#this is me putting my entire brain onto the canvas

[kaliido-s]

seeing Godzilla Minus One on saturday!!! feeling extremely normal about it!!! 😁😁😁

#this is me putting my entire brain onto the canvas #godzilla #kaiju #gojira #godzilla 1954 #monsterverse #monsterverse godzilla #legendary godzilla #godzilla 2014 #godzilla king of the monsters #godzilla vs kong #heisei godzilla #burning godzilla #godzilla vs destoroyah #shin godzilla #godzilla minus one #godzilla minus 1 #godzilla gmk #gmk godzilla #showa godzilla #reiwa godzilla #millennium godzilla #kaiju art #godzilla art

[thatfandomslut]

Social Pariahs

Janis Imi'ike x Reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Trigger Warning: shameless flirting, cringy pick up lines, two anarchists in love (sry not sry)

Request:

please do a Janis x reader where the reader is new at school and doesn’t want to get into the social pyramid and they are outcasts together idk some fluffy stuff

Mean Girls requests are open.

Janis Imi'ike would be lying if she wasn't enamored by the new girl. She was just so cool. For starters, the Plastics offered her a spot at their table, and she swiftly shot them down, opting for a seat by herself in the lunch room. Watching Regina's face fall as she tried to hide the shock with a scowl was honestly Janis's favorite thing to ever happen. Additionally, they shared three classes: chemistry, English, and, most importantly, art. That was how Janis learned how amazing the new girl was with a paintbrush as she finished an art assignment on the inner self.

"Ms. (L/n)," the teacher cleared his throat, analyzing the canvas. On it displayed the brain on fire. A worry line slowly appeared on the teacher's face before a forced smile fell on his lips as he put the canvas back onto the easel. "Would you like the pleasure of explaining your art as a way to also get to know everyone a bit better?"

It was obvious that (Y/n) didn't want to as she pondered for a moment. "Okay, yeah, sure." (Y/n) stood up, removing the smock that covered her clothes. Though, the paint did find its way to her hands, arms, and face. Janis watched intently, her chin resting on her fist. She knew that if Damian was there, she would be receiving the biggest side-eye in the entire world. Thankfully, within the four walls of the classroom, she was safe from his judgmental stare as she admired the girl from afar. "My name is (Y/n). My art on the inner self represents how I feel the school system is doing more harm than good by frying our brains as they mold us into the people they want us to be rather than the people we want to be." (Y/n) said, sitting back down as the teacher stared in shock.

After a moment, he cleared her throat as he looked around. The other students, with the exception of Janis, seemed to be just as shocked and in a brief moment of confusion. "Right, right… Thank you, (Y/n)." He said, feeling slightly resigned as he plopped back into his chair. He had the sudden realization that one, he didn't get paid enough for this shit, and two, she was going to be a brilliant artist one day using her political ideologies to guide her.

Janis stared brightly at the girl but quickly looked away when they made eye contact with each other. Janis didn't notice the girl approaching her work. It was a small version of her with Cady and Damian with music notes and horror movies stitched over her paint strokes. "Your work is really cool." (Y/n) said, startling Janis, who looked over. She was at a loss for words. She had so much she wanted to say but couldn't. She finally understood how Cady felt about Regina and Aaron. "Are they your friends? I've seen you with him, but who is she? Your girlfriend?" The girl inquired, pointing over at Cady.

"Cady? No, no. She is not my girlfriend. She's cool and all but not for me." Janis said, waving off the feeling of embarrassment that wanted to stain her cheeks a bright shade of red. There was a small hint of a smile on (Y/n)'s lips as she listened to Janis. "I- I notice you sit alone at lunch. Is there anyone I can convince you to sit with Damian and me?" Janis offered, a feeling of dread settling on her chest as she feared rejection.

However, the familiar blow never hit. "Yeah, sure, as long as you're not a part of whatever weird social pyramid scheme that the rest of the school seems to be in." She said as the bell rang. Grabbing her bag, (Y/n) offered Janis a wave that caused Janis to feel like she was floating momentarily. While Cady described the feeling she had for Regina and Aaron to make her feel 'stupid with love,' Janis felt confident. (Y/n) was so beautiful and they shared so many of the same ideas (though she only knew two of them). Janis couldn't help but find herself crushing on (Y/n).

At lunch the next day, (Y/n) showed up, standing behind Janis. "Excuse me, ma'am," Damian smirked over to Janis when (Y/n) began speaking. Janis went red as she looked behind her with a sheepish smile. "I might not be a photographer, but I could see us together." (Y/n) said playfully as she sat next to Regina. Once again, she had rendered the very outspoken Janis speechless. Damian could almost applaud the action teasingly, but he could see how nervous his best friend was. Mercy was Janis's friend that day, and Damian accepted that.

When Janis still said nothing, Damian stepped in to transfer the attention onto himself. "So, (Y/n), Janis tells me you're an amazing artist. Are you entering the art show with Janis?" He questioned, hoping the new conversation would help Janis ease herself out of the shell she had put herself in. "I heard there was potential scholarship money for the winner," Damian added, trying to recall everything that Janis had shared with him. Janis looked over at (Y/n), wondering if she was going to put her artwork in, too.

"Yeah, I was considering it. I was looking through the categories. I was thinking about doing a portrait, but anything I could create would never achieve what Janis's art does." She said, glancing over at Janis who perked up at the mention of the category. She wouldn't want to compete with (Y/n), but she was curious to see what she could paint. "But, there are several different sub-categories with different awards. I might do that so I could get a sense of the competition for next year. I like to scout the competition before entering my work so I know how hard I have to go."

Damian nodded thoughtfully, gently kicking Janis under the table so she would finally say something. "I think you should enter. Your work is amazing. Like the Brain on Fire piece? It was so amazing, and Mr. Callahan didn't even know what to say. You're are speaks volumes. I hope you do enter." Janis gushed unintentionally, hoping she wasn't rambling. Pink dust covered (Y/n)'s cheeks as she looked down in order to allow her hair to hide the blush and the smile that was growing on her face.

Finally, giving herself grace since she knew it was a natural reaction, she looked up at Janis. "Okay, I'll consider it. I am working on something new. I've been going to the art room every free period to work on it." She said thoughtfully at first as she grew more confident. "I think it could work. Mr. Callahan says it looks amazing so far. Though, I think he's scared of me." (Y/n) jested, causing Janis to laugh. Mr. Callahan did indeed keep his distance after (Y/n)'s response last class. "Wait until he finds out I'm a pyromaniac anarchist who loves putting fire and politics in my art to spread my messages." She said with a giant smirk. Janis didn't know she could fall more until that moment and the weeks that followed.

"Hello, may I have your attention please?" Principal Duvall's voice filled the halls just in time for morning announcements. Janis barely had it in her to pay attention since she was texting (Y/n). For about three weeks now, she had been flirting and trying to build the courage to ask (Y/n) on a date. "I want to first announce that there are two students we need to wish luck to. Miss Janis Imi'ike and Miss (Y/n) (L/n) are finalists at the Illinois Art Expo this Saturday. Go lions! Even for art." Principal Duvall said as Damian looked over at Janis cheering 'Art! Art! Art!' Janis could barely think for a moment as she went to text (Y/n), only to receive a congratulations message first.

At lunch, Janis was excited to see (Y/n) in person since the announcement. She was practically buzzing with excitement to ask if she wanted to go with her and Damian. So much so that Damian gently reminded her to calm down because she was shaking the table as her knee bounced in participation. "Hey, Damian," (Y/n) greeted as she sat beside Janis. "Hello, my fellow finalist." (Y/n) winked, nudging Janis softly with her elbow. There was a giant grin on her face, showing that she was just as excited as Janis was.

"Hey, congratulations on being a finalist. I knew that you would be. Quick question, by the way… Since Cady is going with her mom somewhere this weekend, there is enough room on Damian's hot ride. Do you want to come with us on Saturday?" Janis questioned as Damian instinctively smirked at the two. He did it every time one of them joined the other. "I promise it'll be a safe ride. If we hit a bump, I'll hold you close."

(Y/n) looked over at Janis, a small smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. "I know you would, babe. I want to say yes but my dad wants to take me." She said with a soft pout. But none of that mattered because Janis was stuck on the fact that (Y/n) had just called her babe. Janis smiled to herself as Damian looked over to see if she'd say something. "I definitely will find you when I get there. I want to see your work. I'm excited to see what you've done." (Y/n) put a hand on Janis's knee gently, and Janis's already red cheeks turned maroon as she smiled more.

That Saturday, the art expo was buzzing, and (Y/n) found herself waiting on Janis at the front while her father wandered through the building to look at the other artworks. "Hey, you," (Y/n) turned to see Janis and Damian riding in on a scooter. A laugh bubbled through her chest as she looked over at them with her brows raised. "Like our sweet ride?" Janis questioned as Damian went up the ramp to make his way over to them. Janis got off, wrapping her arms around (Y/n) as Damian parked the scooter by the bike rack, and put a bike security chain on it to make sure no one drove away with it.

"I love it," (Y/n) chuckled, allowing her arms to envelope Janis, too with a smile. Their cheeks were both burning, but neither broke the hug. "I definitely wasn't expecting it. I thought Damian would be coming in a car with the bass-boosting Nicki Minaj or Beyonce."

Damian gasped, pleased by how well (Y/n) knew him. "You know me too well." He wiped a fake tear away as he approached the two with a grin. He didn't want to interrupt their moment, but it was cold outside and he was ready to see the works that they had been talking up so much (even though neither one of them had seen it yet. "Let's go, lesbian, let's go." He gently gestured for them to go inside, causing them to hesitantly spill up and head inside as they headed for the North Shore High table.

On one side of the table was a group portrait of Cady, Damian, (Y/n), and Janis. "Wow, Janis," (Y/n) grinned widely. "This is freaking incredible." She had to resist her fingers tracing the string that was stitched into the canvas, over Janis's broad brushstrokes. She was constantly amazed by Janis's works and talents. "You won first place!" (Y/n) pointed over at the ribbon. As she looked back at Janis, she noticed the girl wasn't paying attention. Instead, Janis's focus was on (Y/n)'s work.

Nerves exploded in (Y/n)'s chest as she hoped Janis liked it. It was a portrait of Janis with poetry placed around her in calligraphy. Her jaw was dropped as she looked over at (Y/n). Before (Y/n) could say anything, Janis kissed her deeply. Her eyes widened before she kissed back, her hands moving to the back of Janis's neck to pull her closer. Damian looked around for a brief moment before slipping away to give them privacy. "I've never been captured like that before," Janis spoke in a hushed tone, smiling at (Y/n).

"Well, I've been trying to figure out how to ask you on a date since the day I first talked to you. I figured this might be the best icebreaker." (Y/n) said, pressing soft kissing to Janis's cheek. Janis grinned at the action, biting her lip. "I wanted to paint you because nothing makes me feel more passionate than when I think of you. You've encouraged me to go after what I love in art and you've helped me grow. Not only as an artist but as a person." (Y/n) expressed, her fingers intertwining their fingers gently. She was thankful that Janis felt the same since she was nervous about how the art would be perceived.

"I love it," Janis's breath was absolutely taken away by the art and over the fact she kissed (Y/n). "And, I like you, too. I thought you were cool before we officially met. But your Brain of Fire art piece is what made me fall for you. You were so cool and outspoken. I really like that about you. I just really like you." Janis shared with a soft smile. (Y/n) grinned at this before kissing Janis again. Happiness swelled through the two, and the Art Expo around them seemed to fade as they stayed in each other's arms for a couple more long moments.

As (Y/n) pulled away, she kissed Janis's cheek gently. "My dad is going to be looking for me at some point. I should go find him. I'll pick you up at six on Saturday?" She waited a moment for Janis to nod. (Y/n) grinned widely before waving back at Janis. She couldn't believe that they had finally kissed. She couldn't wait for their date. Everything felt like it was finally falling into place in her life, and she felt excited and lucky to experience that with Janis.

A voice broke her from her thoughts, causing her to turn around. "(Y/n), wait," Janis called, holding the canvas with (Y/n)'s work. (Y/n)'s brows rose as she looked at Janis. "Don't forget your artwork." She said, passing the canvas over.

(Y/n) shook her head, pushing it back into Janis's hands gently. "It's for you, Janis Imi'ike." She teased out Janis's last name as she winked back at the girl. "I'll see you later, babe." And just like that, she left Janis there with her heart beating quickly and a stupid grin on her lips because she called her babe.

#janis imiike x reader #janis imiike #mean girls x reader #mean girls

[whositmcwhatsit]

PART TWO

A/N: So, this has kind of unravelled... or unfolded... or collapsed like a... collapsing thing.

It's a silly, spooky, smutty love letter to Elvis, motels, small towns, ghosts, mysteries, and, erm, pine trees, with a ton of Elvis references and easter eggs that I think only I'm sad and nerdy enough to get.

Putting this out into the tumblr void in the hope that someone else might find some enjoyment from it too.

Catch up on Part 1

Everyone had congregated to eat in one of the other guys’ rooms. Elvis was reclined on the bed with his shoes on but wearing an entirely different outfit to the gray slacks and dark blue shirt he had been clad in while driving. Now he was all in black, but the captain’s hat was still in place. 

Cheryl had heard girls outside, she was sure of it. She had even turned up the radio to drown out one particularly shiver-inducing shriek that could have only been made by someone overcome with emotion. From all the racket, she had been sure that she would see at least a hundred girls in a crowd outside. She surveyed the road and the trees beyond, trying to fashion a scenario that made sense. 

After watching them devour their food like a pride of lions over a carcass, Cheryl understood why Elvis chose someone else’s room to eat in if he wanted all his guys around him. She picked at the overcooked meat and nibbled on some fries, but her stomach was too tense to allow much food inside. She had a strange feeling, like she had forgotten something or left it behind, but she couldn’t think what that would be, outside of her poor crumpled car by the side of the road.

Spreading out the paper napkin to cover her largely untouched meal, Cheryl brushed off her lap and fixed the group with a pleasant smile. 

“Well, thank you so much for your hospitality. I should probably be heading back to my room, I’m going to have a long day tomorrow.” 

“You can’t be going to bed yet!” Elvis teased. “It’s early! It’s not even little Billy’s bedtime yet!” The slight man he nodded towards pulled a face and made as if to swipe at Elvis, but was never in danger of making contact, especially after Elvis dodged with a raucous laugh. 

“Goodnight,” Cheryl said quietly to a background of banter and manly tussling. She turned as she stepped out onto the sheltered walkway and gasped as someone brushed by her in a canvas raincoat. 

“Oh, excuse m-” The walkway was empty in both directions. 

Cheryl’s arm still tingled from where the stiff material of the coat had brushed against her skin, but her brain was struggling with the contradiction given by her eyes. She briefly considered turning and knocking on the room door again, but then she caught sight of neon behind the squat little motel office and made a new plan. 

Forty minutes later, she was sitting at a table in the bar/restaurant nursing a martini and some barbecue wings. A couple of the patrons, men in rumpled shirts sitting at the bar, had given her a long look when she had walked in, but they had since gone back to their beers. 

The waitress made conversation with her, saying that she was a nice change from her usual clientele and she got excited when Cheryl explained what she was doing in the area. 

“Oh my grandma had the sight!” she whispered, glancing towards the bar before dipping onto the seat beside Cheryl. “And, you know, my folks said that when I was a little girl, I wouldn’t walk past one of the houses on our block? Just flat out refused to do it. I always said a strange man was staring at me, but there was never anyone there.” 

Cheryl nodded and smiled, eager to keep her companion for a little longer so that she could stay in the warmth and light without worrying about the heavy-set gentlemen at the bar deciding that she needed company. 

“How about here?” she asked, trying to look nonchalant as she blotted barbecue sauce from her lips with her napkin. “Did you ever see anything here? Or at the motel?” 

The waitress scoffed as she lit a cigarette and waved it airily at the barman to let him know she was taking a break. 

“Here? Nothing happens at the Cozy Pines. Just truckers and the odd tourists who didn’t stop in time in Portland but can’t quite make it to Seattle. The same family has even had the place as long as I’ve been alive. Old Bob Rochelle was manager for years until he had a hunting accident by the river. Still lives there though in the old honeymoon suite. His son Steve runs it all now.” 

Cheryl thought about taking a walk over to the office and having a chat with Steve. She weighed up her curiosity about the figure in the raincoat and the screaming girls against the potential awkwardness of the conversation. She could try the reporter angle and pretend she was writing about local history for her college newspaper, that one usually worked without making people stare strangely at her. However, Steve was a businessman, a man whose trade relied on people looking at his establishment and seeing comfort and respite. He probably wasn’t going to be forthcoming about events traumatic enough to leave an echo. 

“Say, did you hear that Elvis Presley is staying at the motel right now?” the waitress asked her. “I don’t know how true that is, but I heard it from Betty, whose husband is the manager. Didn’t sign in under his name, of course, but Steve thought he caught sight of him in the group. I’m going to head over after my shift and see if it’s true.” 

“Elvis? Really?” Cheryl grimaced doubtfully. “Wouldn’t he stay in a fancy hotel in the city? I didn’t realize that times were so tough for him.”

The waitress ground out her cigarette and took out a compact and her lipstick from the little pocket in the front of her apron, reapplying her lipstick. 

“Well, it’s probably bullhockey,” she agreed. “Still, I’m not taking the risk. My high school steady wouldn’t let me go back when Elvis did a show up this way. He was jealous, like all the boys.” She rolled her eyes and twisted the cap back on her lipstick. “I should have gone, the memories would’ve lasted longer than Teddy Davis, I’ll tell you that.” 

Another couple of guys walked into the smoky, noisy interior of the bar as the waitress returned to work. It took Cheryl a little while to recognise them out of their coveralls. A lot of her work involved reading people, taking in the lines and details; she wasn’t much of a ‘big picture’ or whole face person. 

Still, she was a woman alone in a bar and she sensed their interest, their attention on her as they strolled past her table. One of them took a table in the corner, while the other headed towards the phone, hung into a visored cubby beneath a stark bare light bulb. 

A few minutes later, he was standing at her table. 

“Hey, uh, Miss, the Boss has been looking for you. He wanted a word before you turned in.” 

Cheryl smiled into the rim of her martini glass at the play pretend and the subterfuge. ‘The Boss’, ‘wanting a word’. She had half a mind to stay and order another drink, but she hadn’t been lying earlier: it was going to be a long day tomorrow if she intended to get her car at least roadworthy and travel the last few hours to Seattle. 

“Of course,” she replied demurely, rising and leaving some rumpled bills on the table. She waved to the waitress on the way out, followed uncomfortably closely by Elvis’ guy.

Walking through the scrubby boundary between the restaurant parking lot and the motel, Cheryl paused as she took in the sheer number of automobiles now parked outside. There was a large mob of teenagers and even some older adults standing at the foot of the stairs to the second floor and a couple of cops looking bemused beside a tall, lean man in a striped shirt that Cheryl supposed was Steve the manager. They stopped her and Elvis’ friend/employee as they approached the steps. 

“We’re staying here,” her escort informed the officers, shaking his key with the room number etched into it. Cheryl took her cue from him and fished her key from her purse. After examining the fob carefully as if he suspected her of sitting in the woods painstakingly whittling a forgery, the uniformed officer stood aside and waved her on. 

The crowd started to chant as she climbed the steps and she wondered how she was ever going to get any sleep. 

“You go to your room,” her charming companion instructed. “I’ll let him know you’re back.” She unlocked her door and gave his retreating back a sarcastic salute before stepping inside. 

As she turned on the lamp, Cheryl had the strongest feeling that someone was waiting for her. If she had illuminated a figure sitting in the chair beside the dresser, she would not have been surprised, her sense of a presence was so strong, but the light thrown against the walls by the lamp just showed the spartan furniture and its shadows. 

The interconnecting door opened again. Elvis tapped on it once he had opened it and caught sight of her. She had never known anyone to knock as a greeting instead of a request to enter. 

“Come on in,” she said dryly, placing her purse on the nightstand and kicking off her shoes. He did, his vast aura engulfing the room and smothering the sense of that other presence she had felt. She raised her eyebrows as she registered the forcefully bland expression on his face and the way that he seemed to be grasping for words. He was annoyed. 

“Goddamn weasel in the office ratted us out,” he snapped finally. He paused in the center of the room and encircled his wrist with his other hand, flexing his fingers. “Hate that underhanded shit. We’re customers just like everyone else, we deserve some damn privacy.” He shook his head and sighed. “Guess it don’t matter, they always find out anyway.”

“That must get annoying.” She perched on the edge of her bed. “A policeman down there tried to stop me from coming back to my room and I found that irritating enough.”

Elvis thought about it, his thick black lashes fluttering as he blinked. Cheryl felt a little fondness for the way that he seemed to consider her comment so carefully. 

“No, uh, not annoying. Being sold out by that sonovabitch down there gets me heated, but people coming out… I mean they care enough to get in their cars and drive on over here in the cold and dark and everything… I appreciate that. It means something.”

“You’re grateful,” she put in, thinking back to their conversation in the motor home. 

“Sure…” He knocked the side of his fist against his thigh, looking around her room. “Sure. Uh, you know, a couple of my guys saw you at the bar across the way. I tell ya, you gotta be more careful, honey. A good girl like you shouldn’t be going to places like that all alone. People might get the wrong idea.” 

Cheryl’s eyebrows shot up and she had to rein in her laughter when she saw that he was serious. Deadly, earnestly serious. 

“The wrong idea,” she parroted instead, glad that her voice didn’t quaver. 

“Uh huh,” he shifted uncomfortably, looking somewhere near her right knee. “They might think you’re- That is-” He cleared his throat. “You just gotta be careful. You’re lucky you ran into little ole us, really.”

Cheryl’s mind was whirling with responses, most of them sarcastic and some of them resentful, but she discarded them all as he bit his lip and came to sit down next to her on the edge of her bed.

“Now don’t go getting yourself all worked up,” he murmured, fingers grazing her kneecap. “I ain’t saying nothing bad about you, baby. I know you’re a good girl-”

“I’m not that much of a good girl,” Cheryl interjected, putting her hand on one of his thighs. She felt the muscle tense and twitch against her palm. 

Her hand flexed on his thigh as the other ran up his chest and grasped his collar. He wasn’t even touching her and yet her skin was tingling all over; all over. When his hand finally settled on her waist, his thumb kneading into the curve as the heat radiated through her cotton blouse, she let out a helpless moan. Then the lights started to flicker. 

“W-w-well, there’s such a thing as too good,” he murmured, and they both laughed a little under their breath as they drew closer. His lips were soft, full and he used them skilfully like a tool he had mastered.

Most men, at least the ones that Cheryl had kissed, thought of kissing as a trailer for the upcoming feature: tight lips, plunging tongue, unrelenting pressure that she had to yield to.

Elvis’ kiss was gentle, not timid but playful and tender. His lips brushed against hers, nuzzling and massaging. Then he pulled back slightly, tilted his head and she caught the slightest hint of a smile as he parted his lips and his tongue teased its way into her mouth.

With her eyes squeezed shut and her mind otherwise engaged, Cheryl barely noticed, lost in a maelstrom of soft breath and tickling, warm pressure, but, as the bulbs grew brighter, they let out a loud buzzing like a swarm of angry bees. They pulled apart, looking around, and suddenly the lamp beside the bed gave off a loud pop as the bulb exploded and left them with an image seared on their retinas and a cluster of broken glass over the nightstand. 

Cheryl couldn’t quite comprehend what had happened, but she sensed Elvis’ head turn from the lamp to her face and he nuzzled into the line of her throat, his nose cold against the skin behind her ear. 

“Did I blow your bulb too, baby?” he rumbled in a deep bass, and they both broke into giggles. She enjoyed the way he laughed with his whole body, dragging her into it, his arms tight around her shoulders. 

“What happened, do you think?” she asked, staring at the glass fragments as she finally calmed down. 

“Power surge maybe?” He sounded like he was used to objects exploding and the rules of science and technology bending around him. He probably was. “The hell if I know.”

He let out a little boyish moan as he once again buried his face in her neck. The nerve that twitched at the feel of his hot breath went right down her spine and between her legs, which she was already clenching together. 

“I should go out there,” he said, words almost entirely muffled against her throat. 

“You know, the waitress told me that Elvis was staying at this motel,” she told him, angling her head as he nipped at her skin and then soothed it with a kiss. “I said that I didn’t realize he was that hard up.” 

Another huff of a laugh right into the crook of her neck and she had to cross her legs, feeling far from being a good girl. 

“Hard up,” he murmured under his breath as he rose, the emphasis he put on the words made her cheeks rapidly heat like that lightbulb. She tried to busy herself clearing up the mess on the table to hide her embarrassment. 

“Hey Cheryl?” It was the softness of his voice, almost breathless, that made her look up as he turned into the doorway between their rooms. 

“Yes?”

“Can you.. uh, see a spirit around me?” 

Cheryl had seen that same look he was wearing countless times before on many other people, a cocktail of hope and fear, and, just like always, she tried not to disappoint. 

“Well, um, let me see.” She squinted and focused on the empty space around him, letting his handsome face blur and fade with some regret.

“I can’t be sure,” she hedged, “but I’m picking up something, a strong feeling… love. You’ve lost someone you loved very much… No, someone who loved you very much…” She quickly let her eyes zoom in on his face, checking for the tiny tells, tension around the eyes, tightening of the mouth, and movement of the pupils.  

This should have been easy, he was one of the most famous men in the world and every aspect of his life was publicized, but Cheryl had never been much of a fan of popular music. She had never even seen one of his movies.

“You don’t see nothing, do you.” His jaw muscle flexed as he turned away and she thought she glimpsed a sheen in his eyes, but he was blinking very rapidly. “I-I guess I knew you wouldn’t. I don’t feel-” He shot her a fast, rueful smile and crinkled his eyes. It was the smile of someone who was always careful not to make people uncomfortable with their emotions. More than the promise of money, this made her want to tell him comforting lies. 

“I don’t always see what’s there, not straight away,” she said. “Especially if the spirit was very close to the person in life. They tend to cleave closer and blend with the aura of the person I’m reading, because they’re cut from the same cloth, so to speak.”

He nodded, that socially appeasing smile still faint on his lips, and she knew he didn’t believe her.

As Cheryl was scooping the last of the glass into the wastepaper basket, a communal shriek went up that signaled Elvis’ emergence from his room. Now that she had heard it, she realized that the screams she had heard earlier were not excited, not hysterical with joy and desire, they had been terrified. 

“I heard you,” she said quietly into the stillness of the room. You have terrible timing, she thought very loudly in her head. 

With a sigh, she jammed her aching feet back into her pumps and yanked on her jacket, peering through the net curtains at the window. It was an information gathering opportunity too good to pass up. Half the town was down there milling beneath the window, including cops who might be distracted enough by having to wrangle wailing women that they might answer her strange questions without getting too interested in her. 

It sounded like a carnival as she stepped outside her door. There were car radios blaring the same Elvis songs, presumably the local radio station showing deference to their prestigious visitor. People were laughing and talking and rushing backwards and forwards like they were lining up for rides.

It took a moment for Cheryl to locate Elvis in the center of it. He seemed to have changed into his third outfit of the day before venturing out and was now accessorizing his captain’s hat with a light blue neckerchief. She found herself imagining untying it with her teeth and she flushed even though no one could have possibly known what she was thinking about. 

Nearly all of Elvis’ guys were clustered around him in a knot, a tense and frowning wall of boys that could not have been more in contrast to the man they were encircling, who was grinning and laughing and glowing in the center of them. She supposed they were employed to do the worrying for him. 

Hopping from the last step, Cheryl took a wide arc around the main action and scanned the faces. Finally, she sidled up to a little group of girls who were leaning against a car and giggling over a folded magazine. 

“Hi,” she smiled and tried to look innocent. For some reason, she always had to make that effort, something about her natural resting face always made people suspicious. “Do you know what’s going on over there?” 

“Elvis Presley!” one of the girls cried. “He’s stopped here, of all places, on his way up to Seattle for a movie!” 

“Oh wow!” Cheryl marveled. She was putting on a voice, why was she putting on a voice?! “That’s wild! I love Elvis!” 

“He’s really the most!” one of the girls agreed. 

“I’m just so glad I was listening to the radio when they announced it,” said another. “Can you imagine if we had missed it?!”

“I’m just glad it’s happened now and not when old Mr Rochelle was in charge. My folks would’ve never let me come!” 

Recognition pinged in Cheryl’s mind and she zoomed in on this girl, who was blithely kissing the scrawled autograph on her forearm. 

“Why wouldn’t they have let you come?” She kicked herself for the intensity she heard in her voice, but luckily the other girls were too distracted to notice it. 

“What? I’m not saying they’re true, just that people talked. They said that old Mr Rochelle was…” Even this girl seemed to demure suddenly, glancing around as if someone might overhear. “He was just creepy.” 

“Because of the stories,” the girl replied absently. One of the others hissed:

“Jane!” 

“Was?” Cheryl prompted, wondering how far she could push without drawing suspicion. “He’s still alive, right?”

“Yeah, but he can’t walk. Not after… what happened.”

“Jane, that was just an accident. You are such a storyteller! You should be careful that people don’t start telling stories about you!” 

Seeing them descending into squabbling, Cheryl moved on in case they reconciled by uniting against the outsider who instigated everything. She tried a few more girls, but they were far too distracted by the object of their desire standing in the parking lot to put words together into sentences. 

Finally, Cheryl caught sight of the waitress- She wished she had asked her name- and she wandered over, having to focus on making her steps seem casual and not rushed. 

“Hi there!” she smiled. “Seems like the rumors were true!” Cheryl watched recognition flash in the woman’s eyes. 

“Had to happen eventually!” she agreed. 

“So, have you spoken to the great man himself?” she asked, feeling a little bad at the deception since the waitress had been so nice to her. 

“Not yet. I’m biding my time, it’ll be curfew soon and the cops will chase the teenyboppers out of here. I don’t want to risk having my eyes clawed out before then!” 

“Ha, yes, probably wise.” She shook her head as the waitress offered her a cigarette. “Are you from here originally?” 

“Born and raised. Why? Can you see the hope draining out of my eyes?” Cheryl really liked the waitress. 

“I was just wondering how much you know about the Rochelle family. You mentioned they’d run this place for a long time, and the girls over there were saying there were some stories about them?”

The waitress squinted across the parking lot. “Oh yeah, well, their mothers listen in to the party lines instead of watching television. You know how small towns are.”

“And no girls ever… disappeared or anything?” Cheryl wanted to reel the words back in as soon as they flopped out of her mouth and floundered in the dark, cold, damp air. The warmth rapidly cooled in the waitress’s eyes and Cheryl gave her an awkward, grimacing smile and edged away. 

“Of course,” Cheryl murmured, though all she knew of small towns was what she glimpsed as she passed through them with her family when they were on the circuit.

“I know what the gossip says,” the waitress said shortly. “But Bob was always nothing but polite and kind to me. He gave me my first job as a maid at the motel back when I was in high school.” 

That left only the police, but they all seemed very busy now that curfew had fallen and some kids were trying to defy it, lingering in the parking lot, trying to talk themselves out of having to leave. Cheryl slowly rotated, looking for a younger officer, maybe someone who looked like they had something to prove and would open up to someone willing to be impressed. 

Cheryl’s eyes instead snagged on Elvis, who had glanced up from the crowd of people surrounding him, eyebrows raised inquiringly, almost as if she had called him. He flashed her a smile, not the irrepressible grin she had bathed in back in her room, but the crooked ‘Elvis’ smile that was almost his trademark. She realized she might well have never seen him in a movie or attended one of his shows, but she had certainly seen a performance now. His attention was drawn back to the older ladies who were taking their turn now that the teens had been forced back home, and she finally managed to blink. 

“You should go on and head upstairs now. He’ll be done in a minute.” She flinched at the low voice to her left. 

“Joe, right?” she asked of the man who had appeared at her side.

“He’ll be done in a minute,” he repeated in a flat tone. 

“That’s nice,” she returned, turning away. 

Cheryl’s mother always said that Cheryl’s biggest weakness was her stubbornness. And she was right, but Cheryl was obviously never going to admit that. 

Likewise, she had just been about to head back upstairs to puzzle over this little mystery she had found herself wrapped up in, but now that Joe had told her that she had to, she had to force herself to stand in the cold, dark parking lot until Elvis and his gang went back upstairs. Those were the rules. 

Cheryl made one last attempt to talk to one of the police officers, but after all the excitement of the evening they seemed to have got their fill of young women and coolly told her to be moving along. She risked a glance back and Elvis was still talking, flanked by adoring middle aged fans he had his arms around. 

She rubbed her own goose-pimpled arms and swore under her breath. She was going back to her room because she was cold, she told herself, not because some lackey ordered her to. It didn’t make her feel any better as she stomped up the concrete steps and she kept her head high in case she looked down and saw them smirking at her. Ugh. 

“Who are they to be telling me what to do,” she muttered, unlocking her door and switching on the overhead light. “I’m a grown woman, do they think-” 

Tossing her jacket onto the chair, she looked up just as a girl with a swollen, tearstained face started to run at her, her face contorted by a soundless scream. Letting out a shriek, Cheryl collapsed back against the door and braced for impact, but it never came. She opened her eyes and took in the empty room. 

“Stop doing that!” she snapped, trying to sound like her heart wasn’t positioned somewhere in her windpipe, racing a hundred miles an hour. “I’m trying, okay?!” 

It wasn’t like people imagined, Cheryl didn’t even think it was much of a ‘gift’ as such. There were no silvery silhouettes standing in a line waiting patiently to pass on reassuring words to their loved ones on the earthly plane. And Cheryl wasn’t some mystical disk jockey taking messages and playing them out over the airwaves. 

“This one goes out to Barbara from Rod: sorry for the fifty years of marital neglect, and my will is hidden under the floorboard beneath my easy chair in the den. Next up, ‘Earth Angel’ by The Penguins.”

If only! No, instead it was silent, sepia, mimed mirages and flashy, nausea-inducing replays of trauma and horror. Other times, it was voices that sounded like they were being played at half-speed while underwater in the next room. Her ‘gifts’ had never been intended for use as a career and the more she tried to pretend that she was a worker on a production line, cranking out the latest in comforting and reassuring products, the more they acted up, twisted and turned on her. 

“God gave you this talent,” her great grandmother would tell her in the old tongue, refusing to speak the language of the cursed invaders. “Not PT Barnum, God.” 

Unfortunately, God hadn’t given her any other talents or inclinations she could profit from, so she had been forced to disappoint Granny O’Donahoe, but then poor Granny had been disappointed from the moment she first breathed air in that little stone peat-roofed cottage back in the old country, that was nothing new. 

Cheryl was still trying to shake the icy fear that she had walked into like a fog, or like a fog that had walked into her, and she didn’t hear the knock or register Elvis standing in the doorway at first. She tuned in halfway through his sentence, which was something about an autograph. 

“Sorry?” 

“I said, you went all the way down for an autograph, but you never came over, honey. You scared of me?” 

She forced a weak smile. “No, I just didn’t have any paper… or a pen.” 

“That’s never stopped me before, darlin’. Come on in here and I’ll show you.” He dipped his head, looking at her through his brows with sparkly eyes; his radiant smile half a second away from breaking out across his immaculately made up face. He was a goddamn movie star, standing in her motel room in the middle of a podunk town in Nowheresville. The screaming spirits were the least weird part of this whole situation. 

She crossed the floor and stopped in front of him, still a little shaky. He seemed to see it, rubbing his hands slowly up and down her arms, soothing her even as he was leaning in to shake her up all over again with his soft lips. 

The flat of his hands left the relatively platonic zone of her arms, sliding against her rib cage as he bent her backwards like they were in some romantic Hollywood epic. She gripped his shoulders for balance, feeling his palms travel the outline of her waist and hips before moving back to join in cupping her ass, tugging her against him. 

When he drew back, leaving her gasping for air, all the blood rushed to her face and… other places. She could only stare at his lips, the curves and creases, as he said:

“I’d like you to come into my room. Will you do that, sweetheart?” 

Cheryl’s heart gave a squeeze at the ‘sweetheart’, and the soft, gentle way he said it. That didn’t mean that she was going to make it easy for him though. 

“Why can’t we stay in my room?” she asked. She noticed that he hadn’t ventured any further than the threshold. She wondered if he felt it too, that lingering miasma of terror and pain. 

“I’m doing you a favor, honey, there’s faulty wiring in here or somethin’. You’re liable to get yourself fried if you stay in here.” He backed into his room. “No way, that ain’t how I’m going out, zapped by a thousand volts with my one-eyed peter hanging out.”

“Oh, I can’t wait to see that quote printed up on a nice poster in the office,” she returned. 

The laughter burst out of him like his body couldn’t quite contain it and he dropped backwards onto his bed, laying spread eagle.

“You are too much, honey, get over here!” He propped himself up on his elbows and wiggled his legs invitingly.

Even as she was ambivalently drifting closer, he snorted again, thinking back on her words. She paused with her knee on the bed and struck what she hoped was a seductive pose, pulling the pins and combs from her hair. It gradually unlooped and fanned out across her shoulders.

A smile, absent and unforced, tugged at the corner of his mouth, even as it was falling open, his bottom lip glistening invitingly. 

With her hair now loose and unencumbered, Cheryl’s fingers trembled a little as she lifted her hand to the lapels of her blouse and began to unfasten the tiny buttons. Yet again, Elvis seemed to sense her trepidation and shook his head slightly, giving her a little closed-mouth smile. 

“Come sit down, honey,” he coaxed, patting the bed beside him. “Let’s get comfy and cozy.”

“As cozy as a pine tree,” they finished together. He winked and nodded. 

“Exactly.” 

She clambered onto the bed as gracefully as she could in her tight knee length skirt and sat beside him, tucking her feet beneath her. 

“See,” he murmured, brushing her hair back over her shoulder. “Ain’t that better?” She was in no position to reply as he rained down warm, wet kisses on her face, snagging her mouth and tangling her tongue with his own. 

With almost painful slowness, he cradled her across the shoulders and gradually let her descend against the pillows, even while his other hand was unbuttoning her blouse.

Cheryl shivered and tried to ground herself, exploring the shape of him with her hands, marveling at the heat that radiated through his clothes, the firm softness of his sides and the sharpness of his shoulders. 

Awkwardly moving his arms around hers, he slipped her blouse off her shoulders and expertly unfastened her bra with a flick of his fingers, his twitching eyebrow and twinkling eyes almost requesting her awe. Instead, she rose slightly, bending at the waist, and entwined her arm around his neck, pulling him down onto her and hearing him moan softly, boyishly into her mouth. 

It took almost all the restraint she had not to rub up against him like a bear with an itch, her core almost aching for the feeling of pressure, a satisfying answer to the throbbing between her legs. She knew, however, that her skirt was too tight to allow her to spread her legs, to entwine them around him as they longed to. 

When he tugged her slightly onto her side so that he could get to the padded button at the back of her waistband, she started to unfasten his shirt, smiling slightly at the sight of the sparse hair curling against his chest. Unable to help herself, she leant forward and licked a strip from the middle of his sternum to the hollow of his throat, moaning as her tongue tingled from the salty taste. She finally got the chance to tug at one end of his neckerchief with her teeth, but all that served to do was tighten the knot and almost strangle him. 

“Sorry! Sorry!” she whispered, as he paused in his task of tugging down her skirt to loosen the bind around his neck. He shook his head, his apple cheeks brimming as he fixed her with a boyish smile, and deftly tied the scarf around her bare throat, using the ends to pull her forward, crushing her mouth against his own. She reached over and grabbed the captain's hat by the brim, placing it on top of her head, letting it sit jauntily over one eye.

Elvis smoothed down his hair with his hands, grinning at her as she struck a pose and saluted. Finally, he grabbed the hat and frisbeed it onto the dresser with impressive accuracy.

“You want your autograph now?” he murmured, voice almost slurred. She gazed without comprehension into his heavy lidded eyes. In response, he drew back and she whined a little, making him huff a laugh as he tugged her up too, the both of them facing each other bare chested and flushed. 

With tantalizing slowness, he traced his nail along the inside of her thigh, swirling and skating across the skin as he signed his name.

“There ya go, now you’re mine,” he murmured, smiling lazily with sleepy eyes. 

“Uh uh.” She shook her head; he mirrored her and pouted

“No?”

“Just that leg,” she informed him, her lips somehow both tingling and numb. “Just that leg belongs to you.”

“Aw man, well, I can’t have that.” His long fingers flicked the top of her panties and she squeaked, but then he scrawled his ‘autograph’ in large letters across her stomach, before doing the same with her other leg. 

“Now, see,” he hummed meditatively, “normally I give out a kiss with my autograph.”

“Oh, you do? Well, then you gotta be fair.”

“Yeah, gotta be,” he murmured, leaning in and missing her mouth altogether. Instead, his lips and the delicious scrape of his stubble grazed the velvety skin of her breast, dragging with delicious sharpness across to her aching, pebbling nipple. 

When he looked up at her cheekily through his brows, his dark blue eyes murky against the shadow of his black eyebrows and his smudged mascara, she started seeing double; it was too much for her mind to comprehend. She wasn’t sure whether she was going to succumb to pleasure or unconsciousness.

He stuck out the tip of his tongue, painstakingly slowly extending it towards her pink nipple as she held her breath and started to see stars. 

“Elvis, please,” she mouthed, her voice almost gone. When he still didn’t take that final step, she tugged on his hair at the nape of his neck. 

“Ow, watch it!” His eyes flashed with genuine anger for a second and she panicked. Her sex-drunk brain was able only to think of simple solutions, so she petted his hair where she had pulled it, gradually increasing the territory of her hands to include his back and his shoulders and his chest. Yet even in her simplified state, she was surprised to see how he basked in the affection, the loving, tender light back glowing in his gaze. 

Finally, he closed his lips around her areola, sucking her breast into the warm, wet cavern of his mouth. She continued to stroke and rub her fingers into his scalp and along the lines of his neck and shoulders as he turned his attention to her other aching breast. 

At the same time, one of his hands began to trail down from where they had both been pinning her hips hard to the mattress, like he had been afraid she would float away otherwise. He might have been right. She felt him slide a finger under the leg of her panty and pause, tracing along the line of her lower lips. 

“Okay?” he murmured, his words damp and hot against her ear as his mouth had moved back towards her head, nipping at the flickering pulse in her throat and the soft line of her jaw. She nodded, exhaling loudly through her nose. 

She felt his finger slide in deeper and her face throbbed as she felt how little resistance he was encountering. What must he think of her, dripping and clenching around his fingers so eagerly, so hungrily?! She tried to look away, craning her neck to try and bury her face in the pillow, but he grabbed her chin with his other hand and pressed his forehead against hers, his eyes still twinkling, but his expression otherwise as serious and real as she had seen all day. 

His jaw was clenched and she could make out the sound of him almost grinding his teeth as he pressed his pout against hers like he was trying to control himself and manage the flow against the flood of affection he wanted to give.

He grunted softly and she heard the clink of his belt being unfastened and then felt the material of his pants rustling and brushing against her bare legs. She was impressed by how quickly and gracefully he had managed to whip them off and was about to tease him about it, when she discovered that Elvis did not wear any underwear. 

Because she was human, Cheryl tilted her head, trying to get visual confirmation of what she could feel, the heavy, velvety length of him poking and prodding against her slick entrance as he adjusted his position over her. Instead, he lifted her leg behind the knee and pulled it tighter against him, like he wanted to feel the pressure of her around him. It meant that her bent legs were encasing him and blocking her own field of vision. 

“So pretty,” he murmured, wiping her hair back from her face with a splayed hand and tickling her cheek and ear with his prickly stubble and lips. “And you feel so good.”

She smiled, wondering if he knew he was talking; there was kind of a mindless automaticity to it, like he was soothing a fretful, wild animal. Her laughter caught in her throat as the pressure increased and a rod of heat slid inside her. 

Elvis froze between her legs, obviously feeling her discomfort in the tension of her muscles as they resisted him. 

“Shhh, shhh,” he murmured, “It’s okay. Kiss me, baby, just kiss me.” He caught her mouth with his and for a moment, he was everywhere and it was too much. It was just too much.

Cheryl wanted to fight him off, to separate them to reassure herself that she could, that there would still be a her left after they were done. Then, her body relaxed and she found herself again, wrapping her legs around his hips, feeling the round curves of his ass against the backs of her calves as she crossed her legs at the ankles. 

Again, she lapped at the line of his throat as he moved over her, nuzzling her nose into the curve of his shoulder, her mouth watering at the musk and the salt and the faint tang of a long-since applied cologne. She explored his body with her hands, enjoying the fact that he was solid and yet soft at the same time, it seemed to fit him somehow. He flinched and let out a muffled squeak as she traced her own autograph down the length of his side. It threw him off his rhythm, but when she whispered into his neck, ‘Now that part is mine.’, his only response was to nod and mumble:

“Okay.” 

Regaining his pace, Elvis adjusted his hips, tilting them somehow and the heavy, warm feeling tingling below Cheryl’s belly began to unfurl, to radiate and to send out sparks. Her toes curled, the insoles of her feet tingled and at the deepest, warmest, fullest part of her, waves of pleasure began to ripple outwards with a rush that was almost painful, it felt so good. She couldn’t stop the moan from tearing from her throat, even though she was also trying to heave in a breath. Her thighs spasmed and clenched; She arched her back, pushing her breasts, already flushed and sensitive from his close attention, against the coarse hair of his chest. She could feel his chest shuddering against as he tried to suck in air. 

Abruptly, roughly, he wrenched himself free from the grip of her arms and legs. More importantly, she gasped as he pulled out, taking with him the warm, heavy feeling of fullness from within her. She watched in bemusement as he stroked himself a handful of times, before wet warmth splatter onto the surface of her belly. 

“Oh God,” he mumbled, his voice soft and high, utterly free from pretense. 

For a minute or two, there was only the sound of their breathing as they struggled to fill their aching lungs. Then Elvis leant down and snatched up something from the floor, handing it to her for her to wipe her stomach. It was only afterwards that she realized it was her own blouse. 

He pressed a hard kiss into her forehead, practically ramming her head into the pillow, and then he climbed off her and grabbed his robe from the chair by the dresser. Wrapping himself in the dark silk, he padded into the adjoining bathroom and she glimpsed his silhouette in the bright light and shiny tile, before he closed the door behind him. 

Cheryl wondered if she was supposed to leave. Was that what all his other conquests did, the Hollywood starlets and the glamorous models? She could well imagine them wrapping themselves back up in their Parisian dresses and fur coats and sweeping out the door. Those types of women probably always knew the correct thing to do. 

Cheryl, for whom this had been her first time in a bed and only her third time with a man, had not quite mastered the classy departure. In fact, she was still wallowing in her inferiority when the bathroom door opened again and Elvis clicked off the light. She wondered if he was disappointed to find her still there, clutching her ruined blouse to her chest and staring balefully at the tiled ceiling. 

Elvis gave nothing away as he climbed back into bed, Cheryl felt the mattress shifting beneath her as he shuffled across to her. He plucked the blouse from her hands and tossed it onto the floor, then maneuvered her onto her side, pulling her back against his robe-clad front. She felt the weight of the blankets being tossed over her and he snuffled endearingly into the crook of her neck as he got comfortable. 

“Mmm, the coziest pine tree in the forest,” he yawned, his minty breath telling her that he had even brushed his teeth in the bathroom, while she was laying naked, sticky and decidedly unfresh in his bed. “Goodnight, darlin’.” 

Cheryl felt him peck the outside rim of her ear and had a frightening rush of tenderness for this stranger that felt more like danger than anything else she had felt, seen or heard that day. Spirits she could handle, ghostly apparitions in her bedroom were hardly uncommon; lightbulbs exploding right next to her was a little rarer, but caring about a boy was a worry. Caring about Elvis Presley was downright terrifying. 

Once she was sure he was asleep and after she had stared in wonder at his profile and taken in the details of his straight nose and pillowy lips, the curve of his chin and the slope of his forehead. After all that, Cheryl slipped from his bed, gathering her discarded clothing to her chest and hurried back to her room. She didn’t bother turning on the light, not wanting to see if a distressed ghost was about to rush her. Instead, she made sure that the adjoining door was locked. 

As she showered, under a trickling, tepid spray, she let her hands follow the pathways that his had taken, scratching at the warm beard rash across her chest, pressing against the slight ache above her pubic bone, her palms flat against her still blushing cheeks. She grinned secretly to herself, thinking about the cresting of that achey, pleasurable wave, her toes scrunching against the slick wet tiles at the memory. 

Taglist: @deniseinmn, @vintageshanny, @be-my-ally, @missmaywemeetagain, @ellie-24, @peskybedtime, @thatbanditqueen , @lookingforrainbows

All of which shattered like a sheet of ice when she heard a shout- Elvis’ shout- loud and panicked- and something began pummeling furiously against the locked door. 

TO BE CONTINUED (AGAIN) (SORRY!)

#elvis presley #hollywood elvis #60s elvis #elvis fanfic #elvis x oc #elvis fanfiction #elvis presley fanfic #whositmcwhatsit #spooky #smutty #silly

[gennyanydots]

Take Me With You Ch. 2

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x f!reader

Take me with you masterlist

Top Gun Biker!au

Chapter summary: It happens again….. wait…. What happens again?

Slight overlap with my Biker Bradley fic This is love I just can’t live without

Ch. 2 “Let’s make trouble in the dream world”

He opens his eyes and looks around. Everything is vaguely familiar but it feels off. Something is different. He can’t quite put his finger on it. He can feel his chest tightening with anxiety.

“What’s with the face, handsome?” He knows the voice. Right? His princess. He knows it better than he knows his own voice. That’s probably due to the whole can’t quite hear yourself talk thing due to your ear being so close to your mouth but that doesn’t matter, he still knows everything about her better than himself. Everything.

He clears his throat. How does one explain how he’s feeling? He doesn’t even know how he’s feeling but it's beginning to make his skin crawl. Something is wrong. What could be wrong? Nothing could be wrong if his princess is here.

He looks around. Nothing around him seems off. He knows this place. He’s seen it enough times. Every night. Right?

But why? Why does he see this every night? Why this exact scene? And how long? How long has he been here? Is he trapped? He doesn’t feel trapped. What's happening? Why here? Why this spot?

He shakes his head turning to his love with a wide smile, “There’s nothing with my face, princess. Especially if you ask that and then call me handsome. That’s counterintuitive, pretty girl.”

She giggles and cups his cheek, “I wasn’t saying you weren’t handsome. You just had a weird look on your face. Is something wrong? I hope not. Wouldn’t ever want something to be wrong with you.”

He shook his head again. He doesn’t want to worry her. There’s nothing wrong. Nothing. Can’t be. He has his princess here and that’s all he needs anyway. Why does it matter that he's here every night? It doesn’t if it means he’s with her. He would do anything to stay with her. Anything.

“Have you ever felt like you’ve been here before?” He asked her while gazing into her eyes. God, she’s beautiful. He could die here happy.

She shrugs then buries her face in his chest, nuzzling in close, “Like deja vu? I guess. Doesn’t everyone?”

He wraps his arms around her, holding her close to his body, “Maybe. Should we canvas the area and find out?”

He hears her snort and snickers, “What in the hell was that, princess?”

She pulls away slightly to be able to look up at him with a pretend cross look on her face, “Shut up! Don’t bring it up! Never happened!”

He laughs before leaning down to kiss her forehead, “Never happened. Don’t know what I thought I heard. Must have been the wind.”

She nodded, “You’re exactly right it was the wind.”

Jake grinned. He loved this. Just hanging out with his best girl. Goofing around. See? He knew nothing was wrong. What was he even worried about?

“Hey Jakey?”

“Yeah, princess?”

“I hear people,” Jake looked down at her and she had a worried look on her face as she said that.

Jake shook his head, “Ignore them. It’s not time yet. I’m not done with you yet. Let me have this. Please.” Time for what? What was happening? Why did he say that? And have what?

“They’re getting louder,” she cuddled closer to him.

“It’s okay. We won’t pay attention to them. We don’t have to leave. We don’t have to,” he said, not entirely sure why they would have to leave. Somewhere in his brain he was making sense of this all. If only it was shared with the rest of the class. Who was coming? He racked his brain trying to remember this day. He couldn’t remember this part. He didn’t seem to remember any part of it at all but he should! He was there! Or well here or whatever. This happened. He can’t forget this. He has to hold onto this. He needs to remember when he wakes up.

He whimpers. He can’t keep losing her every day. It hurts. So much. Why does this keep happening?

“Jakey, I think it’s time,” she says, reaching up to place her hands on either side of his face.

He shakes his head back and forth squeezing his eyes shut. If he doesn’t wake up he doesn’t lose her. It’s foolproof. It’ll work. He tries to drown out the voices he hears. Is that Bradley? Doesn’t matter. He’s not waking up.

She leans up and kisses his lips softly, “I gotta go, handsome. I love you.”

“No, no, no, no, stay with me. Don’t go. Please…..please….please,” Jake whines clutching her to him.

“Wake up, babe,” she whispers in his ear before he’s shooting up into a sitting position, panting.

Baby Ice yelps and pulls her hand back away from Jake while Bradley grabs her shoulders to pull her away from him.

“What…what happened?” Jake asks while panting and looking over at Bradley and Baby Ice.

“You were whimpering and shaking your head in your sleep. Then you started to talk,” Baby Ice explained as she took a step back towards Jake.

Jake groans and wipes a hand down his face, “Any clue what I was sayin’?”

Bradley nodded, “You were saying no and please a lot. You also said ‘stay with me’ and ‘don’t go’ , nothing else I don’t think.”

Baby Ice shook her head agreeing with Bradley that there was nothing else.

Jake takes a deep breath, “Okay, cool. Thanks. Soooooo what’s up with all this?” He points to the two of them.

“We’re heading out. Got some stuff to do,” Bradley says as he waves and grabs her hand to pull her with him towards the door.

“Have fun!” Jake calls from his position on the couch.

Once they're gone Jake swings his legs to the side to sit on the couch normally.

Why does it feel like things are getting worse when he’s sleeping? He doesn’t remember his dreams still but something has to be happening in them, right? It can’t be normal to wake up like this.

Maybe he should talk to someone but who? Maybe a sleep doctor? Maybe the doctor he saw for his accident? He needs answers.

#jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x female reader #hangman x f!reader #top gun biker!au #take me with you

[carehounds]

Hey, can I ask what your process was for that valentine's animation with cardinal and blue? I keep coming back to it it's really nice

Oh yeah ofc! that makes me glad uaaua Although. Im not at all in any way an experienced animator i dont animate often so my workflow may differ and change due time! none of it is has a rigid structure and i usually just do whatever feels right. I also would love to show you what i did for the valentines animation, but the file is very disorganized and slow on my end </3 so ill be using diffrent clips from in the meantime.

to start off ! keep in mind that i use Clip Studio Paint, which has a diffrent workspace from other programs and I only use 5-8 frames per second on an animation canvas with extra space. its just so i can write notes or extra details id like to add whenever im animating! keeps my brain less messy while working. heres a little visual :^) (literally just my normal workspace witb the timeline and autoaction that i can just hide wenevar i wnt)

the actual process can be summed up to Keyframe > secondary action > "inbetweens" or just little adjustments which is just duplicating still frames and moving and transforming some parts to add a little bit of bounce, > lineart and color.

I dont neccesarily follow that step by step though ! i usually just do frame by frame while going back to fix little errors I may have missed. I also tend to animate other parts of the body first (arms heads eyes) instead of drawing the entire thing one by one so itll be more digestible, especially for things like hair and face in some cases. those usually have their own dedicated folder depending on how complicated they are. Coloring is a whole nother can of worms but theres a lot of clip studio brushes that make the process easier.

again ! im not at all anywhere experienced in animating. ive only animated a few times in years and alot of what i know is just me relaying information from people more experienced. so definitely having some knowledge beforehand even passively helps alot too! Ive heard some act out scenes before putting it onto paper and i did that too. for the backround painting I dont actually do anything too fancy. all I did is paint each individual parts that i want moving, and moved it slightly around using the keyframe feature to make it look a little lively. Its sorta like a capcut transition feature more than what keyframes traditionally means. I definitely recommend derrek's tutorial on the prgram for a more clearer explanation on it!

and thats about it!!! I listen to music sometimes but other than that my process isnt really that complicated! i really just do watever when it comes to animation and experiment! its a weird learning curve but the payoff is good n swell.

#puppetmail #animation #hope this is readable #</3 #animation is usually a hit or miss for me but itdoes feel nice to make something move! #let me know if u have anything else u want me to touch up on in detail! some of these are a little oversimplified but thats it!.

[sagetsukimura]

GAZA, ISRAEL and PAINTING

So I sat down and brainstormed painting ideas. The things I am struggling with, the things I wish to say, want to be heard. Therapeutic at least, and if I do ever finish, maybe art that will speak to people. Well...

Turns out I have a lot I want to say about what's happening in Gaza. In Israel, the West Bank, and the US.

(Context?) I've been informed I'm very 'moderate'. I try very hard to look into the historical context, to see the motivations from both sides and understand them from each viewpoint before applying my oven life to them. It's put me in some interesting places, irl.

So it's easy for me to look at what's happening and want to scream. Emotions are running high, everything is happening way too fast, and too many people are talking in absolutes. (Less than usual, however. I cannot emphasize this enough. Because of the posts from people on the ground in Gaza, so many people are able to see the conflict from both sides. To see the nuance in the situation. It's harder to dehumanize people when you've been chatting with them on and off on the internet for the last couple of years.)

And what we can see is the same thing history has always told us, and the victorious have always tried to hide. The people who suffer are not the ones giving the orders. All there is, in truth, on either side, is Horror.

(I'm not going to pick apart everything in this post. Tumblr seems pretty educated on the apartheid Palestinians have been under, even if they were only recently made aware. (Propaganda and censorship, gotta love politics) and the Big News has done a good job of showcasing the devastation occurring on the Israeli side. Trying to narrow this conflict down to two sides is absolute bullshit and I think everyone here knows it. People are not their government, and not all members of a population are good. That leaves a minimum of 6 different viewpoints that would need to be considered, and all of it narrows down to innocent people suffering, and they shouldn't be.)

(I'm sorry, it's late, I can't write out the entire balancing act analysis tonight)

Anyway, back to art. A picture is worth a thousand words, but having words for your picture is great before you put paint on canvas.

So, below are the many painting ideas I've had in the last 2 hours. Just, straight from my brain, onto my clipboard, to here.

DISCLAIMER- PLEASE NOTE- I wrote these without basic filtering. I did not police my thoughts. The use of Christian imagery to convey themes and ideas happens. I don't know if that would be considered offensive, it's 2 a.m. My hope at this time (2 a.m.) is that the use of Christian imagery helps convey the message to someone of that background who would not normally pause to consider the work (In this case, part of the target audience, IE those who have so far managed to avoid giving the horror of this situation any of their time or consideration because of propaganda) The use of Christian imagery is not meant to say that one religion is better than another, simply that my mind made connections with past experiences and this is what popped out.

So feel free to inform me of your opinion on the imagery used. In the end, these are ideas, and honestly just brainstorming was very therapeutic)

I encourage others to do this themselves if they think it would help, You don't even have to post, just think of 3 or 4 paintings you would do, no matter how talented an artist you were, and what you would name them. It really helped me today, maybe it can help you.

#writing #art #Gaza #palestine #israel #art analysis #genocide #christian imagery #propaganda #coping strategies #2am thoughts #mental health

[microwavedautism]

I am going to rant about my two Hazbin Ocs because my brain wants to think about them tonight and I don't want to get my information fucked up

So. We have Captain Widow, known by her friends as Amelia. This is her casual look, she dresses like a pirate otherwise. She, unlike most other sinners her age, isn't against embracing the modern.

She was born in 1596 and died 1643. She doesn't remember her place of birth, but it was somewhere around England. She was married at 15, but ended up killing him and running away after three years of putting up with him.

She ended up in a pirate crew a few years later, and eventually took over the ship once the previous captain died.

Don't misunderstand her, she is a very sadistic woman, but she tries to pick her targets carefully. When she was on land she'd go around killing off abusive husbands and the like. Occasionally she'd bring the wife onto her crew.

Her crew was almost entirely women, sides from the two queer teenage boys she'd picked up.

She ended up drowning, turns out she wasn't too experienced at swimming with a broken leg!

In Hell, she looked pretty much the same as she did alive, but with six more eyes then she was used to, two more arms and fins for ears.

She now is an overlord who runs several fighting rings and gyms around the city. All of the souls under contract with her are sinners she personally tracked down, kidnapped and tortured them into giving their soul to her. Her contracts are things like "You give me your soul and in turn I will no longer harm you."

Those sinners are now training dummies or punching bags for her establishments! Afterall, it's not HER harming them, it's everyone else!

--

Now we have Gaspard, 'the artist'. A french painter from the 1400s. It's been quite a while, the only thing he remembers is the century, not the day he was born or the day he died, or even how! He was 37 when he died, he remembers that at least!

He looks more human than most sinners, aside from the fact he is completely greyscale. His body is like a messy 3d sketch, the lines are always changing slightly when he moves, like someones animating him but can't quite keep the lines the same.

When he was alive, not many people knew him. He made an effort to keep to himself, unless he was looking for a new muse or restocking his supplies.

He'd stay locked up in his apartment, spending hours and hours working on his latest piece. He'd done sculpting, he'd done drawing, he'd done everything. But painting was always his favourite. He enjoyed how the colours mixed, especially with the subjects he drew.

See, he would stay out, looking for people who caught his attention. When he found someone, he'd bring them to his apartment, willingly or not, and pose them. Sometimes they lived for a while whilst being posed, most of the time not.

He'd paint the most beautiful of women on their knees... with their hands up above their head and their guts spilling out.

He would paint handsome men, with nothing but their hearts remaining.

He even painted children! Though that was only once.. getting references for how skipping with intestines worked was quite difficult.

Needless to say, he was a horrific serial killer with a fucked up sense of beauty.

He continued his art in the afterlife, only this time. He had plenty of models to choose from!

It's surprisingly easy to get peoples souls, so long as you have a way to protect them from extermination!

And if that 'protection' just so happens to be eternal imprisonment in a canvas well... thats not his fault, they should've been more clear with what they meant, protection is such a loose term really.

After all, what angel is going to attack a painting?

#hazbin hotel oc #hazbin hotel #oc #original character

[storiesofsvu]

Hidden Desires Ch 12

Alex Cabot x reader Warnings: language, angst, lots of it.

The entire night had been spent at the precinct, exhausting every last resource the squad could to try and get any information about what had happened. Since Liv and Elliot had been on the scene they knew there were no street witnesses, but a canvas was sent out to see if any of the neighbouring apartments had seen anything, heard anything. They checked for street cams, staring at countless hours of surveillance tapes trying to find the same car from the scene, try to get a clip of even one letter from the plate. Ballistics was on hold until the lab opened in the morning, as was talking to the various prisoners that had already put threats out against Alex.

As the hours went on you were let on to more of the information Alex had kept from you, that these guys had your address, had her mother’s address, that Zapata had basically threatened her when she’d made a sassy remark during an interview. Olivia quietly reassured you that she was sure Alex wasn’t trying to keep secrets from you, but just wanted to keep you safe and as far away from the danger of the case as possible.

You only managed to drag yourself away from the 1-6 when your alarm went off on your phone. That and…every lead was exhausted that they could get a hold of. You made sure Liv knew that you needed to know the second anything came in involving the case before traipsing down to Hogan Place.

*

It was just before your stomach began to grumble for lunch when you heard the door to your office open. You had your head down in your arms, you’d almost been asleep before the vision of Alex bleeding out in the street began to invade your imagination, forgoing the exhaustion seeping through your bones.

“Shouldn’t you be in court?” Donnelly’s voice broke through your thoughts. You didn’t move, simply mumbling a reply against your arm.

“Made a deal.”

“Don’t you have about four other cases you should probably be working on then?” You felt a folded paper drop onto your head, letting it slide off as Liz took a seat in front of your desk, just out of your eyeline.

“Made deals on all of them…don’t have any fight left in me…” you let out a heavy sigh, knowing you weren’t about to get out of this conversation. Shoving yourself up you moved through your office, pouring a fresh cup of coffee, offering one to Elizabeth.

“You look like crap.” She returned, “your girlfriend let you walk around this place in sweatpants?” You gave a watery laugh as you fell back into your chair, running your hands through your hair, “she wasn’t in her office, and I can’t find Paxton.” You barely heard her second sentence, brain still wrapped around the ‘your girlfriend’ part.

“She’s not exactly my girlfriend anymore.” Liz sighed at the way your eyes began to glass over at your words, shaking her head as she put her coffee mug down.

“This is why I should’ve said no when you two disclosed, you can’t bring your personal bullshit into work just because you broke up.” You raised your head to your boss, brows furrowed, lips slightly parted in confusement and disbelief.

“Have you been living under a rock all morning?” Your voice nearly shook with your words and it was Liz’s turn to be confused, you were a great lawyer and a strong woman at that, why was something so trivial bothering you this much.

“I took the morning off, thought I was coming down with something so I slept in. I just got here.”

“You haven’t seen the paper…” now the shake was gone from your voice but it was so quiet it barely echoed through the room. Your hand grabbed the New York Times that sat on your desk, tossing it to Liz. You’d had to flip it over, the image of Alex’s face staring back up at you too hard for today, especially with you running on zero steam.

“This…this can’t be true…” Liz’s gaze shot up to yours. You sniffled, taking a deep breath,

“Benson and Stabler were with her when she was hit, outside some bar.” You were surprised to feel a tear burning its way down your cheek, quickly brushing it away, “I was at the precinct all night with them trying to get anything but there’s no leads aside from knowing it’s somehow linked to Zapata…but we can’t prove it…”

“Oh God…” She dropped the paper down onto a free chair, “are you okay?”

“No…” you nearly laughed, “I will be once this bastard’s behind bars.” She gave you a stern look that you knew was a warning of you being too close to the case to prosecute, but you simply turned your attention to your coffee, “I was gonna go through her case load this afternoon but I can’t bring myself to go into her office…”

“Oh sweetheart…” Liz’s hand reached out, squeezing at yours, “I’ll go through it with Branch, you don’t worry about that okay?” She mustered up the best of a smile she could while you nodded, “how’s Sonya taking it?” You snorted.

“Exactly how you think she is.” You nodded toward the coffee table, “she polished off what was left of the Jack and disappeared after I told her.”

“Jesus..” She muttered, you gave a weary glance to your cell phone.

“The bartender at her usual place has my number…and I’ve been calling her every couple of hours to make sure she’s not choking on her own puke. I checked her schedule to make sure she didn’t have any appearances today, she’s clear.”

“You know you don’t have take care of everything around here. But I do need you taking care of yourself right now, understand?” You gave her a small nod, “why don’t you go home? Get outta here for the afternoon?”

“You really think going home where all of Alex’s stuff is is gonna make me feel better? Where I can still smell her perfume lingering in the air?” Liz stalled at your response,

“You…two were living together?”

“Yeah…” you wiped another stray tear away, God, where were they even coming from at this point?

“I didn’t realize it was that serious.” As much as she needed to know what was going on with her staff, she also respected your privacy and boundaries, she wasn’t about to go sticking her nose into your business when she didn’t need to.

“I wanted to marry her…” your voice was back to that quiet far away tone, your gaze not even latched onto anything in the room while your hand toyed with the gem still linked around your neck.

You didn’t even hear what Elizabeth said next, your brain still processing the fact that you’d finally said it out loud. You’d known it for weeks, you’d felt it for over a month, Alex had always been someone who had made you so incredibly happy, but once she was a solid part of your daily life, you knew you wanted to keep it that way. You said a silent thank your to whatever higher power was out there that you hadn’t wasted money buying a ring…all things considered…

“Y/N?”

“Sorry…” you shook out of it, glancing towards the older woman again, “what?”

“Go home…or…go track down Paxton or something. You can’t sit here all day doing nothing, you’ll drive yourself crazy. At least do it somewhere sweatpants are an acceptable piece of attire.” You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at her words.

“Fine…” You pushed back from your desk, tossing the few things you needed into your bag before turning to the older woman as she stood, “are…you gonna be okay?” You felt nearly embarrassed to ask, knowing Donnelly was, without a doubt one of the strongest and badass women that you knew, but something like this would hit close to home, you knew her and Alex were close, and Alex had always spoken very highly of her.

“I will be.” She sighed, a hand softly clapping on your shoulder, “this isn’t the first time something like this has happened at the D.A’s office…and it won’t be the last. So please…be careful trying to solve this case..I need at least one of my prosecutors in working shape. And you’re the best one I’ve got.”

“Thanks…” you murmured, avoiding her gaze. You were genuinely surprised when she sighed, tugging you into her arms, and even more surprised when you felt her lips hit the top of your head in a maternal fashion. You’d never known Elizabeth Donnelly to be soft, you were honestly surprised she was even okay with sending you home for the rest of the day.  “What if SVU calls?” You asked bleakly as you pulled away from the hug.

“Forward them to me.” You gave a small nod, moving toward the door before you froze, turning back to her.

“Uh- the uh…the funeral’s on Friday…if..you’re interested.”

“Of course…y/n..I really am incredibly sorry.”

“Thanks Liz.”

You managed to give her one last nod before leaving the office, escaping the place you’d spent so many hours with Alex. Not that it helped that you at least needed to stop at home next, you weren’t sure what you were exactly supposed to do there, surrounded by her things. What were you supposed to even do with them now that she was gone? Did you hold on to them? Wear her clothes? Give them to her family? Your brain was a fucking scramble and you had no idea how to fix it this time.

*

The funeral was a fucking emotional disaster, though you weren’t surprised. Alex’s parent’s knew you from college, and you nearly burst into tears when her Mom insisted you sit with them and that she’d been so excited to see the two of you at Christmas that year. She held your hand the entire way through the service, squeezing tightly whenever she heard a strangled sniffle or cry. You weren’t sure why, but Olivia seemed to be avoiding you the entire day, she’d given you a small nod of affection, a few small words of condolences again, but she was far from the woman who’d showed up unexpectedly to your apartment earlier that month. You were glad to see more than a few friendly faces from the D.A’s office and courthouse there, along with the entire SVU squad. You weren’t surprised when you saw Sonya stumbling her way through the repast, doing your best to put her into a cab, keeping her behaviour unnoticed by anyone else. It wasn’t long afterwards that you ducked out yourself without saying any goodbyes, you just couldn’t fucking bare it anymore. You needed to grieve how you wanted to grieve, and that involved burrowing yourself in the blanket on the back of the couch that still smelt like Alex’s shampoo while finally finishing Schitt’s Creek, polishing of the bottle of wine she’d bought for your upcoming anniversary. What you weren’t expecting was the final season of the comedy, the one that had made you realize you could have feelings for someone like Alex, the one that had technically brought you together, was able to make you ugly cry over the soft romantic and family values that it ended up being very capable of. You woke up hungover, very dehydrated, and still on the couch the next morning, hating life even more than you did before.

*

In the following month you started to realize you’d need to start to box up Alex’s personal things, you just couldn’t handle having them around the apartment any longer. Not that you spent much time there, you spent so much goddamn unpaid overtime working thanks to Sonya still being a disaster that you were barely home. You were quick to toss anything like perfume, body wash and the like, things that you wouldn’t use, that you didn’t want the scents remaining in the apartment. Smaller Knick knacks, things that had meant more to her you packed up, stashing into the closet in your home office. You knew she had expensive taste when it came to clothes, managing to convince Liz into coming over to go through her side of the closet, sorting out what you should take to a consignment store versus just donating. You kept a few things, a spare Harvard t-shirt that you already liked to sleep in, a comfy pair of pyjama pants that were softer than yours, but you did your best to get rid of her stuff. It absolutely destroyed your heart to see it go, and you couldn’t lie, you still cried about it on a pretty regular basis, even if it was alone, in the cold bed of your apartment. Everyone at work commended you for keeping it together that someone you worked so closely with had been killed, only Liz kept a closer eye on you, making sure you weren’t about to go off the deep end. You managed to keep everything under control, keeping your job on a good level, prosecuting the crimes you could.

You wouldn’t ever deny it.

The night you found out that you’d never be able to prosecute Alex’s murder, that there was no way to track down the bastard that killed her, that there somehow wasn’t a lick of evidence, you smashed multiple wine glasses on the kitchen floor. You collapsed on the living room floor in a fit of tears, unable to even think of what you were supposed to do with your future. Bringing justice to Alex was all you’d been looking forward to, and now even that bleak option was gone.

You weren’t the only one to take it hard, and honestly, you surprised yourself when you were the one knocking on Elizabeth Donnelly’s office door a couple of days later.

“What can I help with?” You were genuinely surprised when her voice was soft, knowing that you were probably circling back to the first level of mourning due to the recent news.

“I need a new A.D.A.” You sighed, “I can’t keep doing the work of three of us and picking up the slack from homicide…it’s way too much. Liz..I’m at my breaking point…”

“Homicide has a new one starting tomorrow, transferred in from Queens. Branch made personal calls to the precinct to tell them to stop calling you.”

“Thank you…but I meant in SVU.” You hated yourself for what you were about to do, you hated being the person who snitched on a friend, but you were going through enough already, you couldn’t stay as strong as you wanted to.

“Please don’t tell me you’re about to hand me a resignation.”

“No!” You shot back, “but…you need to suspend Sonya…she needs to go to rehab…” you dropped into the chair in front of her desk, daring to meet her eyes.

“What?”

“I’ve been covering for her for weeks Elizabeth…I’ve been doing her case work, writing her arguments for her, cause she’s just too fucked up to do it herself. I’m so sorry…I never wanted to be this person, but..I can’t do it anymore. I just had Liv breathalyzer her in my office and she blew a 1.8…she’s supposed to be in court in an hour.”

“Are you kidding me?” You basically shrunk in your chair at the tone in her voice and she noticed it instantly.

“I’m sorry…” the tears you’d been trying to hold back, especially in this interaction began to threaten to burst from your eyes, “I just..it’s not fair…I mean…Sonya lost a friend sure, but somehow she’s the one allowed to be a complete mess, to show up to work drunk and it just gets blown off?! Meanwhile I’m the one stuck cleaning out Alex’s stuff from our apartment?! I feel like I’m a strand of silly string trying to hold the goddamn department together right now and I can’t keep doing this if Branch doesn’t hire someone else!”

You buried your face into your hands, trying to hold back the tears, trying to not shudder from the cries begging to escape your body in front of your supervisor. You heard a shuffle as she moved through the office, surprised when you felt her hands on your wrists, moving your hands from your face, tilting your chin up to hers.

“Don’t ever sell yourself short. I’ve told you before and I will tell you again, you’re one of the greatest prosecutors that I have, and you always will be. I’m incredibly proud of you for coming to me about Paxton…it takes a lot of guts to do that when it’s not only a friend but someone with seniority over you. I’ll talk to Branch, I’ll see about getting someone transferred into SVU. I know he mentioned there were a few people with paperwork already started. And please…remember you’re not alone in this…”

“Thank you…” you murmured out, taking a breath as you wiped your tears from your face, “and…could you maybe suggest a lateral transfer? Or at least someone that has an idea of what sex crimes entails. I really don’t have the energy to coach some baby lawyer into the world of SVU.”

“I’ll do what I can.” Liz gave you the usual tight smile, “now how about you go home…have a drink..or..don’t..” she grimaced slightly, “just..take care of yourself. I’ll get someone to cover Paxton’s case.”

“Thank you.” You managed to shoot her a weak smile before you left her office.

Things may have not be anywhere near good, but maybe, just maybe they were getting better. You hated that you’d been the one to turn on Sonya, her being one of the only friends you had now, especially since Olivia had been so distant. You figured it was because her and Alex had been so close, that she was just as fucked up as you were now, or there was some weird history you’d never been indulged to. You thought you’d been able to lean on each other, but as things looked, you had Donnelly, and that was much more professional than anything else. You were only thankful when later that evening, after nearly a bottle of wine you’d gotten a text from Liz that the new A.D.A had been secured for your department, and would be starting within the next few days. If everything was going to be a fucking dumpster fire, at least you’d have someone to share the burden with, even if they didn’t know why the fire was lit in the first place.

#alex cabot #alex cabot x reader #hidden desires #law and order #svu #law and order svu #law and order special victims unit

[collectingsparechangemadeeasy1]

Song of Summer

Oop! I got another one! The Small Moments AU lives rent free in my brain, and I love sharing it with y’all! Also, if you have any questions, headcanons, or anything like that, send them my way!!!

Qrow was lounging on his wooden lawn chair, his straw hat resting over his eyes as he chewed idly on a stalk of hay. The day was hot, the air shimmering in the distance as cicada’s cried and the shade was barely a reprieve. Qrow didn’t mind much though, sure he had to forgo his usual charcoal work shirt and black canvas pants, and he definitely couldn’t wear his red cloak in this heat. No, now he had to wear a white billowy t-shirt with red embroidery along the collar, in the artistic shapes of crows and trees. Along with tan shorts, cuffed at the ends, and no shoes.

His black unicorn, Harbinger, wasn’t too far. He was napping in the shade of Qrow’s little shack at the edge of Oz’s property, laying down to preserve energy and because he felt safe to do so with Qrow around. He himself made damn sure there was a bucket of water for Harbinger, and a cool breeze blowing on them both whenever there could be. Wind magic was his second strongest type after all.

He was supposed to be working technically. As the officially unofficial grounds keeper of Ozpin's land, he took care of a lot. He’d generally let everything grow wild, but sometimes he’d snip loose branches before storms, top up artificial watering holes or feeders for animals as needed, get rid of invasive plants and bugs, and he’d patrol the grounds. Patrolling was his least favorite, but most important job.

He had to patrol, check for illegal traps, and free anything caught in them. He’d drive off trespassers, or occasionally save some poor lost soul in Oz’s forest. Or get rid of trespassers. Oz was fine with people wandering onto his property, so long as they didn’t touch anything. No taking souvenirs, no hunting or foraging without his express permission, and absolutely NO hunting of the rare or magical creatures in the woods. Those were protected species.

Right now though, Qrow was taking a break. He’d done his second patrol, topped up what needed to be topped up, and he’d gotten rid of a type of ivy that was extremely fast growing and could smother whole trees in a matter of days. He’d earned a little break for himself.

He lifted his hat as he heard approaching hooves. He smiled seeing the familiar black and white coat of Long Memory, Oz on her back. He was sporting a red bandana around his neck, white button up, with the sleeves rolled up to the forearm and blue jeans embroidered with vines and leaves in green thread along the sides, and his usual signature glasses; even if they resembled sunglasses more right now. “Good afternoon Qrow! I wanted to check on you, see if you needed anything.” Qrow waved a hand dismissively, “Nah I’m fine. So’s Harbinger. I appreciate the check up though Oz.”

Oz dismounted Long Memory and walked over, offering him a sip from his canteen. Qrow sniffed and took a swing, it was some kind of potion that cooled his entire body when he drank it. “Thanks. One of Glyndas?”

“Her recipe, but I brewed it.” he explained, sitting on the grass next to Qrow, sighing contently. “I may not like the heat, but I do like the way the world sings in the heat of the summer. Don’t you?” “It certainly adds the right touch, wouldn’t be the same without.” Qrow agreed, laying back on his chair and putting the hat back over his face. “Where’s Oscar today?”

“Visiting my brothers at home. They stopped by unexpectedly.” he hummed, playing with a wild thistle in his fingers. “I’d be over there, but it was getting a bit much. So I thought I’d check on you.”

“So to translate, you used me as “Get out of social engagement” free card?” he smirked, chuckling at how Oz blushed.

“I suppose it’s one way to look at it. But you know my brothers! Ozma and Diggs can get so… rowdy when we’re all together! I just needed a breather.” he almost seemed to pout, which Qrow thought was almost cute.

He shrugged, running a hand through his long messy black hair, speckled with strands of gray here and there, it was tied back in a messy ponytail at the moment. “Don’t gotta defend yourself to me Oz. I use you as an excuse just as much. I wanna leave, I just say “Oz needed me to get some work done on the property today! Gotta go!” and no one ever questions it!”

Oz laughed and shook his head fondly, “Well, you’re more than free to continue that practice. After all, what are friends for?”

“Cheers to that!” Qrow chuckled, sipping the cooling potion one more time before handing it to Oz, who also took a big swig.

They sat like that for a bit, listening to the song of summer around them. Their horses lay in the shade, snorting at each other, cicadas crying out looking for their potential mates, the occasional breeze from Qrow cooling them and rustling the drying grass. A true symphony.

Qrow eventually stood and stretched, “Alright, you should head back, I’ve got some work to do after… all. Huh.” Looking at his companion, he found Oz had fallen asleep. Hands behind his head, relaxed expression, chest moving up and down in a slow steady rhythm. There were wild thistles, black eyed susans, and regular daisies framing his sleeping form. The picture made Qrow smile, Oz just looked so peaceful. But he was also pale as anything, and Qrow didn’t want him to burn.

He picked up a stick and poked at Oz with it, “Hey! Sleepin beauty! Wake up!”

Oz grumbled and swatted a bit at the stick, but his eyes squinted open. “Qrow? Oh goodness did I fall asleep?” He rubbed his eyes and  yawned, stretching languidly. But suddenly froze. 

“…Oh gods I’ve been gone too long! Long Memory! Here girl!” He sprang up, as did the horse, and Oz quickly hopped onto her bare back, and smiled sheepishly at Qrow. “Thank you for waking me, I deeply appreciate it! I’ll see you soon Qrow! Come by the house if you want! HIYAH!” With a light kick, Long Memory ran off, leaving Qrow and Harbinger alone once again.

“See ya’round Oz.” he chuckled, walking towards Harbinger. Time for another patrol. Maybe he’d catch sight of Ozpin's brothers on his way around. Who knows?

#Small Moments au #RWBY au #Ozpin #qrow branwen #Harbinger #Long Memory #Ozma (mentioned) #Ozma 2.0 aka Diggs (mentioned)

[sab3rto0thed]

trigger warning: descriptions of self-harm

i was around thirteen when i discovered an article about a guy who nearly killed himself. 

i was googling “how to kill yourself” on an incognito tab because for one: the worst thing in the world would be if the police showed up because god, i hated being an inconvenience. god, i hated being open, i was swallowing stitches for breakfast and regurgitating them for lunch. but two, two: i didn’t actually want to die. i wanted that incognito tab to reach the universe and display it for all to see. i wanted someone to unknit me like cloth.

it takes a very special kind of person to want to die, and i don’t have that. i am completely unremarkable up until the very moment that i decide i am not. i was going to say that no one truly wants to die, but i do not know the whole population and so i have merely decided that i am special. i am unique.

he bled out onto a towel. the guy, in the article. his roommate was gone, and he slit his wrists with something or other. the details are hazy; the details are always hazy. searchlights, flashlights, leds. slamming hips, calm down, this is your responsibility. i was fifteen and i loved you. 

he sat there for a long time waiting to die, i think. when i think of him, i imagine him in different ways. sometimes he is sitting down on the delicate bathroom tiles, head slumped against the wall as if he is drunk, a river made of his arm. sometimes he is standing and staring. sometimes he is sick with it, his mouth twisted in the cheshire cat’s half-moon, like my hollow laugh when i tore my neck open with my fingernails. satisfaction. art. paint on a canvas.

you are ill. you are sick. he realized his cut wasn’t deep enough. he realized he wasn’t going to die. something concurred in his brain, a dull conclusion: your roommate will be home soon and god forbid, god forbid anyone sees this. so he found a towel and he bled into that. and when he was done, he threw the towel away and hid his arms until his scabs became scars. no one asked about the towel. his roommate never knew. and his scars went undoubtedly deep.

i don’t think of him often, but when i do, i think about him very contemplatively. i know nothing about him. he might not even be a him. he is only this: dark-haired and faceless, sometimes with just that smile. i think of him as things: blood, an old towel, a dumpster, an empty bathroom. 

maybe he tried again and died. maybe he said he quit and he didn’t. maybe he continued on to a successful career and a happy life and a happy wife and he lived. i would like to think he somehow did all three. 

i love words. i love gashes. i love a mark. i love blades. you are so sick still, and the solution is always to stick a cigarette between your teeth and pull the remaining glass shards out. go deep. make it slow. draw it out. the only thing i have ever had that is purely, entirely mine is this. i love it and hate it in equal measure. i want to grasp it by the shirt and shake it until we are both screaming and bleeding and spitting, and then i want to hold it by the face and say oh my god.

i hope he didn’t try again. i hope neither of us do. but the secret is this: it is so hard being loved when i know that a year and six months ago, i could have done it with an efficiency that i can’t now. i could have done it. that could have been my blood, my blade, my arm. but there are too many people pulling at me now, saying no you cannot do that. and even if they don’t say it exactly that way, i understand. i understand why you keep telling me you love me, you miss me, you want me so bad it hurts. i know. 

(i love you, i miss you, and i want you so bad that it hurts. a healthy hurt. an in-love hurt. a hurt that doesn’t bleed when i want it to.)

instead, i knotted up my towel, scrubbed the blood from my teeth, and never said a word. but, oh, if i have learned anything, it is this: i have to put it down somewhere. so, hello. 

what a kinship we have, with our blades and our flesh and our quiet. a zig-zagged trail of white fingernail scars beneath the hair on my arm and the skin on my thighs. pink jagged marks on my ankle. the bulging scar on my upper arm. that is the only casually observable one, the only one that my mom asked: do you think we could get that laser removed in the future? 

no, mom. we cannot. 

i survived. oftentimes, that is not enough for me. but it is enough for others. i can accept that.

a cafe. a butterscotch frappe. a gentle push. a fall that doesn’t hurt as badly as it usually does. a summer night. a glow stick necklace. a heavy chest. a dynamite sunset. long socks. a good-bye that stops hurting. a corner table. valentine’s night. chocolate hearts. the ability to unwind a person slowly, to savor each piece and never get tired of it.

eighteen. still breathing. a graduate.

that is something i can accept.

#tw self harm #ummmm yeahh #vent piece

[bonesandthebees]

Your name is a triangle is adorable. That being said. Fuck physics and fuck canvas (actually fuck higher education in general, there’s no reason to put this much pressure on people, let alone ones who’s brains haven’t even fully developed yet)

Also, there’s nothing wrong with having to take an extra year literally no one will care in the long run. You do what you have to do to graduate. Is that spreading courses for mental health or ‘losing’ some time because you had to redo a hard course or learn how to study then so be it.

Also, how does the American grade system work. Cuz like 52% is more then half so by my standards that means you passed. Unless the teacher decides you need more but then they tend to recalculate it so your final grade shows whether you passed or not.

-🌲

awwww so glad you liked it! and yes fuck physics and fuck canvas. fun fact wilbur failing physics was literally just me projecting. y'know how I mentioned i've been taking summer classes and just finished them? while I did already have to take some summer classes to finish my degree, in june I found out I'd failed my physics course i took for my spring quarter so i had to add physics onto my summer workload to retake it. that wasn't very fun.

(i've passed now so hooray!)

the only reason I didn't want to have to take an extra year (which thankfully I didn't but I cut it close) was bc I couldn't afford the tuition. but from a non financial standpoint there's nothing wrong with it at all! there's just this weird stigma attached to it even though uni is fucking hard!! failing happens!

oh yeah the american grading system works differently. essentially, anything below a C- is a fail. while certain classes have adjusted grading scales depending on the professor, on the standard scale percentage wise a C- is usually a 70%. so anything below a 70% is considered failing.

(but again, certain classes might adjust the scale. like my physics lab I just finished considered a 60% a C- I think? but it's entirely up to the instructor if they wanna adjust that or not.)

#ask #spruce anon #your name is a triangle

[visuallanguagerachel]

Creating the main character for the stop motion film.

While brain storming ideas of how I should make the the character for the movie I thought of ideas such as sculpting a clay character , but I thought this wouldn’t work as it wouldn’t have any articulation and then I thought of sewing the character but if she was made from entirely fabric there are some scenes I wanted the character to get very muddy and gross so I wouldn’t be able to clean the character if she was fabric. This is when I remembered all the experiments I was doing of drawing onto 3D objects and customising items I already have. I did another hunt and came across a Disney doll someone gave me ages ago as they thought I could use it’s parts for something one day. I thought this doll would be perfect for this but before I included her in the film I wanted to ensure I could customise her enough and convey my own style onto the doll first so that she was exactly what I wanted.

I started off by painting her hair red which I know is pretty insane as it would all clump tog wether but it seemed like the best option and I didn’t mind if it clumped together as she is supposed to look insane anyway. I then started sanding the doll so paint would stick. I then painted a base layer of primer onto the doll. I learned this was important after doing the funko pop. I then painted her details on and this is when I started to get excited as she was becoming more of my character.

I struggled a lot with the clothing though as I wanted her to have a huge creature hood on but was unsure if she should wear a full fluffy creature suit or just a hood. I tested out different outfits and one of them was a little red dress. I am not a clothes maker definitely not a tiny clothes maker so it was very difficult. The red dress was way too small and looked very weird and not in a good way. So I tried making it larger and it still looked odd so I just went with the fur outfit as it was a lot easier to work with. I decided to make the hood functional so it can be put up and down incase I want to show that in the movie.

I sewed little tights to put onto the doll too I made them from my own old tights. I think this added even more character to her. Once she was pretty much complete I really liked how she looked she no longer looked like a Disney doll. I was able to convey my own style onto something that was originally something else. I did this by drawing on her in a unconventional way. The doll was my canvas and I drew on her with fur and paint!

And the best part is I had another one of these dolls which means that’s me got the full cast for my movie. I won’t do anything to the other doll as she is supposed to look cute and Normal. I will just change her hair and clothes and clean her up a bit.

[helpmeinfine]

When I am indecisive about how to start my entries. They begin random mostly just rambles to get my self into the grove of writing. When im done I end up with some interesting stuff. Most of the time I wing it with no particular thing in mind. With this entrie I am raw-dogging this right now. So ill see how it turns out. With that being said, I need to write to be mentally strong and sound . Too purge myself of my minds waste that lingers if I leave it too long, whether it's on a piece of scrap paper or from a recycle bin. I find myself sometimes writing only a single sentence or two. When my pen hits the paper and the ink rolls onto my canvas thats when my hands and mind work together in sync to create sentences that make sense and when reading it , it should sound smooth and proper. The initial rough draft is sometimes rocky, but that is okay because as long as I can transfer my thoughts into a letter, then into a word and then it

becomes my own story that I can create. I can make it make sense to myself

I miss typing I miss the keyboard I forgot I . More so I forget how writing is probabl the only thing im good at but hey, im not complaining. Ill take what I can get and will gladly claim writing as a talent. I can type up one hella good e-mail when I have to. So with that being said I should state that the gold I make, it's not for anyone but myself, my eyes only. Oh I do let my love Aaron read whatever he wants. So I have no limits and I have a carefree way of doing what sometimes makes me feel vulnerable. With what I put out there in my own words and writings. I can be honest and raw, that is the healing drive that gives me natural dopemine in which I am depleted. That is a whole other 'story' waiting to be created. Writing allows me the ability to take my mask off, and unwind. In my opinion writing is the best and healthiest way to release emotional baggage. While turning down the noise in the brain so there is no static to be heard. The brain needs a clear clean cut road to drive down, to get to that state of being 'ok'. With stress, anxiety, depresssion and heartache the journey gets slowed down substantially. All the while cars are bumping into cars, horns honking and the chances of that weight being lifted, disappears. So that is kind of what writing does for me. It is able to get rid of crap on the road so my mind and my thinking is clean. is something about words and when i write them the pain attached to them goes with them. so my mind alert, eyes on the road and eyes on the destination. To be the Number One All Time Best writer of Local surrounding areas of Booner Ave

.

I should state that the gold I make, I write for myself. So I have no limits and I have a carefree way of doing what sometimes makes me feel vulnerable. With knowing I can put myself out there in words and writings knowing I can be as raw and honest and weak as possible, it gives me that push. Giving me the ability to take my mask off sometimes and unwind. In my opinion writing is the best and healthiest way to heal the mind, turn down the noise in the brain so there is no static getting in the way. The brain needs a clear clean cut road to drive down. With stress, static, noise and blockage's, The journey get slowed down with cars bumping cars, horns honking and therefor your destination doesnt get reached. So that is kind of what writing does for me. It is able to get rid of crap on the road so my mind and my thinking is clean.

When I can express myself. I am able to take my thoughts to places that i made it my entire lifes mission to avoid. Places that are dark, places that I will by all means necessary BURY. My whole life I was sure of one thing "stay away from the dark place" its how I survive, my crutch thru life! In every aspect. In everything I have done since I can remember. Well, that was me prior to the "incident" or "episode" lmao. Anywhooo I dipped my toes into the darkness, I chose to go forth with it althought I really didn't have a choice because this is LYFE. You can't hide what was meant to be revealed. Light over powers darkness, darkness doesn't cover up light. Light shines and what does darkness do. Darkness is no longer dark, It becomes light.

Im my own hype man when it comes writing,. My writing is unpredictable when I TRY to write, its garbage. Though ill eventually gravitate to a book or a computer but, in times of need, when I feel certain I MUST be making words into something I will use my phone in notepad.

[saltypiss]

Frustrates me to no end when people claim Resident evil's remake is better, and state one of the primary reasons being the voice acting.

Oh yes. Because the remake's flat delivery by people uninterested in the script is so much better than the non-voice actors doing their best B movie acting impression. Artistry? Entertainment? What's that!? I want the characters, voice actors, and myself to be as bored as fucking possible.

Oh yes. How could I forget monotone delivery always beats actual delivery. Because when I hear completely useless dialogue for a completely useless story, my first thought is "I sure hope the voice acting is professional!"

Same goes for visuals. Oh yes, I love when most of the image is black, grey, brown, or grey-blue. I love when the characters are the same colors and blend in to the backgrounds. Totally trumps the vibrant imagery and distinct outlining of enemies and characters of the original.

When people say they want spencer mansion to be real, they aren't talking about the black castle of darkness and greys. They're talking about the one with the chess square flooring, red carpets, beautifally visible but dark courtyards, they're talking about the browns of the wood walling, the age of the wallpaper.

Not darkness darkness grey darkness. Can you even draw a screen from that game from memory? Yes, because you drop black ink onto a black canvas and sometimes put a white crayon dot here and there at pure random.

The remake is worse than the original in literally every aspect. Every single one. Controls are worse, gameplay is fucked with awful additions (crimson heads are good), visuals are dull as fuck, character designs terrible and lasted so fucking long, squarehead mcmonkey ear chris is an assassination of the art towards his original design.

One thing that absolutely bothers me to no end, awful, awful facial animation. The original didn't have any, because it didn't need any. It wasn't a focus.

Now that it is a focus, why are the facial animations, in fact all of the animations, so bad? Why does no one bring this up? It's up in your face so often and always with the tired eyes playdough lip movement.

Look I get it, it's the poster boy of "oh wow they didn't fuck it up" but all I've seen is capcom going "Oh people DO like resident evil 5's visuals!" Every remake and new release.

Oh my god the controls. People bitch about tank controls because they refuse to learn them and think they're a failure of design, when they're very deliberatelt chosen and designed around. You suck at running in resident evil? That's on you buddy. Ain't had a problem my entire life, and it isn't just how brains work this time, you just refuse to learn them.

And so did capcom! Who didn't even fucking playtest a single level with tank controls. How many times have you had to stop turn go, after running into yet another wall? Oh yes, that happens in the original, but the levels are designed for it, for you to learn, and get better at positioning.

The remake? Dear god I dunno what it is, movement speed? The rooms are too small? None of this remake's level design was made with tank controls in mind. It is absolutely frustrating playing this game and fighting the controls. All they had to do was make the controls and level design synced, instead, they made the levels without even running around in them. That's the only explaination because jesus christ these tank controls, what the fuck happened, they got it right every other time what the fuck happened?

Then alternative controls. Way to go. Above and beyond. This is why tank controls are shit, they were an after-thought. But they were made for static camera angles, so the new control scheme somehow manages to prove that at no point did capcom ever fully playtest the controls and level design. It's an admission of failure, because they also suck, since once again, the level design, was not, designed around the controls. In resident evil.

If you're not too big on resident evil, level design and control are inseperable for these games. Tank controls were a fully thought out design decision. Yes due to limitations, but those limitations aren't negatives nor ever have been. They're direction. So the level design had to accomodate the tank controls and vice versa. This meant the game was designed and built competantly.

The remake makes every level a seperate entity, made to be pretty, but not played. You never feel like you're supposed to be in this area, mostly because the background is entirely black, it is weird having a 3D model in a pit of darkness.

The remake isn't a bad game, but it's a terrible remake. People complaining about the voice acting, honestly, aren't being genuine. Nobody takes the story of resident evil seriously, not even capcom, the voice delivery was perfect. You can call it bad all you want, it's resident evil's voice acting. More than that, it's what made the game worth a shit.

If resident evil had good voice acting nobody would give a shit about the characters, does anyone give a shit about modern chris? Anyone? What, you DON'T find generic white male in a hoodie to be peak character design? Anyone even remember claire from the remake? Draw their face, good luck, it's a generic human face.

The story is light for a reason, the voice acting the same. It's a B movie in game form. One that made practically no mistakes in it's execution and gameplay.

Imagine putting Silent Hill 2 (PS2) animation, story telling, and artistry into every fucking game. Because oh yes, Mario Bros. 2 is so much better now that Luigi is voice acted by God. That was the focal point for the game right?

Not that God voicing Luigi would've mattered in this example, it'd still be monotone and boring.

Incredible how jiggling keys is seen as better than actual art. Entirety of all remakes can be described that way.

#resident evil #if you're wanting to get into the series #start at the top #the best game in the series #the original PS1/PC Resident Evil #the remake plain and simple does not have the brilliantly executed gameloop of the original #nor the artistry #nor the gameplay in general #it stuns me how people are okay with the controls

[1-800-amortentia]

𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧’ 𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞 (𝐬.𝐛 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

summary: y/n wakes up before sirius, and notices he’s feeling needy

warnings: smut, themes of dd/lg (not explicit), sub!reader dom! Siri (dom siri is the owner of my soul), oral (male receiving) pet names (bunny, sir, etc.) heavy subspace

THIS IS SO BAD AND SHORT IM SORRY. 😐 NOT PROOFREAD

taglist below ! <3

𝐘/𝐍 𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐌𝐁𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐃...

softly beneath the Gryffindor sheets, her legs across Sirius’ abdomen. Sirius - who was still soundly asleep - held onto her hips tightly, something y/n had loved.

His large palms pressed to the land plains of her s/c canvas. Caressing mindlessly in the dead of his sleep. Y/n’s eyes fluttered open, arms locked around his bare ivory coloured torso, her cheek pressed against his side as she gently stirred.

Her brain was foggy, she couldn’t tell if it was a side affect of her fatigue or the boy that was asleep beside her, holding her gently making her slip with ease into subspace.

Y/n let out a breathy grumble, her legs sliding from his stomach down to his crotch, her thigh instantly brushing against his erection. Y/n paused for a moment, letting out a giggle, as she brought herself out from under the covers, pulling the red duvet off her and the boy to get a better look. A tent pressed itself against his pajama pants. Y/n smiled, leaning over the bed to find her undergarments, and Sirius’ shirt from the night before.

Y/n glanced at Sirius as she slid down to her knees, on the opposite side of the bed she once slept peacefully on. Sirius slept peacefully, and deeply as y/n placed her hands softly in his chest that rose up and down rhythmically. Y/n couldn’t contain smiles, as she thought about how proud Sirius would feel waking up to see his baby doing what she was supposed to.

Her fingers latched gently to his pajama bottoms, pulling them down slowly, as to not disturb him. Excitement and arousal bubbled in her stomach and her cunt as Sirius’ length was revealed, springing to his stomach.

Y/n began to stroke slowly, to make sure Sirius was entirely asleep. He was, giving no reaction to her actions. Y/n’s mouth salivated as her hands began to jerk Sirius off, her panties pooling with her arousal.

His praises rang through her mind as she put him into her mouth, the familiar taste bursted throughout her mouth - the taste of him.

Slowly she began to swirl her tongue against his tip, excitement for the praises that were about to come for Sirius, who was still asleep. Her mouth bobbed up and down his cock, eyes shut peacefully as she continued.

Sirius’ stirring went completely ignored as she continued her rhythm. The feeling of her warm mouth sent shivers up his spine as his eyes quickly opened, to see y/n on her knees beside him, eyes shut peacefully as she took his cock in her mouth.

“Angel i-“ sirius began, stopping once he realized she was simply doing what she was taught - helping him when he needed it.

“Feeling needy sir, wanted to make you feel good.” Y/n reasons quickly, before getting back to her act of service for her dom. Sirius’ head fell back onto the pillow behind him as he let out a string of curse words beneath his breathe.

“Felt small, hm? Just wanted to help me out?”

“Yes, sir.” Y/n muttered, taking his length into her hands as she speaks, before returning back into action with her mouth. Sirius grabs the sides of her head, bucking his hips softly into the warm cavity that is her mouth. Sirius grunted softly, as tears cling to y/n’s bottom lashes. All the oxygen she had leaving her esophagus as Sirius thrusted into her throat. Her mind seemed fuzzier and fuzzier as Sirius moans filled the room.

She took in a deep breathe through her her nose as Sirius gave a final thrust into her throat, warm ribbons of his cum coated her throat.

“Swallow f’me? Like a big girl?” Sirius asks, pushing her hair out of her face comfortingly as y/n nods, swallowing all the warm seed in her mouth.

“Lemme see, then.” Sirius says. Y/n parts her lips, revealing her mouth, completely clean. Sirius smiles.

“Good girl.”

“Thank you, sir.” Y/n says with a smile, as she rose off of her now bruised knees. Sirius pulled her body onto his lap.

“Did just what I taught you to do, didnt you bunny?”

“Wanted to make you feel good.” Y/n says softly, a low whine present in her tone as she dug her head into his neck. His body was pressed against the head board, as his hand snaked up her back, beneath the soft cotton fabric of his black t-shirt from the night previous.

“Did so good. Is your mind feeling fuzzy? Are you feeling small f’me angel?” Y/n hums happily, confirming his questions. Sirius grins, a grin of admiration. He adored her in subspace.

“You wanna feel good now too.”

“Uh huh, but I want you to feel good too.”

“Want my mouth or my cock?” Sirius asked. Y/n reached beneath her, latching into his (still hard and covered in her saliva) cock. Sirius smiled, his hand going from the valley of her back to the hem of her panties, pushing them down. Y/n smiled excitedly.

“See what being good f’me does, bunny? Gets you rewarded. What happens if you’re a brat?”

“Get punished.”

“That’s right. Ready?” Sirius asks, guiding his tip across the warmth of her folds. Her nails dug into his shoulder as he rubbed her clit teasingly.

“Please sir i-“

“Don’t start misbehaving now, bunny. Been so good and it’s not even 9 am.” Sirius teased. Y/n nodded, looking down as Sirius slowly pushed his length into her. Y/n grumbled quietly, walls clenching as he began to thrust.

“S….so good sirius.” Y/n moaned. Sirius cocked a brow.

“Not my name, huh?”

“M’ sorry sir.”

“Remeber bunny when you’re feeling small it’s sir not Sirius.”

“Yes sir.” Y/n moans, thrusting her hips quickly, up and down his length. Her stomach erupted into tingly sensations as his hand flew to her throat, squeezing it.

It sent her over the edge of her head space, her ears ringing, as her mind felt completely fogged.

“Please let me cum, sir. Please, please, pl-“

“Go ahead angel. Let go f’me.” Sirius soothed. Y/n moaned loudly as her walls contracted, a deep rooted fluttering sensation sent pins of goosebumps pricking to the surface of her skin as she climaxed around him.

Sirius watched in awe. He’d trained her perfectly, just the way he wanted.

“You should wake me up like this everyday”

taglist: @lvrjoy @teenwolfbitches28 @blackandlupinsslut @steveharrigntonswhore @myalupinblack @jamiessimps @thefandomchoosesthewizard @meiitanoia @cunninambitiousdetermined @slutforrings @quindolyn @elmarrymepls @haroldpotterson @percyweasleyspuff @wisedreamcatcher @hazelryl @talksoprettyjjx @havenchy @juniebugg

#harry potter #james potter #siruis black x reader #siruis black smut #sirius black headcanon #ben barnes #ben barnes x reader #marauders x reader #marauders smut #ben barnes smut #young sirius imagine #young sirius x reader #regulus imagine #regulus black #remus lupin imagines #james & peter & remus & sirius

[merakiui]

A Leaf Swept up in an Autumnal Breeze

yandere!kaedehara kazuha x (gender neutral) reader art credit - Tourou_7 on twt cw: yandere, unhealthy/obsessive behaviors, slight nsfw implications/thoughts, alcohol consumption, intoxication, spoilers for kazuha’s character story + inazuma lore note - i decided to write something short for kazuha as i analyze what we know so far of his character. hopefully the characterization isn’t too off! please enjoy nonetheless! orz

The moonlight casts its thin rays upon the calm, motionless sea. In the distance, fish surface and their movements are captured in the ripples that expand in the water, a minor blip in the otherwise tranquil atmosphere of the dark night. As if a god has taken a brush to the sky, utilizing its inky vastness as a canvas, the stars have been drawn in small specks—winking down at those who sleep underneath a blanket of natural light.

And you are caught up in the glorious shimmer, grinning widely as Beidou wraps her arm around you, pulling you against her as if the two of you have known each other for years. In reality, it’s only been a few months since you were discovered on her ship: a hidden stowaway with your Vision clutched in your hands and raw resolve etched into your body in the form of bruises and old scars. You’re a fighter and yet you also ran from something. Kazuha can’t quite tell what it is you’ve escaped. Whether it’s another person, a group of people, or even an entire nation, he’s certain it’s worthy of the risks that come with fleeing.

Your Vision shines brightly, a stark contrast to the dark color scheme of your clothes. He tries to place a nation to your outfit and comes up empty, his thoughts returning to Inazuma as though it’s the only place he can think of. And he supposes that’s true. The situation in Inazuma has clouded his mind with its strange fog, taking up residence in the nooks and crannies of his brain. Though he can dwell upon the past and the mistakes that led up to the downfall of a precious friend, he knows there is no use for such somber reflections during a happy celebration. Life moves on, as the common saying goes, and he cannot allow himself to remain trapped in the past.

During moments such as these, where he relives the horrible memory in vivid detail, you are a sweet balm that soothes the sting of loss. Even when you’re struggling to stand, face hot from the intoxication of good drinks in even better company, you’re a wondrous presence who chases away his doubts and worries.

Unknowingly, you cast a temporary shroud over those matters and he’s put at ease the minute you extend your arm in his direction.

“Kazuha! Come over here. Let’s dance!”

A hiccup interrupts your jovial giggle and Beidou chuckles before throwing her head back to drink what’s left in her flask. The aura of her ship is beyond lively. Men and women alike celebrate another successful week with drinks, harrowing tales of past heroes, and broken ballads sang in drunken tones. He can’t help the smile that sprouts on his lips. You’re such an outgoing person, always wanting to include him in your daily activities. And though he politely declines whenever you offer him alcohol, he has wondered what the appeal could possibly be.

Perhaps it’s the idea of losing your sensibility for one night, ignoring all reason for the sake of spending pleasurable moments in the confines of a warm bed, wrapped snugly in a lover’s embrace. Such instances are lost to intoxicating pleasure—buried under a hazy recollection come morning. But you haven’t done that sort of thing. Kazuha would know. He listens in while you’re relaxing—while you’re bathing and going about life on the ship without a care in the world—and his head runs wild with all sorts of fantasies. Fantasies he never would have imagined had he not met you.

To think you were just a mere stowaway, a trespasser who had snuck onto the ship and hid in the darkest corner, obscured by crates and chests. And he had pulled those crates aside in search of a few ingredients and his eyes met yours and you held your finger to your lips—a silent urge to keep quiet—and his heart skipped a beat.

It was a special meeting between two, which will remain locked away in his heart for all of eternity. A memory he regards with warm fondness. After much negotiation and a disarming conversation, you were soon welcomed with open arms as Beidou practically offered you to join her crew. You had nowhere else to go—no one else to see or protect—and so you agreed. And Kazuha felt a relief he hasn’t felt in a while, the sort of emotion that stems from almost losing something important.

The pure relief that comes and goes once he realizes you’re a missing piece in the puzzle of his life.

“You’ll trip,” he warns, pushing off from the side of the ship and walking over to you and Beidou. “It wouldn’t be wise to dance in your inebriated state. Surely you’re aware of this, no?”

“I can hold my alcohol.” Your wavering glare doesn’t reach him. “Don’t... Don’t think otherwise or else I’ll—ah!”

The majority of Beidou’s weight burdens your shoulders and you nearly almost crumble.

“You—“ she searches for a means to steady herself— “worry too much,” the captain adds, nodding in agreement to an unspoken statement. “It’ll be okay! Live a little while you’re still young.”

Kazuha sighs and easily slips between the two of you, hooking his arm around Beidou’s waist as he guides her to a barrel. The scent of alcohol kisses the air, clinging to your clothes and breath like an oversaturated perfume. Once she’s sat down, now fully determined to get the last few drops from out of the flask, the rōnin turns to you. He’s caught by surprise when your hands grasp his, your eager expression stabbing his heart with a dozen pins. He’s rooted to the floorboards, unable to look away when your face is dangerously close to his.

“You heard the captain,” you tease in a slurred voice. “Live a little.”

And he does. Or he thinks he does. Having traveled with Beidou, this is the current life he’s come to know and appreciate. But is it truly living if he feels unfulfilled in the process? To find a means for bringing back the familiar glow in a lonely Vision. To secure peace of mind and put his rowdy thoughts to rest. To one day return to the nation he was forced to flee, with you in tow. Are all of these things necessary in order to fill the gaping void in his damaged heart? Kazuha wonders if you also came from Inazuma. Perhaps you wouldn’t be so surprised to see the scenery if he were to take you there. Not now, of course. Sometime in the future, if such a future holds a changed Inazuma.

“I’m going to warn you now,” he mumbles, his fingers ghosting over your waist, “I’m not what one would call a dancer of skillful grace.”

“I don’t think that’s true, dear Kazuha.”

He blinks once and then releases a short laugh at the endearing term. “If you say so.”

“Enough talk.” You huff and pull him into your chest and he feels as though he could stay locked in this position for millennia. “Dance with me before...” A stilted pause as you nearly forget your sentence. “Before I turn in for the night. That’s it.”

Or before you get sick, he thinks, not so cheerful about the inevitable mess. But he’ll tolerate it because you’ve tolerated him. You never pry into his past, nor do you force him to answer personal questions regarding Inazuma and the Raiden Shogun. If you ever notice the way he lingers near your quarters, you don’t say a word. And if you hear his subdued moans as his hand moves in time with a picturesque fantasy of your nude form pressed against his, you keep your mouth shut. You are everything he could ever want and like the very ideal the Raiden Shogun wishes to uphold he wants to pursue an eternity with you.

Your movements are far from the precision you normally have when moving about the ship and it’s a very odd dance. Yet you spin him and he follows your unusual lead like an animal with tunnel vision. For a taut moment, the background noise melts away into obscurity and the two of you are the only people in existence. He stares at your face the entire time, ignoring the way your sandals crush his feet or the instances where he unintentionally returns the gesture. It’s certainly an awkward sort of waltz, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

And in this moment where no one else matters, he sees your radiance in the glow of the moon. You truly are worthy of the sun and the stars beyond and should you verbalize an outlandish wish of that nature he has no choice but to follow through.

Like a leaf swept up in an autumnal breeze, reminiscent of a ronin who lacks a place in the world, Kazuha allows himself to be carried on by the winds that rustle the sails and tangle through your hair, painting you in a backdrop that’s heaven handcrafted by the pickiest god. And where you have your wits, a lively Vision, and your confidence, he only has his blade, a dull Vision, and an inkling of hope. But that’s really all he requires.

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