sweet and selfless of her. a sense of determination settles over him and before itâs gone forever, alec leans in quickly, pressing a kiss to her cheek. his nose jams against her cheekbone, itâs not too hard but itâs clear heâs overestimated their distance. the scot pulls back a moment later, meeting her hues. âs-sorryâŚâ a breathy laugh escapes his lips, teeth sinking into his lower one.
   --- @thickscottishaccent
     at ten, she dreamed of joining the circus. out on the road, a campervan holiday across the scottish highlands, flowers in her hair, running naked through the childish woods. the woods entreated her, nature was her virtue -- wild thing that she was -- the pull of itâs vines following her now into adolescence. she finds solace in nature ; in the hands of former dryads and nymphs that touch her in the whistle of leaves, and she finds it now in the pull of the earth in a carnivalesque revival of the fields. and thereâs nature too in the old-souled young body beside her, a knowledge beyond his years, a kind of timelessness to him. he wouldnât look out of place in a photograph from the swinging sixties, and yet he carries the polite poise and chivalry of medieval knight.Â
     thereâs something so jovial and free in the way he loses his tongue to haphazard thoughts babbled like word vomit. itâs an endearing characteristic sheâs already become fond of, despite it being only forty-odd minutes into their first date. an inkling within her desires to tell him, to verbalise how cute it is, how his nervous disposition is ( in a goofy way ) actually kind of hot -- but to interrupt would shatter the very cause of her amusement so instead she merely slips her palm into his, thumb curling against his knuckles, and from the look on his face she clocks heâs soft in every bone. amusements are won not in the winning of prizes, of pride, but in the way each time she thrawrts a contest his features shift into shock, and out of it, second-guessing his own surprise. to him, sheâs half-godly. stevie canât help but wonder if heâs attached to her ( like a luggage label ) the superhero persona he searches for in her store.
       the kiss -- albeit a brief one -- is unexpected, her whole body folding into his as he draws away, missing his lips by a second and leaving them trapped once more in a limbo of locked stares, mouths close enough to meet, a tight giddiness in her stomach she canât quite describe. stevie could close the space between them in an instance, but this teetering on the edge is far more fun. itâs the expectation, not the thing itself, that makes a kiss endure. her arms are around his back, frame much shorter than his, hands curving up to reach his shoulders and pull her up against him, the gentle thrum of ella fitzgerald on the gramophone of the coconuts booth willing movement into her bones. âlet me stand on your feet--â she presses, but itâs barely above a whisper, somehow even more intimate than talking could ever be. âiâll stand on your feet, and weâll dance. like back in the stock room.â her dulcet tones are still low, hands trailing over the planes of his chest before tightening around alecâs waist once more. âdo you remember it?â sheâs playing games. of course he remembers -- her hands pulling him into a twirl, against the desk, between her thighs while he fumbled with her skirt -- and yet ella fitzgerald hums on, now accompanied by louis armstrong, her head dropping into his shoulder as they sway, her toes over his.Â
