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precious-little-scoundrel · 5 months

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Trash Magic

Big Daddy Trailer Park Cop AU One Shot

Summary: it’s 2008 and it’s the pits of recession, not that the suburbs of El Paso would notice, things have been rather shit among the rows and rows of trailers for some time now. With your dad locked up for being a little too ‘entrepreneurial’, it seems your only ally in these tough times is the town‘s scary old softy, Officer Presley, and the more than professional interest he takes in your speeding and footwear.

Era: modern but with that dumbass tumblr dusty Americana feel to it I hope?

Kudos: so many to @eliseinmemphis who was my plot guru, kept this thing alive and gave so many lines and sentences used herein.

Word count: 15k and I didn’t edit this sorry for misspells, etc

18+ and may be thematically disturbing to some please read cautions, proceed at your own risk!! More specifics below the cut

HAPPY NEW YEAR MY DARLINGS!

Specific warnings: sexual content, drug use, stripping, casual prostitution, age gap, reader isn’t a minor for such activities but only eighteen?? which is not touted as a good thing but it’s in here?? if that’s a hard no then be warned. graphic descriptions of kinda gross blowjobs and very gross blowjobs, spanking, officer Presley does take too many pills for his pain ok? driving under the influence, minors drinking, trailer trash lifestyle in general, such as I personally have had experience with, it’s rough out there folks but there’s always the good ones trying their best. Sorry I really threw Joe E under the bus. I’m not really sorry but I’m sorry you have to read about him in here. Please let me know what warnings I missed if I did. Again, could be thematically disturbing due to age, solicitation, law officers, drug use, humans not being tidy little robots.

When you were three years old you recall the smell of plastic heating in the sun, the hot smell of fresh cut grass and the cold splatter of hose water on your skin. A little paradise it seemed, that tiny kitty pool and your mama waving the hose over you with one hand, her cigarette dangling between the fingers of her other, bright warm sun and yellowing grass stretched out in large swathes between the little white shacks stacked row upon tidy row. Always the same and ready to guide you home after each little wander into the thicket behind the clearing.

That was life in the Shady Oaks trailer park. There really was only one mature oak tree and it was a live oak and the sunshine beamed right through its little leaves all seasons of the year.

By five you had a sizable jar of grasshoppers collected and had become too scared of their hoards and awful beady eyes to ever release them, fearful they would swarm you the minute you undid the lid of the mason jar and gave them freedom. You had let one out and watched it hop across the torn Hexagons of the linoleum floor before it jumped in an acrobatic feat and landed in the mac & cheese your mom was making. You never know what she did with those jars, but you were half relieved, half heartbroken at the fact they were no longer your responsibility.

By eight you knew you lived in a trailer park and spending your time collecting ants and moths for the new set of grasshoppers to eat was a peculiar and uncool pastime. As were muddy knees and torn t-shirts on a girl approaching her teenage years. But mama hadn’t been able to take the heat and the rows upon rows of mildewing trailers anymore and daddy was too busy with his “entrepreneurship” to dress you right.

By twelve you had learned that some nights daddy came home, and some nights he didn’t and you couldn’t be sure which you preferred. His drunken state was unpredictable and confusing even though he was not abusive, but his absence left you counting quarters and wondering how long your Fig Newtons would last if he stayed gone longer than a week again.

By fifteen the Dollar Store and its fluorescent bulbs leached the vitality out of you with each long day shift, school was an afterthought, and your days smelled of plastic bags and detergent. You brought that smell home to your musty trailer, seeped into the sweaty fabric of your tank top. The only thing that stayed consistent whether your daddy was home or not was the religious watching of the NASCAR races. Reruns and live, it didn’t matter, where many girls escaped into Disney or Reality TV, you did your dreaming while sitting in the ratty drivers seat of daddy’s Ford, making the engine thrum.

By seventeen, your daddy was gone for months at a time. Sometimes he’d leave the Ford and take off on the road with Benny and Gregg in Benny’s motorhome from a few rows down. Greg had the pale blue trailer with the blinds that were always smashed in the one window. He always left his damn lights on, even when he was gone and they’d glow yellow and demented between the brittle plastic. Some nights when you walked back home from town, maybe a little more plastered than you’d like to admit, you’d keep Gregg’s trailer and his silly window as a landmark to turn left in the maze of trailers.

One night the bulb burnt out. One by one the rest of them did too. The fellas, they’d all been gone so long. Next week the electricity got turned off to yours. The bill hadn’t been paid. Dollar Store wages kept peanut butter and miracle bread in your cabinets and bought you cheap tequila from Terry who lived five trailers down and didn’t care about ID’s so long as there was cash on the counter. What the wages didn’t pay for was electricity or gas money or a new car that could actually accelerate fast enough to give you that thrill you craved.

Despite your lousy education and demotivated upbringing, you had some spark of diligence and ambition residing inside you, it was stoked to a decent blaze by the awful, humid and stale air of the trailer without its swamp coolers humming at night. Not even the fridge stayed cool longer than forty eight hours and you ended up at the seven eleven eating roller dogs.

You weren’t looking for job opportunities while licking corn dog grease off your thumbs but opportunity came to you anyway. As you nibbled at the soggy fried dog and licked at the rancid oil while leaning against the auto supply shelf, you’d have to be some sorta dumb to not know that Carl was hanging around the same aisle for something besides windshield washer fluid.

Carl was a native to the outskirts of El Paso just like you, and he was a married man, married to Clarissa in fact. Clarissa who’s plastic miniature flamingo’s gracing each edge of her weedy gravel drive had a younger you thinking she was the height of trailer park sophistication. That was before Officer Presley, who lived in a spacious double wide down by Gregg’s trailer and its burnt out bulbs, got himself a Tiger figurine made outta real concrete and painted pretty as anything, its blazing feline eyes not missing a speck of paint, unlike the flamingo’s slashed ones. Officer Presley only had the one and it was assumed he was saving up for another, and he placed it by the little porch he built off his trailer door, the proximity to the structure giving it a noble sorta air that sitting statues out by the street didn’t manage.

“If you keep watchin’ me like that I’ll have to start chargin’.” you told Carl and his leering face, and took another bite, munching with the carefree manners of someone actually hungry.

“Can’t do that here.” he wheezed a laugh, then thumbed over his shoulder at the bright lights of the trucker club blazing in the dark sky through the dirty glass doors of the gas station. “But over there it’s legal.”

“You so horny you’d pay to watch a girl eat a corndog?” you were dubious, wondering just how little Miss Clarissa put out if he’d waste money on this, it wasn’t like she was busy repainting her Flamingo’s peeling eyes or nothin’.

“I’d pay for a drink for ya.” Carl offered, fidgety hands wedged in his fraying front pockets. “And you can eat another dog. You like hot dogs? They’ve got ‘em over there.”

“Nah, I need cash.” you declined, aware that you could barter for drinks and end up evicted or else make sacrifices regarding the booze and keep your tin roof over your head.

“Cash?” he repeated like a dumb parrot.

“Yeah, stupid.” you flailed your hands a little in annoyance, fully certain everyone in this run down rural suburb knew you were as broke as you are alcoholic at seventeen.

“Ok, then I’ll pay for your hot dog,” he negotiated with an oil stained finger scratching at the sore on the corner of his mouth, “And you can eat it so long as you do it how I tell ya.”

You sighed and ran your chipping nails along the plastic jugs of car oil. “So long as ya let me eat it.” you stipulate, “And you gotta pay for the show.”

“I ain’t made of money, girl!” Carl protested, “I’m buyin’ dinner, you should be thankin’ me.”

“You were plannin’ on buyin’ me a drink.” you pointed out, “Where’s that money gone?”

“Jeeze ok, ok,” Carl sighed, “I’ll pay you same as a wild Turkey would cost.”

“And a dog?”

“Yeah.”

“With chili on it?”

“Oh c’mon now-“

“-It’ll make for good slurpin.” you pointed out sagaciously

Carl groaned in annoyance and appreciation for the mental image. “Ok, a chili dog and the cost of a shot. No funny shit with the tab and you eat it how I say.”

“Does the club have air conditioning?” You asked your last stipulation.

“Course it does, it would be hot as fuck without.”

Your trailer was hot as fuck and anytime spent loitering elsewhere was greatly desired. “Ok then.” you agreed with a shrug.

By the time you’d crossed the parking lot, with Carl’s guiding hand on your lower back, you were irritable from the heat and exhaust fumes. Inside was cool and almost as dark as the parking lot except for the wild, multi-colored lights swirling around the place, highlighting the girls humping the stage floor in the middle of the establishment. One more underage addition wasn’t remotely as remarkable as the fella in the corner trying to take a bite outta a lap dancer’s boob. He got smacked on the cheek for it and nothin’ more, got his full dance anyway and as you watched her after while sitting up on the bar stool, you noticed her negotiate something similar to what you’d just done. She stayed in his lap after her dance was done and after some gesticulating and her unimpressed sighs, some agreement was reached and you watched them get up and walk to the back of the club, through the backdoor that you knew led to nothing more than miles and miles of desert.

Five minutes later a similar transaction occurred between a trucker and a pole girl. They went out back, too. Ten minutes later the first couple came back in. She went to the stage and he went out the front door Carl had brought you in by.

By that point you were slowly inserting a hot dog onto your pink tongue and swallowing a bite every three minutes or more - at least, that’s what it felt like. Carl’s directions were so slow and infuriatingly erratic that you found yourself grateful for the fact you’d already eaten a bit at the gas station, otherwise this would’ve been the cruelest tease to your belly that hadn’t had lunch and only Raisin Bran for breakfast. You chose to ignore the way his hand moved in the shadow of the bar, wiping at his jeans too many times to be passed off as sweaty palms.

A nearly fully dressed girl in cut offs eating a chili dog was hardly the most sensational thing to be watched in this seedy joint, but it was the most peculiar and no sooner had you finished the dog after a laborious thirty minutes, collected the extra drink cash and prepared to go home after declining Carl’s offer of a ride before you found yourself propositioned for the same ordeal. This big fella actually offered a drink with it and much to Carl’s betrayed horror you agreed. Carl ended up leaving, going home to Clarissa, feeling too cuckolded to continue watching someone else watch you eat meat in a casing.

In between sipping Hard Mike’s lemonade you chatted with the fella and spilled pinto beans on your bare legs from the excess. Even the bartender had stopped being annoyed, he even got a bit invested in your gig, retracting the offered napkins for the spill when another guy, a farm hand from the pecan grove down the interstate, asked to lick it off.

You charged seventeen bucks for that spit bath and felt funny as the saliva dried in the chilled bar room air. The bartender asked you if you lived in El Paso. Hesitating to give yourself away or open yourself up to a driveby, you merely agreed that you lived nearby, he didn’t need to know you lived in the Spark City suburb and walked to this tuck station grill to save fuel.

Marty, he said his name was, and Marty was pleased you lived close. In that case he asked if you’d wanna work there. You knew at the time he wasn’t offering you to bartend, your age prohibitive even in so lax an establishment. Your eyes flicked over to the long gal with her sallow skin and stringy red hair loling around the stripper pole in the glow of a green spotlight. It had to be 3:00 am by then.

“Does everybody do extra?” You asked him, plainly referencing the deals that took folks out back into the sagebrush and the backside of the club.

“You do as much as you wanna get paid for.” he admitted. “Plenty just strip.”

Just, he had said. Just strip.

Just stripping was a gross understatement for the rigorous and demoralizing ordeal of flinging your practically naked body around on stage for gaping older men to ogle each night. But it took up hours of your time not paid by the dollar store wages, and you could snooze from five am to eight when your shift began again in respectable retail. You earned a decent amount, even after having to pay Marty and the doormen a portion and even turning down a lap dance or two. The chili dog schtick kept its novelty for three nights and then you were driven to grinding against the pold like all the others, wondering if they’d all hoped to not end this way, same as you.

After a few weeks of this your piggy bank was less empty than it had been in months, hidden under the sink of your trailer behind the Comet and pulled out only to stuff in bills or else retrieve bread money, one Sunday you counted enough to pay your lease for the trailer slip. What was left would make a tiny little down payment for the electricity bill.

Or gas money for at least fifty miles or more in your gas guzzler. You weighed the bills in your hands and mournfully inspected your bruised knees. It was your off day, you contemplated going to the club in the evening as it didn’t respect the Lord’s day like the dollar store, but until then you had hours of a perfectly cloudless day to burn. Suddenly your trailer felt unbearable in its stuffy crampedness.

You tore outta your door and cranked up your daddy’s old Ford and with relief found it started with only a few tries. You tore down the road too, seeking the interstate after using that cash to top her tank off. For the first time in ages a full smile had begun to split your face. You went east, passing the last remnant of civilization that you called home and comprised El Paso’s dusty satellite cling ons. Then it was open range, nothing just mesas and tumbleweed, no one else could brag of such flat country or so wide a sky.

You floored it, the speed limit a decent 80 on its own, you went up to 120, fast as you dared push the transmission without fear of being stranded in the desert. Billboards warned of “last chance for gas, Van Horn 200 miles” followed by a possibly related: “God is coming, have you repented?”

All flew by in a unheeded blur as you cranked up the stereo and let the wind whip your hair. You covered a patrol car in a cloud of dust and saw his lights flash at you in the rearview. No chase commenced. When you leisurely drove back you noticed it was highway patrol, the sun was setting and he flashed his brights at you. You flicked them back.

“Hey officer Presley.” you murmured amused at him turning a blind eye to the speeding. Back when you had more money and made a regular habit of this amateur racing, you noticed the same benevolent light flicker and never a siren broke the still of the desert. “You ole softy.” you giggled at the thought of the middle aged officer being generous for you and only you, and wondered if he’d heard about what had become of you yet. Seems like most of the trailer park had. Favorite topic these days, right up there with when or if your daddy was ever gonna come home. Had the wives hating you during the day for the suspicion of their men wanking over you at night.

“Maybe if you could spare a single food stamp or somethin’ to help a gal in need I’d not be strippin’!” You had hollered at Ms Clarissa for all to hear and you stood by it. Buncha lousy, miserable hypocrites who did far worse behind their canvas doors.

You do go to the club that night.

You stripped down to your panties and bra and made enough to buy ice and a trip to the dentist. You packed the ice in the dead refrigerator and pampered yourself with some milk and a carton of ice cream for the filled tooth.

Next day you filled up your gas tank again and blazed a path through town, headed to the wide open and dreaming of busting your way into the male ranks of nascar drivers. You were deep into a daydream and committing a little self pity about how you hadn't been able to afford cable and were missing all the races when a siren’s blare broke your fantasy and the flicker of red lights against a pale blue sky filled your rearview. Begrudgingly you pulled to the shoulder as you cranked down your window, fiddling with the radio knobs till you could actually hear your crime when your peruser sauntered up.

“Well, well officer Presley, finally got persnickety about laws, have ya?” you observed to yourself with a grin as you watched the handsome man swagger towards you along the white line in your side mirror, tugging at his pants as he neared, trying to shimmy the article of clothing a little higher but is impeded by his belt, stopped by his sizable belly, his holster and buckle sitting under the bulge of it.

Your mouth watered. It had been close to a year since you’d seen him up close, not since last time he pulled you over, though you always took note when he was lounging outside his trailer in a lawn chair with his dog or stripped down and working under his hood. He was always built, intimidating to all the stupid rascals he kept in line along the border, but now he had become outright fat and his khaki shirt pulled apart between each button. Yet when he came up to your window, that little boy's grin was still gracing one of the most exquisite faces known to man, and his voice was tender and playful when he greeted you, just as you once recalled. You could see his sweaty hair, matted on his chest and belly between the gaps, his underarms have massive pit stains, doubly apparent thanks to the light color of his police uniform.

Your smile had something of the she-wolf in it as you greeted him, sniffing the air in hopes of catching a whiff as he leaned on your window frame, nearly crowding you from outside. “Hey Miss Lead Foot Louie,” he greeted, “you know why ya been pulled over?”

“Haven't got a clue, officer.” You stated the truth and enjoyed the way his title rolled off your tongue in a bantering way. It was easy.

Officer, officer. Somebody important and authoritative. No sir, yes sir, Officer.

His left eyebrow quirked and you wondered what he looked like at twenty five, how devastating that expression would have been before his wound and his meds and the water retention. Whatever power it may have once held, it holds nothing to that slightly bemused, slightly cynical world weariness that shows in his every expression now, that had a twitch of an eyebrow making you feel a fool in the most delicious way. “You’re goin’ seventy in a forty five, Miss.” his tone was patient even as his face suggested he’d like to tan your hide for being so reckless. “Reckless endangerment of others, and yourself,” he quoted sternly, “it ain’t no small matter and I don’t countenance it on my highway.”

Gosh, you just loved it when he laid claim to government property like highways and interstates. It helped you smile meekly at him and nod.

“Sorry officer, I got lax.” You purred, batting your eyes and you could see the heavy flap of their coal coated weight in your periphery. “I’ve seen you lettin’ me fly by on the interstate. I guess I thought…”

He leaned further into her car window, shirt gaping helpfully at his neck and allowing you a glimpse of sweaty hair, little droplets shining like rhinestone studs in the coarse curls. You leaned towards him, nipples hardening beneath your t-shirt bra as your mind started to the taste of salt. “You’re in town, miss.” he pointed out with grave disappointment for your lack of behavioral modulation, “S’one thing on the open plain, it’s another when you’re endangerin’ your fellow citizens, flyin’ through intersections, speedin’ up and threadin’ traffic when you’ve got a visible yield sign. Right there! Ain’t responsible. And I won’t countenance it.”

“Sorry officer.” you pleaded, lingering on his rank with all the sultry appreciation of a girl who lacks authority figures in her life. It made his palm itch.

He sighed and gave you a small smile, puffy, marshmallow lips set under a dark five o’clock shadow and it wasn’t even noon. “Now, how many times do I gotta pull ya over ‘fore ya start listenin’ to me?“ he asked with patient expectancy and you swallowed hard, actually feeling a small bit of guilt.

“Well,” you drew it out, biting your lip before tossing your head and beaming at him, “maybe just one last time. Like always.”

He tsked at you in reprimand but his eyes lit up with enjoyment, and that was worth whatever fine he might slap you with. It really wasn’t, not with how broke you were but gosh, you loved breaking the ice on him, reeling him in for another verbal tussle. One day you hoped those expressive hands would accidently smack you mid-wave when he was explaining something or other. You lived in hope of that day.

You watched as he straightened briefly and reviewed your vehicle, thumbing at the peeling paint on the hood near his thumb and swished at the sand on your tags. You held your breath, hoping the dust would disguise their expiration. Officer Presley just grunted and surveyed your lemoning old truck with the face of a man who appreciates nice things and doesn't see any nice things in sight. The face of a man whose patrol car was a Ford Mustang.

“You like speed.” he observed, still glancing at your tires with lip curling disdain. You wanted him to look at you like that but his face always softened when he turned back to you. It did this time as well.

“Yeah.” you breathed.

“You got a shit truck for speed, terrible drag, shit tread on your tires, bet it’s a gas guzzler, too.”

“Well yeah, officer,” you rolled your eyes at his survey, “but it’s not like I can afford much else right now so -I do this for fun. Fun’s not illegal in America yet, is it?”

He looked at you gravely then and his eyes turned sad. “Yeah I heard about the strippin’. You watch yourself now, be careful and make sure you don’t engage in no extra-curric-u-lars.” he advised sternly, peering over his tinted sunglasses at you while saying the big word, over pronouncing it with authoritative gravitas, “I’ve told Marty that means no bar tendin’ when you’re underage. And I’m tellin’ you now, that goes for solictin’, too. You understand me? Nice lil girl like you could get in a heap of trouble real fast. And I won’t countenance it.”

The rest of you perked up at the heavy handed advice, feeling smothered and also cherished that someone would give a shit, even if they were just defending laws n’ government regulations. Thinking of them as Officer Presley’s laws, as his property you were twerking on somehow ennobled your calling, made you feel like giving it a try to be good and not disappoint him. You felt grateful he hadn't chewed you out for the stripping like half the neighborhood, you’d expected some disgust.

When he finally looked at you with disdain, and you were determined that he would, it would be for something less unchangeable, a little less broke, a little more sexy.

“Yes sir, I got ya.” you acknowledged with a nervous laugh to hide your discomfort with the way he kept staring at you, reading you, it felt.

He kept at it for a few moments, chomping on that gum stick in his mouth, dexterous pink tongue lolling the stuff from one row of molars to the others and back. Most fascinating ping-pong match you’d ever seen and while he did his soul-reading, you watched his mouth.

As his jaw worked overtime, he narrowed his eyes at you, so blue they looked violet behind the tint of his lenses. “A’ight.” he decided at last and suddenly your window was bereft of his congenial bulk, you heard the rap of his knuckles on your truck roof.

“You stay outta trouble now, Missy.” he let you off with only a warning, two sharp knocks on the metal and then, “I’ll be seein’ ya.”

You watched the side mirror with investment as he meandered away, futilly hiking up his holster again as he went before he entered his squad car. He flashed his lights at you as you stayed gawking, you fumbled with the ignition and peeled out off the shoulder, moderating your acceleration upon afterthought. You’d promised to be good.

But nights at the Trucker Bar didn’t pay to be good. You had a laundry list of things you wanted and a hefty list of needs alongside it. You tried picking up a shift at the Texaco but Ashley there near tore your hair out against the beer coolers for encroaching on her shift. Everyone needed work and Spark City had never been much of a City, too little infrastructure to prosper its community in good times, much less in the pits of a recession. The Best Buy in El Paso was hiring, you read in a mail advertisement. Their wages cost as much gas it took to drive there and back.

So you got pretty good at something else, something Officer Presley wouldn’t be impressed by, or maybe he would in a moment of weakness but lord, much as you worried and panicked some times about him dropping in on the Trucker stop, meeting eyes and him just knowing you’d been doing extracurriculars, he never showed. Must not have been his scene. Not that you were sure what his scene was, you only ever saw him in his patrol car or else cleaning his guns on his trailer porch next to his Tiger figurine.

You assumed he liked blow jobs as much as the next man. But he never showed and so you got more and more lax, went out back of the bar to the Sagebrush desert and blew heavy tippers against the concrete wall, ant bites and stickers plaguing your knees. So far you hadn’t even needed to walk on over past the broken wall to the dingy motel in back and do the horizontal tango.

Moderate extracurriculars and the dancing was enough to tip your little piggy bank into having a little something to shake at the end of the day. You got yourself a haul of cereal and hot pockets that night, even splurged on milk that went rancid by the next day without refrigeration. You spent your late mornings debating how much money you had left for rent and how much you had for electricity and the viability of buying a generator instead of paying the bill. You also wanted a Blackberry phone real bad, your old flip phone a relic and on its last wheezes -maybe that’s why your dad’s calls never came through.

You were chewing off the price tag of your dollar flip flops, walking barefoot out of your daytime workplace -Dollar General- at the end of your shift when you realized there was a patrol car pulled up beside your Ford. First you cursed, then you grinned as you saw the familiar figure of Officer Presley wiping at your windshield with a bandana. Then you cursed again as you realized he was checking your expired tags.

You jogged over the burning asphalt, still tied flip flops in hand, hoping you didn’t look like shit from having taken off the Dollar Store vest without smoothing your hair afterwards. You hadn’t been good, he could be here for anything, soliciting, or for the speeding you know he caught on his radar or else the tags.

“Hey officer!” you chirped, as carefree and smiley as you could manage -and you’d gotten to be a tidy little liar at the club, insisting you couldn’t wait to have greasy, unwashed truckers in your mouth.

He turned his head slowly, hand still heavy on the windshield and observed you through those glasses again. “Don’t you ‘hey officer’ me.” he retorted, riled despite himself at the way you always said his rank like he had you locked up with frilly pink handcuffs to his waterbed. He shook his head and focused on the variety of delinquencies he had to reprimand you for. “These tags are out of date.”

“Aww,” you feigned consternation pretty decently as you really hadn’t bothered to prioritize the tags with every other dire cost pummeling you right now, “I’m sorry Elvis.” you tried a little familiarity as you drew closer, watching enthralled as a stale desert window tufted the front of his black locks of his sweaty forehead, “Things’ve been a lil tight for a while now, what with daddy leavin’. Slipped my mind.”

He pulled his hand off the windshield and his hands tried to rest on his hips but they slipped and ended up in an odd, off-kilter sorta sling on his pockets and belly, “They’re three years overdue.” his tone sounded unimpressed, you shivered despite the heat.

“Oh.” you chewed your lip and gazed at him hopefully.

“I oughta tan your hide, lettin’ you turn feral with all my concessions.” he said aloud while stippling his fingers on your rusting truck hood. His eyes dropped to the newly purchased, junk flip flops you still clutched. “Why’re you bare foot?”

“My last pair broke.” you explained, end of your shift the thong had snapped and here you were with the replacements.

“Well put ‘em on, the road’s nasty.” he grunted in aggravation, eyes dropping to your feet and widening in disgust at the welts and blisters you’d accumulated from your cheap stripper heels. “Holy shit, that’s gnarly right there.”

You felt a bit offended by that, wanting to object it was the toll of the job, sorta like fat guts came from lounging in patrol cars for a living. Figuring you were in deep deep enough shit as is without outright insulting him, you bit your tongue and chewed on the plastic connector again, trying to free your sandals.

“Oh for God’s sake, stop that.” he growled after a minute and to your bewilderment he stepped in your space and grabbed the foam footwear out of your mouth, “Gonna chip a tooth goin’ on that way, then your tips’ll go down, ya thought of that? No? No you don’t think ahead about nothin’.”

He was working himself up into a frustrated frenzy, tugging at the plastic tag, mumbling all the while about your behavior until it snapped at last and separated the flip flops. He stared dumbly at his success for a minute while you tittered. Bad move on your part, his eyes darkened and he genuinely scowled at you, something more effective than it should have been with his outdated sideburns carving lines in his cheeks.

“Turn around.” he demanded and you snapped your mouth shut, confused by his attitude and furtively eyeing your flip flops still dwarfed in his gloved hands. Who the hell wore gloves in this decade? In this century? In an El Paso suburb that was only a degree or two cooler than the surface of the sun.

You turned around.

“Hands on the hood.” he told you.

You placed them on the burning metal and wished you had gloves, angling your body away from the hot body of the truck, wincing at the heat, on tippy toes to save your feet from the asphalt. Was he gonna cuff you? He hadn’t even read you your rights and could a person even be arrested for tags? You really didn’t know and you never thought he would-

Suddenly a loud snap resounded in the empty parking lot and a white hot sting against your bottom distracted you from the pain of the hot car. You yelped in shock, hand flying to nurse the denim clad ass cheek that was burning from his smack. You glared over your shoulder at Officer Presley, ready to give him what for about him taking parental liberties until you saw his face folded into childish consternation, poofy bottom lip jutted out in remorse as he viewed the snapped flip flop in his hands.

He’d broken a shoe on you. Appreciation flared back, and you wanted to squeeze his cheeks and tell him it was ok, he could ruin the other, too.

“Aww shit, now I-I-I didn’t mean for that-“ he bemoaned, turning the ruined foam pad around and around in his hands as if there was a way to fix it when the other half was on the ground.

“It’s ok.” You heard yourself comfort the fucker who’d just spanked you in broad daylight.

“But you just finished your shift.” he muttered, and his consideration for your inconvenience touched you, “Here I-I-I’ll go buy ya another pair. Uh, yeah, c’mon.”

You skipped alongside him, trying to get him to look over at you but his face was flushed and his eyes trained on his task, picking out a hot pink pair instead of the polka dots you had chosen. “Does nothin’ for your lil sooties and brings the attention away from the polish ya got painted and instead directs the eye to the crustaceans and shit ya got goin’ on.” he referenced your calluses with a grimace and reached into his back pocket to pull out his worn wallet.

You stared at the hefty meat of his ass the entire time and almost missed it when he pulled out five dollars and put them on the register. You watched his ass and its khaki clad splendor as he returned the wallet without change and wiggled it into the tight back pocket.

At the double sliding glass doors of the front he snapped the tag there and then and squatted down with a little grunt, his knees popping audibly as he gallantly laid out your cheap slippers. You stepped into them, taking the liberty of putting a balancing hand on his sweaty shoulder.

His hand ran up your wrist and held you there a minute longer than it needed for stability. He squeezed twice and let go. You watched him heft himself up to his feet with admiration and a little pity for the stiff way he moved when he’d been stuck in one position for too long. Seemed to you so long as he was kept moving he did alright, nice and fluid and you’d seen him chase and tackle a man on foot awhile back, he’d been runnin’ like the wind then. He had it in him, just lounging in the patrol car hardly helped things.

You got the sudden and stupid urge to ask if he wanted to go swimming in the Motel 6’s pool, it would be good for his joints and your sore back and he’d be wet and maybe have his shirt off and you could-

“I got somethin’ to tell ya, it’s w-w-why I-I stopped when I saw your truck and uh, sweetie, let’s stay h-here in the cool.” he gently tugged your arm back with the pads of his pretty fingers hooked on your deltoid, pulling you back over the threshold and into the dryer sheet scented air of the Dollar General.

“What is it?” you asked him as he seemed nervous, a foreign look on him. You started to feel a little panic at the thought he might be leaving, going back to wherever he came from, done with this Podunk town and its big crime and little criminals.

“There ain’t no easy way to say this a-a-and I wanted you to hear it from me.” he chose his words carefully, eyes trained on the white and speckled tile below your feet until after a big breath he lifted his stunning eyes and gazed at you gently and in the most gallant way you’d ever been looked at before, murmuring in clear, compassionate tones, “They caught your daddy the other night -drug runnin’. Ain’t no petty marijuana charge or somethin’, it’s the big stuff. He’s gonna be put away, for a long while, in-car-cer-ated.” he specified with distinct pronunciation, “For a long while, Miss. I’m sorry to be the one t-t-to t-tell but I wanted you to know it’s true, I-I-l booked him in myself.”

“Well,” you swallowed hard, a little ashamed you’d been more alarmed at the prospect of officer Presley leaving than suspecting anything wrong with your walking disappointment of a father, “well damn.” you muttered.

“You don’t seem much surprised.” he pointed out, pulling his tinted shades down his nose to get a clear review of you, he had a red line on his nose from their weight.

“I barely know him anymore,” you admitted, “and I doubted he was gone spreading charity or something.”

“Yeah.”

“But damn -he was supposed to come back.” you felt a little angry about that part. A little childish for believing it too.

“Maybe he meant to,” he soothed, although your father’s entrenched position on the river suggested a more permanent stay, “and was doing all that sellin’ to give you somethin’ better but he was breakin’ the law and endangerin-“

“-Endangering others, I know.” you snapped at him, not because he was anything but nice, you snapped at him because he was very kind and he had a silver, shiny, sanctimonious badge on the large swell of his left peck.

The longer you stared at the badge the more you wanted to sink your dollar store acrylics into the meat of that man and try tearing -they’d probably break and it made your eyes swim with tears of frustration and you stomped out of the double glass doors into the heat of the parking lot. The sun would be going down soon and that’s when your best customers would pour into the club. You snapped your way across the asphalt on the flip flops he got you, ignoring his calls behind you as you wrenched open the squeaking truck door and hopped up into the cab.

“Really it’s fine!” you yelled at him as he came up to the window again, the concern and reproval written on his face way more heavy than you could take right then, “It’s not like I was expecting him back anytime soon anyway and -and you’ve got a job to do, ok? I get it. I get it, ok? Now I gotta go, officer.” You cranked up your engine and diesel fumes swirled around him. He batted the air in front of his face like a dainty lady would a swarm of flies and leaned heavier still on your rolled down window.

“I just wanted to let ya know.” he reaffirmed his intention, his gesticulations bringing your eyes to the gold watch around his wrist that jangled against the car metal, “Tell ya not to uh, don’t do nothin’ rash, alright? Just ‘cause he’s gone. You’re a big girl, you’ll make it. You ‘member what I said last time ‘bout extracurriculars?”

“I’d like to do you some extracurriculars.” you seethed with an angry smile and he looked taken aback, actually stepping away from the truck and his belly heaved with his offended breaths. One hand balled in a fist at his side and the other twitched, fiat palm swaying beside his thigh like he was gonna smack again. Extracurriculars -you’d like to take his no doubt chubby little cock right down to the sweaty thatched base and chew, just to earn a real spanking.

Maybe this lewd intent was written on your face but he slowly backed away from your truck like you’d gone looney, pointing his finger at you as he went, “You be good, I mean it. And that’s goes for respectin’ officers of the law.”

He was about to get into his side, looking over his car top in admonishment and you quickly made sure your truck was still in park before turning round in the seat and hanging yourself out the window, cleavage pressed against the edge to your best advantage and blew him a kiss. “I’m always a good girl, officer!” you swore adamantly and it stopped him dead in his tracks, stopped in a half crouch to his seat, that eyebrow disbelieving, “Officer Presley commissioned me to be good and I ain’t anything but!” you swore.

Took him five whole seconds to recall he was supposed to have his ass seated by then and he lowered himself the rest of the way into his car. His belly brushed the steering wheel and his legs spread themselves even in the driver's seat, it made your crushed breasts tingle. “Be-have.” he pointed that finger again and your thighs clamped shut on your seats, overwhelmed with unbidden thoughts of the long and slender digit probing inside you. How’d his fingers stay so slender when the rest of him bulked up?

You saluted as poorly as you could and watched him drive off, aggression plain in his accelerations and the way he took his turns. He shoulda stayed and spanked the other cheek, you thought, as you turned around and slumped in your seat, legs splayed and fighting a desperate urge to slip a hand down your shorts. You hoped to god he’d find some quiet shoulder of the road in the desert this evening and with a car passing every twelve minutes, tug a load out to the thought of wacking your denim booty with his belt. It would be good for his blood pressure.

Hands sticky from your own dismal release, you pulled out of the parking lot ten minutes behind him and, too scarce on time to go home first, drove straight to the club, knowing full well that you could always just strip down to your underwear.

Or less.

What with dad permanently unhelpful now, it was a fact of life that you’d have to do more than get by till he came back. You’d already accepted that awhile ago, this just confirmed it. You figured you’d need to save another stash of money, like the real professional girls did, girls like Kelcie and Shay, a little fund for renting out a motel room at night. The one a quarter mile out back of the truck stop, no harm in it except for a few bramble scratches in the dark and the odd coyote not scared off by the truckers’ loud moans out back at the blow job wall.

But for tonight you hadn’t any such stash and so after a few hours at the poll and chatting up the fellas lounging on barstools, you found the tip jar lacking and made one of those lil deals that were becoming almost as commonplace as getting your butt pinched.

This time, in the moth attracting glow of the outside light, your customer had a New York accent and while at cock level you learned from his fancy, dangling silver keychain that his buddies knew him as Joe E.

Now Joe E had a little brown cock and a small, fused ballsack under a sizable belly like most of these men in here did, and you did some of your best work on him. It was easy to do with him fitting in your mouth so easily, you pulled out every trick you’d learned at this wall, all of which he unfortunately resisted succumbing to more than the usual client. He’d pull himself out of your throat and he would grip his base, prolonging his experience and you supposed he had a right to it, he was paying money for something and he might as well do it how he liked but your jaw ached after a while. Soon your ears ached worse, exhausted and fed up with the self important monologue he kept up between the usual, self promoting stud talk that an unimpressive man in his forties likes to indulge in while paying for sex acts out back of a hole in the wall truckers club.

Joe E tasted like he hadn’t touched a fresh vegetable in years and through the overwhelming desire to puke you recognized with some pleasure that he was tipping you extra for being “like a damn vacuum down there, you pretty little dog.”

You drove home from the club, headlights on dim in the early morning and passed by Officer Presley’s double wide with intent, choosing the route you’d take if you were walking. It was dark inside but as you passed you saw he wasn’t asleep, his car was still gone.

You wondered if his doggie was in there or on patrol with him. You sighed and pulled into your own weedy drive, depressed with something you didn’t know the cause of.

You brushed your teeth, you ate cereal after remembering you hadn’t eaten, and stripped out of your clothes before crashing into bed, falling asleep in seconds despite the musty, unconditioned air inside.

It was the next morning, so near afternoon as to barely warrant it but Elvis Presley liked to take credit for any bit of effort he made and so let the record show it was still morning, when he entered the Waffle House off Moody Blvd and sat himself down in a booth and ordered his usual. It arrived at 11:56 in the morning and so it was breakfast, not lunch by any stretch of the imagination. He’d been up all night, the usual plaguing reasons and a few added to it. You, thoughts of you and tanning your hide and gripping you and you squirming over his lap made his patrols a hellish experience and he was almost glad for the distraction of the fucker without plates pulling out in front of him and making a run for it through the border checkpoint at 8:45 pm.

Now he was distracting himself with food, and if there was anything in his life to rival his appreciation of a slippery and obligin’ pussy, it was five scrambled eggs piled high on a white plate with burnt bacon to the side and waffles stacked on a companion plate. Brenda put them down with a smile and gave him a side hug that made his face brush her apron and shoulda gotten her fired by the food regulations but Elvis liked Brenda for her affectionate ways and the way he didn’t ever have to correct her about his order.

“You look tired.” she worried over him and he found a smile starting to threaten on his face, he stuck his fork in the eggs to distract himself.

“Just a busy night.” he admitted and absentmindedly rubbed at his sore knee.

“Aww you’re a treasure, keepin’ us so safe.” he patted his arm again and he fully smiled this time. “You just tell me if you need anythin’ else. I’ve got more coffee, lemme get ya more coffee, Elvis.”

“Thanks Miss Brenda.” he called to her and she giggled as she fetched the cloudy pot.

The bell over the entrance jangled and from Elvis’ chosen vantage point in a booth that faced the doors, always facing his entry that man, he saw Joe Esposito walk in, smiling like a motherfucker for a Wednesday morning and swaggering like Elvis hadn't seen the little runt do since he passed the bar back in 1980 something.

“Hey Brenda, hey EP!” Joe greeted and Elvis braced himself for a cheerful morning when all his hopes had been for some quiet and a little maple syrup glazed despondency.

“Hey Joe.” Elvis greeted his old friend, “You in town?”

“Yeah, my route’s takin’ me to Las Cruces.” Joe informed him as he helped himself to the booth across from Elvis without invitation. If he ate one of Elvis’ bacon strips, even reached for it, Elvis would be pulling out his Glock.

“How’s business?” Elvis asked as neutrally as possible, knowing that it was a sore subject for Joe who had once bragged about being destined for big things, holding it over everybody else at the high school back in Memphis. Still Elvis couldn’t help but ask, partly because it was small talk and if he could get Joe on the subject he knew the feller wouldn’t stop talking, and Elvis could then eat his eggs with minimal requirements for speech. He also took some inner consolation in the fact that all Joe’s brags had worked out about as poorly as Elvis’ dreams had.

It made for two portly middle aged men in a Waffle House booth discussing gas prices at noon.

Joe ordered just pancakes and Elvis judged the lack of meat from beneath his lavender shades and patiently asked the right questions to keep Joe smacking his breakfast with an open mouth and waxing sentimental about life on the road. It suited Joe, even if it was boringly unimportant, he was king of the road in between stops at Walmart distribution centers and out in the stretches of no man’s land the girls were cheap, far cheaper than any Times Square street walker. Joe hadn’t been to Times Square since he was sixteen but it was something he still liked to brag of and to incorporate in his life story like it was an integral part of his narrative.

“But are they fresher?” Elvis inquired, always intrigued by the subject of pussy but also harboring a deep aversion to the way most men spoke on the subject.

“Nah, not really, but that’s why ya go for the mouth.” Joe catechsied Elvis on the ways of call girls and Elvis felt his eye twitch, personally he enjoyed blow jobs as much as the next guy but to avoid the pussy all together as Joe was suggesting? It took all the joy out of the act for Elvis and he picked at his eggs morosely as he listened. He’d had such a large appetite before Joe sat down and started talking of fishy cunts and girls with throats like drainage pipes.

Joe had been to the truckers lounge, the trucker club, the strip place, whatever it was called -the place Marty ran. Elvis knew it, he tried not to react to the name, to pretend he didn’t gas up at the Texaco next door with the express intent of hoping to catch sight of you some nights. He never did, and he’d never been in. But Joe had gone in and Joe being Joe sat across from Elvis the next morning and bragged to a law officer about paying for a blow job. Which along with ruining Elvis’ appetite was offense enough for Elvis to decide to arrest the fucker, but the eloquent details of the slut who’d given it to him made Elvis see red.

Elvis didn’t really mind folks watching you, some stupid, possessive part of him was glad that all those fuckers drooled over you and couldn’t touch, same as him as he sat year after year in his lawn chair on his porch, watching you pass his trailer with longer and longer legs, prettier and prettier as the dusty days rolled by.

But to touch you? That someone else had touched you? The butter on his waffles suddenly looked wrong.

“-just fifty bucks man. Fifty bucks well spent.” Joe was bragging like he’d cheated the stock market and Elvis heard a roar in his ears that the doctors swore the pills would take care of.

You’d sucked Joe Esposita for fifty dollars right after Elvis had told you to be good and you’d blown him a kiss.

His chest hurt.

Elvis had Joe’s greasy face pressed into the syrupy plate with his hands behind his back and cuffs clanking before either the officer or the suspect even realized his intent. “Prostitution’s illegal, motherfucker, as is paying for such services in the state of Texas.”

You’d told him you’d be good. Fuck! He so badly didn’t wanna think of Joe being your first that he had to countenance speculation about you making a regular habit of this thing which was both worse and better all at once and he took out his frustration at that knowledge by trundling Joe into the back of the squad car with far more force than necessary.

It was a flimsy charge to file, Elvis knew that even before the clerk gave him the usual papers to fill out with a confused look. Wasn’t like Elvis was gonna put down your face or name, give away your crime. Without that connection the charge of paying for sex was flimsy and Joe would be released before dark. But it was nice to hear him sqealin’ and bitchin’ about his driving schedule and a buncha other ordinary begs that made Joe E sound as pathetic as Elvis knew he was.

It fortified Elvis throughout the day, kept him from going to your trailer or interrupting you at work to ask why in God’s name you would degrade yourself like that. It kept him bolstered with red hot rage until he was staked out in desert twilight on the dark side of the Texaco, headlights off and his eyes squinted as he watched patrons and girls go into the club.

This was his fault, for locking your daddy up, driving you to such lengths. He felt sick about it, shoulda known a stubborn, white trash girl like you would just reach for the next alternative this easy. Made him sick. Elvis suddenly felt nice and superior to all these men filing into the neon lit cinderblock structure, he had resisted touching himself to the fantasies that had filled his mind about you last night. Wasn’t pertinent that he had a stiffy right now, that was just the nerves and excitement of a stake out revving him up

He lit up a cigar and let Mellancamp growl over the stereo, engine off and the key turned just a little for the dash lights to stay on. He wasn’t sure when you got off work at the club, he assumed it must be some time around dawn and that suited his shit circadian rhythm just fine. He wasn’t tired as the hours went by, he was downright furious and his heart hurt and he popped a couple oxys sitting there with his busted knee throbbing and his mind a demented echo chamber.

By the time the sky was turning a sickly violet with the first promises of sunrise, Elvis had worked himself up to such a degree as to have his door flung open and one boot rhythmically tapping against the cement in his agitation, legs spread to alleviate the ache his pills had provoked in his groin even as the rest of him felt loose and untethered and decidedly deserving for once.

When you walked out the front of the club into the stale early morning air you laughed to yourself at the silliness of thinking you’d need a coat. Your little denim shorts and cherry print crop top suited just fine even in the early dark. That NASCAR jacket you’d had your eye on, the one Shay showed you on eBay, it would have to wait, the tips were shit tonight. No real hurt with that, wasn’t like it was cold. Just another something you wanted and would have to put off. You hadn’t driven tonight as the walk was cheaper and closer but you’d forgotten your pepper spray back at the truck stop and you hesitated for a moment about going back in, hating the idea of getting sucked into some sorta early morning drama from the drunk leftovers. While you were debating, a flash of white seared your vision and you staggered to a stop in the middle of the mostly deserted parking lot.

Headlights.

Well shit, now you really wished you had that spray. You thought about making a run for it, trying the nearest truck cab and praying the guy in it was less of a creep than whoever stakes out on the deserted side of the building.

“You get over here!” the approaching figure came into view, finally silhouetted by his own lights as he stalked towards you wearing a leather trench coat like some noir villain.

It would be a lie to say you breathed easier when you recognized Officer Presley’s commanding baritone.

“Shit shit shit.” you chanted beneath your breath at how riled he sounded and his right hand started making angry gestures for you to approach as he himself closed the distance with a deceptively fast gait.

“Hey, get your ass over here, I called you.” he yelled far more loudly than necessary with his massive hands already closing around your wrists, you didn’t even think to make a run for it, where exactly in the world was a kinder place to turn to than this angry law officer who always nosed in your business too much? “Get, get over here.” he repeated with a yank and tugged you stumbling over your flip flops to his squad car.

He bent you over the hood, just like you’d dreamed of more than a few times and you felt the heat of the headlight against your thigh as your shoulders got twisted back. “-solicitation,” he was pronouncing and your heart sank at the realization he had caught you after your promise, “prostitution-“ the cold clamp of a handcuff on your wrist had none of the rebel thrill you once imagined, it was terrifying and you whimpered pathetically at the thought that you’d expended his patience, that maybe your flirty banters had been one sided and he really was fed up with you.

“Officer-“ you begged with your cheek smashed to the hood.

Some guy had walked up, actually being a good citizen and concerned about the manhandling. It took one flash of Officer Presley’s badge for the guy to back away with a mere “you at least gonna read her the rights, man?”, throwing concerned looks over his shoulder. Maybe he’d been a tipper, you didn’t recall one face from another unless they were awfully ugly or skinny.

“Yeah, yeah I’ll read you your rights, you got the goddamn right to remain silent-“ Officer Presley was struggling with the other cuff and his weight on your lower back made you wheeze just as he was short of breath. He was awfully worked up, huffily trying to clasp the cuffs and slurring your Miranda rights carelessly for so staunch a believer in laws and precepts.

When he succeeded and stood you upright you craned your neck to look at his sweaty face behind you and his eyes were wild and his hair disheveled like he’d run his hands through it a million times tonight. He looked a bit obsessed with his nose flaring like that, his speech slurring and his usual decorum completely goners.

“Are you drunk?” you balked in alarm as he trundled you into the backseat, face first into leather with your cuffed hands behind you, ass stuck out the door.

“Of course I ain’t!” he howled and pushed your butt further until you righted yourself on the bench seat, “I’m your officer of the law, that’s what I am.”

“I-I-I know that, I just-“ you felt a cold sweat break out at the realization he kept all his stubborn righteousness even skunk drunk on something, “-you seem a little…impaired. For a law officer. For a law officer driving on a government road. See! I do listen, I do and I really don’t think that while you’re dr-“

“I don’t even touch the booze, unlike you.” he spit. “Nothin’ gonna get you outta this, this time you’re gonna learn your lesson!” he wagged his finger and slammed the door shut, you could hear his seething monologue through his open door as he came round and took his own seat up front, the hard plastic partition only muting it slightly. “I can’t stand, won’t stand for it, no hard times gonna make for you-“

You tugged at the cuffs on your wrists and swallowed at their security, the ole man might be inebriated but he sure knew his line of work. It made you doubly anxious at how vulnerable you were, unbuckled and cuffed in the back seat of a man about to hit the road in a blind, possibly medicated rage. Your one glimmer of hope was the fact you were the cause of that rage -and you hoped, hoped so damn hard he cared out of some sort of fondness, not anger.

“Strippin’ and blowin’ and probably snortin’ shit and you ain’t even outta highschool-“

“You turned eighteen?!” He balked, jerking the rearview down to stare you in the eyes.

“Yes sir.” you agreed meekly.

“And you didn’t tell me? I’d have gotten you somethin’!” he cried out, “Eighteen and don’t tell nobody, no mama, no daddy, and now fuckin’ with the law-“

“Officer Presley I understand you’re angry and I’m sorry-“ you tried your most vehemently ass kissing tone and scooted up to the edge of the seat, face pressed the the scuffed, forehead greased plastic divider, “I’m so sorry I had to break my promise to ya but money’s been so tight, I—ooh shit-!“

You tipped over on your side as he hit the accelerator, the wheel already turned for a complete 180 spin to leave the dingy parking lot and its flashing neon lights. You sat yourself back up and pressed your face back where you could watch his leather gloves spin the wheel, and breathe as close to him as possible even if it didn’t serve to make him notice. The plastic sorta hampered the more primal assets at your disposal. You were readying for some more protests when he spoke up, his pouty, boyish, hurt tone emphasized by his jerky merging into three lanes worth of morning commute traffic

“— why didn’t you come to me?” he cried out and you had to give it to him, crossing three white lines that smoothly while in a rage wasn’t for anyone, he had a knack, “Why didn’t you say, ‘Officer Presley, if I don’t have me enough money for’ -what is it you need money for?”

“EVERYTHING!” You screamed back, exasperated and a little scared at the blur of tail lights he wove you through.

“You’re greedy,” he surmised, “you’d rather go work at the tit shack as a lot lizard, shakin’ it for strangers and suckin’ Joe E’s cock than ask for my help. My help!” He stabbed at his chest with a gloved finger and it was quite obvious how tore up he was over that mental image, you didn’t know he knew such particulars but you could use this to your advantage, you could try at least.

“Officer Presley,” you cooed as gently as you could with road noise and a plastic divider hampering your sultry intentions, if you had freedom of movement you’d be reaching around his thick neck and tucking that one sweaty curl behind his ear where it tufted with his sideburn, “I’d have preferred it was you,” you watched closely as that sank in, the lead foot easing on the accelerator, there was a choice up ahead, left to the precinct or right to the trailer park, “but I’ve got my pride and I couldn’t just take charity from you. I kept hopin’ you’d come in, then we could both do each other a favor.”

You could hear him sniff, running a hand underneath his nose. “That right?”

“Yeah.” You breathed, forehead thudding back against the plastic and at the red light intersection he stopped and craned his neck to look at you. “Don’t take me in, not this morning, please, pleaaasssse!” you begged, “We’ve both been working all night and we’re tired and sad and- you need somebody to make you dinner before you fall asleep, don’t ya?”

It was a dirty, dirty ploy to distract him like that but you could see with searing clarity the way his eyes wavered in their glare, then softened into childlike meekness at the thought of food and companionship. “You wanna come back to mine?” he whispered, gravelly from all the yelling and his eyelids batted under the lavender shades, azure and owlish.

“I really do.” you agreed, “Mine hasn’t had any air conditioning in seven months.” you admitted and he made a wounded noise of protest for your deprivations. You’d make him see why you took to stripping, he just had to be eased into it.

“I didn’t take it outta the freezer ‘fore I left.” he realized dejectedly as he turned right -away from the station.

You took a massive breath and tried to make it go to your swimming head, relief coursing through you at getting your way. Then you tried to process what he’d said. “Oh, your dinner?” you prodded.

“Yeah. It’s frozen. Lasagna.” he mumbled.

“Well, that’s nothing me and a microwave can’t solve.” you assure, gauging how his profile had softened in the dim lighting of the cab lights but his grip on the wheel and his jittery leg were about as stiff and upset as when he cuffed you. “What could I do for you in exchange for a bite?” you whispered, the sudden stop of the car making you realize with a hitch in your breath that you were in front of his place.

“I liked you.” he suddenly spoke up with such vehemence that it would have been comedic, what with him having already given into you and taken you home, but instead it was a little heartbreaking. “I liked you but you was too young!”

“I still like you.” you hedged, “Even though you cuffed me and called me a lot lizard.” you teased.

The solicitation, the sharing, it seemed to be his chief sore.

“That’s whatchu is!.” He grouched, staring out his front windshield at the single hung lamp illuminating freshly washed vinyl. “But I’ve taken you home anyways.”

“It’s really sweet of you.” you insisted, shifting on the peeling bench seat and wondering when he’d take you out of the car. “Are you gonna let me warm up that lasagna?”

“You said you wished I’d come in?” he ignored you and went back to your previous comment, about wishing he had frequented the truck stop.

Well, well, Officer Presley - a man like all others, after all.

You smirked, sticky lip gloss feeling a little cracked at this corners as you beamed at your little victory. “Maybe I could find a way to show my appreciation for takin’ me back to your air conditioned little palace. -while the lasagna is warming up.” you clarified and heard him grunt, and shift, his legs spreading a little wider in the cramped front seat.

“Yeah?” he pressed, sounding a little winded unless you were just too quick with the assumptions tonight.

“Yeah.”

“You offerin’ to be *my* lot lizzard?” He asked and after a tense minute where you were unsure if he was about to be angry again, he tapped the glass and whispered, “A joke, c’mon, don’t you get it? It’s a joke.”

“But I would!” You insisted after laughing for his benefit.

“Hmm.” He sniffed again, “Well. Hmm.” and with that unclear utterance he opened his door and heaved himself out into the stale Texas air, hiking up his pants again in that useless habit and shutting it behind him. It seemed an eternity before he finished hiking and shifting and shaking a leg out before he came and opened your door, a gentlemanly action made necessary by the stupid cuffs, still clanking around your wrists, as you scooted out of the back seat.

Officer Presley surveyed you up and down, blinking blearily as if he hadn’t seen you fully in the dark parking lot, like the glare of his headlights wasn't sufficient to show him your little cherry tank top and denim shorts, the satin tops of your red bra peeking out of the stretched neckline. “Hmm.” he hummed again and surveyed you once more, the pull of the cuffs behind your back adding to your posture being a bit booby. “Now ‘fore you cross my threshold, I’ve got house rules.” he was swaying a bit alarmingly and caught himself on the side mirror, you chose to ignore this and give him all the deferential attention needed to cure his -jealousy? Was he jealous? Of all the men who tipped you? “First rule, no dirty feet in the house. I hate filthy carpets. I hate them.”

“O-ok.” you agreed.

“Clean feet.”

“Okey.”

“Hmm. Ok.” he closed his eyes and recalled the next, “Let’s see uh- no back talkin’! No talkin’ back, what I say, goes, in my house.”

It was a trailer, not a house. But:

“Of course! You’re the man of the house!” you enthused with a little bounce for his benefit. He was still wacky and veering so fast from niceness to belligerence you were pretty sure you’d end up a little worse for wear after this no matter what. The thought excited you.

“Ok.” he pronounced, staring at the gravel and your feet like he didn’t know what to do now. You wondered when was the last time somebody had come into his place. “I got a doggie, too. Backroom. His word is law, don’t go botherin’ him none.“

Having seen the size of the dog, even if you were inclined to be a jerk to it, you wouldn’t dare. “Gosh of course.”

“Ok.” again. “I’ll get the hose.”

He left you there, leaning cuffed against his squad car as he trundled over his singed lawn to the side of the trailer, returning with the running hose in hand.

You knew it was destined for your feet and didn’t make a fuss as the warm hose water splashed against your blisters, soothing away the dust and the sticky cocktail splashes and god knows what else.

“House rules?” he prompted as he sprayed.

It was getting quite light out now. Probably close to six in the morning. What a long night. “Clean feet, respect doggie, no back talking.” You listed.

“And make yourself useful.” he grunted as if he had mentioned that before and you’d been faulty in your retelling.

“Yeah, of course.”

“Mm, ‘cause you’re my lot lizard now, ain’t ya?” he hummed, hose pointed to the side and suddenly his face was very close to yours, his belly closer and pressed to yours.

“Y-yeah.” you gasped.

“You gonna be a useful lil helper, hmm? Let hims take care of ya while you take care of him?”

Well shit, you weren’t at all sure if this were house rules or a big sexual game. Either way you wanted some lasagna and the crisp prospect of air conditioned sleep. “Yes, officer.”

“Good girl.” he turned the nozzle off on the hose, clamping it at the mouth and dropping it to the gravel.

“You- are you gonna uncuff me?” you giggled nervously as he swayed above you, nose almost brushing yours, eyes heavy and drooping.

“Hmm,” he stepped back and hooked a thumb in his belt loop, a shit eating grin spread over his face, bunching up the apples of his cheeks and turning him into a boy before your very eyes, “nah. I think -nope. Not gonna.”

“Well- shit, officer.” You sputtered, “You’ve got some little secrets?”

“I’ll let you be the judge of how little they are, sweetheart.” he cheesed before reaching out and hooking a finger in your strap, and tugging you gently by it up his porch.

It was odd, Seeing his ceramic tiger up close. Like déjà vu, or walking into a movie, some dream playing out. If your hands had been free, you would’ve pet the head concrete reverently, feeling some sort of gratitude to the noble beast for making your girlhood wishes come true as you tripped through the screen door and into an icebox of a trailer.

He shut the door and pressed you up against it with a move smoother and more practiced than you expected from him. Maybe wrestling criminals and doing the nasty called for the same dexterity. Or maybe he’d been fuckin’ somebody else all this time, waiting for you to grow up. Maybe he’d made a whole harem out of the trailer park and you were just his last pick. The thought hurt terribly, worse yet as you knew most days he was a sweetie, a funny man, attractive and well liked, not this grumpy, pill drunk trailer Baron that smushed you with his belly and sneering face so near but never descending as a lover’s should.

“Kiss me.” you goaded, licking your lips in a studied way. The little contemplative, whining sound he made took you by surprise.

He pulled down your bottom lip with a gloved finger and checked your mouth and tongue like a damn dentist. “Listerine first.”

Of course. Hygiene.

Clean feet, clean mouth, just for him to probably put his piss dribbled cock in it.

He stepped away and methodically took off his gloves, laid them on a small, doily adorned side table by the door, and then his gun and his belt came off with a satisfied grunt that made your inner thighs tingle. The thud of his large flashlight finished this routine.

Doilies.

There were doilies and frilly curtains and the oddest assortment of cheap finery around the place. A nod to the Tuscan craze taking over places like Target and such, while having a unique spin on it you weren’t sure what to name. You took it all in as he piloted you to the bathroom and methodically he pulled out a still wrapped toothbrush and plopped a jumbo sized bottle of mint flavored mouthwash on the fake marble counter.

“You kept that in case you have a lady guest?” You teased as the clinical silence was all a bit funny.

“Yeah.” he agreed without a hint of amusement and you sobered up again at the idea of him having anybody in here but you.

He poured a large quantity of the mouthwash into a paper cup, retrieved from the tidy stack of paper cups beside the sink for that purpose. His housekeeping was an odd mix of spectrum-like meticulousness and slovenly disorder. There were three pairs of pants on the bathroom rug beneath your feet and yet the mouthwash cups were stacked as carefully as the Tower of Babel. “Swish it for seventy five seconds.” He directed very soberly, tipping the liquid disinfectant into your mouth. You almost swallowed the shit. While you swished till your eyes burned and your tongue went numb from scalding mint, he tore at the packaging for the toothbrush.

“Ok, spit.” you happily spat out the green torture liquid and grinned back at him in the mirror.

“Never had a man ask me to spit it out before.” you teased.

He fumbled the toothbrush in surprise for a minute before giving you an admonishing eyebrow. “Girl don’t. We gotta brush your teeth.”

Instead of doing the obvious thing, the honorable thing and uncuffing you, he instead took his place behind you and pushed the toothbrush between your lips, moving it as if you had no arms and were helpless. All this to keep you cuffed.

What a pervert, you thought, charmed.

It was oddly cozy even if it was more than a tad bazaar, him pressing himself to you and running his spare hand along your side as you bent over the counter, trying not to ruin the moment by slurping paste too much. It didn’t seem to bother him, he didn’t watch you brush, he just discreetly rubbed the front of his slacks against your butt and kept his hand jerking the brush across your teeth. His other hand soothingly running up and down the curve of your hip, fingers fluttering under the hem of your tank and brushing bare skin with reverent little swoops.

When you were finished he laid the toothbrush down beside his, on a folded little towel in the back left corner of the vanity next to the mirror.

The domesticity made you smile. “Look, they’re spooning.”

He grabbed your chin gently, tilting your head to the side as he leaned over your shoulder. His lips very close again. “Happy late birthday.” he whispered, “I’d have gotten you a cake. Cupcake. Somethin’. You deserve to be celebrated.”

“Kiss me?” you asked again and this time he did, at his own pace, micromanaging each swipe of tongue and press of lips but he kissed you, strongly and angrily and admiringly in turn. He pulled down your tank as he went, stretching the neck out beyond any salvaging and then your bra, unclasping it with strange proficiency and letting your top gather in a ugly bulge around your hips, stuck by your cuffs and shorts, as his hands cupped and squeezed your breasts, somehow making this appreciative mauling seem essential to the act of kissing.

You two finally separated, breathless and revved up, staring at each other with wild, half lidded eyes.

“Ok.” he pronounced and you readied for more only for him to say, “Lasagna. C’mon.”

His kitchen was far nicer than yours, but still it was a mobile home kitchen. And he was a thorough bachelor. He crooked his fingers into the plastic handle and yanked open the freezer, standing aside with a grin on his face that bode no good for you. “I’m helpin’ ya out a little,” he explained sheepishly, “since you’re hampered.” he had a way of saying it like handcuffs were a natural disability, “But I let you off scott-free in exchange for you makin’ me some food.”

“Food and other things.” you bitched, “Didn’t sign up to be a comedy act.”

“Oh that’s right,” beamed, “you did offer other things.” he bit his lip and you thought you’d won when he went right back to it, “You said while it was warming up, you offered other things, while it was in the microwave. Yeah, so go on, grab that TV dinner there, not the fettuccini one, the lasagna.”

You stared at the open freezer and then back to him and then back to the freezer. “Grab it?” you sassed, not having a lot to lose with your tits out and your hands cuffed and a law officer having fun at your expense.

“You’ve got a mouth don’t ya?”

“You’re sick.” you smiled in realization before sticking your head into the cold space, nipples pebbling against the chilled plastic, and biting at the package containing Walmart’s latest gourmet provisions.

“Uhuh, that’s it.” he sounded more pleased at the sight of you with a frosted package between your teeth than he had all this time, “Heyer doll, I’ll open the microwave for ya.” his ability to make himself gallant when he was demeaning you so thoroughly made your pulse thunder uncontrollably.

You had to jut your chin and strain your jaw to plop the heavy foil package of frozen shit into the mounted microwave -fancy mobile home owning bastard- and shove it onto its proper revolving plate.

“There we gooo!” he cooed to you and you stepped back to allow him room to shut the door. “See if you can punch the buttons with your widdle nose.” he suggested excitedly and having gone this far, you didn’t see the point in objecting, not when it made him grin like that. You managed to hit the five for five minutes but the “cook” button wouldn’t respond and after banging your nose against it many times, with many laughs shared between, he finally punched it with one of his oddly pretty fingers.

“There we go.” you echoed, finding that you were blushing the minute the hum of the microwave buzzed the air, his eyes pinned to your face.

“Five minutes.” he whispered.

It was a hint. You expected something a little lewder from a man who had you carrying out food prep like a circus dog. A man of many moods and tastes, was officer Presley. “Can you cum that fast?” you asked, turning to face him.

“That’ll depend on you.” he replied levelly, a challenge in his eyes. He still wore his glasses, somehow that made you feel filthier than all the cash favors you’d ever done. He turned a little in his stance to lean back against the counter, his wrist watch jangling against the edge of the formica, his legs widening.

You dropped to your knees, linoleum freezing against your skin and you looked back up at the ticking microwave timer. You knew what he wanted, and if you were being half honest, it’s what you wanted too. So you didn’t act too good for pressing your face to the crotch of his uniform slacks, forehead indenting the swell of his belly above you and taking his zipper between your teeth. Filled out as his slacks were, with all the stupid gathers and the still fastened button, you could only barely see veiny pink flesh behind the newly opened fly.

“No boxers?” you chided him with a smirk and the unapologetic one he gave you in return made your belly clench, as did the musky smell of him and that soft double chin he had when looking down at you. There was stubble on it blending into his throat.

You’d been right, mouthwash and sterilization for your tongue but not even a spit bath for his sweaty balls and clammy dick -the man was out of his mind. You swallowed down the natural aversion the scent gave you and nuzzled your face nearer, trying to nose the button out of its hole. All you did was succeed in brushing his pants against him and making him impatient.

“Four minutes and twenty seven seconds.” He enunciated the timer reading for your benefit and you whimpered at the impossibility of getting the button undone without hands.

“Please, I can’t undo it.” you asked for his help, tugging at your handcuffs angrily, shoulders painfully aching and only the base of his thick penis visible with its nest of curls and heavy sack.

“Then make due.” he stared down at you unimpressed and you felt an overwhelming urge to grind yourself against his boot at his disdainful expression.

Blinking away horny, frustrated tears, you held your breath and buried your face again, nuzzling inbetween the fly gap, using your chin to tug the crotch further down until his heavy, purplish pink balls spilled over the respectable khaki’s and into the cold air. A bit of hope filled you at how taut and bunched they already were, he wasn’t so cool and unaffected as he acted. You saw him reach into his pocket, digging for something as you weighed your next decision.

“Don’t you want some lasagna?” he prodded.

That made you mash your face to his pants and take both of those hairy balls into your mouth, slurping and sucking at them like a shop vac. His jangling movements in his pocket ceased suddenly before picking up again, and then he withdrew it, a sharp gasp heard above you before he stuck a retrieved cigarette between his lips and lit it. A billowy cloud of Marlborough was blown over your crouching form as the microwave hummed on and his chest hummed in satisfaction. He shoved his hand back into his pocket, knuckling along at his cock.

“That’s it.” he sighed as you mouthed at the base as best you could, tonguing at the hefty vein running along the underside, slathering as much as you could reach. He was salty and tacky to taste and his pants were growing wet from something more than your spit. He was a leaky little man, it made your smirk and smack your lips.

“Feel good, officer?” you moaned in question, just as the microwave dinger went off. “Nooo, damnit, no!” you whined at the sound, a poor loser at all times.

Officer Presley only chuckled and twisted a little to pop open the door, hissing and cussing as he grabbed the benign edges of the hot foil and plopped it into the counter, “Hey hey hey, I didn’t say you could get up, now, did I?” he chided as you shifted a tiny bit away to watch him pull off the cover and reveal cheesy red sauce. Your stomach was in knots, it was so empty.

“No.” you admitted.

He twisted his torso to snag himself a fork from the drawer beside your head, and then, stabbing the casserole with it, took both his hands down to his pants and undid the button at last, letting his pants fall to the floor as they’d been trying to do and been prevented by a belt each time you’d seen him. “Finish what you started, doll, and then I’ll give you a bite.”

You swallowed hard, saliva pooling freely in your tongue at the smell of Italian food. It would be of use. He was tapping his sputtering fat cockhead to your lips and after a tiny grunt of resistance, you gave in, opening your glossy lips and letting him slide the thick meat over your tongue, tangy and salty and pulsing like a living rod, all the way to the back of your throat.

“Fuck me, that’s it.” he nodded to himself as you gagged around him, pulling back a little before pushing back in.

You heard the slide of the casserole tray against the counter and the crunch of tin foil, looking up through bleary eyes you saw him cradle the lasagna pan to his chest, balanced on top of his gut. You hollowed your cheeks around him while watching in disbelief as he stabbed at a bite and brought the laden fork to his mouth. He groaned around the bite in enjoyment -your guess over which pleasure was gaining the upper hand. Feeling a little competitive against TV dinner lasagna, you worked his cock faster, sucking more deliberately and trying very hard to let him down your throat, pleased as his hips began to cant and thrust in time with your encouragements.

“That’s it, that’s it, my sweet little homegrown hoe.” he mumbled to you adoringly through a mouthful of pasta and it made your face glow in pleasure, chin and chest dripping with the filth of it all. “I’m gonna, I’m gonna-“ he warned suddenly, pasta tossed back on the counter as he stood up straight and grabbed the back of your head, holding it still, smoldering cigarette pinned dangerously near your ear and hair as he fucked your mouth with fast, frantic pumps before a frankly preposterous amount of spunk filled your mouth and dolloped down your throat.

He petted your head as you struggled to breath again, cloying gloop coating your mouth, one hand coming up to take off his glasses and toss them to the side. He rubbed at his eyes and you realized you weren’t the only one teary eyed from the intensity of it. “Mm, reckon I gotta keep ya after that.” he decided, knuckling your cheek fondly, they were sticky to your surprise. “Want that bite?” he asked conversationally and while you’d have preferred some water to wash down his most recent gift, you nodded anyway and he stabbed at the casserole until he had a great big bite and brought it down to your mouth, smirking as your cheeks once again bulged at the mouthful.

“Thank you.” you smiled up at him and he humphed bashfully before motioning with his fingers for you to stand up.

“Wanna eat the rest of this in bed?” he asked eagerly, licking his teeth, “I’ve got a waterbed.” he added like that would convince you.

“Of course you do.” you giggled. “And of course I do - lead the way.”

He grinned and pushed off the counter, grabbing the casserole as he went. “Might even find the keys for those back here.” he joked about your cuffs before adding with a wicked little wink, “No promises, mind.”

Hope you enjoyed, I write for screams and comments and unhinged feedback. 🤓♥️

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wtfgaylittlezooid · 2 months

Text

Stickbug AU

Just so y'all can get an idea of what I'm yapping about, I'm gonna spill everything I have planned for this AU so far on this post. I'll try to update it as I come up with more ideas.

NOTE: SO THIS CAME OUT A LOT LONGER THAN I THOUGHT SO IF YALL WANT TO CONTROL F TO CERTAIN SPOTS HERE ARE THE HEADER NAMES: The Hollows Creation AVA IV Chosen & Dark Anim VS Minecraft Purple KING LETS GO MY FAVORITE KING AVM Season 3 Victim & the Mercenaries After Everything

So this AU takes place around 50 years after the canon events of Bug Fables, and I'll explain as I go along so you won't need to know the events of the game.

Some needed information is that Humans are heavily implied to have disappeared/died, and some species of bugs have gained sapience in the "Day of Awakening," though some species remained feral with a few individuals gaining sapience far after the Day of Awakening.

The Hollows Creation

Alan is still in this AU, and in a way he is still the Hollows "creator." In this AU, he's a creature called a "Deadlander Omega" found in the Giant's Lair/Deadlands. Basic information is that they're colossal bird-like Deadlanders which are so big only their claws and eyes have ever been seen. In game they like to drop other Deadlanders onto the player which triggers a fight. Alan is a more aware Omega. He likes to collect whatever piques his interest, normally anything that shines due to the lack of sunlight in the Lair. However after a while of dropping Deadlanders onto the few passing bugs, he got more curious by bugs.

NOTE: THIS IS DRAWN BY @tatos-stick-pile SHE HAS DONE SO MUCH FOR THIS AU

So what did he do? Sneak out of the Giant's Lair. Used the overgrown weeds to his advantage and would look around. Found out about larva and got fascinated by the fact bugs came from that. So whatever larva he could find he'd take back-- which wasn't often since most people wouldn't just leave their larva/eggs lying around.

Anyway he'd bring them home. The Deadlanders wouldn't register the larva/eggs as bugs or alive so they could just crawl around and munch on the grass until they eventually grew up. Alan started realizing "oh shit grow your own entertainment" when his first little stolen egg grew to a bug, a grasshopper (victim). Alan would basically use a jar to keep Victim from running off, would drop Deadlanders on him to watch the fights even if Victim sucked at fighting.

Now even if Alan doesn't recognize the bugs as living and thinking things, he isn't stupid. He notices how they use the shiny crystals he likes to collect to heal. So when he sees Victim nearly getting killed in one of the fights he puts two and two together and "gives" Victim the crystal. AKA impales him and literally kills Victim. When he notices Victim stops moving, throws him away and tries again.

He finds a hornet larva. Decides to try something different. Bugs use the crystals for health, so as the larva crawls around and eats he crushes up one of his crystals and mixes it into areas they know they like to eat in. Because of the magic in the crystals, whatever sticks in their bodies results in the larva becoming strong, healthy, and extremely powerful sorcerers.

Chosen fights-- both the Deadlanders and Alan-- but can't win. He tries running, but Alan rips off a wing and puts him in the jar. Eventually Alan gets lucky and finds a wasp larva, and unfortunately for Chosen, this one doesn't seem to understand anything other than following Alan. Of course y'all can guess what happens from here: Alan pits the two against eachother, Chosen tells Dark they can team up to fight Alan, and end up doing a lot of damage to him before running. It takes a long while for Alan to rebuild his health before he tries again. This time a lot more careful with a little bumblebee larva (Second). He keeps a very close eye on it to make sure it doesn't hurt him, and an even closer eye to make sure it doesn't get away.

AVA IV

Red's a ladybug, Green's a grasshopper, Blue's a firefly, and Yellow's a caddisfly. While Bugaria takes place in the Giant's Lair (AKA a abandoned human home)'s backyard, the color gang are from the front yard. They each have their own reasons to travel to Bugaria: Yellow has heard about Roach technology and really wants to see how it works for himself, Red wants to join the Explorer's Association and fill out his bestiary along the way, Blue wants to visit the Harvest Festival and give an offering for the goddess of Harvest, Venus' approval, and Green just wants to stick with his friends.

However getting to Bugaria is difficult. While before most people would take the swamp, the only thing that resulted in was a lot of tension and frustration since they couldn't communicate with the Leafbugs living there and would only result in a lot of deaths on both sides. The swamp got closed off, and as a result, left two main paths. The Caravan is the most popular for good reason: it is an extremely long road usually consisting of many bugs, although because the trip normally takes around a month, it is not safe from bandits nor the weather. A lot of injuries tend to happen and many come out malnourished. The other option takes a day. Just follow the path through the Giant's Lair. There won't be many Deadlanders, but if there are, only large enough groups of bugs or explorer teams can go through to ensure safety.

Since they're a group of four impatient, naive, younger bugs, the Color Gang goes through the Deadlands. It isn't that bad actually, until a little bumblebee catches Red's eye, and an glint of Blue catches Yellow's. Each go off path, Red finding a very excited and nervous Second Coming, and Yellow finding a half of the Roach's ancient Key.

And This catches Alan's attention, because that bee and that key are both of his things. They get to see Alan's spooky ass eye, and Second urges them to run, but before they can the Color Gang gets squished by Alan's claw and Second and the key get picked up. Second isn't happy, stings Alan right in the eye, and gets dropped right next to his friends. He tries helping them up so they can leave, but they're still struggling. He takes too long and Second and his friends get a jar slammed over them.

Alan keeps watch of them, now mostly curious because that's a LOT of bugs in one jar. He's expecting them to fight or do something, but instead... they just sit together. They just chat and sit against the glass, and what really shocks Alan is when they pull out food and start sharing it. I think this is the moment it clicks for Alan that there's something more to them. Alan leaves, and when he comes back he brings back two things. A good pile of food for them, and one of his crystals. He places them on the ground and lifts the jar before perching to see what they do. They're too injured to leave even with the crystal's healing, but Alan is just fascinated with this new discovery. That they're complicated, that they think. For as long as they stay in the Deadlands, which is only a few days, he tries making it as comfortable as possible to see what they like. Tries modeling after what he's seen other bugs do and live in.

They leave of course, taking Second and the key half with them. Alan doesn't like it, but he lets them. Now he's curious on if they'll come back, and now just has a lot to think about now that he's realized they can think and feel.

Chosen & Dark

After everything with Alan, the only thing Dark and Chosen knew was the other, so they clung. Dark itched for a fight, and Chosen was more curious about the outside world. Eventually this lead to the two becoming an explorer team.

It wasn't bad at first, but Dark of course gravitated to the shadier areas. Dark THRIVED in bounties and fights, meanwhile Chosen started second guessing whether or not he liked being an explorer. Every time they had to leave a kingdom or village, he'd always just felt disappointed. But Dark wanted to keep going, so he followed.

Eventually they started to get a reputation. They would do any quest, no matter the morals, and they wouldn't sell you out. They would get worse and worse clients, and were quickly teetering on the line of hitmen, and Chosen eventually had enough. He didn't see the point in it anymore, he liked the slow moments. Dark meanwhile thrived in a fight, because it was the only thing hes ever known.

This led to a fight between them. A bad one. Dark had been experimenting with Roach crystals to boost his own abilities, and somehow, Chosen ended up accidentally dragging Second and the Color Gang into it. There was a lot of collateral damage and Dark showed off how he was not above killing people, by targeting Second's friends. They died, and that mixture of sheer rage and grief was what triggered Second's skill in magic. Y'all know how this goes, Second beats the shit out of Dark Lord, revives his friends, but before he can land the killing blow, Chosen stops him.

Chosen doesn't want Dark to die, but he can't be with him anymore. So he rats on Dark. Gets him thrown in Rubber Prison, and Dark takes this as a betrayal. They depend on each other, and Chosen wouldn't even defend him and never visited him. Chosen regrets this decision every day and before he can get arrested too, he hides and is labeled as missing.

Anim VS Minecraft

This stumped me at first because how the hell do you mix bug fables and Minecraft but NO WORRIES I FOUND A WAY

After the Deadlands, first thing Color Gang does is sign up for the Explorer's Association. Unfortunately there can't be teams of 5, so they split into two teams: Blue and Yellow form Team Sunset, and Second, Red, and Green form Team Second. They do quests for a while, Yellow spends a lot of time focusing on the key half, and eventually they team up for a pretty important quest!

Not sure what this quest would be exactly, but basically they get lured into a cave and when they get into it Red starts acting weird. And then he starts attacking them and going for the key and yep if you've realized it WE FOUND A WAY TO ADD HEROBRINE FUCK YOU MINECRAFT CREEPYPASTA BUGSONA

Art once again by @tatos-stick-pile

Herobrine is a recently awakened Golden Orb Weaver spider who uses his silk to puppet Red around. This silk is SHARP too. He tries going for the key because he's heard of the artifact and its power and he really wants it to expand his territory. He gets his ass kicked when they figure out whats going on and he escapes.

Afterwards Yellow decides to be more secretive about the key half. They don't figure this out for a while though, but the entire reason Herobrine was expanding his territory is because he looks after lesser bugs ESPECIALLY ones that have recently awakened. He just hates regular bugs.

Purple

And I lied to start with Purple I have to start with an Explorer Team y'all should be familiar with-- unless youre coming from the bug fables fandom and to that i say hello how do you like the shitstorm so far. Anyway one Explorer Team, Team Orchid. It consists of an orchid mantis named Orchid and another mantis named Navy.

Orchid is an explorer for the sightseeing and to help people. Navy doesn't exactly care about that, he's mostly around to make sure she doesn't get herself killed. Eventually he gets an idea that they can get a pet for some extra defense. Orchid LOVES the idea, and so Navy drags her to the Forsaken Lands to find something strong enough.

Orchid falls in love with a mothfly and won't settle for anything else. That mothfly is Purple, a recently awakened mothfly who is extremely confused because he's only been around feral mothflies and its his instinct to stick with them. Anyway y'all know how this goes, Navy "trains" (aka beats) Purple, who can't fight back and goes to Orchid for comfort. Purple causes a massive rift in their relationship and its not even their fault. Orchid wanted a pet to dote on and Navy wanted something to train. But Orchid isn't stupid-- even if Purple is a mothfly and can't talk she starts recognizing he's awakened. He's a child. She starts treating him as such despite how much Navy HATES it and Purple of course starts seeing them as their parents and really looks up to them.

And one day Navy is sick of it. Takes Purple by the arm and drags him back to the Forsaken Lands and far from Orchid. Purple is nervous but still trusts him, thinks its for training. Navy drags him all the way to the abandoned Ant Settlement and tells him to stay there. To prove his training he needs to protect that settlement until he comes back to get them. Purple of course is "okay ❤️ yay❤️."

He doesn't come back. Neither does Purple. But Purple sticks to the settlement and protects it-- getting a little overly defensive of it. Overtime more mothflies are drawn to the area and of course they form little hivemind clusters and whoops! False Monarch 2. But since Purple is awakened and actually intelligent he has a lot more control over the mothfly clusters-- or False Citizens-- and they act more as an extension of him. Purple forms his own little cluster too-- and hates being separated from it and DESPISES being acknowledged as "just a mothfly" so he dresses with a mask and cloak to be a better bug. He gets a bit of a superiority complex as well due to just being surrounded by nothing but feral bugs that he can control.

Anyway the sudden re-population of this abandoned settlement with False Citizens does not go unnoticed. Especially because whenever one wanders close, Purple tends to have a citizen stalk and lurk around the edge until it creeps the bug out enough for them to leave. So a bounty is made once again for the False Monarch.

Blue and Green see it. They think it would be SO fun to lean into their competitive sides and see if whoever got the killing blow on the bounty would finally prove their team as better. So they go to the settlement, see the citizens staring and stalking them and ignore it. They aren't attacking them, after all. They're just being creepy.

They end up finding Purple who is NOT happy and is immediately defensive. But he's not attacking them. He's just kinda throwing a fit and making himself look bigger. Which is weird because bounties are usually extremely dangerous and hostile, but this one is just... throwing a fit. They end up just nearly dodging a fight when some of the citizens start grabbing Green and Blue to throw them out and Blue blurts out they don't want to fight. Turns out Purple does understand Bugnish, but can't speak it.

Great! So they don't have to kill the pretty chill bounty. But others don't know that, and they need to bring back proof they killed Purple to get the bounty taken down. They bring it up to Purple and after vague translations, they make a deal. Purple's been having trouble with a strong enemy near the settlement, so he gives them their mask and helps them defeat the enemy.

And its a big fucking spider, but thankfully they have Purple's range to help in the fight, and while its going smooth at first-- Purple ends up bailing. He's spent too long away from the settlement and figures since Blue and Green are strong enough that they'll be fine. They aren't. Because they needed Purple's range. Purple almost ends up getting them killed, the only reason they survived is because their friends realized they were gone for a long time and come just in time.

Green and Blue afterwards take the mask and leave. They're pissed at Purple but they can confront him another time, they mostly just want to be away from him at the moment.

KING LETS GO MY FAVORITE KING

Time for King! Y'all know King's deal. He has a child he loves with all his heart. In this AU he is a Violin Mantis and his little Goldie is a mantis nymph. King personally isn't an explorer, but Gold REALLY wants to be once and he always finds it difficult to say no to Gold.

Anyway Gold hears wind of a tourist thing. They're doing this mini-tour of the Deadlands in a 100% totally nothing will ever go wrong encased area. Its gonna focus on theories on the Deadlands and what Gold is more interested in-- how Explorers made it safer and how they traverse it.

King doesn't like it. Its called the Deadlands for a reason. But Gold really wants to and is begging him and is doing all his chores and being the most perfect little nymph so he can go. And they claim its safe. King finally caves and takes Gold, and y'all can guess what happens. Deadlander breaks through and kills his son right in front of him before the Explorer escorts can kill it.

So like any regular parent experiencing grief King vows to fucking blow up the Deadlands and everything in it. Not like anybody cares about that fucking place and is widely considered a No Man's Land. He ends up getting his hands on the other half to the Key and is obsessed with finding the other half.

AVM Season 3

While going towards the Termite Kingdom to hopefully find some clues on where the other key half is, King gets lost along the way and finds the abandoned Ant Settlement. False citizens are of course not happy and watch him, but he ignores them. He might as well search the place while he's here. He ends up finding Purple, whose not happy and already a little on edge because Blue and Green haven't come back despite promising they will.

King notices the bounty paper Green and Blue drop and promptly manipulates Purple. Tells them that they probably won't be coming back. But I imagine Green and Blue were yapping to Purple, mentioning the key half because both dont take it that seriously, and Purple sees King's key half and mentions it through a drawing.

King turns up the manipulation to 100. convinces Purple to take his citizens with them (wants to use them as a deadlander bait). If they get the key they'll be strong enough for their village. He just has to get the key from his friends and bring it to King.

Very cute doodle once again from @tatos-stick-pile

Purple does. A while after he's ditched the village to be with King, they run into Color Gang again. They're chatting and having fun and eventually Purple just... dissapears along with the key. Y'all should know what happens, the chase happens, Purple brings the key to King, he combines them and gets really strong and starts destroying shit. Big fight starts up, King focuses on superpowered Second, the color gang go after Purple, who isn't really that strong. He tries getting help from King, but King ignores him. Leaves him for dead.

This fucks up Purple. Because King introduced that fear and realization of abandonment in Purple. And Purple not only realizes how many mistakes he's made, but also realizes he's in fact a lesser bug. That's why nobody wants him. And people don't hesitate to kill lesser bugs when they're in their way. Purple gets both super emotional and terrified for his life, and is forced to abandon his beloved cloak and mask to make a run for it. Green pursues him, everything else happens.

Not sure how everyone splitting up would work so far, but Red somehow gets Herobrine and some of the bugs he watches involved in the fight. Green convinces Purple to go after King, and the bigger fight starts. King uses the Key to attack anyone and hes close enough to his goal hes gotten a lot more brutal. Will just hold whoevers nearest and shoot them point blank with it. Y'all know that scene. The scene where King is nearly killing Purple and goes through that flashback and is slapped in the face with the realization he sees Purple as his own son. That still happens, King gives up, helps Purple and Purple still sticks to him.

Victim & the Mercenaries

Shortly after being discarded by Alan, a cordyceps fungus found and started growing in the grasshopper's body. He is EXTREMELY lucky, because the tiniest crumbs of magic crystal left in his body was just enough magic to balance out the fungus sticking to him and passing on its memory without completely overloading it and turning him into a zombie. But its not perfect, and it still shows in the mini holes in his body. He also woke up fucking PISSED enough to turn him into a Locust

I'm gonna keep this section extremely vague since we still don't know what happened to Victim in AvA canon. Just know he built a massive "charity" corporation in the Termite Kingdom that claims its going to find a way to turn the Deadlands useful. AKA he wants an excuse to have enough money to research a way into killing Alan.

This involves hiring explorer teams, leading him to the Mercenaries: Hazard, Ballista, Primal, and Agent. They are explorers who work in the shadier areas of the Association and are EXTREMELY difficult to hire as they only accept high rewards up-front.

Some concepts for Victim and Agent since I haven't settled on a design for them...

Chosen and Dark catch Victim's eye, since they're rumored to have attacked an Omega and lived. However since Chosen is missing, Victim and the Mercenaries stop by Rubber Prison to visit Dark. Now Dark and the Mercenaries were very well known in the same area, so they know each other. Doesn't mean Dark likes them.

They convince Dark to help them with the promise of his bands back and a dead Omega. Dark thinks Chosen would absolutely love a dead Omega, and so he doesn't hesitate.

Shit happens. Chosen and Second get captured by the mercenaries and Chosen is PISSED at Dark despite all the regret. They're both mad at each other but Dark's doesn't last long when Victim starts torturing Chosen for information. He's mad at Chosen but he doesn't want that.

He blows up at Victim a little at it, so to get Dark to listen, Victim rips off a good chunk of Chosen's remaining wing. That makes Dark stand down, and now Dark doesn't know what to do. Chosen feels too guilty about everything to say anything, and Dark is too prideful to apologize. More shit happens-- Victim has the gem of Hoaxe's crown. Long story short it can brainwash Hornets, which Victim starts using when Chosen keeps refusing. That pushes Dark more off of Victim but he can't do anything lest Victim directs it all back on Chosen tenfold.

More vague shit. Mr alan becker i need the next part of episode six soon please. Anyway big fight in the Deadlands. Everyone's in there and Victim wants Alan DEAD. But Victim is getting progressively more and more pissed off because despite being attacked Alan is being as gentle as he can. He's going the extra mile to make sure he doesn't kill them. Anyway Dark ends up snapping Chosen's antennae to break him out of the brainwashing and Victim gets cooked.

Chosen decides to not murder Victim-- mostly because clearly that's not permanent and its too good for him. Victim is extremely upset about this because the fact nobody is killing him and just being weirdly merciful and the fact hes lost all control has sent him into a breakdown. Its challenging all the rules hes lived by and how he thought the world worked. Hes screaming and shouting at them.

Which attracts the attention of another Omega. Now the thing about Omegas is because they're pretty fragile due to being mostly bones, it means they need to build armor to survive. And they're territorial. Usually if an Omega picks a fight the one with the better armor survives.

Once again-- art provided by @tatos-stick-pile THEY ARE COOKING

And to protect the bug he KNOWS he hurt and was alive-- Alan attacks the other Omega despite already being extremely injured and losing most his armor. The others dont have a choice but to hide out of sight, and eventually the other Omega wins and kills Alan. Tries looking around for the interesting thing that was shouting but finds nothing and fucks off along with a few undamaged parts of Alan's armor.

Everyone except for Second and the Color Gang decide to take their leave. I imagine throughout the story theres a lot of moments where Alan works on making it up to Second and just truely shows he cares and is regretful. So Second tries reviving him, but the problem is that Alan is just... fuckin' massive. Even when they're dead or asleep they're so big their bodies get mistaken for terrain.

It doesn't work at first. Until Yellow finds the gem Victim left behind that he used to control Chosen, and he learned that this can boost magic. He gives it to Second and he completely exhausts himself and they revive Alan. Yipee!! Everyone is saved happy ending go home its over

After Everything

Chalk my liar count to 2 y'all

Purple lives with King, and King has officially adopted him. They still have their own issues they're working towards, but they're slowly getting there together.

Dark and Chosen don't know what to do at first. Chosen wants a chill and peaceful life, but Dark directly contrasts that. He's much more well known and hated than Chosen. Just by being with him, he ruins Chosen's happiness, but he just wants to stay with him. Chosen wants to stay with Dark as well. Thankfully, one of the mercenaries pops up. They're pissed at first, but all they do is mention a town.

Looking into it, after the attempted takeover half a century ago, the bandit leader Astotheles got inspired by the celebration. He wanted a home, a nation for his people, so he left Bugaria because it obviously wasn't gonna happen there. Outside the nation's borders, he established his own village. Where bugs who are abandoned or discarded can come to start anew.

Chosen and Dark decide to move to there, leaving behind and finally moving on from everything that happened to them.

Victim on the other hand went missing. He took that loss HARD. Agent thinks he has an idea on where he went, but needs extra help, so he puts up a request. He's not bringing the other mercs because they don't know about the cordyceps thing and Victim prefers to keep it hidden.

Color Gang ends up taking it up. They are low on berries and its the only request on the board. Nobody is happy about this. Agent makes sure to go with them, and he leads them all to Snakemouth Den. In the den there's a lot of spores and magic in the air, and it gets worse the deeper you go in because in that cave is an ancient Roach laboratory where experimented on cordyceps and magic in an attempt to recreate the immortality of the Everlasting Sapling (that thing is long dead it doesnt matter).

Anyway Victim went here for a power boost. Thinks he just needs to try again and he'll have more control and he'll win. Now he aint thinkin' clearly because the magic that is so goddamn potent in this cave is messin with the fungus. And y'all remember what i said?

"He is EXTREMELY lucky, because the tiniest crumbs of magic crystal left in his body was just enough magic to balance out the fungus sticking to him and passing on its memory without completely overloading it and turning him into a zombie."

Yeah. Ends up shanking himself with the crystals to try and force more magic in him and it makes the fungus go stupid crazy and completely overgrow out and through his exoskeleton and whoops! say goodbye to your sentience. Control freak loses everything even the control over himself. Fun little boss fight I also imagine he has a poison thing going on.

Anyway they end up knocking him down and restraining him, Agent rips out all the crystals. Victim isn't dead yet but he's in awful shape, and congrats you earned Second's pity. Second heals him and Agent pays them a shit ton for that and brings Victim home to help him recover.

Anyway thats it for the AU so far holy god that was so much longer than I expected if you made it here we should go on a date to texas roadhouse together

#anim vs bf au #my writing #animator vs animation #ava #avm #animation vs minecraft #ramble #long post

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that-blue-vault-dweller · 2 months

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Companions favorite Disney movie?

A/N: Howdy, howdy, folks! I know it's been a while, but I hope y'all enjoy these! 🥰💙💛 I've been extremely busy and have sort of lost motivation for this fandom, but I'm going to try to play Fo4 soon and see if I can muster up some more motivation 😊 I still have some fanfic to write and some reactions to do and I've got to get my butt in gear!

Cait - Brave. It might seem like the obvious choice because, well... ginger twinsies.... But she loves it because of the constant action and the fact that Merida wields a sword and a bow while also riding a horse often at the same time. She also secretly sort of finds herself vicariously living through Merida and wishing she would have had a family like hers with parents that actually loved her.

Curie - Inside Out. It's sciency and presents a fun, creative way of examining the brain's functions. She would prefer that Disney be more realistic, but despite her slight disappointment, she also understands that it has to be presented in a child-friendly way that would keep a kid's attention. A close second for her would be Big Hero 6. Honey Lemon is her hero.

Piper - Zootopia. She finds herself very much relating to Judy Hopps most days. Just a girl in a big city and a big world with the chips stacked against her and hardly anyone on her side as she fights the good fight. She also enjoys Judy's optimistic, sarcastic, energetic spirit that she upkeeps in the face of adversity. It's something that Piper herself has done her best to maintain.

MacCready - Finding Nemo. As a concerned dad with a struggling young son of his own, he can relate to this movie greatly. Plus, a bonus is that he likes to mess with F!Sole about being Dory, which she never seems to appreciate nearly as much as he does most days.

Deacon - The Emperor's New Groove. All of the jokes and the lightheartedness of the overall movie is totally Deacon's style. He always quotes the movie afterward and drives everyone at HQ crazy with his rather awful impression of Yzma.

Codsworth - Flubber. He sort of is crushing on Weebo the robot assistant. Granted, he says he has no sort of manner in which to facilitate such feelings since he is not programmed to feel things like that, but he raves over her enough that everyone can see he clearly has some manner of feelings.

Hancock - A Bug's Life. He doesn't really know why, but it cracks him up every time he turns it on. Of course, he's usually high when he's watched it, but that's not the important part. The important thing is that it's anti-grasshoppers and after the stuff he saw at Nuka-World, that suits him just fine.

Danse - Toy Story. He would rather die than admit it, but he likes the movie for the odd reason that he heavily relates to the spaceman. His perspective on life and his soldier-like dedication to his mission is truly outstanding. He also strangely relates to him in many ways, but he's not quite sure why.

Preston - Brother Bear. He enjoys the deep feelings and meaning behind the film. It's such an underrated yet good film and it has a really great sound track as well. He also has a strange affinity for Toy Story because of Woody and his steady dependability.

Valentine - Old Yeller. It's traditional and it has that sense of old-timey living that Nick can appreciate. He also enjoys the deep emotional quality of the film and the fact that it's about a good, loyal, brave dog. Kind of like Dogmeat.

X6-88 - Maleficent. He enjoys her sense of humor and her sense of taking care of business and revenge when people do her wrong. However, his favorite non-Disney movie is The Matrix. He firmly believes the coursers' design is based on Morpheus and he secretly thinks he looks like him most out of the courser models.

Dogmeat - The Fox and the Hound. He loves nothing more than to howl along with the dog on there. Finally a movie that actually has a character that speaks his language! The dog also actually successfully befriends other animals in a way that Dogmeat never seems to do too well since they're always trying to stomp on him or kill him. He also is a fan of Bolt.

Strong - Monster's Inc. Firstly, Strong doesn't like movies. They're confusing and make no sense because what do you mean those things are not really there? They're standing right in front of him! But he likes Monster's Inc more than most because Mike Wazowski looks like a super-mutant. An ugly, one-eyed freak super-mutant, but nevertheless one of his kind.

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nyoomfruits · 5 months

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where you lead (i will follow) for the wip title game!

its the gilmore girls au!!!!!!!! lando is a single dad of a 16 year old daughter and oscar runs the diner and they're so incredibly domestic everyone essentially thinks they're married.

Lando swings open the door the dinner, practically tripping over his own feet as he makes his way inside, delighted to be out of the crisp fall morning air. He takes off his scarf as he makes his way over to the bar, and gives his biggest, most beaming smile to Oscar, who has been watching Lando’s entry with a wary yet fond look on his face from his place behind the counter. “Oscar, you look beautiful today. Practically glowing. New skin care routine?”

Oscar rolls his eyes. “Five minutes,” he says, turning his back to Lando. “Coffee’s not done brewing yet. Are you having breakfast?”

“Five minutes,” Lando laments dramatically, flopping his head down on the bar. “Might as well be five years. Why do you hate me.”

Oscar turns back to him, looking entirely unimpressed. “The machine was broken. You’ll live. Just be glad I managed to fix it.”

Lando, who had been making garbling dying noises into the warm wood of the bar, perks up. “Oscar, you are a savior to mankind and I don’t know what I would do without you. You impeccable handyman, you. You shining example of everything that’s good in the world. They should reward you citizen of the month. Nay, citizen of the-“

“Lando,” Oscar interrupts him, raising an eyebrow. “Do you want breakfast or not?”

Lando thinks about the stale granola bar he hastily shoved into his mouth this morning before he had to make a quick stop at the supermarket to accept the bread delivery. “Depends. What’s your special this morning?”

“Depends,” Oscar says, with a shrug, starts wiping the counter with a tea towel. “Is Nugget coming?”

As if summoned, the door to the diner swings open and Lottie Norris makes her grand entrance, nearly tripping over her own feet before barreling into a barstool, looking up at Oscar with big pleading eyes. “Coffee,” she says, and then after a second. “Please?”

Oscar rolls his eyes, throws the tea towel over his shoulder as he turns towards the coffee maker. “You truly are the spitting image of your father” he says, sounding very far from annoyed and very close to fond. “Five minutes. Machine was broken.” With that he disappears into the little back kitchen.

“And he fixed it,” Lando says, leaning over to give Lottie a quick hug.

“Our hero,” Lottie says with a gasp.

“Do you want breakfast, Nugget?” Oscar yells from the back.

“Yes, please!” Lottie yells back.

“In that case the special is pancakes,” Oscar says, popping his head through the kitchen door before disappearing again.

“Pushover!” Lando yells, and then, “I’ll have some please!”

“Cannot believe we have to wait for coffee,” Lottie laments, letting her head fall down on the bar with a soft thunk. “I’m going to die.”

“There, there little grasshopper,” Lando says, patting her back consolingly, wondering if Child Services might come after him for giving his 15 year old a coffee addiction. “We will survive these horrors. We are Norrises, after all. We are strong, and brave, and-“

“Dying,” Lottie interjects, face still firmly planted into the bar.

“You two are so unnecessarily dramatic about the whole coffee thing,” Oscar comments, as he appears from the back, makes his way over to the coffee maker. “I have tea, you know.”

Lando hisses, as Lottie chants “Cursed beverage, cursed beverage” Oscar rolls his eyes. “Fine. But you’re going to have to do without your usual mugs, I’m short,” Oscar says, as he pours coffee into mugs that are decidedly smaller than the ones he usually has.

“This day just keeps getting worse,” Lando pouts, as Oscar puts the mug in front of him, completely unimpressed.

“What happened to the big ones?” Lottie asks, wrapping her hands around her own mug.

Oscar pulls a face. “New guy,” he says. “His name is Logan. Hired him so he can pick up some of the weekend shifts, but he’s rather… new to the whole carrying trays thing. So he keeps dropping them. He’s broken fifteen mugs this week alone.” Oscar gestures at his empty shelf that usually holds a colorful array of big coffee mugs. “Haven’t gotten around to replacing them yet.”

“Bummer,” Lando says. “But coffee is coffee so we shan’t complain.”

Lottie, who was sporting a rather pensive look at Oscar’s mug story, snorts. “Shan’t? Dad, oh my god, you aren’t that old.”

“I mean he is turning 36 soon,” Oscar says, as he makes his way around the counter to serve other customers their long awaited coffee as well. “Practically ancient.”

“You are only one year younger than me!” Lando yells after Oscar’s retreating back, and frowns at the shake of Oscar’s shoulders indicating his laughter. “You two are so mean to me,” Lando sulks, finally grabbing his mug to take a sip of his coffee. He swallows a bunch of very inappropriate noises as the first few drops of the precious liquid hit his tongue. “God, do you think Oscar would be willing to marry me so he can just make me coffee this good all the time?”

“Yes,” Lottie says without hesitation, taking her own sip. “Hey, Emma saw a recipe on TikTok for these like, s’mores cookies, where you like, make a smores but then you cover it in cookie dough? And I showed them to Oscar and he gave me his cookie dough recipe, so now we want to see if we can make those, is it cool if we use our kitchen after school?”

“Yeah, sure Nugget, no problem,” Lando says. After all, their kitchen really only gets used to heat up frozen pizzas and make Kraft Mac and Cheese, so.

“Awesome,” Lottie says, grinning as she grabs her phone, presumably to text Emma. “Can I come into work with you to pick up some groceries before I go to school? Then we can go home straight after.”

“Of course,” Lando says, downing the last of his coffee.

Oscar chooses that exact moment to reappear at the counter again, refilling Lando’s now empty mug without asking, before disappearing in the back and reappearing with two towering stacks of pancakes. One has whipped cream and strawberries on it, which he places in front of Lottie. The other, with maple syrup and chocolates chips, ends up in front of Lando.

“I love you,” Lando tells the pancakes. When he looks up, Oscar is already looking at him, soft expression on his face. His cheeks have that signature flush they always kind of have, although it appears a little darker, probably from all the running around Oscar’s been doing. His hair is falling in the usual little swoop it does, though there’s a stubborn strand sticking to his forehead. In an insane moment, Lando considers reaching over to push it back into place but then-

“Oscar, are you going-“ Lottie starts, around a mouth full of pancake.

“Lottie, don’t talk with your mouth full,” Lando scolds. Lottie rolls her eyes and very obnoxiously swallows her bite.

“Are you going to the Fall Festival?” She finishes.

“The Fall Festival?” Oscar asks, frown on his face as he glances at the town square, just visible through the big windows of the diner.

“Yeah, it’s this Friday,” Lando says, chasing a chocolate chip around his place with his fork. “There’s a Pumpkin carving competition, a hayride, I think they’re setting up a little stage for music as well. Bunch of booths selling fall stuff, food.”

“S’mores pit,” Lottie adds, lovesick look on her face.

“You and your s’mores,” Lando says, fondly. “But yes. S’mores pit. All the good stuff.” He turns to Oscar expectantly. “So? Are you coming?”

Oscar pulls a face. “I don’t know,” he says, “It’s not really my thing I think…” He trails off.

“Aw, Oscar, please?” Lottie says, pleading look on her face.

Lando, as a frequent recipient of that particular look, sends a small thought of sympathy Oscar’s way before jutting his own bottom lip out, trying to make his eyes look a little bigger. “Yeah, Oscar, please?” He asks. “It’ll be no fun without you.”

“No fun at all,” Lottie agrees. “Just the worst.”

“Crying all evening. Do you want to ruin our evening?”

“Tears, Oscar. There will be tears.”

“Oh for God’s sake,” Oscar relents, throwing his tea towel at Lando, who catches it with a squawk. “You two are the worst, you know that? Fine. I will go check it out.” Lando and Lottie cheer, high fiving while Oscar rolls his eyes in the background. “Now go eat your pancakes, I have other customers to serve.”

Oscar disappears from behind the counter then, and Lando doesn’t really see him again as he spends the rest of his breakfast talking to Lottie and eating his pancakes. When they finally leave, after Lottie checks the time and nearly flails off her barstool when she realizes how late they are, he only just manages to throw a quick goodbye to Oscar over his shoulder, before rushing out the door.

The wind is still cold, nipping at Lando’s cheeks. But when he glances back, sees Oscar waving at them through one of the big windows with a soft little smile on his face, he barely feels it at all.

#landoscar #mctwinks #twinklaren #snippet

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ratcandy · 3 months

Note

also do you have any ideas of what plimbo even is because i cant think of any sort of insect he could be

NO!!!! HE'S FUCKED UP AND EVIL!!!!!

Like let's look at our options. Bear with me. Plimbo as a concept drives me insane.

WARNING - MULTIPLE CLOSE UP BUG IMAGES BELOW

Wingless bug options:

Termites - Well nothing about him suggests wood eating to me. Also he's green, termites are typically not that

Female ants - We see an ant portrayed in game through Sozo, Plimbo does not look like him

Fleas - I mean hey these have a sort of "mustache!":

Silverfish - I don't think so, though these things do love water

Bristletails - I still do not think so

Some stick bugs - Don't have the body type (also their antennae tend to be far longer)

Some roaches - Same issue with antennae, but I mean...?

True lice - They do make an effort to show him having two claws so he'd have to be a Mallophaga if he's a wingless louse, and I mean... Body shape kinda fits?

Non-insect hexapods (Springtails, Diplurans, Proturans) - I kinda like the idea of him as a springtail, especially because I'm constantly seeing those little shits around water they LOVE lakes n such. Springtails can also be green! Diplurans and Proturans are unlikely since they lack eyes

Bugs with "pupils"

Ok well NONE have pupils like that. And the only one I can think of with even something pupil-adjacent are Mantises and Damselflies.

But then we run into the wing issue again. Especially with Damselflies, those things got wings for days. Which is a shame since Damselflies are also big water enjoyers, and those itty bitty antennae would fit for him.

Aquatic Bugs

There's way too many to go through honestly. Most are larvae, and he doesn't... toootally look like he's supposed to be a larva? Then again I mean...

Dragonfly larva is a possibility. It'd get rid of the wing issue! He doesn't have the mouth for it but then again the cotl devs have like a vendetta against the idea of portraying ANY mouth correctly (side-glancing all birds), let alone bug mouths, so I don't consider that to mean anything.

And you know what? We could really make this work if we want him to be a damselfly larvae, but

he's missing HIS GILLS (the three lil thangs on the back)!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So. I don't know!!!! But he is NOT a grasshopper. I refuse the wiki saying that. Never lie to me ever again. They put that there because he's green I bet anything.

Plimbo could be any number of things. Fuck if I know what the devs' intention was. What do I headacanon him as? um. I. Don't know. Maybe a damselfly? Maybe a springtail? I dunno!!!!!!!!!!!!!! this is a question that will haunt me forever

#you indulged me to bug talk so here's my bug talk.#Everyone throw their Plimbo species theories at me and drive me insane over it #cult of the lamb #cotl plimbo #ask

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uncharismatic-fauna · 5 months

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Uncharismatic Fact of the Day

Not all grasshoppers hop! Although they have both wings and the large hind feet characteristic of the group Caelifera, Eastern lubber grasshoppers prefers to walk from one place to another-- hence the name 'lubber', from the old English 'lobre' which means lazy.

(Image: An eastern lubber grasshopper (Romalea microptera) by the Big Cypress National Preserve)

If you like what I do, consider leaving a tip or buying me a kofi!

#eastern lubber grasshopper #Orthoptera #Romaleidae #lubber grasshoppers #grasshoppers #insects #arthropods #uncharismatic facts

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apoemaday · 6 months

Text

Bees, Honeycombs, Honey

by Hayan Charara

Bees, thousands and thousands, surviving in a hive under the soffit; bees, honeycombs, and honey, and dampness, and old wood sticky in the sunlight;

and the beekeeper’s hand, carefully, and slowly, vacuuming, and taking; the bees tumbling, gently, into the makeshift hive; honeybees, and honeycombs,

and honey, glistening; honey, the only food that will not spoil; honey, pulled from the pyramids, still sticky, and sweet, thousands of years later;

I may not believe, but I want to; and the bees before my eyes are now disappearing; bees God in the Qur’an inspired to build homes in mountains

and trees; bees that built homes in the trees near the grave in Detroit; and the bees in Jerusalem’s graves; bees in every city, and in every age; bees,

honey, and honeycombs, through disaster after disaster; bees building, and scouting, and dancing; bees mating, protecting, and attacking; the bees

are now disappearing, and dying; and the bees the beekeeper cannot save are dying but still guarding the empty hive, butting their heads against

my children, boys who will grow to be men and build their own homes, now dipping fingers into honey darkening on the ground; they are dying; the hive

is gone; the queen is gone; thousands and thousands, gone; but the bees will come back, and the hive will come back; if not here, then elsewhere; and there will be more bees

making more honeycombs, more honey, and more bees; and one day all the bees will be gone; gone, and gone; honeycombs, and houses, gone; and trees, gone; oak, elm,

birch, gone; all trees, flowers, gone; and birds, leaves, branches, cicadas, and crickets, grasshoppers, ants, worms, gone; and cities, and rivers, big cities, small cities,

big rivers, small rivers, gardens, and homes; and homes; the bees will be gone, and only their honey will survive, and we will not be around to taste it.

#poetry #hayan charara #bees honeycombs honey

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algumaideia · 29 days

Text

Now one plus one equals two, that happens every day, that is not magic. That's the grind. That's when you get up, one. Go to work, one. Go to bed, two. Two, geniuses, two. But when one plus one equals three, that's when your life changes, and you see everything new, and these are days when you are visited by visions, when the world around you brings down the spirit and you feel blessed to be alive. It is the essential equation of love. There is no love without one plus one equaling three. It's the essential equation of art. It's the essential equation of rock 'n' roll. It's the reason the universe will never be fully comprehensible. It's the reason Louie Louie will never be fully comprehensible. And it's the reason true rock 'n' roll, and true rock 'n' roll bands, will never die

[...]

Now Gary, Danny, Little Steven, Mighty Max, Professor Roy, Nils Lofgren, Patty Scialfa, that is my one plus one equals three. Excellent, grasshopper! But nobody captured my audience's imagination or their hearts like Clarence. Clarence was, Clarence was a figure out of a rock 'n' roll storybook, and together, we told a story that was bigger than any of the ones I had written in my songs. It was a story where not only does Scooter and the Big Man bust the city in half, but we remade the city. We remade the city shaping into the kind of place where our friendship and our love for one another wouldn't have been such an exceptional thing. First night I saw Clarence he came walkin' out of the shadows towards the band stand, nodded to me, got up, stood to my right, for the very first time. He picked up his saxophone, and when he played - when he played, he whispered that story in my ear. And then we whispered it into your ear, and we carried it together for a long, a long good time. The Big Man was big. Everything about him. His personality, his size, his laugh, the sound of his saxophone. When I first heard it I thought it was the biggest sound I ever heard. And it was. His heart, his problems - they were big. But he was elemental in my life. And losing him was like losing the rain. If I were a mystic, if I were a mystic, I guess Clarence and mine's friendship would lead me to believe that we, we stood together in other older times, ya know and uh, in other lives, along other rivers, in other ancient cities, in other fields, workin' side by side, with the sun settin', doin' our modest version of God's work. I'll see you in the next life Big Man

#it is the way they talk about the friendship #their friendship is inspiration to me #bruce springsteen #clarence clemons

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ellastone-olsen · 5 months

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Christmas stealer - Therese Raquin

DO NOT COPY ANY OF MY WORKS. MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY

Summary: One day you notice a neighbor girl who is strangely spying on you. But you don’t yet know what you will be willing to do for the sake of your happiness.

Pairing: Therese Raquin x f!reader

Warnings: homophobia, forbidden relationship, violence, dark themes, masturbation, teasing, breast play, facesitting, oral

Word count: 3.9k

DISCLAIMER: ENGLISH ISN'T MY FIRST LANGUAGE SORRY FOR GRAMMAR OR SPELLING MISTAKES

AN: Therese is my favorite Lizzie’s character, I had to write about her

The Christmas tree softly shimmered with gold as the two of you stood in the center of the large room holding hands. “Now it’s just the two of us...” Therese’s soft whisper in your ear proved that this was reality. You two, on Christmas as you once dreamed of. Only at the cost of what? Your thoughts go to the beginning of the story.

Every day you went out to the field that belonged to your family to mow the grass, collect it and take it closer to home so that later it would become hay. As your parents said, they were not lucky to have any son, and the hard work fell on you as an old daughter. They may have loved your little sisters, spoken kind words to them and indulged them, but with you it was different. You were free labor.

But even with all this, you couldn’t say that you were completely unhappy. You were grateful for a roof over your head, food, clothes and that was the most you could wish for. Until a certain point. One day, maybe a week or a month, your desires began to spread beyond your small family farm. Strange thoughts began to creep into your head when you saw her. Therese...Oh Therese.

You could bet that your parents would kill you if they found out about your little (big) crush on the girl next door. If I tell you in order, here's how it happened.

A hot, sultry day fell on your head. Again the field, again the grass. Your forehead was covered in sweat, the fluttering of your scythe and the chirping of grasshoppers being the only sounds in the heated air. You measuredly counted out three strokes: one, two, three. One two Three. Mental arithmetic helped me not to go crazy from monotonous hard work. The thought of dinner soon was reassuring. You stopped and leaned on the scythe for a break. Looking around, your gaze noticed the same landscape that was here every day: your small family house, a couple of neighbors’ houses, a fence made of rotting wood, a large oak tree on the neighbor’s property and... a girl in the grass.

This was something new. Why was she there, like she was watching you. Her forehead is pressed to the ground and only her dark, flowing hair is visible. She moved too strangely for a person who decided to rest in the grass... oh. What is she?.. No, this is nonsense and your excited fantasies. Just keep mowing the grass. One, two...is she watching me? Three..is she touching herself or? One…

“Y/N, why aren’t you eating?” You were brought out of your trance by your sister's voice. Your sisters (there were 2 of them), unlike your parents, loved you; it was sad for them to see how they interacted with you. You looked at the youngest, who was barely 10, and smiled. “I was just thinking, honey.” Thoughts in you head revolved around this mysterious girl. Will I see her tomorrow? So you need to go to bed early so that tomorrow comes faster.

Your count to three continued again, accompanied by the chirping of grasshoppers. Out of the corner of your eye you glanced at the oak tree. The muscles were burning, there was not much left, the grass did not last forever and one day it would end. You noticed a slight movement in the same place as yesterday. I'd like to see it, but what if you scare her away? With one eye, I raise my head and immediately there is grass, grass, grass.

“Oh...” Your breath caught in your throat. She was lying on her stomach with her eyes closed, her mouth open and a grimace of pleasure visible on her face. Her body shook and her long brown hair stuck to her forehead and cheeks. Yes, she definitely did what you originally thought. A soft, pulsating warmth formed between your thighs and settled somewhere in the pit of your stomach. Grass, let's continue, one, two...

Your room was plunged into darkness as you lay looking at the ceiling. “Who lives in that house behind the big oak tree?” You asked the question during dinner, hoping that at least someone in your family knew. “I think the Raquin family lives there, there are three of them in total.” Your sister Eva said, she was the middle of three daughters, a month ago she turned 17. It’s not surprising that she knew this, the girl in her free time loved to talk with neighbor children and gossip. “Have you talked to any of them at least once?” Eva thought, “No, others say that they are not very friendly.” This was all the information you could find out and now in your room while others were sleeping you were thinking hard. Raquin. Her last name is Raquin. Her face expressing pure pleasure resurfaced in your memory. Maybe if just once you put your hand under the elastic band of your panties...you put your fingers inside of you...oh...so wet. Once, only once, you promise yourself.

You would have a plan, simple and reliable as you thought. In an hour or so, about the time Therese will appear again, hide behind that same huge oak tree and wait. You sat with your back resting on the rough bark, fatigue from work and the warm summer air lulled you to sleep and you began to fall asleep. Thoughts have already turned into mush, just a little more and... a rustling sound, quite real. Someone goes here. You looked out from behind the tree and lost your breath. That's her. She seems surprised by your absence from usual place, but she still lies down in the soft grass where there is already a small trace of her body. This is the perfect moment, she won’t run away.

“Hi!" You come out of your hiding place and scare her. Swearing pours out of her mouth and she tries to get up and run away, but you grab her by the arms, drag her back to the ground and pin her back, straddling her hips. “No, wait, oh God, I’m sorry, I’m sitting right on top of you, I wanted to talk to you, get to know you.” She tries to break free and accusations rain down on you, “You were following me!” Your eyes widen at that statement. “Did I follow you? You’ve been coming here for several days now and doing obscene things while looking at me!”

“I’m Therese, nice to finally meet you.” This was your beginning.

She stopped struggling and fell silent. Her cheeks also flushed in the realization that she had been noticed. “No, I don’t think it’s bad, well... that you like women... or that you’re attracted to me, if you’re definitely attracted to me... in general, I saw you and decided to get to know you. Your last name is Raquin? I’m Y/N, I live in that house.” The flow of information hit her like an avalanche. She silently looked somewhere to the side and digested what you told her. Okay, if you’re not angry to her… surveillance and preferences, then why not.

You met on neutral territory under that same oak tree. Almost every day for the rest of the summer you sat there and talked about everything you could think of. “And when are you doing your dirty things now if we’re just sitting here and talking?” You decided to make fun of her, but you weren’t prepared for her response. She crawled over to you and leaned close to your ear, “Home. I touch myself while lying in my bed and think it’s you. Do you want to know more details? Then kiss me Y/N.” Your heart skipped a beat, your eyes searched her face for another mockery, but she was serious.

“Therese...” Your soft whisper was lost between your lips and a sweet kiss connected you, hands grabbing her waist and pulling her into your lap. Soft, sweet whines slipped from her mouth as she squirmed on top of you, her full, soft breasts pressing against yours.

“I lift up my underdress, take off my panties and start stroking myself.” She whispered, pressing her center to your thigh. “I take off the straps off my shoulders and play with my tits. Do you like them? I can bet yes. Let’s touch them Y/N.” She took your hands in hers and placed them under the neckline of her dress, continuing to grind your thigh. “Mmmmmm then I use my fingers and fuck myself, and when I cum I quietly whisper Y/N ahhhh Y/N.” Her vulgar moans turned your underwear into something that you definitely can’t wear anymore.

“Therese...slow down...someone might see us..” Bits of common sense stopped you from what could happen, even though you wanted it more than anything in life. "Therese stop."

"One day we won't be afraid." She whispered and got off of you, laying her head on your shoulder. Your hand slid into hers, rubbing gently with the pad of your thumb, seeking comfort. "One day."

She pulled away in disappointment "You don't want me?" She seemed about to cry. You removed your hands from her chest and cupped her face, pressing her forehead to yours. “No no no don’t you dare even think so, just...You understand how complicated everything is. You understand the consequences if we get caught. If your aunt finds out or your brother. I'm afraid for you, for us."

Summer is over and that means you no longer have work in the field. You came up with an excuse for your family that you would go and pick berries, mushrooms and herbs in the forest nearby. Teresa seemed to have no problem sneaking out of the house.

One day at the end of October, she came to your meeting all dejected. You walked silently through the forest and you offered to sit down. She lay down with her head on your lap and curled up like a kitten. Your hands gently stroked her hair and you leaned down to kiss her cute little nose.

"Do you want to talk?" silence, somewhere a tit is singing, leaves are falling steadily to the ground, predicting winter. Small sobs come from Therese and her hands grab you, looking for salvation. “She wants to marry me to Camille.” Her sobs become louder, you somehow understand her words: “She will take me to Paris far from you and marry my worthless brother.”

Your heart stopped. Who is she? Her aunt Madame Raquin? Obviously yes. This nasty old woman wants to tear you apart. This cannot be allowed. The thought of never seeing Therese makes you furious, but now she needs comfort, so you speak. "When it will be? We will not allow this."

You kiss her face, hug her and console her, whispering “Everything will be fine, we’ll figure something out, everything will be fine.” Therese has no doubt that you are not lying.

When it became too cold to meet outside, you went to Therese's house for the first time.

In the winter there weren't many errands for you on the farm and you would sneak out of your room window to your little secret meetings.

It was Therese's idea to introduce you to her family, which you already hated. But not because she wanted it, no, all she wanted was not to die in the forest from the cold with you.

Christmas Eve seemed like the perfect time for this, with her aunt excited about the holiday and her head full of hosting guests and gifts for her precious son.

"Nice to meet you Madame Raquin." You crouched down and lowered your head, showing “respect” for the older woman. Her gaze was ready to make a hole in you, she was clearly assessing who her stupid niece was friends with. However, what difference does it make, thought Madame Raquin, they will leave here soon anyway, thought Madame Raquin, and did not even suspect how terribly wrong she was.

“Nice to meet you too Y/N, Therese didn’t say that she have friends.” The old woman spoke through her teeth. “Come in, please get settled in, we’ve just decorated the Christmas tree.” You were given the fakest smile of your life. “Therese, make us all some tea.”

There were four people sitting at the table: you and Therese. Madame Raquin and Camille. The latter seemed to you the most insignificant person you had ever met. “Y/N Teresa and I are getting married soon.” Camillle said with childish joy, as if this were some kind of game. “Mother said that after Christmas we will all go to Paris.” He continued, your teeth gritting with anger that this bastard even allowed the thought that Therese would be his wife.

“Oh she didn’t tell me about that, congratulations. Therese, I hope you will send me postcards from Paris." Under no circumstances should negative emotions be shown. Your hands clenched into fists under the table and Therese’s soft hand lay on top, calming you.

Then there was silence. Tense and dense, everyone was in their own thoughts. The gears in your head were spinning, pushing the thought of how to get rid of these two opposite. It seemed steam would come out of your ears, when Camillle’s sharp, nasty voice broke the silence, “Mother, I want to go ice skating, let’s go to the lake!” Why an adult guy talks and behaves like a child was a mystery to you. In addition, he periodically wheezed and coughed, as if he would soon go to the next world without your help.

Madame Raquin seemed glad to be rid of your company and encouraged her son. “Of course my boy, we will go now. Forgive us, skates were recently delivered to us and Camille has never skated.” You interrupted the older woman. “Don’t worry, Madame Raquin, of course, go. Therese, I think, can show me your wonderful house for now.” The dialogue full of hypocrisy did not last long and soon the front door slammed, signaling that mother and son had left the house.

Looking out the window and making sure that they were far away, you approached Therese from behind, wrapping your arms around her waist. “Can my girlfriend show me her room mmm?” She turned around in your arms and placed a soft kiss on your chapped lips. “I love the way it sounds when you call me yours.” She took your hand and led you up the stairs.

Her room looked a little dark and gloomy, with a couple of crooked candles providing light to the space. Closer to the window was a large plush bed with several camel hair blankets on top. Your lips found hers again and a sloppy, hungry kiss became the beginning of something much more. You slowly pushed her towards the bed and when her knees hit the edge she sat up, you settled on her lap.

“Therese...” a soft whisper comes out of your mouth, teeth biting and kissing the soft skin of your neck. “Help me take off this damn dress.” She growled and pulled you to your feet with her back turned. “We don’t have much time before they come back.” Your hands handle the laces and clasps of her dress in a matter of minutes, when her “armor” falls to your feet, she kicks the hated piece of clothing somewhere to the side and turns you around with your back, almost tearing the laces of your dress.

You are both in white dresses that were worn under the main ones. Therese is on top of you like that summer day. The room is filled with the sounds of kissing and the soft crackling of the fireplace. You pull down the straps of her dress and her breasts jump out in front of your face. “They are exactly as I imagined.” You say this and take one of her nipples into your mouth, gently squeezing the other breast. She fidgets on your hips, “Oh, you pervert imagined me naked?” She laughs and moans when you bite and lick. "Look who's talking."

You kiss again, your hands never leaving her tits. Therese's panties are already ruined, you look down at your dress where she was sitting and see a small wet spot. You pull her dress down, help her take off her underwear and she is completely naked in front of you. "You are beautiful." Your hands move over her flat stomach, soft plush thighs and do not reach the place where she needs it most.

"Sit on my face." You go down and lie on your back. She sits on your stomach and looks at you uncertainly. Your hands grab her hips and pull her higher up your body. “Come on, I want to taste you.” Her wet center falls onto your mouth and you stick out your tongue, licking her entire length. Her hand slides into your hair, pressing you closer, “Oh god Y/N...so good.” You find her swollen clit and suck it into your mouth, she moves her hips towards you, the bed creaks quietly and she screams curses. “Fuck yes yes thank you thank you thank you this is so good.” Her moisture flows into your mouth and you lick everything she can give you. You stroke with your hands everything you can reach from her hips to her chest. At the moment of orgasm, Therese takes both of your hands and presses them to the bed, her nails painfully dig into the back of your palm, but this is nothing compared to the sounds she makes when she cum all over your face. While she recovers from her orgasm, you bite and kiss her thighs.

She gets off of you and lies down next to you. Her face buries at the base of your neck and she whispers, “Thank you.” The crackle of the fireplace is soothing and you almost fall asleep when she pokes you in the side. “Don’t sleep, I want to return the favor.”

You remember your own wetness between your legs and nod. "Get on all fours." and you do what she says. She lifts your dress up to your waist and pulls down your panties. Your puffy, soaked pussy appears before her, begging to be touched. “God, you’re so wet, are you sure you didn’t come while I was sitting on you?” She laughs and collects moisture with her fingers. A thread of excitement stretches from your pussy to her fingers and she puts them in her mouth. "Delicious." Two fingers stroke your entire length and then push inside.

Her kisses go down your back and she reminds you, “I would really like to stay like this with you, but we still have to deal with my brother and aunt.

Your mouth opens in a scream and she starts pounding into you hard and fast. "Oh Therese...please." She leans towards your ear and her breasts press against your back. “I had no intention of stopping.” Her fingers curl and hit that sweet spot inside you. You reach up and rub circles on your sensitive clit. Therese places one hand under your stomach and pulls you closer. Vulgar squelching sounds are heard throughout the room, she adds a third finger inside you, stretching you so well and you see stars “Come on baby cum for me.” Your legs shake as you cum on her hand. Not a single orgasm to which you brought yourself can compare with Therese.

“Camil! Come here to me!” Therese shouted to her brother from across the frozen lake. The winter day turned out to be frosty and sunny, birds were singing around and only three people were skating on the sometimes thin ice of the lake. “Camil wait! Don't go without me, you'll fall. Therese, don’t call him!”

“Therese, help! Help me! Help, call someone!” But Therese stood motionless. The girl simply watched her family drown and freeze under the ice of a huge lake. After some time, the sounds stopped and life left both bodies. A couple of tears fell from Therese's cheek in honor of the loss of people for whom she had affection, but not love. The girl went to land and, after changing her shoes, slowly walked into the empty house.

But Camil has already set himself the goal of getting to his sister. The two of them quietly drove straight to Therese. Of course, straight this is the shortest way. Now they are almost there, but from somewhere they hear a crash, a second and two of them are screaming in the icy water, floundering and trying to save their lives.

“I have an idea." Therese said as you helped each other get dressed. “You see this lake.” She points to the window and you watch as Madame Raquin and Camille are still mastering their skates. "I see." You simply nod, starting to understand where her thoughts are going. Back in the fall, when Madame Raquin’s plans for Therese became known, you agreed to get rid of these two. And given how little time was left, it was necessary to come up with something quickly.

She finished her short monologue and you tried to weigh the pros and cons. “What if the snow doesn’t fall overnight? What then? “Then we just won’t go anywhere. This plan is pure luck, but we don’t have much time and we have to take a chance.” You looked into her eyes and kissed her slowly. "OK, let's try."

“We’ll make our way to this lake at night, do you have anything sharp on your farm?” You nod “Bring it here, can you do it for me?” You nod again, “In one place over there opposite the tree we will chop up the ice, it will become thinner and with a lot of weight it will fall through. If we’re lucky and snow falls overnight, covering up the fact that some kind of manipulation was done with the ice, I’ll invite my aunt and brother to go skating again in the morning. I will remember where not to go and go around this place. And I called Camille to me, taking it weakly. Believe me, he won't refuse. But it will go in a straight line, exactly where the ice is thin. Of course, my aunt will go after him and so the two of them swim in the icy water.”

The Christmas tree softly shimmered with gold as the two of you stood in the center of the large room holding hands. “Now it’s just the two of us...” Therese’s soft whisper in your ear proved that this was reality. You two, on Christmas as you once dreamed of. You are here again, in the present. You killed two people and made it look like an accident. You killed them. Is this what you wanted? Yes. But the realization came later.

"Merry Christmas my love."

“Hey...” She takes your face in her hands. "Look at me. Everything is fine, I’m with you and we are together and no one will bother us anymore. We can stay here or move to Paris. Whatever you want." She kisses you and you respond. It really doesn't matter who's dead. The main thing is that you are with her, with Therese. And no one will steal this Christmas from you, no one will steal your whole life.

#wanda fanfic #therese raquin #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x you #wandanat #wandanat x reader #in secret #elizabeth olsen

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