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jakei95 · 10 months

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[Post in English] Something Nyx and I want to publicly address, regarding the recent allegations in the Glitchtale Crew's Discord Server and it's moderators. I really apologize for the upcoming wall of text. These are our Twitter threads I have pasted them here, in case you don't have access to said platform. I have also added some additional notes to provide more context. All details under the line:

NyxTheShield: (Transcription from his official twitter thread) I read some mean comments lately and I just wanna be super clear: I havent been related to Glitchtale since at least 2022. I never considered myself part of the community and went through some much shit while doing stuff for it that my mental health was completely destroyed.

For people who thought I was an admin of the server, that was just in paper. I was constantly de-admin'd, demodded and kicked from the server through the years for simple stuff like asking the rest of the mod team to not say slurs or standing up against the Midnight Crew. I personally left the server for a long while because I really did not want to be around some of the people there. All of this happened years ago (from 2016~ to around 2020). On the early years, my full income came from Youtube/Glitchtale. I was a broke college student and my economic stability depended on it. Despite this, and making literally hundred of tracks and hours of music for the series, most of the income came from my own ad revenue. I was paid less than 2000 USD for all of the work. Essentially, I was paid in exposure.

This wouldn't have been an issue for me if at least I got to keep my artistic vision with the series. That didn't hold true for long.

From the second season and onwards, and in multiple instances, I would score the entire OST for the episode, watch the episode when it released, and then find out a completely new section of the episode (usually a battle scene) with music from somebody else This was completely demotivating to me because I wasn't being paid, the tracks would not fit the rest of the OST at all, and most of the income I made from the battle scenes. I had to work for weeks trying to compose music for glorified powerpoint presentations (Basically everything that's not a battle scene on the series was just still frames of characters barely moving) and do all the heavy lifting and I wasn't even let known about the guest tracks.

This added to the feeling of having absolutely no power within the community. I don't know if this was intentional or not (I don't wanna presume malice), but all of these things together contributed to me distancing myself from the community.

Honestly, there is A LOT more shit that went down these early years that are extremely traumatic to me that I would prefer to not talk about unless completely necessary, but I feel this is a good amount of context for what I wanna talk about next.

As you might be aware, extremely serious (and true) allegations were made against Camila and his partner, Veir, which was accused of grooming minors from 2015 to 2021 There are really good videos out there explaining the entire timeline of what transpired, but I specifically wanna talk about 2020.

(Jakei's note: Links to said videos are here: [1] [2] [3])

In that year, a public document was made by my head mod CrystalFlame alongside 2 other mods in the GT server, that exposed Veir and their actions. This document went mostly unnoticed. Even more, Crystal went through a lot of abuse for coming forward about their abuse and was almost ostracized from the UT AU community because of this.

Because of this, I was asked directly by one of the victims (and also representing the other victims) to please not speak up (Citing that they just wanted to move on and didn't want to involve themselves with more problems and expose themselves)

All the info was kept very vague from me, including the people who were involved, the extent of the stuff that went down, etc But I knew enough to know it was serious. I followed their request and didn't speak up publicly about this, but I banned Veir from my server, warned all of my mods and people close to me in those circles about Veir, and constantly tried to get Camila to please adress the situation. Despite this, she did not listen and we all know how stuff went down later in 2022, where the allegations came back again with full force. This time around I wasnt asked to stay silent so I spread the word around and confronted the entire mod team. I was shortly banned after that.

I needed to address this because this thing has been eating me alive for years. I was intentionally kept in the dark about a lot of context and nuance that would have completely changed my mind about speaking up or not about what happened in 2020.

Everything is easier in retrospective, and with the knowledge I now have about the situation I know for a fact that I would have spoken up about all that happened. But being asked directly to not speak up by the victims was something that goes against what I am Sorry for the long rant, but I really needed to get this off my chest. I am tired of having to deal with this kind of stuff. As a content creator/public figure I am trying my hardest to keep the communities I am active in as safe as possible.

I feel I could have done more for the Glitchtale community regarding the grooming situation, but all of the years of abuse that I endured really fucked up my judgement. I am not very good at dealing with people and I always trust the people close to help me for this kind of stuff

Sadly, in this case, those same people who were close to me were also the victims, so they couldnt have known or had a way to help me out, I should have helped them instead. Most if not all of what was described in this thread is backed up by screenshots, chat logs, and direct testimony from the people who were involved during this time.

I don't want to direct hate to anyone or start a witchhunt, I am doing this purely to decompress a bit and try to vent some of the trauma I experienced all these years.

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Jakei: (Transcription from my official twitter thread) I would also like to share my experiences about my relationship with the Glitchtale Creator, Camila Cuevas. Publicly, we appeared as close friends, but in reality, that friendship was based on bullying and mistreatment, and this affected my mental health deeply.

Years have passed, and the memories still cause me pain. I decided to remain silent, but after the revelations of grooming cases in her community, I realized I wasn’t being too sensitive. The time has come to speak up about my experiences.

During the early years of Underverse, I was dealing with a serious depressive episode. Simultaneous internal and external pressures as an independent artist amplified my mental strain. Meeting Camila felt like finding a genuine friend who shared my passion for the fandom and understood the struggles of being a content creator amidst toxicity. At my lowest, I became compliant to doing things that I didn’t want to, just to keep people around me happy. For Camila, this meant allowing her to belittle my work and make me the butt of her jokes.

Only our veteran followers may remember the 'roasting games' between us on Tumblr (consisting of mutual insults), a spectacle where she'd always win. However, it was a game she privately forced me to "play" and I ended up accepting, despite the discomfort it caused me. These 'games' would give her a cool and strong image in the fandom while painting me as the dumb, 'cringe-worthy' friend. In essence, I became her personal punching bag, unknowingly reinforcing his reputation.

Camila's favorite term to demean my series 'Underverse' was “Cancerverse”. It felt like a constant contest where she'd always position herself as the superior writer and animator simply because my story and animation techniques didn't fit her standards. Years of being subjected to her ridicule left my self-esteem in ruins. I was okay with the negative feedback by some fans, but when my 'friend' publicly disrespected my art, it made me question my abilities as an artist.

I can't deny there were times when she gave me advice to deal with hate or hurtful comments. However, her damaging comments and treatment outweighed those moments of support.

My depressive state worsened around July 2017, where I had accepted people pushing me to do things I wasn’t comfortable with, while being part of Camila's demeaning games, just to appease her ego. I was introduced to Nyx during this time, he offered his music for my series, and eventually we started dating. We met in person in Chile, where I also met Camila. I hoped our friendship would strengthen but everything felt the same. Before I moved to Chile with Nyx, Camila reached out to me in dms, attempting to turn me against him because he opposed the use of slurs in the GT server. She claimed Nyx was being 'brainwashed' by his American friends belonging to the black and LGBTQ+ communities. She made fun of my dating choices, suggesting I was entering a toxic relationship, while showing off her relationship with her then-boyfriend (later exposed as a pedophile). She even quoted her own mother assuring me that Nyx would 'get back to normal', and if it didn’t happen, she would let me live in her house, almost like if she was telling me that Nyx would hurt me or make me feel miserable.

It only took Nyx 3 months to realize that the GT server was going in the wrong way. I initially felt compelled to defend Camila due to my inferiority complex, but soon realized Nyx was right. (Jakei's note: Not only Nyx was right, a lot of people that called her out over the years were right, yet they were not listened to at the time)

Even then, I found it difficult to distance myself from Camila due to the false sense of obligation I felt towards her. My fear of her making fun of my work kept me from interacting with others in the short period of time I stayed in her Discord server. I was afraid that she and her echo chamber would talk behind my back, something that I found out was happening in private chats until recent years.

Rebuilding my self-esteem wasn't an easy task. I began noticing the red flags – Camila's lack of respect not only for me but Nyx also, the emotional manipulation Nyx was suffering from Veir (something he used to do all the time with his other victims), her attempts to 'roast' me in front of her family and fans in the Underverse/Glitchtale meetings, and her constant criticism of my artstyle not being compatible to hers in the few collabs we made.

All these 'small' instances, dismissed as insignificant by many, caused me immense pain while treating my depression. I felt it was too late to express how I felt, as I feared being labeled as attention-seeking or oversensitive by her and her fanbase. Ironically, the moment she talked about her traumas after being bullied in the past, her feelings were the only ones that mattered any time she was involved in a problematic situation in the fandom and deserved to be the only to get pats in the back.

I never expected a sincere apology, as I was convinced she didn't remember or didn't care about the hurt she caused. I tried to maintain a facade of good terms with her, both publicly and privately. Eventually, I distanced myself from her, unfriending her and banning her from my own server even if she didn't interact there. I started focusing on my own work and the people who appreciated it. Despite this, the aftermath of the bullying continued to affect me.

Everything fell into place when the grooming accusations against her former boyfriend and server mods came to light. It was a shocking revelation, but it validated all my doubts and fears about her. The purpose of sharing my experiences is not to stir up drama, but to address the concerns of those worried about my association with Camila. I want to make it clear that I will never tolerate such behavior. Although the things I did for her in the past cannot be erased, I hope Camila at least deletes the animation remake I did for her and all the collabs that boosted her views for free, though I'm not optimistic about it happening.

As I've matured, my hope is that she and her crew learn from their mistakes, start behaving like adults, and take responsibility for their actions in their future projects and with their new followers. But I'm skeptical about any real change, especially if their server continues to exist. The best course of action for me was to cut all ties with Camila and Glitchtale.

NyxTheShield (now my husband) and I have endured too much from our treatment by Camila. We no longer want to be associated with her or Glitchtale. It's a chapter of our lives that we wish to close. It's time for us to focus on recovering our mental health, as remaining silent is only prolonging our pain. We have been working to improve our mental and physical health over the past few years and this is a crucial part of our healing process.

#jakei says something #english

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wp-blaze · 3 days

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Drink Your Fill of Love

So, you want to be loved and feel it! There is a time and place in a marriage where God would like you to have your fill of love. How … Continue Reading Drink Your Fill of Love

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ieatfanficforbrunch · 5 months

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People Pleaser Steve

Steve is a people pleaser. Years of living with his parents and their demeaning stares and harsh words have destroyed his sense of self preservation.

"Keep Eye Contact, Steven," his mother would say. "Stop Complaining, You need to make our guest Comfortable." His father would say. Until the age of ten all Steve got was criticism. Constant reminders on how to behave perfectly and how to appease his parents.

The morning they decided he was old enough to stay home himself, coincidentally on his 10th birthday, they packed up and started renting an apartment in Chicago to better monitor their Business. They sent him money for food, got him a bike so he could go to school, they even sent a few extra 20s every other month so he could get new clothes as he grew.

Of course, Steve never complained. This was how he kept the peace, how he avoided the cold glare from his parents.

The pattern continued into adulthood, Steve practically raised himself for the last 8 years of his childhood, he only saw his parents when they needed him.

When he (accidently) became the mother of the nerdiest bunch of kids in Hawkins, he made himself a promise, No matter what he'd be there. Every recital, every birthday party, every holiday, and every time they needed a ride; he was there.

When Christmas came around after everything had happened, after Max had recovered and Eddie's wounds had healed perfectly, he decided he would make it the best Christmas they'd ever seen. Just to make them happy.

He decorated the entire house, made enough food to feed his small football team of a group, he got so many presents for everyone that he had to skip out on food three days a week for two months just because he wanted it to be perfect.

The kids came over on Christmas Eve night to spend the night together, slept in sleeping bags he bought special for them. Eddie came to help wrangle the crazies until Robin got back from visiting her grandparents in Ohio.

They ate like they were starving or like it was their last meal. All except Steve, who was too afraid to overstep or take away from someone else to even try one of the many kinds of food he made.

The games died down and the food was gone by midnight. The kids slept peacefully in their sleeping bags. Steve let out a small sigh, a smile on his face as he stood and took empty platters and plates to the kitchen.

He washed the dishes in silence, a baggy crew neck sweater replacing his usual polos. He knew if he wore them the others would notice he had lost weight and he didn't want to inconvenience them. It was rude to burden others with your problems. He honestly thought he had gotten away with it until a familiar Metal head guided him to the kitchen table.

"Ok Big boy, This isn't working for me," He said in a soft voice.

Steve immediately looked up, "I'm sorry, it won't happen again," he whispered, not even sure what he did.

Eddie sighs and says, "Steve, You think you're hiding it so well but you aren't. You take care of everyone and everything all of the time. Let me take care of you."

Steve couldn't move, couldn't respond, How Was he supposed to behave? He didn't know so he merely nodded.

Eddie smiled and immediately made Steve a bowl of cereal, something small and quiet. When he was positive Steve would eat it, he finished the dishes for him.

Steve looked so beat down and tired, the bags under his eyes told so much and Eddie knew that from now on he would do Everything to keep them away.

He took the empty bowl and washed it before walking over to Steve. "I know it's a bit early but...I got you something," he whispers, pulling out a small box from his back pocket.

It was a light blue box with a thin red ribbon and white trim. Steve's thin fingers removed the lid to find a locket in the shape of a guitar pick.

Inside there were two pictures, one with the kids, and one with Steve and Eddie. It was the picture from when Eddie was discharged, the day Steve agreed to get treatment for his wounds. Eddie's arm is around Steve's shoulders, it's the only picture in the world with Steve's Real smile. His eyes swelled with tears. It's the only gift he's gotten since he was 10, since his parents left to run their company, since Everything.

"Shit I didn't mean to make you cry again! I just-" Eddie is cut off with the tightest hug he's ever gotten.

"It's Perfect," Steve whispers.

He's met with calloused hands on the back of his head, gently massaging his scalp.

"Merry Christmas, Harrington."

"Merry Christmas, Munson."

#eddie munson #eddie the freak munson #eddie the banished #stranger things #eddie x steve #steddie #steve harrington #steve x eddie

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jockbroski34 · 5 months

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New Blood (Chapter 2)

This is the second half of New Blood. If you haven't already, please read the first part here:

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--Braden POV--

It’s been two weeks since Jacob changed into a jock. I almost didn’t recognize him at first. He seemed pretty chill when I saw him first, but now he acted like a spitting image of Zach and even started to look the part too. I even heard rumors that they started dating, which was a surprise to me because Zach always came off as straight to me.

It was just like what happened with Bradley. They would start hanging out more and more with Zach, and then the next time you see them, they become freakishly huge and start playing football. I’ve seen it happen twice, but I am certain it has happened before. It wasn’t the first time I saw someone in my class walk in looking like they took steroids overnight, but it was uncommon enough for it to not be a noticeable problem.

Even worse, I know he’s still at it. I’ve seen Zach and “Jake” talking to a guy I know in my class, Charlie. If I had to guess, he’s their next victim, but knowing him, I’m sure he’d be begging to join them. He’s openly gay and he’s always thirsted over the guys on the football team, even preferring my brother “Brad” over me. Zach probably has him wrapped around his finger at this point. Honestly, I felt bad for him for being that desperate. I knew it would be impossible to convince someone that down bad.

One thing became clear to me after the past several months. Zach was obviously getting closer to people in order to convince them to join the football team and become jocks like him. I’ve seen it happen multiple times, and at this point, he’s gone too far. I could try to tell the school about what he has been doing, but without definitive proof, I would just look crazy. The school obviously wouldn’t care anyways because they would benefit from a better football team to put their school’s name on the board.

As far as I know, no one in the school really seems to notice or care about people changing before their very eyes. They are completely oblivious. They don’t even care that they could be the one chosen to be targeted next. I’m basically all on my own here. This has to have been happening for almost a year at this point and I have to do something. I have to stop Zach and the rest of the team from turning these students into meathead jocks.

I began to investigate Zach and the rest of the football team. I went down the roster and made a list of every person who I definitely knew had been turned into a jock. There were a few more than I had expected to be honest. About thirty percent, I believe. These people had all gone through the drastic changes involved with joining the team, including the increased body growth.

There was one person who I specifically wanted to find information on, Zach. I decided to browse his Instagram to find even a hint of any tangible evidence that I could use against him. He had a lot of photos, with most of the recent ones being him showing off his body or partying. I wouldn’t expect much else from a douchebag like him. Although my investigation did not bear much fruit, I did find something interesting. As I scrolled through his old photos, I saw a boy both similar, yet entirely different to the cocky, muscular quarterback I knew. Was he one of the ones that was changed too?

The photo, about two years ago, showed an entirely different Zach. He was certainly still tall for his age, and definitely still taller than I am now. He was more on the skinnier side, however, and his face had softer, more boyish features compared to his more chiseled self. He had a longer hairstyle which contrasted with the short style he was rocking now. He still had the same verdant green eyes, although they had a more innocent look compared to the confidence his current self was full of. If you had shown me this picture without any of the information I know, I would’ve thought this was his cute little brother.

The more I thought about it, the more I started to wonder. How did he do it? Him being one of the earlier guys to transform combined with him being the quarterback and the team captain led me to believe that he had to be one of the first, perhaps being the prototype.

I saw another photo of the old Zach from three years ago. It was him with two older men at a football game, each one of them adorning a jersey to match with the others in the crowded stadium. The man next to Zach bore enough similarities with him that I assumed that he was his father, but the other man’s identity was still a mystery. The face looked familiar however, but I figured it was just a coincidence. Maybe he was an uncle or an old family friend? Either way, I came to the conclusion that Zach was likely always into football even at a young age. I wouldn’t find it surprising that he would want to play football, but anyone with eyes could see that it would be impossible to achieve that kind of body in just two years even with nonstop training and a strict diet. I considered the possibility that steroids could have been involved, but how would he be able to even get his hands on them, let alone supply them to that many people?

I then tried to broaden my perspective a bit, and an interesting theory entered my mind. The football coach would obviously know of the changes, right? He couldn’t just turn a blind eye after some guys just randomly became jocks and wanted to join the team, right? In fact, he would have much to gain by turning his players into the ideal version of a high school football player. Stronger players mean more wins. More wins mean more success for the team and for the school. No wonder why the school doesn’t care. They are directly benefiting from this!

So I decided that I would dig deeper on the coach. Unsurprisingly, he was a former football player and coach, but decided to move to this town about three to four years ago. At the college he went to, he majored in psychology. I found the pair between football and psychology to be a strange fit, with very little overlap. But then I started to think. He obviously knows a lot about the human mind. Maybe that’s why the guys on the team like Bradley and Jacob came out acting like entirely different people. He had to have done something to them subconsciously, perhaps some form of hypnosis or brainwashing. Bradley would often mention things that obviously never happened, so I am sure his memories were tampered with. I would know. I’ve known him my entire life and he never cared about sports before now. Just as I had figured out a hypothesis on how they might have changed mentally, I still didn’t know how their bodies might have changed. I defaulted to my original idea, steroids, but I didn’t know how a high school coach would get steroids for his players. Surely he’s smart enough to want to avoid that scandal.

I remembered the coach’s face. I’ve definitely seen it before at least once at school, but it was also the other man in the photo with Zach! So it seems that the coach knew Zach before he became a jock. I’m guessing he and his father were close? If I’m on the right track, Zach could have been his guinea pig for his experiments, since he would have to be one of the first guys to undergo the jock transformation.

I wrote all of the important evidence I had into a document, but then I heard the front door open. Shit, Brad, no, Bradley came home early from football practice! I quickly saved the document onto my flash drive, and hid it in my pocket. We shared the same computer, so I couldn’t risk him finding it, even though he would probably just look up sports statistics or porn instead. Bradley was seemingly unaware by the time he entered our shared room.

“Hey bro,” Bradley said. “Doing homework already? You’re a much harder worker than me, bro.” The old Bradley would never say bro. And he was arguably a better student than me.

“Yeah,” I responded, sarcastically. I was honestly getting tired of him after all that has been going on. “Not that you would know anything about studying, you dumb brute.” I grabbed my things and left for the living room, not wanting to be anywhere near my changed brother, nor near his sweaty, unwashed clothes that he left on the floor.

“What’s wrong bro?” Bradley followed me, his large feet stomping on the floor with every step. “You not feeling alright? I’m going on a run in a little bit if you want to come with. It’ll help clear your head.” I was fuming at his ignorance. It was at this moment that I burst.

“You are what’s wrong ‘bro’! Ever since you started hanging out with Zach and joined the football team, you’ve been completely unrecognizable! You’re just another jock now!”

“So what? I like being on the team and I like hanging out with the guys.”

“Is that really you in there or is that Zach or Coach doing the talking for you? You were never like this before you met them. I know that they changed you!” I realized I may have said too much.

“I guess they did rub off on me a little, but I did this for me, bro,” I rolled my eyes at the idea that anyone would willingly agree to be transformed into a jock. “I know you and I have grown apart these past couple months, but I just want us to get along again like we used to, bro. No matter what.” He reached out for a hug, but I pushed him away. The man in front of me was not my brother. Besides, he’d probably break a bone or two.

“You are not my ‘bro’! If you want us to be brothers again, you can start by quitting the team. You’re never gonna get anywhere in life by throwing footballs and getting concussions.”

“You’ll never understand, little bro.” Bradley seemed disappointed, and left through the front door, likely going on another one of his runs. I felt a wave of anger and shame rush over me, not just at my foolish brother, but at myself for being unable to connect with him. The rest of the night went by as usual, only we were even more cold towards each other than we were earlier. Dinner was incredibly awkward, with our tension hanging over the dinner table. We avoided eye contact and didn’t even say a word to each other the whole night. As I tried to fall asleep, I knew that we couldn’t keep living like this. Something needed to change.

--Jake POV--

I woke up to the sound of an alarm in Zach’s warm embrace, his toned arms barely wrapped around my new, larger body. His thick legs tangled in between mine like a knot and his 9-inch serpent in his jockstrap pressed against my back. I had slept the night at his place again, but it was pretty common these days now that we were officially a couple. We saw each other almost every day, whether it was at school, practice, the gym, or watching football together on Sunday. The other bros grew a little jealous of us, but it’s a little hard not to be.

I thought about what happened the other day. Memories of the lessons prior were drowned out by the practice, and by me and Zach recruiting the newbie to the team. You see, Zach was not only the team captain and our star quarterback. He was also responsible for recruiting new members to the team and getting people interested in football, and he asked me to help him out, which I obviously agreed to.

Obviously I now know how the recruitment process actually works, seeing as he had done it to me weeks ago, but it is different watching it compared to seeing it happen to yourself. Unlike me, the new recruit took less time and was very eager to join the team. Charlie was a nerdy kid, and gay too, but he had a slight interest in football, but mainly for the hot guys who played it. I empathized with him, seeing as I was lusting over Zach just weeks ago. Naturally, me and Zach helped him realize that he could be one of those hot football jocks who he jerked off to, while also allowing him to appreciate the art of the game on more than a surface level. I watched Charlie transform and he was already in love with his new body and jock persona. He’s now one of the guys he’s thirsted for, and maybe if he’s lucky, he can get to suck off one of the bros. I don’t think any of them are gay, though, but if little bro tries to make a move on Zach though, I’ll beat the shit out of him. Maybe I’ll try to hook him up with another new gay recruit.

I heard a buzzing sound from the nightstand in front of me. I grabbed my phone, which lit up in the dark room. My new lock screen was a picture of me and Zach, our arms over each other’s shoulders, in our football uniforms after a hard-fought victory. Brad had messaged the group chat and it seemed like he had something important to share.

“hey bros my little bro braden is mad at me for joining the team and i think he knos about wat teh team is doin hes obv mizrabl and i want us to get along agan think zach and coach can turn him into a jock liek me?”

I remembered Braden and how antagonistic he acted towards me and the other members of the team. I still haven’t forgiven him for being so judgmental towards us. We just wanted to play football and be bros together. What was wrong with that? Judging from what Brad said, it is clear that he’s already gathering evidence on us just like he had said, as he knows about not just Zach, but Coach too. If the secrets of our program leaks, it could be very bad news. Because he was an enemy to the team, he was an enemy to me. However, I felt like I could forgive him if he joined us. Plus, I wanted him to see firsthand why we loved this lifestyle so much. I responded in the group chat.

“yea we shud do it b4 he trys telling any1 he knows about zach alredy and he knows i changed and tryd to warn me lets talk after practice”

Zach started to rise from his slumber, realizing that he had slept past his alarm and he gave me a kiss on the lips. I informed him of the situation with Braden and he agreed that this was probably the best option. I didn’t care if he would try to resist us, but he needed to know that we were not to be fucked with. Zach went downstairs to make breakfast for the two of us while I got ready for school.

I changed into one of Zach’s T-shirts that he let me wear and a pair of basketball shorts, and then I put on my hat, adorned with the team’s logo, and twisted the brim backward. Damn, I looked good. I got turned on by the man staring back at me in the mirror, with his toned body and cocky smirk that showed everyone that he was on top of the world. I could tell that my transformation was corrupting me, but in the best way possible. I loved it. This was everything I ever wanted.

On my plate were eggs, bacon, and peanut butter toast. Zach didn’t take his studies too seriously but at least he knew how to cook a good, protein-rich meal. It was a feast fit for muscular kings like ourselves. I chugged the protein shake that he made for me, rich with a chocolate flavor, before we got into my car and drove to school.

We arrived at school, sat through a bunch of boring lectures, and as soon as that was over, we went straight to practice. Earlier in the day, I bumped into Braden to show him who he was up against. He just glared back at me. It was an odd feeling knowing the power I had over others, but the idea of being stronger and better than everyone made me hard. While we waited for Coach to arrive, we discussed what to do about Braden. Charlie said that he had final period with him and that he looked at him funny. I found the coincidence that Charlie shared a class with him to be quite hilarious, and I imagined the irony of the situation to drive him insane. Brad said that his mom was going out of town for the week to visit family and his dad worked late hours, so he would have no one to pick him up.

With that information, I devised a plan. Since Brad would probably have to pick up Braden from school, we could use this opportunity in our favor and get him alone with us. Since we have practice tomorrow, he will have to stay until after we are finished, so as long as we can keep track of him, we should be able to take him to the locker room in order to be transformed. With the plan ready to go, we started practice. After that, me and Zach went to the gym and my biceps were swollen after a hard workout. I definitely reached a new high today, and I felt great. Zach decided to spend the night at my place as we tried to iron out any potential flaws in our plan. Zach seemed proud that I was taking an active role in the team.

“Hey bro, you’re doing a great job helping me to keep this team going. Whether it’s winning games, or helping out during practice, or giving new recruits the sweet taste of what it’s like to be a jock, you’re really awesome. When I first met you, I never imagined you would make this great of a jock.”

I blushed. No one had ever praised me that much. “What can I say bro? I learned from the best,” I responded as I kissed him. He wrapped his arms and body around me and spooned me like the night before. As I drifted to sleep, I reflected on Zach and the other guys on the team. They brought out the best in me. I fought for my life for them on the field just as they did for me. Off the field, they were like the brothers I never had. But Zach was the only person I felt truly understood me on a personal level. He made me who I am and he showed me how to make other guys as great as we are. And I eagerly awaited tomorrow when we would have yet another new recruit.

--Braden POV--

Looks like the jocks are at it again. Charlie was officially turned into yet another musclehead jock. We were kinda close, since we talked a bit during class, and I genuinely did get along with him despite his preference for jocks. To be honest, I thought he was kinda cute, but all he would talk about is how hot the football guys were which was a turn-off to me. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that he gave in to them. I’m sure he’ll have a great time taking dick in the locker room like he always dreamed of.

It was at this point that I finally developed a plan to put an end to the football team’s schemes. I learned the other day that my mom was going to visit family for the week, so I would be alone with “Brad” until my dad got home. Normally this would be a nightmare for me, since I’d have to stay at school until after his practice since he would be responsible for driving me home. I decided that while he and the other jocks were at practice, I would sneak into the locker room in order to find any evidence that these guys were turning into jocks. The more the better, but even just one piece of evidence would surely be enough to raise some suspicion against them. If I find any incriminating evidence, I’ll report it straight to the school and the police. It’s all up to me at this point.

After class, I went to the library to get some peace and quiet and to get a headstart on some homework before commencing with my operation. I found it hard to concentrate because I was so on edge. I figured I wouldn’t have any problems since practice was still over an hour long, but the anticipation was killing me. I was also distracted by heavy stomping outside. It was after school! Couldn’t they keep it down at least a little? And then, even though I should’ve been alone, I heard someone else enter the library.

It was Charlie! What was he doing here? Shouldn’t he be at practice? He was still wearing his uniform too. I had to admit, his new look did suit him. I found myself staring at his nice round bubble butt. It was always on the larger side, but it had to look even bigger now. His football pants helped to emphasize his best features. What am I even saying? Even if he was objectively more handsome, any attraction I would have for him would vanish as soon as he opened his dumb mouth.

“Hey, Brady! I didn’t know you were still here,” Charlie greeted me with a stupid grin on his face. I hated that he was trying so hard to be friendly with me.

“Yeah, Bradley has to pick me up today,” I responded. Surely just putting up with him would get him off my back for a while. The last thing I wanted was for him to interfere with my plans. “What are you doing here? I thought you’d be at practice.”

“I forgot my book in class, so I went to go get it really quick. But then, I saw you. Brad did say that he would be picking you up today.” What an odd excuse. I couldn’t imagine the coach letting him leave practice early for a stupid reason like that.

“Couldn’t you just go after practice? Like don’t you have better things to do?”

“I told Coach I’d be quick. Plus, I wanted to see you!” He wrapped his meaty arm around my scrawny shoulder. I could smell a strong waft from his armpit, from the sweat of a hard workout. I would’ve pushed him off me, but there was little point fighting back against a man as strong as he is. It was a friendly gesture anyways.

“I’m kinda sad that we don’t talk much, bro. I know I spend a lot of time on the football team, but I would’ve liked to get to know you better. I think you should join the team so we can hang out more.”

“I’m not…” my annoyant tone was paused as Charlie pushed his face into mine. He was kissing me? I had to admit, he was a good kisser, both strong and passionate. I wasn’t sure if he was naturally like this or if his jock side made him a better kisser. As our lips parted, I felt my face turn beet red. I was overwhelmed, embarrassed, confused, furious, annoyed…No. I couldn’t find any one word to describe how I felt. I knew I wasn’t supposed to kiss him, but it did genuinely feel nice even if I couldn’t stand Charlie the jock. I had to get it together. He was obviously trying to mess with me, but my answer stayed the same. “I’m not joining the team.”

“Yes you are,” a voice said as a set of hands grabbed me from behind. Before I could call out for help, one of the firm hands covered my mouth, deafening my cries for help. Fuck, it was Jake! He must’ve snuck in while I was distracted and disoriented. He effortlessly picked me up and shoved me into a black gym bag. I was trapped. I couldn’t see a thing and no one could hear me either. It was a tight fit and I couldn’t fight back against the scent of old, sweaty gym clothes.

“Good work, little bro,” Jake said as he high-fived Charlie. “Now let’s take him to the locker room.” Shit, they were already one step ahead of me. I had to admit, these meathead jocks were smarter than I thought. I remembered Charlie’s words and I realized what they were going to do to me. They were planning to turn me into a jock! This cannot be happening. As I tried to think of a plan to get out of this situation, my mind became clouded by the intoxicating scent inside the bag. I hated the smell of sweat and musk, but for some reason, I started to feel a little hard. For some reason, I picked up one of the articles of clothing, a sweaty unwashed jockstrap, and out of curiosity, I found myself sniffing it. I became distracted by the pungent smell momentarily as I was carried to my destination.

When I finally saw light again, I was surrounded by a horde of members of the football team in the locker room. They all stood in a circle and they looked like predators, and I was their prey. I contemplated the idea of running, but I knew it was physically impossible to outrun even one of them with their superior athletic abilities. I thought about begging for mercy, but I knew they could not be reasoned with and because of my pride, I didn’t want me to come across as weak. Brad walked over to me, carrying an entire football uniform that seemed way too big for me.

“Put them on, bro,” he ordered. I obliged, seeing as I no longer had any say in the matter. I felt a sense of embarrassment because the clothes were way too big on me. It felt like I was a kid trying to wear his dad’s clothes.

“You’ll grow into it, trust me,” Jake said, his hand on Zach's shoulder, a proud smirk plastered on his face. My worst fears were realized. I didn’t know how but they were going to turn me into one of them, yet another jock.

“You’re probably wondering why we brought you here, little bro. Well, we know you’ve been trying to get in our way. You’re the only student in this school who knows or even cares what we do. You’re the minority, bro,” Brad explained. He reached into my backpack which he was holding and pulled out the flash drive that stored all my evidence. “I noticed that you were trying to hide this the other day when I came in. You might just think I’m a ‘dumb brute’ but even I couldn’t miss something that obvious. I wonder why you had to hide it, bro…” he teased as he inserted it into a laptop on one of the benches. It didn’t take long for him to find the document I used to share my findings.

“Well, well…” Zach teased. “Looks like someone did their research. I’m kinda impressed at how much you use your brain, bro. Too bad you won’t be needing it for much anymore.” He then proceeded to delete the file as my hard work was erased from the flash drive. I felt mortified as my hard work was all for nothing and I realized what was going to become my fate. I then heard footsteps coming in from outside.

“I believe this is our first time meeting,” a commanding voice stated. From the way he spoke, I felt any amount of defiance I still had in me turn into submissiveness, like a father catching his son sneaking out at night. “It seems you already know who I am, but I’m Coach Myers. I’m sure you’re full of questions, and don’t worry, I’ll have plenty of time to answer every last one of them.”

I was looking at the man in charge, the mastermind behind all of the jocks who were transformed. I had so much I wanted to ask him, both out of curiosity and anger, that I didn’t know where to start.

“What caused you to turn these students into jocks?” I asked.

“Good question. I was always interested in bringing out the best in one’s self, but I never knew where to start until recently. Me and Zach’s father were close friends in the NFL. As a result, Zach always looked up to me, but even though he wanted to be a football player like his father, he wasn’t able to cut it.”

I looked at Zach, who normally seemed very confident and arrogant, but for the first time since I’ve seen him, for just a split second, he felt humbled, reminded of his shortcomings. For once, I kinda felt bad for the guy even though I thought he was a total douche. Despite the sob story, I still realized that what he had done was too far.

“He approached me in tears one day. He wished he was stronger, wished he was more like the guys he looked up to at school. And that’s when I realized that maybe I could help him. And so we spent almost a year studying ways to transform his body and even his mind into the perfect football player. And eventually, we succeeded. Zach was exactly the person he dreamed of being.”

I now knew why and how it began. Zach was the first, the alpha. But why did he keep doing it? “You helped to make Zach who he is now, but why did you continue to do it to other students?” I asked.

“I’m glad you asked. Although changing Zach was my finest achievement, I realized that there were many kids his age who were just like him. Some felt inadequate, incomplete, inferior, and some just lacked any purpose in general. So I gave these boys that purpose, and I made them into the strong men that they always dreamed of being. And not just in this school. High schools and colleges all across America are doing the exact same thing we are doing, all thanks to my innovations.”

I was shocked by this revelation. This jock problem was happening at an even larger scale than I could’ve possibly imagined. Surely there had to have been hundreds of guys turned into jocks just like here at this school, perhaps even some of the ones that tried to oppose them like me. I realized how hopeless I felt.

“I know my research is unethical but I believe that what I am doing is right. But back to you, do you not feel at least a little envious of your brother?”

I looked over at Brad…why was I calling him Brad? I have to admit, I was always a little jealous of him. He always seemed to be the favorite child, and now that he’s been jocked and has joined the football team, he’s infinitely more popular than me. If I were just like him, then maybe…No. That’s what he wants me to think. But at the same time, I could imagine myself becoming as strong as him, becoming as popular as him.

And then I realized the futility of this decision. They were going to turn me into a jock anyways. But for some reason, I had warmed up to the idea, in a way that would’ve sickened me just an hour earlier. Maybe I was experiencing Stockholm Syndrome, or maybe I did feel envious of Brad this whole time just like how Coach Myers described.

“Coach can make you just like he made me. We’ll finally get along again, and we can bond better than we ever could before. What do you say bro?” Brad asked.

I looked at my brother, then around to the other jocks around me, then finally to Coach. If I said yes, then I would have a brother again. I’ll be more attractive and more popular and maybe I’ll even be happier this way. Maybe Charlie will want to go out with me. But that would mean erasing who I am to become yet another jock. That I would lose and all of this would be for nothing. Who am I kidding? I already lost. I was doomed to become a jock the moment I tried to intervene in their plans. But you know, maybe this isn’t so bad. I tried to imagine my jock life with a newfound sense of optimism.

“You’ll have to consent to joining the team before we can move forward,” Coach informed me.

“Enough with your monologue, I’ll do it,” I answered, with a sense of humiliation as I surrendered. However, there was a slight smirk on my face, either from embarrassment or from how absurd my situation really was.

“That took less time than I expected,” Coach responded. “The rest of you, resume practice drills. Braden, come with me.” I obliged, anticipating what the Coach had in store for me. I signed a form, put on some earbuds, and put the helmet on.

As the hypnotic video in front of me played, I slowly became entranced by the spiral that was sucking me into my new life as I felt parts of my mind become erased, including any part of me that still tried to resist this. “I wanted this,” I thought to myself as new thoughts and memories started to fill the gaps in my mind. It was like a computer deleting old files that weren’t important in order to make room for stuff that mattered way more. I always looked up to my brother Brad, as he was a year older than me. He was incredibly talented at football, so naturally, I followed in his footsteps. Being younger, I was less experienced than him, but he was a good role model and I aspired to match him as a player. He was like the touchdown in the endzone and I was at the 50 yard line to put it in better terms.

My body changed entirely. Every muscle in my body expanded, like I was being pumped full of air. My football uniform that was way too big at first, soon fit me like a glove. It was a little painful at first, but I soon felt a wave of euphoria rush over me as I became obsessed with my body, especially my new dick, which more than doubled in size to a massive 10 inches. I started to resemble the new Brad, with the same short buzzcut. Before we didn’t look much alike. Brad was always more on the chubby side and I was on the skinnier side. But now, we could almost pass as twins. You could still tell which one of us was the little brother though.

This is who I am. This is who I always was. I am a football jock. I started to love the idea of playing sports and working out, along with other things. Except I always did? Part of me remembered thinking the jocks were stupid, arrogant, and annoying brutes, but that’s wrong because all my friends are jocks and they are really cool, bro. Bro. Bro, bro, bro…I’m starting to like that word, dude. Eventually I woke up, without any knowledge of what had taken place today, reveling in my new changes.

“I take it you won’t be a problem anymore, kid?” Coach inquired.

“No Coach! I’m sorry for causing you trouble dude,” I answered. Part of me felt off, and I felt confused for a second. I wondered what got me in trouble, but I shrugged it off because I don’t think about that kind of stuff.

“I did keep some of your smarts, unlike the others, but you definitely won’t come off that way. Your grades were better than the rest and I figured it’d be a waste if they were to completely go away. How would you like to help me expand upon my research?”

“That’d be awesome, sir!” I answered. My new self couldn’t comprehend the irony that I would be directly helping Coach with the very schemes I was trying so hard to stop in the first place. But why would I ever want to put an end to the very thing that made me who I am now? I didn’t look or act the part, but I’m kinda smart I guess. I’m not a fucking nerd or a know-it-all though. Not that I really want to use my brain more than I have to except for counting calories and football plays. I was interested in turning more men into awesome jocks like me though. “Can I go back to practice?”

“Yeah, go meet up with the other boys. I’ll be out in a sec.”

I joined my fellow bros and we resumed practice. Playing football just felt natural to me. We held a party after the game on Friday to celebrate our win. We were on a huge winning streak. We hadn’t even lost once this season! At the party, Charlie asked me out, impressed with my masculine new look. Turns out he did like me back after all. He kissed me in the library after all, although I don’t remember why we were there in the first place. He was always kinda hot, so I said yes, and we quickly realized how much chemistry we had beyond being bros. We were soon the second couple on the team, the other being Jake and Zach, who were a year above us, who were just as cool. Nothing wrong with some bro on bro action after all.

Me and Brad had a bit of a fight a while ago, but we’re cool now. I’m even closer with my big bro than I had ever been before, especially now that we’re on the team together. I loved life with my bros and I knew my bros loved their lives too. After practice, I would stay after with Coach and Zach and we would look into ways to create more and even better jocks. I haven’t been filled in on the finer details yet, but I know that they have big plans not only for this school, but for other schools as well. I found this purpose along with playing football to be much more compelling to me than anything else. If there was a part of me that was upset about this life, it definitely wasn’t there anymore because I loved being a jock.

--Zach POV--

I spent the night at Jake’s place again. Today was a long day though. Between practice and all the stuff with Braden, I was exhausted. It did feel like everything was resolved though, and I felt satisfied knowing that our secrets were safe now. I laid in Jake’s bed and I talked with him.

“Another jock well done bro,” I said, as I wrapped my arms around and kissed my boyfriend.

“We were awesome today,” Jake responded. “I can tell that Braden is already loving his new jock body. Glad he could finally see the light, bro.”

“Can’t blame him. I have no regrets about anything though, even Braden. How about you bro?”

“Me neither. I love being a jock and I love making my bros into jocks too. I’m with you every step of the way, bro.”

“That’s my bro!” I rustled Jake’s hair before leaning in for a kiss. For the first time ever, I felt completely content with my life. I have Jake, Coach, and all my other bros to support me. I’m the captain and star quarterback of the football team and I carry us to victory every game. The jock life is perfect for me and for all my bros. If even Braden could see how awesome it was, I knew that anyone could if given the chance. I got hard as I imagined what it would be like if every guy at school was as strong and handsome as me. If everyone was a jock. With Jake on my side and everyone else, I knew we could take on anything, anyone. Maybe even the world. “We still have lots of work to do.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This is the end of this series for now, so thank you for reading it. I'm open to expanding upon it even more in the future if the demand is high enough and if I have ideas on where to take it. I also have a lot of other shorter transformation story ideas that I want to write eventually, so stay tuned.

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 1 month

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wibta if i refused to help my classmates going forward?

i am in university for a science degree. i have been struggling for almost my entire degree due to undiagnosed ADHD and autism, as well as my habit from grade school of working myself too hard. i went into burnout from 2020-2022 and failed most courses i took. i had to cut down on my work significantly so i could stay in university and finish my degree. it's been 5 years and i'm just over halfway finished. the end's not in sight yet, but it's getting there.

this semester, i'm taking two courses that i've struggled in previously and am retaking actually. the term will most likely be over once this is posted. one i've finished twice but didn't have a high enough grade to move forward (chemistry) and the other i've dropped 2 times before to avoid failing (calculus). the subject areas might give more context, and my chemistry course isn't introductory. they're also notoriously very difficult, and most people end up retaking this chemistry course several times. they're both needed for my degree and a similar degree. someone in both classes (2 different people) made group chats specifically so we could help each other. at first it was a very good idea, and i myself benefitted from them, managing to get a really high mark on a math assignment because of the group chat and sharing our work/processes.

this term is the one term we have a mid-semester break, and while the details are irrelevant here, i went away during this break, and i came back in a fairly poor mental state. i didn't want to share my work anymore, and said i was uncomfortable doing so. this got me mocked (i believe, but no one's commented on it or said anything to me about it) in my math class group chat when i asked for the notes after having to leave class early due to the noise. i have misophonia, and i was incredibly close to shouting "shut the fuck up" one say when they honestly just wouldn't stop talking. it's been a problem this term in this class where several groups in the class have been chatting amongst themselves during lecture. my friend (i think we're friends?) emailed our professor (i think i was named in the email), and he addressed the class about it, but as a whole, has told me directly that there wasn't much else he could do about it since they might be talking to each other to understand better.

at this point, there's only about 3 weeks left of classes and then finals, so it's not worth dropping out, especially since i don't think i'm in danger of failing. but that was all kind of just background info. it's been a rough semester for me.

in my chemistry class, we have weekly lab reports. they aren't huge, 10+ page reports, and i can usually do them in about 2-3 hours of work total. i usually work on them in small pieces throughout the week, so i can focus on other assignments as well as lectures. they're due at the beginning of lab, and we have lab on friday afternoons. this wouldn't be an issue if not for thursdays.

at the beginning of the semester, i made myself kinda known as Someone Who Has Answers. i like to help people when they're struggling, and i know that these are difficult classes, and i have past experience taking them with these instructors specifically, so i helped in any which way i could. after our mid-semester break, i was in no mood to help anyone. but on thursday evenings and friday mornings, i would get text messages from a few people asking me about the lab report. but not just a few messages. i would get asked on EVERY BIT of the lab report. i try to be patient, as i understand hidden struggles. but i was at the end of my rope. i never snapped, and i always tried to help them, but sometimes i was very frustrated because on thursdays, i have 2 classes (doesn't sound like a lot, but at my school, my lectures are 2-3 hours long, so it's about 5 hours total of lectures) at two different campuses, so i leave at about 7:30am and get home at about 5:30-6:00pm. it's my night to clean the kitchen as well, so my patience is very thin at the end of the day. i never agreed to help them, and they are texting me. i don't know how to tell them "i'm in no mood to help" but it made me so upset to the point that i was saying that next semester, i wouldn't give my number to anyone. i'm not a tutor, and i'm struggling to stay afloat myself in these classes. i don't have all of the answers, and tbh i'm not even confident on most of my answers. i've tried to make this clear, but they still come to me for help. next semester, i'm retaking ANOTHER course that i failed (not failed, but didn't get a high enough mark to move forward) and i honestly feel like a dick for not helping when i could and should help.

this is probably a nonissue tbh. i'm on the verge of dropping out myself because i took on too much this semester and this just kinda feels like it's all more than i can handle.

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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livwritesstuff · 3 months

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So you know how parents always have that *one* story about a time where their kid scared them beyond this universe — like their kid could be a daredevil and constantly trying their patience but this particular story is the most harrowing, scariest situation they’ve been in. (This may not be universal but I’m hoping I’m explaining it right lol)

What do you think would be Steve and Ed’s stories for each of the girls?

tw: hospitals, illness, car accidents, in general proceed w/caution if sensitive to children sustaining injuries/illnesses

When Moe was about six months old, she got sick – really sick, hospital-trip sick. All Steve really remembers is that one minute her appetite wasn’t what it usually was, and the next her temperature had spiked to 104 and something about her breathing was not normal and they were on their way to the ER.

They'd ended up staying for three days, Steve didn't sleep the entire time, and because it was before Moe's adoption was finalized, they had all kinds of DFS paperwork to fill out in addition to the mountain of documents the hospital had given them. Steve remembers having to coordinate with Ed dropping everything off at the DFS office and thinking for the first time ever in their years of fostering kids how stupid it was that he was expected to focus on following DFS procedure instead of being there for his baby girl.

The scariest moment with Hazel was the time they lost her.

They’d been at the New England Aquarium with all three girls on a Saturday afternoon – ridiculous, in both Steve and Eddie's opinion, and honestly they weren't even able to enjoy outings like these because they’re still in the stage where they spend the entire time anxiously keeping track of the girls (who were having the time of their lives, obviously – that's why they're suffering through it).

So when Steve did a headcount like he usually does every so often and came up with two, his heart flipped over. He checked again, and again only counted two.

Triple-checks. Two.

In real-time, they hadn't lost sight of Hazel for more than ten seconds, but it was the longest ten seconds Steve had ever lived by a mile, and he’d spent the whole time thinking that it had to be the worst-case for a situation like this because it was Hazel. If Moe or Robbie got separated from them, they would have no problem marching up to the first person in an NEA shirt they could find and demanding help finding their dads. Hazel, though, is quiet and shy and usually stuck to them like glue. She won’t talk to strangers in the best of moments, so there was no chance she’d find it in herself to try during a bad one.

Turns out, Hazel had been so mesmerized by the jellyfish that even after they all moved on to the next display, Hazel just had to turn back to get one more look, and Eddie had his head screwed on tight enough that day to think of checking there first.

Later, Steve reneged on their plan to take the girls to Boston Pride (which would have been in a few weeks) because it had been scary enough losing track of Hazel in an enclosed space where there were only so many places she could wander off to. The idea of it happening in the dead center of the city, with all those crowds of people, with infinite directions for her to go…no chance. They’d try again next year.

Between all three girls, the scariest moment by goddamn lightyears was Robbie.

When Robbie was fifteen – a high school freshman but placed in the senior-level band class – the school took their music classes (band, orchestra, chorus) to Disney World for the performing arts workshops they offer in the spring.

The student-adult ratio on trips like these is pretty terrible and, in Steve's opinion, there is too much unsupervised independent time for a group of high school students.

Way too much.

A few days into the trip, one kid – a senior with a fake ID who Robbie was friends with through band – managed to commandeer a car and convince a group of kids to blow off curfew and secretly explore the city.

Three hours and half a liquor-store’s worth of alcohol later, Steve got a call from one of the chaperones telling him that his fifteen-year-old was unresponsive in a hospital in Florida.

Planning their last family vacation had taken three entire months of planning and indecision and research.

It took less than five minutes for Steve to get flights booked for the next plane bound for Orlando.

“Maybe if she hadn’t gone on the trip in the first place…” Moe trailed off innocently as she watched her dads pack – she's anything but innocent though. Moe had been pissed to all hell that Robbie got to go to Disney World and she didn’t. She’d spent weeks trying to weasel her way onto the trip to no avail, and she’d been sulking the entire four days Robbie had been gone.

“Not another word,” Eddie warned her, his tone icier than perhaps he’s ever heard directed at one of his kids. Moe opens her mouth to retort, but he cuts her off, "So fuckin' serious, Moe. Not the time."

Robbie had been in pretty rough shape when they finally arrived which was horrible to see – especially for Steve, who had always connected the way Robbie was similar to Eddie with the way Eddie almost died, so seeing her unconscious in a hospital bed, light brown curls strewn out over the sterile-white sheets and tangled amongst all kinds of tubes and wires was pretty much a nightmare come to life.

He was actually thankful for Eddie’s threats to find the idiot driving the car and murder him because he seemed pretty serious about it and making sure he didn't do that gave Steve something to focus on other than counting the hours Robbie had been in the hospital all alone.

#not a happy one folks #liv’s steddie dads verse #steddie #steddie dads #steve harrington #eddie munson #tw: illness #tw: car accident #tw: hospital

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ecoamerica · 2 months

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youtube

Watch the 2024 American Climate Leadership Awards for High School Students now: https://youtu.be/5C-bb9PoRLc

The recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by student climate leaders! Join Aishah-Nyeta Brown & Jerome Foster II and be inspired by student climate leaders as we recognize the High School Student finalists. Watch now to find out which student received the $25,000 grand prize and top recognition!

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smartycvnt · 1 year

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Seasick

Pairing: Arthur Curry x Reader

Prompt: "I'm pregnant."

WC: 992

You stood on the beach watching as the sun rose in front of you. Arthur was supposed to have come and gotten you nearly an hour ago, but you didn't mind the moment to yourself. There was a lot going on in your head that you had to sort out. Today you had been promised that he wouldn't have any Aquaman duties. You were excited to have him all to yourself. It was hard not being able to venture down to Atlantis with him whenever he went, but you couldn't complain too much. You felt lucky enough that he had picked you over Mera. You felt even luckier that she seemed to not mind. She had been the one teaching you all about Atlantean culture because even if the people would never get to meet you, you were still their queen.

"Sorry that I'm late," Arthur apologized as he jogged through the sand to meet you. You smiled softly as he leaned down to press a kiss to your cheek. "Everything is squared away, and you are officially stuck with me for the next 48 hours."

"Two whole days, I'm impressed," you joked. Arthur put his arm around you and walked you back over to the docks where the houseboat was waiting. The two of you were going to head up to visit his parents, and you knew that you had to tell him what was going on with you before then. It wasn't often that his mom came to visit you, but the last time she had when he was away dealing with Atlantis drama, she had very quickly figured out that you were pregnant. You didn't want her to accidentally tell him, so you promised that the next time you had some time with Arthur, you'd tell him exactly what was going on.

You hadn't planned on it taking literal weeks for the two of you to get some time together, but you weren't complaining. Arthur almost always brought you up to Maine whenever the two of you had time together, and while it was nice, you weren't used to the climate. You were very much a southern girl. You had grown up on the South Carolina coast your entire life in a beach town. Arthur had quite literally washed up there a little over a couple years ago, which was when the two of you had started hooking up. He swore the two of you weren't officially together or anything up until about six months ago, and since then, he tried popping up every few days to see you.

"Shit," you swore as your stomach lurched. You hadn't eaten anything because you knew that morning sickness was a bitch. Arthur glanced over at you with a look of concern on his face. You had taken this trip with him so many times and never gotten seasick before. If you barfed now, he would absolutely know that something was up.

"Are you okay?" Arthur asked. He tried to seem nonchalant, but the man was not very good at being subtle. You grit your teeth and nodded, not trusting yourself to open your mouth. "You can go lay down if you aren't feeling well. I'll call up ahead and let my dad know, he can make some soup for you."

"I honestly don't think I can eat anything," you said. Everything you had eaten for the past week had come back up. You had tried eating things that you didn't usually to see if your regular diet was the problem, but it seemed that the baby inside of you didn't like anything. "Were you a picky eater as a kid?"

"Eh, I mean not any more than a normal kid I guess. I mostly ate a lot of fish, which makes sense. Kind of all they've got in the ocean," Arthur laughed. You pinched the bridge of your nose. Your parents had owned a seafood restaurant whenever you were younger, so you had very quickly gotten sick of the taste and smell of fish. If it wasn't for your love of the ocean, you would have moved to the desert or something as soon as you could. "Are you sure that you're okay? You look a little green."

"It's just seasickness," you told him. Arthur laughed at that, knowing it was a blatant lie. "Do you have any Sprite?"

"Um, you'll have to check the cooler. Are you sure there's not something else going on with you? You let Mera take you out on the jet ski without getting sick, so I doubt you're actually seasick. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were pregnant." Arthur meant it as a joke, but he hit it right on the nose.

"I am, uh, pregnant Arthur," you told him.

"What now?"

"I'm pregnant," you said. He was shocked into silence, which was something that you had never experienced before. Arthur didn't seem upset, but you could see the tears in the corners of his eyes. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Great, actually. This is just a lot to think about. How would you feel about moving up to Maine? I'd move down here for you, but I was just thinking that my mom would be less prone to show up out of nowhere if we were up there. People kind of have a tendency of freaking out when she washes up on the beach," Arthur said. You laughed a little, remembering the last few times she had just shown up outside of your condo building on the beach. You understood where Arthur got his thing for attention grabbing entrances from. "You're going to have a baby. We're gonna have parents."

"We are," you said, unable to keep the smile out of your voice. You had been sort of scared that Arthur wouldn't have time for you anymore because of the baby, but was definitely leaning into excitement about being a dad.

#arthur curry x reader #aquaman x reader #dceu x reader #dceu #aquaman #arthur curry #my writing

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be-my-ally · 1 year

Text

The first meeting, and other firsts.

An Empty Promises chapter! Crossposted on ao3.

Fic 1 references events that are technically sandwiched between two sections of this one but the main events there take place after this, and on the phone comes after both.

So this series is a little like my baby… and I’ve had this half-written for ~ six weeks while I became distracted with literally everything else. It’s entirely self-indulgent - just finally giving some backstory to fic 1 and on the phone. I have two later smutty, shorts in the works too - because, honestly, Elvis just constantly wants to spank reader (who is a whole 5/6 years younger than me so is ABSOLUTELY not an author insert, no way…) and uh, I really don’t have a problem with that.

pairing: fem!reader x elvis (1964-5)

warnings: 18+, slight innocence kink, little bit of daddy kink, oral (p + v receiving) ... elvis reads reader's diary.

wc: 11.6k

You’d noticed him hanging around the past couple of nights, although you’d done your best to ignore him. It was difficult. His characteristic pretty face and charm drawing you in. He’d barely been through the door when you’d recognised him. Recognition came and with it, the sudden spike of adrenaline and nerves that made you almost too anxious to acknowledge him. You’d barely just had the courage to wave hello the first time, pleased that he was seated far enough down the counter that he was Louise’s responsibility and not yours - you weren’t sure you’d have been able to get yourself together as quickly as she had. He’d stayed for a single cup of coffee, black - although the envious looks he’d given to the cream and sugar on the table made you suspect this was learned behaviour rather than a true preference, looking like perhaps he had just wanted a few private moments to himself, before leaving pretty quickly and quietly. You assumed that was the first and last time you’d get to see him up close. You’d lain awake that night, regretting everything, wondering what could have been - at the very least you could have had a signed napkin or something. He’d been right there, you’d been able to see the comb-marks in his hair, where the strands had been split, the tiniest hint of a lighter brown at his roots, you’d been able to see his eyelashes - fluttering in pleasure at the heat of his drink. You couldn’t deny you’d studied him, even if you hadn’t managed to bring yourself to talk to him. Somehow though it had worked to your advantage; it must have been part of the reason he came back so many times in the following week - that so little fuss was being made of him in your quiet little diner.

The second time he’d come in with a group - all men, that had burst through the doors loudly; you’d looked up to frown at them for making such a racket when you’d noticed him in the middle of the crush. He’d looked up at you and you’d smiled shyly, your knees wobbling less this second time. You’d still had to take a deep breath before coming around to the two booths they’d squished themselves into, building yourself up for the faux nonchalant air you hoped you could give off. You’d managed to make it through their order without embarrassing yourself, although you know you blushed when you overheard one of them asking if they should “take out that pretty waitress?” You were the only one still working out front. But whoever had said it never materialised at the counter - and they’d left as raucously as they’d arrived not long after.

The third time he was drawing attention to himself - not intentionally but he had come at a far busier time of the day than the strange hours he’d come in in the past and well, he was pretty conspicuous despite his clear efforts to look smaller. Still, he’d signed everything anyone thrust at him, and had seemingly happily chatted and flirted with the girls that flocked around him. You felt awkward that you had a desire to join the gaggle of girls surrounding him, embarrassed now that you’d seen him not once, not twice but three times, and never said a word directly to him, to go over and ask for something as trivial as his autograph. Louise had left a little over ten minutes ago though, and with her the other girls who had turned out to be her friends, and now he was alone and you could see his cup was empty. You took a deep breath before heading over with the coffee jug to offer him a refill.

“Uh, would you, sorry - hello, would, could I - would you like another refill?” You tentatively manage to spit out, your hand shaking slightly. You pointedly don’t look directly at his face, staring at the cup on the table. He sounds amused when he replies;

“That’s mighty kind of you honey, thanks.” You go to pour, immediately splashing some on the table - although thankfully not on him. Although that may have been more becuase of his quick reflexes shifting his legs quickly out of the way.

“Oh, no, oh - gosh, sorry, let me just grab a -” You wipe it up with a napkin as you cringe, but when you start to walk away he grabs your wrist before it could leave the table.

“Could you - stay a while? I’ve been trying to catch you alone.” It’s the first time you look at him properly, and your breath catches in your throat, he’s so pretty. It’s startling to see him up close in person, so used to seeing it through the glass of a television screen or inanimate on a record sleeve - to watch his face change, his nostrils move as he breathes, his hair shift as his head moves is as intimate a thing as you could think. As you study him you notice that maybe the difference is in the makeup; the ability to see his pores, or the softer hair, falling into his face but either way he looks younger than he usually does. But at the same time, more solid, less transient and three dimensional - you can’t imagine refusing him a thing, especially with his eyes staring into yours, so much bluer than they looked on the screen. You nod, and he gestures to the seat in front of him.

“If - if someone comes in I’ll have to go - I can’t, I’m saving for college -” You look around nervously as you take the seat, but there’s just an elderly couple in the back corner booth and a workman on a stool - no-one who needed assistance or who hadn’t been served. He nods, agreeing, as if he could possibly understand the desire to keep a job out of necessity. So you sit there and talk. He’s polite, in that wonderfully southern way, but you can tell from the way his eyes glint, and the corners of his mouth turn that he’s also got a mischievous side that he’s trying to repress - that he’s trying to impress you somehow. It makes you squirm in the booth seat - how on earth could Elvis - Elvis who a few months ago was rumoured to be dating Ann-Margret be possibly trying to impress you? You don’t even know how he’s been managing to sneak around, be so on his own, how there’s not bodyguards and press. You’re a little town just outside of Memphis so it wasn’t like it was far for him to travel for a hint of anonymity, if that was what he was trying to achieve. But why he’s even in town at the moment is a mystery to you - shouldn’t he be off in Hollywood filming, or doing press? Why would a man of his age and position would even be interested in you. Sure, you’ve got enough self-awareness to know you’re okay looking - with enough make-up and your hair done you’re usually pretty satisfied; but you’re not California - not movie-star cute! Still, somehow he makes you forget your self-doubt when you’re lost watching his lips move as he talks. He looks you directly in the eyes, so hard that you’re always the first to look away, it’s difficult to handle the intensity of his gaze. But he’s chatty and kind, and doesn’t wholly monopolise the conversation - although you wouldn’t mind if he had; his life endlessly more entertaining than your own. So, despite your slight discomfort and nerves you sit there, and talk, and your celebrity crush rapidly blossoms into a real life crush right in your chest in real-time.

A week later, you’re going mad - falling hard. Even though you berate yourself for it - for getting ahead of yourself, for falling so easily - for so many reasons. You’ve seen him twice more at the diner, and by sitting elsewhere from the other boys, and ensuring he speaks only to you, he’s made it pretty clear you were his main purpose in coming. You would regret the fact that he’s not been coming in everyday, cursing whatever kept him, if it wasn’t for the fact that you’ve spoken to him on the phone every night. Sometimes twice a day, often little inane chats that mean nothing, but somehow everything.

You’ve never had a boy who talked to you like he did, like you were his friend. You wonder if you should find it weirder, that he likes this kind of talk, the kind of talk that you know how to do. You’ve always found boys so different - you’ve never known what to say to them. Found it awkward to know what to say without being accused of flirting, or alternatively being too aloof. But with him it’s easy - you chat about your days, he asks you what you’re wearing, what you’re thinking - he asks you about your friends, the daily dramas and who’s seeing who now; despite only knowing of them for such a short time he always seems interested in what you have to say. It’s novel in so many ways, to have someone care what you have to say, your parents were supportive but dismissive and you often felt on the fringes with your friends. Although you notice, but don’t think too much of it - his voice distraction enough, that whenever you try to bring up anything of a more serious nature, perhaps something you’d read in the paper he always tells you the same thing;

“That’s not for you to worry about darlin’.” So you don’t, in fact you stop worrying about a lot. He seems to be taking care of a lot of things for you.

He’s charming and handsome and flashy - famous, in a way that you struggle to wrap your head around. Wealthy in a way you can barely comprehend - he’s already sent you flowers and expensive dresses and had, just yesterday, palmed you a little box with a wonderfully thin, gold chain and heart pendant. Jewellery - jewellery for a girl he’s just met. And you know you’re getting ahead of yourself, you’ve only really known him a week or so but suddenly you find yourself hoping when he calls you doll, or baby or little girl that you’re his doll or baby, or that actually you’d be his girl. You know its too early and if she wasn’t already then your momma would be worried about you catching feelings this fast but you just can’t help it he’s just so, so… everything.

You’re leaving work, slightly later than usual and you hurry across the dark parking lot towards the sidewalk that would lead you to the short walk home. But when you’re halfway across you suddenly notice that he’s waiting for you, leaning against his car. He’s dressed up in black on black, his hair slicked up and back, and he looks so sleek and suave and just plain attractive that your tummy flips when you see him. You do a double take, not expecting to see him stood there so casually and you rush over to him. He kisses you on the cheek in greeting, like an adult - which, you think, you are but it still felt like you were playing grown-up most of the time, and you can feel the blush rising on your cheeks where his lips had touched you. His light hold on your waist. It’s the first time he’d done anything quite so obviously romantic. He opens the door and gestures you in,

“Thought I’d take you out?” You agree easily, it’s not too late that you’ll be expected home and even if you were there was no way you’d turn down this chance. But as you sit down and he goes around the car the thought pops into your head that maybe he didn’t mean any of it romantically, after all, why would he want to take you out? You’re probably misinterpreting everything. You silently panic, until, as he starts to drive away he glances over and grins at you; one of those grins where he looks more boy-next-door than movie star, and reaches over to pick up your hand, holding it in his and placing them, entwined, on his thigh. It’s that exact moment, as you stare at your joined hands, that you know you’re ruined. You’d give him whatever he wanted if it meant he’d continue to grip your hand in his like that. That there’s no coming back from this now - even if he only means to play with you or toy with your feelings you’d allow him, that if he wanted you to be his girl at home, like you’d heard he’d had - or one of his easy girlfriends, you’d agree. You’d agree to whatever tiny scrap of attention he would bestow on you that might recapture the tummy-flipping excitement, the immense happiness of having his attention on you.

He takes you out for a simple dinner, you’re actually a little surprised, he’d assured you that your dress was fine (although you were thankful you’d changed out of your uniform) so you weren’t expecting too much, but you were still surprised it wasn’t anywhere fancy but just simple good food, that he’d clearly enjoyed with gusto and a Pepsi to wash it down with. But, as you’re growing to know and understand him a little better you’re starting to realise that often it’s the simple things that remind him of home that he likes the most - he’d almost cried at a slice of pie in the diner, saying it tasted just like one that his mother liked. And now, dinner over, you sit there in a dress he’d sent you only a day before, that you’d decided against saving for best when another had arrived the next day, slightly lost for words. What do you even have to say to him that could interest him? He teases you about this, clearly understanding or simply used to girls going silent around him;

“What’s keepin’ you so quiet tonight? You just too busy thinking how cute I am?” He grins at you like a little boy, and you can’t help but return it. You relax, teasing him back,

“No - just thinking about how I should shimmy out the window in the bathroom.” He looks shocked for a a second before breaking out into infectious laughter; clearly not expecting the response. When you both stop giggling he puts his hand on the table, palm up, and waits for you to put your hand in his. When you do, he clasps it tight, turning it over, and examining your hand - he tuts at the bitten nails, but flips it back over without mentioning them further. He holds onto you when he speaks next.

“I want to make it really clear baby, in case I haven’t been so far. I don’t want you to misunderstand. I, -uh, I really think I could like you a lot, and I wanna get to know you more. I think I already do, doll, but I - I really think I’m already fallin’ for you a little. I’d like to do this again - take you out, and the like?” You hesitate he’s so overwhelmingly in a different world to you that you can’t imagine why he’s suggesting this - as much as you want to agree. You worry your lip as you think of what to say, his eyes boring into you.

“You won’t… you won’t be ashamed to be seen out with me? I’m a waitress Elvis, and I’m not even in college yet - I’m not like those other girls, I’m not an actress or anything; and I don’t wanna be.” He shakes his head,

“I’ve had them other girls honey, and I want you.” You look down at your still intertwined hands and you don’t know why you’re acting like you don’t know how you’re going to respond.

“Sure Elvis, sure, we can - give getting to know each other a go.” You want to question him, ask him about the other girls you hear he has, hasn’t he brought that girl over from Germany? But you can’t bring yourself to mention it, slightly worried that it might remind him of something, make him rescind the offer.

He wordlessly picks up the check, leaving ample cash although he made you simultaneously frown and laugh at the absurdity of it all when he confesses that he had no idea how much he left and that he doesn’t usually carry his own cash so he has no idea how much anything costs anymore. He opens the door for you as you leave, keeping his hand on the small of your back the whole time, and asks

“So what’dya say? Wanna come back with me - be my girl? Wanna take you home?” You stop, in the parking lot. That wasn’t quite what you’d discussed before.

“You want me to be your girl El? You sure?” He nods, hurrying back to grip your hands in both of his, looking at you deep into your eyes, pleading with you.

“Want you to be all mine baby, want you to come back to Graceland with me, we can play house honey, we can - look, I just - I take care of what’s mine and I just want you… want to treat you real nice. You won’t have to save or work anymore - you can, you can just do whatever you like.” It’s far more than you’d considered possible, but his blue eyes were so convincing and a tiny furrow forms in his brow that you just want to smooth out by any means possible. You almost don’t consider the implications of what he’s offering - far more than his girl, he’s offering you everything.

“Well, ok then.” He pauses with his hand on your car door handle, still holding one of your hands,

“Well, you don’t sound too enthus’astic ‘bout it.” He doesn’t sound pleased, and it causes butterflies to immediately form in your stomach worried that you’ve upset him - you’re desperate to reassure him - to please him again and you shake your head,

“No, no, I am, I promise - it’s beyond my wildest dreams, but uh- it’s just, you’re gonna have to convince my daddy yet first. He still wants me to go ta college - you know, make a real woman of myself, and I don’t see how that fits.” He smiles with utter confidence;

“Don’t-ya go worrying that little head of yours on that, I’ll deal with all that when it comes round to it.” He kisses your knuckles, before opening the door and pushing you in, walking around to the other side. You’d noticed before that he liked to touch you - it seemed to be his way, indiscriminately brushing his fingers over whatever he could reach. But now that you’d given him some form of permission his hand doesn’t leave your thigh the whole drive home, except for a moment when he catches your hand again, bringing it to his lips to press a kiss against your knuckles before bringing them together onto his thigh again. Much the same as the journey there.

You’ve never had this casual closeness with a boy before. Your tummy is flipping nervously the whole drive home - you can tell it’s entirely normal to him, and you don’t want to give off the impression that you aren’t also used to it. It feels grown-up, adult, in the same way that his kisses on your cheek hello make you feel mature despite your age. You don’t realise he can tell this, in the shifting of your legs beside him, the way that you hold his hand a little too tight. And you also can’t tell that he likes this, but he does. He pulls up, half a block away from your house.

“Don’t want the neighbours peepin’ baby, or your Pa comin’ out here with a shotgun.” He offers as an explanation when you look over at him puzzled. You wonder what on earth for, when he’s leaning an arm over the back of the seat, and wrapping it around you, pulling you in closer. Your thigh starting to overlap his. He looks down at you, at your lips, and you look back at his, nervous all of a sudden.

“Are you gonna, you gonna kiss me Elvis?” You whisper, nervously. He nods,

“If,” he rubs his neck a little bashfully, “If that’s alright with you, honey, I sure would like to.” You rush out an agreement, curling into his hold. He presses a hand to cup your chin, fingers brushing your neck, and brings your heads closer together. He smiles when you’re close and you’re almost giddy with excitement - you still can’t believe you’re about to kiss Elvis, and you’re trying not to think too hard about it, or worry yourself, but he grasps hold of you, in complete control, and suddenly you’re utterly confident that the situation - that you are in safe hands. When your lips finally do touch it’s not like a kiss you’ve ever had before, although you’d only had two, but in comparison it’s not at all like the wet slimy kiss of Trevor or the tentative pecks of Bobby - it’s soft but unyielding and damp but not wet. It’s how you think it should feel, being kissed. You imagine it’s how champagne feels, the fizz building up in you. It makes you want to get up on the seat, kneel closer, as close as possible, it makes you feel alive. Your eyes close and you’re lost in the sensations as you contemplate who it is you are kissing, and consider how he got so good at it. He’s a gentleman, not forcing anything into or on you, just going with what you’re signalling. It makes you squirm in your seat against him, tingles being sent from your chest to your stomach. He leaves you chasing him, breathing heavily still and leaning across the front seat, when he pulls back. He presses a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth before leaning back again. You sit like that for a few minutes, his arm still wrapped around you, leaning against his chest. You would have expected your mind to be racing, but strangely you’re calm, and can’t think of much beyond how much you enjoyed that, how much you can’t wait to do it again. After a little while he shifts you slightly, although his arm remains wrapped around yours and he wordlessly puts the car back into drive, coasting down to to pull up to your house. He gets out when you arrive, rushing around to open your door for you, and you pretend to be calm about it but inside you’re screaming, “Oh god, he kisses like that and he’s still such a gentleman - such a nice boy.” He presses a kiss to your cheek before sending you off to the front door,

“Next time I come through - I’ll come in baby, wanna see your little room, but for now I’ll call ya honey,” You nod, looking back at him sliding into the car again,

“You promise El?” He looks back at you through the open window, holding his fingers up in a scout salute,

“I swear it baby, I’ll give you a call tomorrow.”

By the time you collapse into bed, your mind alight with the events of the evening, you still can’t quite believe it. You look around the room - trying to picture Elvis stood there, it’s difficult to picture him amongst your school awards still on the wall. Or laying on your bed - your stuffed animals dotted around. Still, you think as you snuggle down into your comforter, soon you won’t need to imagine - he’d promised you.

——

It’s just barely a week later, and you’re having a rare few days off from the diner while they were closed for renovations - a fact you were particularly happy about when you received a phone call from Elvis letting you know he was ten minutes away and asking if you were alone. You had of course immediately agreed, although afterwards panicked in having such little time to prepare, thankful that your mother had gone to visit her sister today while your father was at work.

You rush to open the door when you hear him knock, thankful that he’d rang ahead to warn you that he was passing by and that you’d had the small chance to tidy up a little, and freshen yourself up even if it was in a hurry. You couldn’t help but just stand there when you opened it, still in shock at seeing Elvis stood there on your doorstep - tight trousers and short sleeve blue shirt slightly open, looking like he’d just stepped off of a film set. He lets you gawp for a second, face filling with mirth before interjecting a moment later -

“Well…, aren’t ya gonna invite me in?” You stared, but nodded and you open the door all the way but before you can take a step back he was squeezing past you, apologising as he brushed against you as he walked in. You peer out of the door before you shut it tightly - trying to make sure no neighbours had been watching him come in, unaccompanied, into your house when they surely knew your parents would be out. When you turn around you catch him glancing around your entrance way, peering his head through the archways into the kitchen and living room and he nods approvingly,

“Nice little place you got here doll.” You smile, pleased that he approves but also slightly embarrassed at his qualifier - you know it’s small, nothing special, your parents never had much money to spare although you were always treated well.

“Oh well, I know it’s not like - like where you live but …” He interrupts you before you can go any further, shaking his head.

“Oh no, no, honey. You misunnerstand me - up til a couple’a years ago I’d dream about a lil house like this one - we never had much either.”

You smile back at his bashful expression. “Oh well, then. Glad you like it!” You do a little curtsey, and then immediately inwardly cringe. Why on earth did you just bob like that. He smiles at you, as if you’ve somehow just endeared yourself to him further but then glances up at the stairs,

“So, uh, you gonna show me your room?” He nods his head at the stairs and you giggle back at him, teasing him.

“My! How forward you are Mr Presley. Wanting to see a girl’s room before you’ve even taken her on a second date!” He winks at you, before taking the stairs two at a time, his forearms flexing as he grips the handrail. You’re not even wholly sure what is so attractive about it but you can’t resist simply watching the back of him, trousers and shirt tight on his skin, as he runs up.

“Yep! That’s me, now you gonna make me guess or you coming up too?” You laugh, following him up the stairs - suddenly nervous about its girlish decoration; you’re an adult (although admittedly, only just) but you take comfort in the familiarity of your childhood room, the same patch of stain from the nail varnish you spilt when you were thirteen, the marks on the doorjamb tracking your height, the familiar bed linen - a mismatched selection from all your major life stages, one pillowcase from a set when you were seven, another from when you were twelve, underneath your newest ‘grown-up’ set. The quilt your mother made you atop it all. You rush ahead of him to nervously lead him to the door and turn back to apologise about the childish decor only to flush, watching him inspect the wooden letters on your door - oh god, how embarrassing - you start to stutter out an explanation,

“Oh gosh, they’ve been there so long I forget they’re there - I don’t know why we even bothered with them, there’s only one of …” but your apologies falter on your lips as you watch him trace them almost reverently.

“I like ‘em baby - ’s cute, lets everyone know where you are. Could have found your door all on my own.” He turns his attention back to you and the room and you watch him take it all in. He glances over at your bookshelves, school books still stacked in them, and over at your bed with the little painted daisies on the wooden frame, the pile of teddy bears at the foot. He sneaks a peek over at your dresser and you follow his eyes where you see a scrap of white hanging half out of the drawer, your own eyes widen and you rush to close it with faux nonchalance from a knock with your hip.

He smirks watching you, but ignores it and you watch him go to take a closer look at your desk. You perch on the bed, waiting for him to have looked his fill and turn his attention from the room to you, but he’s distracted by something on your desk. He picks up a leaf of writing paper from where you’d left it out - to dry - your daddy won’t buy you the fancy paper with the designs already on it just to send to your friends who live right around the corner so you paint them on yourself; little trailing leaves and flowers on the borders. You freeze as he stares, examining your doodles with a little furrow in his brow - he can’t possibly remember.

“Say…doll, haven’t I received a letter like this?” Surely not. You had hoped when you’d sent it he would read them but you hadn’t really expected him to - fully assuming most fan letters would be tossed out pretty much as soon as they were received. You certainly never would have expected him to remember a letter that if you remember rightly yourself was sent over a year ago. You stutter out a response,

“Oh, oh, no, no. I think you must be mistaken, no, no I would nev-“ He interrupts you, completely ignoring your protestations.

“Yeah, yeah I remember, wasn’t it something like,” He puts on a high-pitched voice in an attempt at imitating you, “My mama won’t let me play your records anymore, says you’re a … what was it, a bad influence maybe?” He shrugs, “Seems to be most of the time anyway.” He laughs and then continues, gesturing with his hands, pacing in front of you “ ’S all coming back to me now, didn’t it go ‘but, when they leave I always put you back on the player, I just can’t help myself - your voice makes me feel things, I tingle.’ ”He returns to his normal voice again, “Weren’t it somethin’ like that?” You cringe away from his laughing eyes, you can only think to protest it but you know as soon as you open your mouth you’ll give it away but you try to do the best you can,

“Wow - I don’t think that was me, but do you really remember so many?” He laughs at your attempt, shaking his head.

“Yeah honey, I remember all the real cute ones doll. especially ones that say ‘sometimes I touch myself and think of you!’ Lord! What would your mama think of that!” You squirm, mortified.

“Oh no, no I really think you must be mistaken!” He smirks at you. Putting the sheet of paper back down - he stalks towards you and crowds you on the bed. You lean back and he follows, placing his body almost entirely over you, forcing you to lie almost completely back. You think he’s about to kiss you and your eyes fall shut in anticipation only to feel him move away a moment later - the pillow moving behind you causing your head to slip lower.

“Well - let’s see shall we?” You blink your eyes open and they immediately widen as you see what he’s holding - the diary from under your pillow. You sit up, reaching out for it.

“Oh no! Elvis! No - no, give it back!” He holds it above your head laughing as he pushes you back, keeping it out of your arms reach the whole time.

“Oh, no, no no.” He’s laughing at your struggles, “Gotta check my sources! See if you’re lyin’ to me little girl. One of these days you girls will find a different hiding place, gotta make the most of it.” He manages to grab hold of your wrist holding it across your body, catching the other between the two of you - pinning you against him - his chest on your back, and holding you with ease. He flicks the book open as you cringe against him. As if it couldn’t get any worse it immediately opens to a page addressed not, as you normally did, to ‘dear diary’ but to one of a few that you’d written ‘dear Elvis,’ across the top. You moan as you can feel the delight radiating off of him.

“Now then - looks like we won’t have to search very hard! Ooh hoo hoo!” he crows at you - “Oh my!” he fakes outrage, humming as he reads the page - you hope against hope it’s the one where you explain that you’d snuck out to see a film of his your mother had banned you from, and not a different particularly memorable entry.

“No way! Elvis - this ain’t funny no more! You gotta, gotta let go of me. Give me the damn book back!” He laughs at you,

“Now, now don’t you be getting too big for your britches little girl, I ain’t afraid to soap that mouth out.” He tickles your side and you giggle, although you feel a sudden surge of heat run through you, as you finally manage to break free. “No, no, where’dya think you’re going.” He sits on the bed patting his thigh and grabbing your wrist again pulling you around. “Back here on daddy’s knee, gonna read you a little story.” You squirm, but nonetheless sit where you’re told. You can’t deny, despite your mild embarrassment, that you’re enjoying yourself.

“Now it goes something like this - ‘Dear Elvis, Today was a rough day at school, Susie and Bryce started going steady and she told me she let him touch her in his car last night! Even though she knows I liked Bryce last year!’ I never will understand why girls get so caught up in liking someone who someone else once liked - why does it matter? Anyway, ‘I worry sometimes that I’ll never find someone who wants to go steady with me. I’m just not pretty enough, or tall enough. Or maybe it’s just because everyone knows I’m going to college.’”

You cringe at his reading out of your inane chatter, and you’re pleased when he hums and seems to be skipping along the page - hoping against hope he was growing bored. But you can feel his sudden smugness, and you just know that written on the page is not a story about you sneaking out to go and see Viva Las Vegas.

“Oooh, here’s where it gets good little, ‘This evening I went around to Natalie’s place - her parents were out, and she put on your new single, she was trying to convince me that the Beatles were so much better, but I think we’re just gonna have to disagree - they’re not even attractive.’ Well darling, at least I’ve got that going for me.” He laughs. “ ‘The thing is though, on the single there’s another song that I’ve heard before, but I don’t think I’d noticed the end - you make all these noises and I don’t really understand what happened but after I got home my panties were so damp through that I had to change them! Just from your voice!’ You start to squirm again, knowing what he’s about to read,

“Elvis - I really think, this is enough now - this is private, I don’t -” He just talks louder over you though,

“ ‘I’m still really wet, in fact, but that’s probably more to do with the fact that I couldn’t help but touch myself. Even though I heard the pastor say it’s a sin.’” His voice is dipping lower as he talks and his hand is brushing your upper thigh close to where you can feel the heat rising from within you, both from a hint of shame but mostly from arousal. His voice is deep and low in his chest and it hits you while you sit there that you’re on Elvis’ lap which makes you squirm all by itself.

He hushes you, “Shh, darling, not done yet, hold still.” And he holds you by his grip on your waist, fingertips gently stroking your side. You can feel his own heat burning against your leg, and you suddenly realise that’s his penis. A man’s cock growing against your own warm heat. You’re not as innocent as you were in that entry a year ago, but you’re not experienced yourself at all and pretty much all of your knowledge is secondhand from your girlfriend’s and their older sisters. You wriggle again, “Now, now let me finish.” He coughs dramatically, flicking the pages out as you whine.

“ ‘Sometimes I touch myself and I slip a finger in, I know I’m not supposed to but I just can’t help myself just thinking of you - of what you could do to me, god I’d do anything to be touched by you, just once.’ ” He skims the rest of the page, and softly closes the book, “Well baby, how does it feel to be touched by me?” His hands rub up your thighs and your eyes slip closed in pleasure as he watches your reaction, nudging them so far up that he’s almost brushing your panties. Your tummy flips, almost on the verge of being nauseous, as you try to catalogue the feelings. He removes his hands and you open your eyes catching your breath, but then he’s leaning back and pulling you down with him. He kisses you, in a way that you’ve never been kissed before, all tongue and teeth.

Then, he starts to kiss down your neck. You’ve never thought of any part of you as super sensitive but suddenly it feels like all your nerve endings are alight, feeling sparks as his lips trail down to your collarbone. You wiggle against him, feeling his large hand span across your back, fingertips pressing in as you push closer to where his leg has slipped between yours. Unable to stop yourself grinding against him a little bit. Your dress catches slightly and it means that for a brief moment the only thing between your warm wetness and his trouser leg are your thin cotton panties and you can feel the rough fabric rub against you, an involuntary moan escaping you.

“Baby, you gettin’ that feelin’ again?” You nod frantically, and he laughs - “Well,” he looks over at the alarm clock on your bedside table, “I don’t reckon we’ve got time to do anything about it now - not got time for you to finish - not before your parents get home.” You stare at him, blinking owlishly, you know, you know how babies are made, you’re not stupid, know that men can do things about it but -

“What…What do you mean? You can…do things about it? I can… finish?” He groans, his head falling back against the pillows.

“Oh!” He groans again, “Lord help me - yeah baby, yeah you can - can make you feel real good; you never? When you told me you touched yourself - it never felt… better?” You shake your head at him,

“I never got very far - didn’t have a clue what I should be doing and it made me awful hot and sweaty, and and it felt terribly tight and I wasn’t sure if I was meant to be and my parents are only the other side of this wall.” He moans so hard it’s almost a keen, swearing;

“Oh God. Oh goddamn. I swear, we haven’t got time now, really don’t have time but I’ll see you real soon, come back over when your mama and papa are home, gotta few things to discuss with them, then when I’ve got you all to myself I’ll teach you. Show you how you do it.” You immediately brighten up, forgetting your embarrassment in your excitement.

“Oh would you! I thought there must be something to it, but maybe it was just - just something some people did and some didn’t. ” You lean back down, catching his lips again. But then you pause suddenly, your insides twisting for a different reason, “Um, but Elvis, I don’t - don’t want you to get uh expectations or be dis’pointed, I’m not, not sure if I’m - I’m not sure I’m ready for, for sex. I’m not, not sure I wanna before, before I get hitched.” He looks in your eyes for a second before nodding,

“No darling, I know. Don’t you worry about it, that’s good, little one, you’re such a good girl for me - just gonna wait until the time is right huh, daddy’ll know when that is sweetheart, don’t you worry about that at all.” You can tell, looking straight into his eyes, that he’s being sincere and something in you relaxes. He pulls you back in for a slightly more chaste kiss, moving his thigh just enough to resettle the pressure and cause you to rut against him again. He lets you rub against him again for a moment before sitting up and pulling away.

“Now baby,” he starts with a plea in his voice, “how’s about you let me have a little somethin’ - just to …uh tide me over in the meanwhile?” You furrow your brow, unsure what you have to offer him,

“Well sure, maybe, I mean I don’t have -“ He jumps in before you can say anything else, interrupting you and talking fast like he’d been planning his moment on when to ask for this thing - like it was something he’d been thinking a while. Like a child sat on Santa’s knee, desperate to convey their desires.

“Could I have whatever it was peeking out of your drawer earlier?” You flush bright red from the chest up, surely he knows -

“Elvis! Those - those were my, my panties!” He grins wolfishly, mischievously at you,

“Well I know that doll, why’d you think I want ‘em?” You stand up to go and get them, although you still can’t imagine why on earth he’d want them.

“Here ya are - they’re not. Not special or nothing - but sure. I suppose.” He glows at you, and you’re still embarrassed but can’t help beaming back at him, watching him tuck them securely in his pant pocket. He stands up, looking over at the clock again.

“Really gotta go now honey,” You nod back at him a little sadly and start to head down the stairs with him. At the threshold to the front door he pushes a hand against it, preventing you from opening it for a moment and instead curls a hand around your waist, pulling you towards him again. You look up at him biting your lip a little, he pulls it from your mouth and keeps a hold of it with two fingers,

“You behave now ’til I see you again, alright baby?” He looks sternly at you, but his eyes are bright, playful, and although you can’t even imagine what he thinks counts as misbehaviour nor how on earth he would know anyhow but still you nod;

“Of course!” He leans down to you - far more chastely than before, just a simple press of his lips on yours.

“I’ll call you tomorrow.” You nod again, and he leaves. You breath a sigh of relief as you close the door behind him, watching him hop into his, oh gosh, wow, totally inconspicuous, bright Cadillac all you can think is god, you can’t wait to put this in your diary.

——

The night you moved into Graceland was nerve-wracking. It had been scary enough to be introduced to his father, to his grandmother, but you were also terrified for other reasons. You knew that he hadn’t pressured you before but surely he’d want something in return for having you in his house. For keeping you. But you were wrong again. You’d gone to bed that night, anxiously peering at his ludicrously decorated bedroom when he’d led you in, and he’d tucked you in and pulled you into his arms with nothing more than a chaste kiss on the forehead. Since that first day, he touches you all the time, so physically affectionate that even though you knew it was genuine it felt like he was going out of his way for some reason. Just so that he might brush against you, or have to place his hands on your waist and move you. Anywhere you were sat, he or you would be practically on top of the other, his hand on your thigh or your hand being placed on his. He holds you, all night long, and it’s only the second night when you anxiously kiss him, desperate to at least make-out like you had been doing back home. He allows it, but pushes you away when you reach for anything further, tucking your hands into one of his and pulling you close, lulling you to sleep with your head close to his heartbeat.

The end of that first week was memorable for several reasons. The first, and the cause for the rest of them, was that he’d thrown the first party since you’d been at Graceland. You’d enjoyed yourself immensely - getting dressed up with him - he’d even helped you with your makeup, steady hand tracing your eyeliner. And the night itself had been magical, stuck by his side as he effectively showed you off - dancing together and meeting his friends. He’d been roped into singing and his clear enjoyment of the night had only increased your own. The second reason you found it memorable was that before the party you’d opened the wardrobe in your room and discovered an entire rail of new dresses, all perfectly sized to your exact measurements and style. The third was Elvis slightly tipsy (despite him not allowing you to have more than a sip) or perhaps just high off a good night, clutching you to him, your back to his chest and whispering in your ear;

“You just gotta, gotta say no if you don’t wanna, darling. Not gonna push you - ‘m not like that I promise.” He punctuated his point with a hand rubbing over your stomach, gently, soothingly. You’d stilled at his words, and he’d followed it up with, “Wanna…go upstairs? Let me teach you a few things?” You’d paused in your turning around, and he’d moved his head closer to yours, his lips practically touching your ears. He’d kissed the patch of skin just below as he’d continued; “Be my good girl? Let me show you how?” He’d brushed his other hand down your arm, gently, and you’d been pulling away and up the stairs before he could say goodnight to the others.

Which took you to now, stood in the middle of the bedroom, uncertain really as to what you should be doing. Should you get undressed? Take off your shoes at least? A moment later he’s entering himself, and shuts the door behind himself before striding over to you, capturing your mouth with his. His hands brush against you, but seem to gently hover, and it’s not until you make a little whine does he press them against you, holding you close with a hand on your back, the other coming to cup your cheek and chin. His tongue slips into yours, and you moan as you come up onto your tiptoes, desperate to stay as close to him as possible. He bends further, kissing your cheek and down your neck, sucking down when he reaches your exposed collarbone. You lean into him even further and he wraps both arms around your middle lifting you up, and carrying you over to the bed, even as his head was still buried in the crook of your neck. You can feel the skin rising, burning and stinging as he bites down, leaving a purple bruise where he had been, feel his soft, gentle tongue lapping at it and easing the sting as you let out tiny noises of pain and pleasure.

He puts you down, laying you back, and one of his hands comes around to your waist, stroking across your stomach. It feels like his fingers are burning through your dress, and his fingers - though slender and delicate when you see them on a steering wheel or holding one of his cigarillos, feel huge and heavy as they span your tummy. He kisses you again and you arch into him, and when he pulls back his lips are wet and redder than usual, plump and pillowy soft. Yours feel bitten and sore, tender in the best way. He sits up, pulling his hand out from underneath you, and you gaze up at him. He groans as he looks back at you,

“Oh lord, sweetheart, don’t look at me like that.” You raise onto your elbows,

“Like what?” He doesn’t reply, but looks away and takes a breath, when he turns back to you his eyes are bright with playfulness.

“Right, dolly, time to let daddy play with you,” You don’t know why that flips your tummy, if it’s his use of ‘daddy’ in this context, or ‘play’ or even him calling you not just a doll, but a dolly. But it does. He pulls you up, and turns you, deft fingers unbuttoning the back of your dress’ bodice as he does so, leaning down to press precious little kisses - no more than gentle touches of his lips - down your back when he exposes each tiny sliver of skin. He reaches the skirt, unhooking the button and lowering the zip at the waistband, allowing it to fall open and he eases the little straps off your shoulders. The dress falls to the floor, and you step out of it, you’re immediately self-conscious stood there in just your slip, in its almost sheer silkiness, but its not long before he’s hooking his fingers into the hem, and pulling it up and over your head. He stares for a moment, at you stand there in just your soft cotton bra and panties and you wrap an arm around your middle. He frowns,

“Don’t, don’t hide from me. Just let me look at you.” You blink at him, lowering your arm although a blush rises up from your chest.

“ ’S emnbarassin’ E,” He shakes his head at you, tsking as he does.

“Nothing embarrassing about it baby, letting your daddy look at you like such a good girl.” He glances at your panties, staring for long enough that you shift a little, “I love white, you got more like that? Or do I hafta go out and buy you some more?” You wonder what’s going to happen to these, but you know that the majority of your underwear drawer looks the same.

“No, no, they’re… most of ‘em are like this,” He groans, and has seemingly reached his limit for keeping his hands off of you, moving to touch your hips and run his fingers over your newly bared skin. Goosebumps break out as he touches you and you shiver at the contact. He pats your stomach, before running his hand down to the top of your waistband. He runs his fingers over it, gently, feeling where the fabric rests atop your soft springy curls, and then steps back again. He goes to strip off himself, having discarded his jacket somewhere downstairs - untucking his shirt and pulling it off. As his chest is revealed you can feel your face flaming again - as if it wasn’t already seriously red. He laughs when he looks over at you,

“God baby, you can’t have any blood left in your body - ’sall in your little pink cheeks.”

He throws the shirt to the chair in the corner of the room. He pushes his trousers down, confidently stepping out, he doesn’t kick them aside like you expected a boy might, instead bending, giving you a perfect view of his naked backside, to pick them up, folding them in half and slinging them over the same chair as his shirt. You feel free to ogle at him, considering he had done the same mere minutes before and you’re stuck wondering how people go about the day knowing this is what people looked like under their clothes. You never believed it would be something that you would find especially attractive, you knew men commented on women and girl’s behinds but you never thought it happened in reverse, didn’t think you’d suddenly be overcome with the urge to sink your teeth into the soft flesh there.

When he turns around you can’t help but stare straight at his crotch. You’d seen one before, in your biology textbook and once in a magazine that Natalie’s brother had stolen from their father that you’d all crowded around and giggled at, although not for very long before you’d had to quickly replace it as you heard his father’s car on the driveway. But never had you seen one in real life. You’d felt one, through a boy’s pants as you’d sat on his lap at the diner, you’d felt Elvis’ in fact in much the same way, but even when he’d gently stroked you over your panties you’d never gone so far to touch him unclothed, or even through a fabric layer. You didn’t really know what to expect. But his cock was rosy and already stood a little to attention, where it didn’t seem nearly as intimidating as you’d always expected them to be. Somehow, even without having anything to compare it to you could just tell it was a pretty. You immediately reach out a curious hand, and as he steps towards you, looking amused, you wish you could stop the words tumbling out of your mouth;

“Gosh - I’ve uh, I’ve never seen one in real life….” You try to stem your burning curiosity but you can’t stop yourself “What’s it feel like? Can I, can I touch it?” You pause, remembering your manners, “Please?” He nods laughing and gets himself within reaching distance of you. He places his hand over yours, gently gripping them together, his palm on the top of your hand and guides it towards him. You’re surprised at how smooth it feels, you don’t know why, you didn’t expect it to feel so soft although it’s also a little wrinkly almost and you’re slightly surprised because he seems to have more skin there than the guy in the magazine - it encases just below the head of his cock which is now popping out of the little folds. He lets go and your hand just rests there for a moment, before you squeeze a little, releasing and running your fingers gently over it.

““El, that’s, it’s so soft.” He laughs at you, pupils dilating as he looks at your fingers dancing over him.

“Not for much longer doll,” and he guides your fingers back to him.

“That’s it baby, nice and gentle,” You continue to stroke him, briefly, before he’s putting his hand back down, pulling yours off, “Just need, sorry baby, I know this is dirty, but just need, a lil help here. You gonna wrap your hand around me?” You nod, confused as to why he’s turning your palm up, “Ok, honey, I just need a little, needs ta be a little wetter.” He looks you in the eyes, almost like he’s asking permission, for what though you don’t know - but clearly whatever he was looking for he found because he’s pulling your hand closer to his face. You’re stunned, mouth open, when he brings it to his mouth and licks it, a damp wet stripe being left, before pulling back and spitting straight into it. You recoil a little, but your thighs clench as your core jolts. You blink at him, still shocked, as he pulls you back to his cock, wrapping your now wet hand around him again.

“Ok baby, that’s it, that it’s not too tight now baby, that’s it - oh, just there,” When you brush a thumb over the end of him he moans, so you do it again, and stroke just behind it. “Just a little tighter - oh lord - just make that yittle fist a little tighter darling, up and down now, oh that’s it.” You follow his instructions, and his hips jerk a little in response, you can see his stomach muscles under his soft layer of gentle fat clenching and tightening in pleasure. “God, what a clever girl you are. Learnin’ so fast.” You continue for a moment, until his cock is fully to attention, practically bobbing against his stomach.

“You wanna, wanna say a proper hello to him? Gonna give him a little hello kiss? Go on baby, he’s waiting for you - say hello to little Elvis. He’s so excited to meet you.” And admittedly little Elvis bobs as if he’d overhead the conversation, and from the leaking from the tip he does look excited to meet you. So you obediently bend over to press a little kiss to his rosy pink head. He lets out a little groan, that seemed almost involuntary and he apologises as he pushes you onto your knees in front of him,

“Not really right to do this to a girl - but uh, I suppose, if you’re my dolly, then… it’s fine right?” You don’t have any experience in what you’re about to do, but you’re not so sheltered that you don’t have any semblance of understanding of the act - and you have nothing against it, so you nod again, once again stunned momentarily silent by his surprising actions. You look up at him, from between his slightly spread legs - peering up at his tight chest and nipples, to his smooth, visible, neck to where his blue eyes are practically burning a hole into you. You swallow before trying to find your voice again;

“It’s more than fine,” You pause for a moment before considering what he’d said earlier, “daddy.” He moans, his leg jiggling a little, and you watch as little Elvis twitches in response.

“So you’re gonna be a good little girl now, right? Do as I tell you?” You nod, he exhales, slowly before starting to instruct you.“You can start by taking just the very end into your mouth, just hold it there for a second.” You do as he says, leaning forward with your mouth, and he sucks a breath in, loudly, as you brush your lips against his tip. You go to move down a little more, and he stops you with hand on your head, “Just, just give me a second, honey, gods, you feel so fucking good.” You still - “If you wanna, you can just, just reach down below, darling, gotta treat all of me nice - just - that’s it baby, nice and gentle with them little fingers.” He praises you as you reach around to fondle at his balls for the first time. He pushes a little further into your mouth, before pulling out most of the way - telling you now,

“Need you to just, just lick me a little baby, no, no - keep it in your mouth, just move your tongue around a bit, oh lord, that’s it right there baby,” He makes a high-pitched whine that you can feel rush through your body from where you’re connected. He puts his other hand around to poke at your cheeks, “Look up at me, that’s it.” He moves his hand to pull yours from his thigh and wraps it around the base of his cock. “Go on, what you can’t get in your mouth you can keep touching.” A moment passes, and he’s telling you, “ Ok hollow your cheeks little one, gonna suck me in, then you’re gonna just relax and let me, let me just fuck that throat and mouth of yours.” You follow his instructions, and he grasps the back of your head to keep you bobbing on him at the exact pace he wants.

“Now, now baby, since its your first time, you haven’t, haven’t gotta swallow it if you don’t wanna - but you may as well have a little taste - don’t want, don’t want it going anywhere but down your little throat in future.” He holds your neck, keeping you in place, as he thrusts into you - practically into your throat although he’s careful not to go too deep, but you still struggle to breathe a little. He grows slightly more erratic as he chases his pleasure and you’re glad when he pulls back so that just the head is still in your mouth, letting you take a deeper breath in.

When he shouts, “Oh god, that’s a good baby, fuck, fuck doll, I’m cumming baby,” you’re able to just have the tip in your mouth - which makes it easier to hold his cum without choking on it. You taste a little before pulling back, holding it in your mouth, your tongue recoiling from the texture. He hands you a handkerchief, embroidered with E.P on the corner, telling you slightly huffily, “Ok, that’s it, just spit it out there.” You do, embarrassed at the unladylike behaviour, and he takes it from you looking at it with distaste as he balls it up and flings it in the direction of the ensuite.

He looks down at you, “You did so good baby, such a quick learner aren’t you! So good!” You can’t help but squirm, your own arousal peaking with the butterflies in your belly again, pleased with yourself, but then slightly worried when he strokes your cheek, expression not as soft as before before starting to haul you up from your knees. Barely giving you time to stand before pushing you backwards onto his bed. “But next time, honey, I’m not havin’ you spit it out whenever wherever ok? So you’re just gonna have to learn to take what I give you.” You’re wide-eyed looking at him, you’re not entirely sure that’s something you want, but he does know best, and you’re desperate to please him so all you can do is nod and agree.

“Uh-huh, of course, just - just gotta get used to it I guess daddy,” He hums back at you, pushing you to lie flat on your back.

“Mmhmm. Ri-ght, ok, baby, your turn now, just lie back and let daddy take care of you.” He pauses, as if remembering something - “Daddy’s gonna get serious now, give you a real introduction - make you finish.” He smooths his hands down the sides of your chest and stomach, goosebumps forming as his fingertips trail down, until he reaches your thighs, where he pulls them up, so your knees are bent and your legs spread. He bends down, holding your thighs down and open, to press a kiss to the fabric separating his mouth and your body. He, laps at it, sucking at the material - the wet spot that was already there growing larger as he adds his damp spit. You wriggle about but he keeps you in place with one hand on a thigh, holding you open, and the other on your stomach, a solid weight pinning you in place. Your panties have gone practically see through by the time he leans back, looks down, and hooks two fingers into the waistband, pulling them down and off of your thighs. He looks at them for a moment, at the combination of his spit and your sticky wetness coating the other side before throwing them also in the direction of the chair.

“They’re mine now too baby.” You shake your head at him - you’ll have no underwear left at this rate.

“Elvis. You’ve already had a pair. I don’t know what you want them for anyway! Told you that last time!”

“You’re mine aren’t you?” You nod, you’ve been moved into his house haven’t you? How much more obvious do you need to be? “Well then, they’re mine too.” You gape at him, you can’t really deny his slightly misguided logic - not without setting yourself up for failure. You go to protest again, but he hushes you, “Stop arguin’ with me, little girl, not gonna get you nowhere.” He pushes your thighs back apart, “I ain’t gonna start something I can’t finish,” and your final protest dies on your lips when he presses a kiss against your mound. He moves his lips down, gently placing another kiss at the top of your vulva.

He licks a stripe down you, opening you up with his tongue, you can feel a gush of wetness at the act, and it seems that he could as well as you feel him smile against you before spearing his tongue a little way into you. He strokes your inner thighs, tickling the little fold where your legs meet your body. You shift to be able to look down at him. He’s been running his hands through his hair too much while you’d been getting him off that it’s no longer slicked up and back, but fluffy and gentle as you move your own hands to clutch at him. You pull gently, and he leans back just enough to look up at you through his dark, eyelashes at you. The sight makes you clench, and when your head goes backwards again, after he moves a finger to swirl around your clit, moving ever closer to the exact spot, you suddenly catch sight of the back of his head in the mirror on the wall opposite. You let out a noise you’d never heard yourself make before and you can’t take your eyes off of him. From the angle, you can’t see much below his shoulders - but it’s enough to send you, along with the physical stimulation, teetering towards the edge. When he finally, moves his finger to touch you directly your hips thrust up of their own accord, and you grind down on him when your body returns to the bed. His lips return to you, and he laughs as he reaches up to blindly pat at your face, he pulls back laughing - “Your lips cold baby? Or my hand hot?” You stutter out a response, really not certain of the relevance of the question,

“I, I don’t know! But can you, Elvis I’m so close, daddy please.” He shakes his head smiling and returns to your pussy with renewed vigour - firmly licking you out and playing with you. You can’t think of anything but the sensations, of how slippery you are, of how wet and soft while simultaneously gently rough his tongue is. He shies away from slipping a finger in, simply teasing around your entrance - although this reticence isn’t shared with his tongue which continues to fuck into you at a rapid pace.

You squirm, feeling suddenly desperate - although for what you didn’t know. He holds you right at the precipice for a moment, and you thrash, tense, until he resumes the exact same licking pattern as before, rubbing at your clit as he does and its like you’ve been released, shuddering and shouting out his name;

“Oh god - Elvis, daddy, that’s - unnh-” Your words cut off into non-verbal noises, huffing out quick breaths and moans as your body quivers. He finally pulls away after you’ve gone stiff in the bed, letting your body relax back from its arched position as you struggle to catch your breath. He runs his fingers over your folds, “God you’re so wet baby,” you squirm, feeling it cool into a thin stickiness on your thighs. He kisses your thigh, spreading the wetness from his lips, whispering - “Such a good girl for me baby - you like that? Your first one?” You can’t do much more than nod in response as you tremble lying there but you manage to murmur out,

“Yes, god, yes I liked it.” He hums at you,

“Well go on then baby, say thank you to daddy. Don’t forget your manners now.” You gasp, heat flooding you again although you’re too tired to want to do anything about it.

“…Tha-Thank you daddy.” He kisses the top of your mound in response and pats at you one last time, before he heaves himself up and leaves. When he comes back he’s dressed in a set of black silk satin pyjamas, carrying a little nightgown for you. He dresses you like you were the dolly he described before, manhandling you into the nightie. He rolls you off of the comforter, allowing him to pull the covers out so that he can clamber in underneath, cuddling you into him. He cocoons you in his arms, clutching at you, and you suddenly feel safe and secure after abruptly feeling unmoored. A tear slips out, for reasons that you’re not quite sure of, and he tuts, holding your head to his chest. It’s not long before you, listening to his steady heartbeat, fall fast sleep.

#empty promises #be-my-ally #elvis smut #elvis Presley smut #elvis fic #elvis x reader #elvis x you #elvis presley x you #elvis presley fanfiction

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davidpincher · 10 months

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i posted last week about how i went to watch oppenheimer as part of barbenheimer & then ended up writing a 900 word essay about it. three people asked to see the essay so here it is:

a three hour anxiety attack

i watched oppenheimer; had dinner, watched barbie and then showered. i cant stop thinking about this movie. the thing about christopher nolan movies is that there’s always a part of them that makes me remember why i love movies, a part of me that is reminded of their power in the way that they make me feel things. most succinctly, yes, this movie is a three hour anxiety attack because i spent the entirety of the movie anxious, knowing little about this film other than that an atomic bomb is going to be made and dropped on hiroshima and nagasaki.

while i was much too dumb to understand the timeline of events, christopher nolan still makes such a foreign experience feel personal and familiar. relatable even, even though the times have changed. people have always been people, flawed and trusting and selfish. there’s the case of the spy, a jewish man, much like oppenheimer, that oppenheimer initially trusts out of community in hard times. you can understand oppenheimer’s devotion to the war, as someone so personally affected by it. there’s something personal, in the orchestration of the betrayal by robert downey jr (i cannot remember his characters name, truly, he was not that memorable), and how oppenheimer goes from respected to blacklisted. people are petty and cruel. i don’t think i’ve ever seen a movie with a sex scene that i found added to the plot of characters, but there is something so powerful in jean’s death being the only one explicitly shown on screen: humans are selfish and will be our own demise because we, more often than not, cannot find the empathy to care for people who we don’t know. it’s the trolley problem - the death of a lover or the death of hundreds of thousands, or even, the very end of the world.

there’s one line of dialogue that hasn’t left my mind since i finished watching this movie, almost ten hours ago now. it’s the moment in which they’re discussing what cities to bomb, and one character goes ‘not kyoto. there’s too much culture. plus my wife and i honeymooned there’ or something of the sort. it’s the kind of moment that shocked me, how the lives of hundreds of thousands of civilians were held in the hands of a guy making decisions based on his honeymoon. it’s the most memorable example of the question ‘who had the right to power’, regarding people’s lives, that consumes this movie. who has the right to create and use a weapon of mass destruction? another that i think of, is the scene with truman. i think that christopher nolan has portrayed a president more accurately than any other piece of media in the past: the president is not just some boss man, he is a guy appointed to look over entire fields he could not possibly understand the weight of, not even if he tried. truman’s depiction in this movie - as does everyone’s, honestly - feels so real because every single person has flaws. everyone here is so deeply flawed and insufferable, even oppenheimer, who likely is only slightly better because he’s aware of it all.

in high school, i was forced to spend two entire years studying world war two and the cold war from every perspective - japan, germany, italy, the united states, the soviet union, china, france and england. so of course, the questions of the ethics and necessity of the dropping of the atomic bomb came up, and there are so many discussions to be had within that. and yet, there wasn’t enough in this film. maybe this is a good thing, given that would require the opinions and analysis of the work of many historians that would likely derail the vision of nolan’s film, it would’ve meant a lot to the little nerd in me specifically.

oppenheimer opposes the hydrogen bomb because if the united states has one; the soviet union, their enemies at the time, would be forced to make one too. on a side note, another moment in this film that made my gut wrench was when this claim is denied on the belief that russia does not have the resources, or knowledge to compete with the united states. and god what a fucking blessing and curse is hindsight, as underestimating russia and the soviet union during a war is just as relevant today. this makes an interesting biopic to me because everyone knows about the atomic bomb. everyone knows about chernobyl and nuclear power. in fact, in the very basic level science classes i took, the world nuclear power became synonymous with chernobyl. bad things happen, and we know it, and this movie helps to warn us a bit about it.

enough on the history nerd stuff i truly did forget how much of my life i spent studying history, even if i only stopped just over a year ago. the sound design of this movie was fucking insane. every piece of audio, the line delivery, everything, made me feel so much (besides rdj - i get what people say about people having faces that know what iphones are) the shots were fucking masterful and despite being a three hour film, there was not a single moment (beyond the sex scenes mayhaps) that i felt dragged on for longer than they needed to. once again, just to end this off, god i fucking loved the sound of this movie, the build up, the anxiety, everything. while i most certainly have not seen enough christopher nolan to say definitively that this is his best work, i can most certainly see why people would say it is so.

#barbie #barbenheimer #oppenheimer #christopher nolan #film #oppenheimer essay

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thatsnotmygunflash · 8 months

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Okay @simpledontmeanpeachy this is like a week late but I finally got the inspiration I needed to write prompt 25 "It gave me great joy,"

I really fell in love with this and might add to it honestly (or someone else can if they want) it's set in a world where Barry grew up in the foster system and turned out way differently.

Len was nursing his first drink of the night at Saints and Sinners an hour before his crew was suppose to meet up for their weekly check-in when Hartley came waltzing in the front door. Len didn't bother to turn and look, taking a smooth sip of his beer as the young scientist came up to the empty bar.

"Rathaway, little early, even by your standards." Len said in observation. Hartley Rathaway wasn't the newest addition to his Rouges or even the youngest, but he was by far the smartest and most capable out of the lot. They had worked three big jobs together in the past year and a half and besides his sister, he was the only one Len felt gave it to him straight and pulled his weight enough for it to mean anything to Len. He wouldn't call them friends, but they were friendly. Not friendly enough, however, for Hartley to show up without an agenda.

"I wanted a chance to speak privately before the rest of the crew show up,"

"About?" Len assumed it would be business Hartley wanted to discuss but this must be something he didn't want the rest of the crew to know about yet.

"You heard about the new player in town, right?"

How could he not, when it was all anyone in the city wanted to talk about lately.

"The Chemist?" At Hartley's nod of confirmation Len tilted his chin down in understanding. "I've heard whispers, why?"

"He approached me last night, said he needed a little tech support, willing to pay more than well for my time too."

"Did you take the job?" Len had never cared about Hartley's freelance work before, unless it directly effected Len's own timetable, but they had never had issues with scheduling before. Len made sure of it.

"You're not asking the important questions, Snart."

"If you have something to say, Rathaway, say it." Len didn't enjoy the condescending smirk painted on Hartley's face and he definitely didn't like a single word that came next.

"He's planning on hitting the Federal Reserve, the same one you're planning on hitting in two months. Which wouldn't be a problem for you, if he wasn't planning on making his move next week."

"Next week." Next week. Next. Week. There was no way. The Chemist had just hit First National two weeks ago. He couldn't be that reckless, especially when the cops and the papers had painted him to be some kind of evil-mastermind. Len had been casing the Reserve himself everyday for four months, there was no way he would have missed another thief doing the same.

"Yep. He doesn't even have a crew either. Plans to do it all by himself. Seems like kind of a loner. Pretty though. And smart. Meta too, I think. Full package really."

"You think he can pull it off." Len didn't need the snort of agreement Hartley let out to let him know he was right. Hartley was not an easily impressed man, which meant this Chemist was someone to be on guard with.

"Oh, definitely. Especially with my help covering his tracks, but, because I knew he'd end up iced for fucking with your job, I convinced him to come here tonight to talk to you about joining the Rouges."

Hartley had told a man who enjoyed explosives where his entire crew was meeting tonight. The nerve of this kid.

"And you just expected me to be okay with that?"

"Well, obviously." Hartley scoffed, waving a dismissive hand in the air when he saw Len's icy glare. "I thought you'd agree it couldn't hurt to have other smart and pretty people around to look at. You should have seen his face when I told him I worked for you. It gave me great joy. Watching him go from obnoxiously cocky to painfully desperate just at the sound of your name. I think you have a fan."

A fan. A fan. The Chemist was a fan. Good lord.

"You better pray this works out in our favor, Rathaway, or it's your ass."

"I'm not worried." Hartley shrugged carelessly, his smirk turning into something like delight when the door opened behind them.

"And why's that?"

"Why don't you ask him yourself?" Hartley replied, pointing a finger behind Len's shoulder.

"Wha-" Len turned to see who the new comer was, losing his voice and the ability to move when he caught sight of an unmistakably familiar face. Len couldn't believe what he was seeing. Barry Allen, the flirty barista from the coffee shop Len had been using as cover for his stakeouts of the Reserve was standing just three feet in front of him. The same Barry Allen that he had taken home with him five nights ago. The same Barry Allen that had not taken Len's one night stand policy well.

Barry gave a lazy wave, not bothering to hide the challenge in his eyes or the smugness coating his voice.

"Hey Lenny. Miss me?"

#i will never shut up #about Barry's villain potential #I didn't plan on the ending but I like it a little too much now #but who isn't a sucker for a coffee shop au #even if it is just a cover for the both of them #there's just so much I could do with this #coldflash #captain cold #the rouges #the chemist #writing prompts

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godfrey-the-chaos-duck · 6 months

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Guys why can't I draw the ducks (or people)

Context: my friend and I had a really long phone call on Wednesday wherein we talked about all the stuff that must've happened off-screen in The 87 Cent Solution, and I wish I could make it into a comic that does it justice

Random Rambles under the cut for those who wanna know more (I explain all of it)

Scrooge had been working wayyy too hard all week and that's how he ended up sick. I've decided.

The morning the episode starts definitely opened with a near-exact mirror of the first scene in DT87's Scroogerello. Differences are: it's Dewey, not Huey, that goes to crack the egg on Scrooge's face to see if his fever's high enough to fry it (Beakley stops him) and it's Beakley, not the kids, who drags his stubborn feathered ass back to bed.

Now, one thing that always confused me about this ep is "WHY DIDN'T THEY CALL BEAKLEY??" And I know the logical answer for us is "Well if they'd called her we wouldn't have had an episode" and honestly that probably goes for a lot of the episodes but IN UNIVERSE there is no reason why they wouldn't call her

UNLESS she was like literally unreachable.

So together we came up with the idea that she was doing a two-day deep-clean of the mansion (an annual Beakley tradition) which she hyperfocuses on so hard that she legitimately forgets everyone else exists. She also has her airpods in (she listens to opera/death metal fusions, and that was my friend's idea. Nightwish is probably one of her faves) and so she cannot hear ANY of the ensuing chaos.

Right before she starts this 48-hour seclusion from reality, she declares that Duckworth is in charge of taking care of Scrooge. Now, this was a big old mistake-a-rooney from her because as we know, Duckworth doesn't much care for her and is loyal to Scrooge to a FAULT.

Scrooge stays in bed for just long enough that Beakley is out of earshot, and then immediately gets up and starts getting dressed.

As he pulls his jacket on, he locks eyes with Duckworth from across the room.

The pair make what shall henceforth be known as the "Fuck You, Beakley Agreement". Under the terms of this, Scrooge can now escape, and Duckworth won't tell. They even do this 🤐.

Scrooge does the thing you see in movies when a kid is grounded and has to sneak out for Plot Reasons (cause he's basically been grounded by Beakley), and ties his bedsheets together and makes a rope to go out the window.

His next step? Getting to work without a driver. Launchpad is off buying him a birthday card, as we see him (I assume mistakenly) think it's Scrooge's birthday in the episode. Luckily, for reasons of I Said So, he finds a pair of rollerskates belonging to Webby. He puts them on, straightens his top hat determinedly, and speeds off down the hill and into Duckburg.

Shortly afterwards, Huey and Webby go to check on Scrooge.

They quickly run into two problems.

He is not there.

Beakley is unavailable.

So the kids' first instinct is to call Launchpad, who isn't available EITHER cause he's shopping (for, again, THE ENTIRE WRONG DAY)

So instead, Huey calls Fenton - Gizmoduck can take them to the Bin and maybe even beat Scrooge there.

Cue a kick-ass chase sequence through Duckburg, which, in my mind, is set to "Holding Out For A Hero" and I can see it SO CLEARLY.

Now, Gizmoduck has speed, sure, but Scrooge is going, like, ALARMINGLY fast for a 150 year old man on quad skates, and what's more, he knows every inch of Duckburg (he was there when it was built) and so knows every shortcut there is.

It turns out Scrooge gets to the Bin first, and in order to stop, he ends up having to literally brace himself against the wall with both hands. As he comes away from the wall he slips. So the skates come off, and he runs down a corridor, where he scares the daylights out of a new secretary/intern.

He leans against the door to catch his breath, and demands coffee "blacker than my soul".

The secretary looks him over.

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather have tea, sir? Perhaps with some honey and lemon?" they ask sweetly

"Are you questioning my judgement?" Scrooge snaps back, a fire in his eyes. The secretary runs off, realises they don't know where the drinks machine is, and runs the other way. She gets him six shots of espresso (Good Omens in-joke cause we both thought it'd be funny as hell) which he is juuuust about to down in one go when BAM! In comes Gizmoduck with the kids. Dewey takes the coffee, and takes a sip. He immediately hates it (it's super bitter - not his thing at all) and propmtly decides that Coffee Is The Worst. (It isn't, espresso was a bit of an ambitious first try).

There's a moment where everyone just stares at each other. The secretary backs away slowly.

Scrooge BOLTS down the hall. Huey and Webby follow him.

Then we get to the start of the episode, but the fun is just beginning!

Between the bit where it's revealed that Scrooge may have Gold Fever, and the bit where he does the live news report from his office, I think one night passed. Scrooge didn't sleep a bit, which explains why he looks like hell on wheels in the next shot.

Now, the bin was on total lockdown, so no-one was leaving that night. You know what that means...

(Webby voice) SLEEPOVER! Everyone sets up camp in the lobby. The boys raid the break room for couch cushions, Webby gets chairs and an old tarpaulin from a store closet to make the most majestic fort the world has ever seen, Gyro gets a hotplate to roast marshmallows over (a campfire was too risky) and Louie sets up a projector for a movie night. All in all, it's actually fairly cool, given the circumstances.

Then Act 2 happens and everything goes to Deepest of Shit.

Honestly really the whole thing is building on this piece I wrote that I have FINALLY got motivation and ideas to do more with!

Scrooge FINALLY agrees to get the fuck home, and it all sorta catches up with him as he leaves the Bin.

Beakley has noticed that things are quiet but does not yet know why.

However, she is about to find out.

The doorbell rings.

The kids are all talking over each other trying to explain everything. Launchpad is helping Scrooge walk up the steps to the house. Scrooge is wrapped up in a tartan blanket like a little Scottish burrito, his arms and legs like jelly, and his voice nearly completely gone.

He promptly passes out and falls into Beakley's arms. Beakley is Hella Confused, she thought Scrooge was in his room and Duckworth was looking after him. She glares at Duckworth, who floats away without a word.

Scrooge rests for a couple days, and then eventually he comes down as if about to apologise. But he does not. He stands awkwardly in the corner, like a child who opened their Christmas presents early.

Everyone else is currently discussing how to get back at Glomgold (they have by now figured out that he is somehow behind this)

Scrooge is like "what the hell have I missed"

The kids show him their plan to fake his death. Scrooge thinks it's crazy at first - but it's just crazy enough to work.

Beakley rings up one of her old S.H.U.S.H. contacts for Scrooge's disguise - this is gonna be good.

So they send invites to the "funeral" and ask that a report get done on Scrooge having passed. And then all THAT happens.

And then that's kinda the end I guess sorry for the long post.

#the chaos duck has spoken #ducktales #ducktales 2017 #dt17 #the 87 cent solution #surprise surprise still the fave

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skylarsblue · 10 months

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✦New Life from Old Battlegrounds✦

(SoapGhost Content based purely on a piece of fanart by a Twitter mutual. Will I make more than one chapter? Perhaps) ✧TW; References to past abuse(Simon), implied death during childbirth(Simon), reference to a domestic dispute(Johnny) ✧Fluff, Mild Angst, Single Dad!AU✧

★Link to Ao3 Ver : ★Link to fanart that inspired it

✧Meeting✧

John hummed to himself as he walked down the street, dodging people passing him and contemplating what to make for dinner. At the same time, he noted the things around him, thoughts bouncing from subject to subject as it always did. His mother used to joke that if he didn’t learn to contain his thoughts, one day, his brain would be sick of being in his skull and it’d escape. Bounce all over the room like he did. He gave a quick snort at the memory, making a quick note that he’d need to call her again, since it’d been about a week since he’d spoken to her last. It was still very odd being far from her. It’d been such a change from his original plan as a teen, though, he supposed his entire life at that point was far from his young plans for his life.

For starters, he’d been certain he’d be more in the military for longer than he was. He wasn’t completely free from government work, but he wasn’t a constant on-call soldier anymore either. Most of his job was paperwork now. Was it his preferred job? Admittedly, no. He often missed the days on base, the training, the adrenaline rush of battle. Not that he liked to complain, he had it good regardless, he felt so anyway. He’d always been the optimistic type. The way his job was now kept him home more, it was safer, the pay was good, and it was honestly nice to have access to food outside of MREs. He most certainly did not miss the MREs. While his teenage self, and himself in his younger twenties, flourished in the aggressive environment of war, he couldn’t keep that life. Thanks to another curveball from the universe.

John had never considered himself to be fitting of the definition “playboy”, though some of his extended family and exes disagreed. He had no issue with being tied down, though it always seemed it never lasted very long. Be it due to personal differences or the way the military kept him away. He always did his best to be a good partner, not perfect, but good. Still, the longest committed relationship he’d had lasted about two years and a couple months, and that had been when he was fresh out of his teens. All the poor experiences and seeming inability to keep a partner, he didn’t fear the prospect at all. He still looked forward to having a partner permanently one day, getting settled down and such. But that didn’t stop him from casual fun either. He never saw any reason why two adults couldn’t have fun for a night, and leave it there. The problem was really the risk that came with that kind of fun, specifically when his partner had the biological equipment for pregnancy. He’d had one scare when he was sixteen, but that also turned out to be his first experience with a cheating partner. Aside from that, he skated through his pleasureful escapades without problems. He was clean and childless.

Until he wasn’t.

He’d gotten a little too cocky with an apartment neighbor turned casual fuck-buddy, and he came home from a mission to a rather pissed off expression on her face and a DNA test in her hand. It wasn’t ideal by any means, both had agreed on that. It scared him to all death. But his mother had carried many children, and his father sunk in the lesson that it was a woman’s choice completely. He wasn’t carrying anything, his body wouldn’t be changing, so he left the decision up to her. She wasn’t happy with the reality but a heavily religious upbringing made the idea of an abortion out of her options, even if she was rebelling from the eye of God. He’d only nodded when she had said the thought of getting one made her sick. At first, the plan was to try at an actual relationship. They liked each other enough to have sex, he made her laugh plenty, she had a lot of sweet qualities John admired. But by the eighth month, whether it was hormones or the reality of a child weighing heavy on her mind, she’d turned into quite the she-beast, to put it lightly. To the point Johnny sported a new scar on the palm of his hand from a lamp being thrown at his skull.

It became very apparent a relationship wouldn’t work. However, John also couldn’t shake the attachment he’d grown to the child he’d helped create. The last month of her pregnancy was hell on his psyche, but he stuck it out in the hope he’d get to see the baby, even if he’d have to fight it out in a court. Something his eldest sister, Edith, promised to help him with, should it be messy. Thankfully for him, however, the mother really hadn’t been too keen on staying that way. It admittedly stung when she’d responded so poorly after delivering the child, even the nurse winced at her coldness. John got one hundred percent of the parental rights, however, without a court case or a fight. Even if the prospect of being a single father scared him halfway into an early grave. He had many nights where he stayed up on the phone with either his mother or his sister, needing both advice and pep talks. And he still held a pill of guilt from the one night he considered giving his new daughter up for adoption, truly worried he wasn’t cut out for it.

Though, much to the joy of his current self, he’d stuck it out. He had to change and sacrifice a lot, and every now and then, he had the wonder of what would’ve happened had he not taken responsibility. But the thought was often rocketed out of his brain by the simple image of his daughter’s excited face when he came to pick her up from school. A very small, old building, situated in Leek, England. When the baby had just been born and the situation was still fresh, he wanted to give the woman who’d given birth to his daughter to change her mind. So he’d stayed in England, albeit a completely different town. He wasn’t so open to the idea now that he’d raised her, but the town had charmed him, and he wasn’t hugely fond of the concept of taking his daughter out of her hometown. Even if he missed Scotland often. Though he did everything he could to ensure his daughter wouldn’t end up with an English accent. Had it taken a decent chunk of money to get a cable package that included Scottish channels with Scottish cartoons? Yes. Did he regret it? Not at all. Visiting his family for holidays also helped. His daughter, named Maisie, was very fond of her visits to the country. Part of him hoped it could set up for her being open to moving there when she was older, though he didn’t cling to that idea very tightly. He had plenty of time before her teen years. Or, at least he told himself that, even if she turned five at the speed of light. Much like his second oldest sister, Davina, warned him.

John jogged when he spotted the school just ahead. He occasionally drove the distance, but it often wasn’t worth the gas it wasted, not when he could walk the distance with ease. Children filed out to their parents, the sound of little laughter never failed to make John grin. He’d always loved kids, even before being a parent to one. Likely because of the large family he came from. After all, he was the fifth kid born out of seven. His mother was a triplet, and his father had six sisters. The family events were more like circuses with the amount of kids. Sometimes it was hard to get any attention at all. It didn’t affect his adoration for his bloodline though…excluding the occasional prick of an aunt or step-uncle.

The blue-eyed man walked up to the school, whistling a tune as his hands came to rest on his jean-clad hips. It was warm for once, without a layer of overcast in the sky. John tapped the rhythm of a song stuck in his head on this hip, eyes scanning through kids, parents, and teachers. Stopping once to give an awkward nod and strained smile to a mom he’d met at a school event once. He averted his eyes quickly however. Not to throw a woman under the bus, but John wasn’t too fond of her less-than-subtle flirting she’d chuck his way whenever he went to an event for his daughter. He hadn’t dated since Maisie’s mother, for his own sake and hers. And even if that wasn’t a factor, he was about ninety-nine percent sure the woman was married. John was a lot of things, but a homewrecker certainly wasn’t one.

His brain flicked back on when he heard a familiar little voice shout a goodbye. With a genuine grin this time, John turned and spotted his little girl waving to someone. He let out a sharp whistle, something he’d picked up from when his father owned horses. Quickly, Maisie turned and searched for her father, breaking out into a look of pure joy. Little Mary-Janes clacked on the stone as she sprinted to him. John crouched down and held open his arms, ready to receive. As soon as she reached him, he hoisted her up high with a laugh, reveling in her joyous giggle. He brought her down and set her on his hip, supported by his arm.

“Didn’t you have a bow in yer hair when I sent ya here?” John questioned, and Maisie looked away. “Uhhh noooo?” She lied, making him snort. “Ya lil’ bugger, you yelled at me all mornin’ for not tying it right!” He playfully scolded, making her laugh as he pinched at her side, having her curl away from the ticklish feeling. “I kept the piggies in though!” Maisie retorted, touching the tiny brunette pigtails in her hair. They were a bit messy now, but to her word, they were intact. John sighed with a head shake. “‘Suppose you got a point there. Where’d the ribbon go then?” He asked, subconsciously taking her rucksack when she took it off and held it away from her.

With the pink strap over his shoulder, looking hilariously small against his frame, he watched her eyes grow with excitement. “I gave it to my new friend! I tied it around her wrist and told her to wear it until I could make her a bracelet.” The little girl explained proudly. The ex-soldier tilted his head with a little chuckle. “A bracelet huh? For a new friend? You must like her a lot. That’s a high honor, lass.” He commented. Maisie bobbed her head aggressively, showing she agreed quite intensely. “She’s my best friend now. She’s new to town too! She said she lived in Manchester before, but her dad didn’t like the school she was in, so they came here.”

John hummed with a quick nod, showing he was listening. He adjusted her on his hip and opened his mouth to speak, ready to suggest a treat before they went home, seeing as how it was such a nice day out. But he paused when his gaze caught on a figure near the front of the school. There wasn’t really anything amiss at first. Just another parent picking up their child it seemed, based on the little blonde girl that was being cautiously lifted off the ground. But it was Maisie’s outburst that made his eyes stick. She pointed with a smile. “That’s my friend! Her name is Ellie!” The information barely registered as John took in the stranger.

Tall, broad, with an aura he’d only attributed to an animal before. A doberman-like intimidating energy. Dressed in almost all black with a black surgical mask across the lower half of his face. An image of intensity only broken by the soft, chubby features of Maisie’s new friend. Round and rosy cheeks with big eyes. John couldn’t look away from the man’s face though, noting a noticeable scar that ran to the stranger’s temple, barely clipping the end of his eyebrow and leaving a subtle indent in the short blond hair at his temple. Just as John was about to force his eyes away, the man turned slightly, and their gazes locked. Cliche and beyond cheesy, but John was suddenly stunned by just how pretty this man's eyes were. Instead of holding the borderline scary aura the rest of him did, they held a gentleness. Light eyelashes in contrast to cinnamon brown. There was a purple tint under the man’s eyes, adding to the naturally tired slope of his eye shape. John always liked eyes, he always found them his favorite thing to look at on people’s faces. Although here, he was suddenly very acutely aware that he had been straight up deadpan staring at a man he didn’t know for God knows how long. The man also clearly noticed, given the uncomfortable shift in his shoulders and the almost anxious glance away, only to connect back with John’s eyes. Obviously, double checking if he was meaning to stare at him. Thankfully, Maisie’s voice helped break John’s train of thought and pull him from his own head.

“Can Ellie come over?” Maisie questioned. “Huh? Oh, uh. We would need to ask her pa, bò.” Her father stammered a bit, looking down at her, although he was certain he could feel the other man’s stare still on him. Internally, he worried he’d already sealed in a bad impression. There was nothing more awkward than accidentally staring at a stranger for seemingly no reason, and then getting caught. “Well he’s over there, let’s go ask!” Maisie tugged at the collar of John’s shirt. He sighed quietly and took a second to prepare how he’d manage that. He debated if he should open with his name or just boldly state an apology. When he decided he’d figure it out once in front of the man, he took in a breath and readied himself to charm his way out of the awkward tension he’d just built.

However, when he looked up, fully prepared to walk toward the man, he was startled by the masked stranger being suddenly closer. A safe distance away but close enough for a conversation. Maisie didn’t miss a beat, waving happily at Ellie who returned the gesture albeit with less enthusiasm. John blinked before he coughed, rolling his shoulders and smiling. Needing to look up was something new. He wasn’t short by any means, and he’d met plenty of tall people, but there was something about the rest of his man’s energy that made his height seem all the more intense. “Afternoon, ‘m John, Maisie’s dad. Uh…sorry about the staring. Wasn’t intentional, was meant to be more of a glance and I forgot to move my eyes.” The Scot said with far less grace than he’d hoped for, he was even using his hand to talk, a habit he always had but that often worsened when he was nervous. The man blinked slowly at him before holding out a hand, which John noted was gloved, despite the warm weather. The gloves had bone detailing on them.

“Simon.” Ellie’s father answered through a gravelly voice and thick accent. John silently hoped his relief wasn’t too visible as he reached to shake the extended hand, shoulders less tense. “Pleasure to meet’cha, Simon.” He said genuinely, letting his hand come to rest on the strap of Maisie’s bag. He inhaled to speak again, only for his daughter to cut in. “Can Ellie come over to play?” She asked quite loudly. John sighed and patted her on the arm. “It’s “may”, lass. Also say please, and don’t interrupt.” He said, voice soft as he reminded her. Though his tone was gentle, she straightened her back and quickly addressed him with an apology before looking back at Simon. “I’m sorry. May Ellie come over to play, please?” She asked, slower this time. Simon hummed and shifted his weight a bit. He looked down at his daughter, asking silently for her opinion. Ellie nodded with a shy grin. Simon looked to John again. “I’m not too keen on her being at stranger’s houses.” He said calmly. His blunt tone made Maisie deflate, taking it as a complete no. John did as well, but he was quick to offer a solution. “Well that’s alright. There’s a park near a shopping center nearby, Maisie goes there every weekend. If you have the time, maybe we could meet there instead. Let the girls play without havin’ to be at one of our houses.”

Simon tilted his head back down to his daughter once more, Ellie nodded up at him again, this time her eyes wider and her head shook more intently. “That’ll do.” Simon replied calmly. Maisie perked up again, swinging her legs with excitement as John gained a smile of his own. He struggled to bring out his phone and unlock it with only one hand. Simon rose an eyebrow curiously until the brunet held out his phone, open to a new contact page. “We can work out the details whenever ya have a second.” John explained. Simon took the device carefully. He adjusted Ellie so she could wrap her short arms around his neck. John bit back a snicker when the little girl hung from her father’s neck, allowing him to have both hands free. With the freedom, he slipped off a glove so he could type in his number and his first name into the contact. Once it was done, he handed the phone back and let Ellie rest back on his arm.

“Alright then! That’s solved, just let me know when you get an opening in your schedule.” John nodded. Maisie was silently climbing up his form to get on his shoulders, something he adjusted to seamlessly while keeping Simon’s gaze. His legs turned and ready to leave. Simon tilted his head subtly. “What ‘bout your schedule?” He questioned lightheartedly. John chuckled. With one hand holding Maisie’s ankle, he gently bumped Simon’s shoulder with his fist. “I’ll save you a spot, sir.” He said cheerfully. Simon blinked and followed the Scot with his shocked eyes as John started to walk away. Maisie waved to Ellie and shouted a loud goodbye. Simon could feel the gentle touch through the fabric of his jumper long after it was gone, and it stunned him a bit. He blinked before sighing. “Bloody hell…” He mumbled before turning to walk in the opposite direction, keeping his daughter tucked in his arm. . ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Simon bounced his leg as the train shook on the tracks. He kept his gaze either in his lap or out the window, although acutely aware of his surroundings. He always was very observant, no matter where he went. He knew there were a total of twelve other people in his cab and he’d clocked one as an alcoholic off the bat. Spotting a hidden brown bag in the suited man’s bag, amongst various business documents and folders. The pristine suit and silk tie meant nothing. Simon was sure to sit furthest from that stranger, even if he’d been occupied with a meeting on his laptop. It wasn’t his business and he didn’t care to hear the stranger’s sob story, he didn’t really care. The detail-oriented system his brain operated under was built from training.

Simon needed to spot subtle dangers, it was the only reason he was alive to see anything at all. If his childhood strife wasn’t enough to train his subconscious on how to spot the incoming dangers before they occurred, allowing him time to prepare for the fallout or prevent the situation entirely. The years he spent in the SAS certainly did. If anything escaped his line of sight, people would be dead, his own life included. All it took was a single blindspot taken advantage of to send blood splattering to the ground. He’d seen it, he’d caused it. It wasn’t something to take lightly and it was a habit he knew he’d never get rid of. Not that it was a bad skill to have, it kept him alive, although there were days he yearned for a life more peaceful.

He’d never been free from pain or trauma, if he wanted that, he’d have to reincarnate completely. Something he doubted God, if the being even existed, would be willing to give him. His father’s torment, however the most damaging on his mind when at its most malleable, seemed like the least of his mental struggles. Even if he still had nightmares where the feeling of a reptile’s dangerous and scaled lips touched his own. They paled in comparison to other images that would keep him up at night. The feeling of unwanted hands or the scent of earth mixed with a body’s decaying organs were by far the worst ones, though even those had gotten better. Mostly with time. They weren’t as frequent, thankfully. He had more recent agonies, ones that still stung like fresh. The loss of his entire family but the one man he’d disowned weighed on him heavily, the bruising ache of betrayals from people he considered friends. All these things only kept at bay from keeping himself busy, or, when they were at their worst, an uncharacteristically vulnerable discussion with his coworker and past superior. But all these things were years in the past. His most recent internal gash was only five years behind him, and while he’d begun to walk away from it, he still felt it burn under his skin.

Simon very rarely got close to anyone. Every time he did, it seemed they either died, grew to hate him, eventually betrayed him, or merely vanished. Sometimes he’d ask himself what he’d done to deserve it, occasionally he’d brood in a fit of emotional anger over what those who’d wronged him had done. Usually though, he’d bared with it, even expected it. Every individual he met, he readied himself for something to go wrong. It hadn’t been any different when he’d accidentally bumped into a woman at a library, almost knocking the poor thing over. He was exhausted and a bit woozy from some pain meds he’d been prescribed, thanks to a bullet wound that knocked him in his lower ribs.

She’d been nothing but benevolent, and to call her anything but beautiful would’ve been a crime. Simon had a brand new urge when she’d smiled at him, the urge to run, sprint as far as possible. Her dimpled cheeks, wavy & glowing honey-blonde hair, and kindhearted eyes squeezed the oxygen from his lungs, almost taking out his knees. She even helped him find a book he’d actually enjoy, which he did. It would’ve been bad enough with that one encounter, but then he bumped into her again in a cafe. This time, it was her who knocked into him, promptly covering his hoodie in tea, much to her horror. Simon felt nauseous when his heart stuttered, watching her apologize frantically and ask if he was okay, her cheeks flushed in embarrassment, even when he assured her it was fine.

It was the third time, at a pub, that he learned her name. It was also that time that she’d graced him with her number. He didn’t contact her for a month. Even in the current day, he wasn’t sure what prompted him to call her. His apartment had just been so quiet, the rain so loud, and his heart heavy. Something about her sleep-addled voice must’ve flicked a hidden switch in his brain, because that phone call spurred a relationship. Not a whirlwind romance like in the movies by any means. He didn’t know how to treat her, and he pulled away from her frequently. She’d broken down in tears once when he’d gone a month avoiding her, having assumed she’d done something wrong. That night had ended with him held tightly to her body, earning a kiss with more emotion than he thought he was capable of.

It was the longest relationship he’d had. Technically speaking, given he didn’t really count the on & off situationship he’d battled with from the ages of fourteen to sixteen. All that had done was tell him he wasn’t straight, he hated disco music, and he wasn’t fond of the constant anxiety of his father’s heavy hand over a relationship that wasn’t even exclusive. It also was the kindest relationship he’d had, perhaps even on a platonic level. He could never wrap his head around how someone so gentle could exist. How a voice could feel like a blanket’s warmth on shivering skin, how a touch could feel so safe, or how perfume could be so intoxicating. He’d been so disarmed so fast it baffled him.

He’d known her for four months, dated her for two, and admitted he loved her the entire time on the third month. Coincidentally, the same month she’d shyly placed a positive pregnancy test in his hand. She’d been terrified to tell him, clearly. Probably because he’d been very avoidant on the topic of family, while she’d mentioned her dream of motherhood early on. Simon almost ran again, he’d gotten on a bus in the middle of the night when she’d gone to sleep. He wasn’t sure where, it was his apartment she was sleeping in. He was never sure how he’d ended up at the cemetery his mother was buried in, but it shocked him into going back home. His father was a stain on his DNA, a coward and a bastard. He already resembled the man, the last thing he needed to do was fall into the pit of spineless decisions the man had.

It didn’t scare him any less. Even when the idea of being responsible for a newborn had begun to lighten up, the worry something bad would happen only got heavier. He prayed for it to be paranoia as her stomach grew. He’d even asked whatever god that would listen to put the weight of anything awful to fall on himself, not her or the baby. And he cursed whatever God existed when her water broke far too early, and when it sent the sweetest woman he’d ever had the pleasure of meeting into utter agony. He always hated hospitals, and that hatred worsened when he had to carry her into the ER. He’d paced for hours. There was a risk of losing the baby, something that made his stomach twist. There was a risk of losing her, something that made his chest tighten. There was a risk of losing both, something that actually made him vomit in a trashcan near the waiting room. He couldn’t decide which was worse.

Simon didn’t get to decide either. He’d been handed a tiny, fragile baby girl swaddled in blankets. She was beautiful, but the moment wasn’t sweet. When he made eye contact with the nurse, the woman’s face said enough, and for the first time in a long time, Simon sobbed. Enough for his entire body to shake. His coworker had to hold him that night, it was the only way to keep him together. “I’m sorry, Simon.” was all the bearded man could say, in a voice gruff from years of ordering soldiers and smoking, but filled with genuine heartache for the man broken once again.

His daughter, Ellie, came out fine. She was small and fragile, sure, but alive. Simon had to ask his friend if babies ever remembered their newborn phase, purely in fear that his child would remember him crying while keeping her swaddled up on his chest. He couldn’t even use the nursery he’d help make, he moved the crib into his room, right by his bed. Though, for the first month he didn’t even use it. He slept with the newborn on his chest, hands rested on her small form, just to make sure she wouldn’t vanish. He even became on a first name basis with the pediatrician because he visited so often, constantly burning with anxiety. The doctor told him to go to his own care physician and get a prescription for Xanax, lest he collapse from the stress. Having such a dramatic change wasn’t good for his health. His friend took it upon himself to make everything as easy for Simon as physically possible. From a shift in careers to watching the baby so Simon could finally sleep, even if he needed a mountain of melatonin to do it.

He pulled himself together. Even if the time he’d spent with the angel he’d met at the library was cut short, something he somehow managed to blame himself for, up until his daughter Ellie was three. She was the spitting image of himself aside from two things, two things he treasured about her the most. In her brown eyes, the left held a split of color, bright green, the color her mother had. The other feature was a singular mole on her tiny shoulder, just adjacent to her neck, exactly where her mother had one. He always found himself softening when he was reminded of these two tiny details about his child. Even if Ellie didn’t truly understand why. It seemed the features she favored about herself were the ones that she shared with her father. Something Simon managed to find a bittersweetness in.

He’d been so hesitant to send her to school when she became the right age. To the point he started her on half days, to get her acclimated slowly, but admittedly more for himself. It was fine at first. She had the occasional bad day, but she always attributed it to loud noises or lots of stimuli. It was when she turned four that she started coming home and telling him about the occasional mean comment. It wasn’t too bad, in her words. But the day he was called to pick her up because she was brought into a hysterical meltdown, a combination of some kids teasing her and a substitute teacher’s rough handling of her emotions, Simon had just about lost it. If looks could kill, his eyes would’ve been the equivalent of an air strike. He’d been ready to tear the old woman’s head off, and he’d never been closer to kicking actual children into the sun than that moment.

The school had a habit of not helping when kids were bullied, and when Simon really looked at it, he realized the environment Ellie was always in. His apartment was cramped and dark, not to mention old. His downstairs neighbor was always yelling at his roommates, the upstairs one was a drunk, and the old lady across the hall never failed to make a comment when she caught Simon in the lift. The traffic was hell and the closest park needed a train to get to, since he didn’t like to drive. He had plenty of money saved, and when he asked Ellie if she would miss anything, her only answer was the birds that nested in one of the windows.

So, he found a small home, packed everything, and took Ellie out of Manchester. He liked the ability to add more security immediately. No longer relying on a lazy landlord and a chain lock. He could secure every window and door and install a proper security system. Ellie was most fond of the dogs she’d seen being walked in the neighborhood, as well as the large window seat her new room had. The only one who knew about the address change was Simon’s coworker, the only one with a spare key too. In case of an emergency. He’d waited a full month before enrolling his daughter in school again, and he honestly would’ve waited longer, had Ellie not complained about the cabin fever.

It was fairly close, but just a bit too far to walk to, hence why Simon took the train. The bus was also an option, but it was far too crowded for his liking when he’d seen the stop. He adjusted his mask when walking from the station to the school, the hand in his hoodie pocket held a small back of sweets. Something he grabbed for Ellie as a prize for going to her new school. He silently missed his balaclava. He would’ve worn it if Ellie didn’t remind him other kids would probably be scared of it, and he was intimidating enough on his own. As usual, he scanned the area as he approached. Counting every child and adult he could see. He slowed to a stop on the sidewalk, waiting patiently to see a head of blonde tresses tied in a bun with a white scrunchy, one with little ghosts on it. She’d begged for it when she saw it, and it was easy to pick out of a crowd. He relaxed when she came into sight, noting how she waved at a little brunette girl that ran away.

Ellie walked to him briskly. Simon zeroed in on a red ribbon tied loosely around her right arm in an uneven bow. “Hi daddy.” Ellie said softly as she reached him. “Hi, squeaker. How was your first day?” He asked. He bent to pick her up when she raised her arms. “Good. I didn’t talk to many kids, but there was this one girl who was really nice.” She explained, then held up her ribbon-decorated arm. “She gave me her hair bow, said it was a placeholder until she could make me a bracelet. Her name’s Maisie, but the others called her MayMay.” Simon hummed in acknowledgment, face softening as she described it with a smile. It’d been the first time another kid had made an effort to befriend her, something that brought Simon a lot of relief. “So, I assume you had fun then?” He asked.

Ellie nodded again. “She taught me Scottish words. Her dad’s Scottish, she said.” Simon listened and nodded. He turned, ready to head to the train station again. He only stopped when he felt the shiver up his spine, a sixth sense he developed when in the sights of a sniper. He even looked at the builds first, checking the roofs. It was only when he looked ahead of himself that he saw who was staring. A brunet stranger with blue eyes and a messy mohawk. Simon blinked as the man gazed at him, noting the little girl in his arms. He looked around at his sides. Maybe the stranger was looking past him? No, no he was certainly staring at him.

Simon felt Ellie tap him. “It’s okay, daddy. That’s MayMay, that man’s her dad.” She whispered. He looked at the man once more, seeing him now distracted by Maisie. He sighed slowly and looked at Ellie. “You want me to say hello, don’t you.” It was less a question, since he knew the answer, and more a statement. Reaffirmed by Ellie’s gentle nod. Simon let out a defeated sigh, and his daughter patted his shoulder in sympathy. She was well aware of her father’s introversion. Still, Simon walked up, though not too close. He could hear the little girl’s accent, mostly Scottish with a British twang of sorts. Maisie’s father let out a sigh and looked up, though clearly startled by Simon’s now closer proximity. A few seconds passed as the man took Simon’s form in, before he coughed and introduced himself, quickly followed by an awkward apology.

The man’s shoulders were tense, that was the first thing Simon noticed. He also noticed a scar on his chin, and along his right eye. And, a bit shamefully, he noted how tightly the man’s shirt hugged his well-built chest and arms. Simon wasn’t one to gawk but even he had to admit those biceps were impressive. He blinked, then held out his hand. “Simon.” He stated calmly. John relaxed and shook his hand. He looked ready to say something before Maisie cut him off, too caught up in her own excitement to remember manners. “Can Ellie come over to play?” She exclaimed. Ellie smiled at the enthusiasm and Simon could hear her stifled giggle.

John’s voice was gentle when he corrected his daughter, and Simon admired how Maisie immediately responded. Maisie asked again, and while Simon wouldn’t have any problem saying yes, he wasn’t going to agree without his daughter’s confirmation. He never liked the idea of forcing her to do anything she didn’t want to, if unnecessary. But she nodded when he looked down at her. He paused. The idea of letting his daughter go to a stranger’s house made anxiety pump into his veins, and while this man seemed nice, he didn’t want to give out his address. “ “I’m not too keen on her being at stranger’s houses.” He admitted. Honestly, he felt a pang of guilt when John’s daughter deflated. John seemed to as well, if only for a second, Simon caught the look akin to a dejected puppy. Really, the man had serious puppy eyes.

John bounced back quickly though, grinning once more with white teeth and a sparkle in his eye. …or maybe that was just the sun. Yeah, just the sun. “Well that’s alright. There’s a park near a shopping center nearby, Maisie goes there every weekend. If you have the time, maybe we could meet there instead. Let the girls play without havin’ to be at one of our houses.” The Scot suggested. Simon glanced at Ellie again, her nod was intense. He exhaled, she wanted to see the park anyway, better to do it with someone she was friends with. He remembered going to the park alone, it was not a fun experience. “That’ll do.” He answered, following the movement of John struggling to pull his phone out, and he was admittedly confused at first when it was held out to him.

Simon looked at the cracked screen protector as a new contact page stared back at him. John said something about working out the details. Simon bit back his apprehension and took the phone, adjusting Ellie. A silent code they developed, one of many, when he needed both his hands free for a moment. She secured herself around his neck and he let her hang off him so he could take off a glove. He tapped in his number and his name, all in lowercase. John’s grin was sunshine bright as he took the device back. Simon wondered if his cheeks hurt at this point while Ellie settled back on his arm. Maisie climbed over her father, something the man seemed unphased by, helping her adjust to be on his shoulders. “Alright then! That’s solved, just let me know when you get an opening in your schedule.” John said cheerfully. The longer he spoke, the more Simon could see this man spiritually being a dog. Probably a terrier of some kind. He was way too happy. Though, really, it was an endearing quality. Certainly more pleasant than the bitter old lady across the hall.

Simon had the faintest of smiles behind his mask as he jokingly asked the man about his own schedule, seeing him ready to leave. John chuckled and gently connected his fist to Simon’s shoulder. “I’ll save you a spot, sir.” He said. Fire radiated over the blond’s skin from where John had tapped him, and he felt the air suddenly vanish from his lungs, leaving him stunned. Even after John began to leave. “Bye-bye, Ellie!” Maisie shouted back, making the little girl wave back. Simon swallowed as the urge to high tail it back home filled his nerves. He pushed it down, not for the sake of seeming brave, but quite the opposite. He wasn’t going to feel that way again, he refused. Not so soon. But as he turned to leave, and he settled on the memory of a puppy-eyed gaze and bold grin, he was worried. Very worried.

"Bloody hell.” He whispered, hugging Ellie closer. The little girl rested her head on his shoulder, eyes shut. He let himself exhale a puff of anxious breath, feeling himself settle at the sight of her peaceful form. He’d be fine. They’d be fine.

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controlvariable · 5 months

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myth's game writeup of 2023

i waited until the new year to finish this in case i managed to beat a game during december. i did not. ANYWAY.

this will contain new games as well as games i only got around to in 2023. light on spoilers but be warned

Octopath Traveler II (2023)

as far as i remember, this was the first new game I played this year, and god did it deliver. I've been a fan of octopath since the first one came out on switch in 2018, counting it as my favorite game of all time, so to have a sequel after all this time was thrilling. it did almost everything octopath 1 did and better. new path actions, day/night system, branching stories, fucking boats?? incredible.

my biggest gripe has to be the new hidden classes. I started with throne so getting inventor 10 minutes after my chapter one did definitely fuck up the progression a little bit. I think I preferred ot1 hidden classes. while the dungeons were underwhelming, the boss battles really make you fight for these secret techniques, something absent in 3 out of the 4 hidden classes of octopath 2.

overall: 4/5 BP.

Xenoblade Chronicles 3: Future Redeemed (2023)

xenoblade 3 as the end of the klaus trilogy really didn't sit well with me, for reasons that don't belong on my review of its dlc, but future redeemed fixed nearly every problem i had with base xc3 — both story and gameplay wise. it ties every xenoblade game and even some of gears and saga into a neat little 40 hour bow, and is truly a love letter to the entire series. I can only think of one problem I still have with it. the fucking menu music.

where do i even fucking start with this one really. relatively speaking, I'm a new xenoblade fan, having started xc1 in march 2022 during a harrowing experience with adhd meds, and since then it had kinda consumed me. I finished it in about a week, went on to watch xenoblade 2 because I had heard the gameplay wasn't great, and got my hands on xenoblade 3 day of release.

overall: 5 dance apples.

Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom (2023)

as someone who was not immune to the hype surrounding botw, I had high hopes for the sequel. hopes that were painfully, slowly, fed into a trash compactor over my playthrough. this is another game I got on release day, lining up outside gamestop in the heat, and lets not forget that it's the only first-party switch game with a price tag of seventy bucks.

the game plays like a tech demo. I have a lot of love in my heart for it. the story was better that botw, the world was more expansive than botw, but the problem here is that everything it does is directly compared to breath of the wild. it doesn't get enough time to shine, because we're in the exact same world as 6 years ago, but instead of pinkish black malice we have blackish pink gloom. i much prefer the runes to the zonai abilities, and the sense of wonder that permeated breath of the wild is replaced by a sense of nostalgia that just doesn't appeal to me much.

all of this isn't to say it's a bad game. I think it's a great game, honestly, but a great game that wasn't meant for me. I've seen the insane shit people do with ultrahand, but it just... isn't my style.

overall: 441/1000 korok seeds

Pikmin 4 (2023)

it's pikmin. i dont have much to say about it. it was a lot of fun, loved that part where i bulborbed all over those guys. im not a gameplay reviewer, at heart i mostly talk about story, and a game like pikmin doesn't have much for me to comment on. good fun. lived up to expectations. probably wouldn't replay.

overall: 7500 sparklium

Final Fantasy XIV: Stormblood (2017)

oh, stormblood... the rage you still fill my veins with. I'm not going to spend too long on this one because I have better things to do with my life than shit on an expansion everyone already hates, but let me make it clear I actually do have reasons for disliking it.

having ala mhigo built up since the very start of a realm reborn, only to have half of the ala mhigo expansion take place halfway across the star, was very disappointing. the monotony of the three areas in gyr abania compared to the three far east areas was very disappointing. the treatment of the people of the steppe and honestly that entire segment in the main story quest was very disappointing. hien, as a character, in his entirety, was very disappointing.

I will say it had strong parts. the 61-70 quests for several jobs were the strongest in their entire story (see: dark knight). the dungeons started to get more interesting. it gave us the quest Child Labor, which is hilarious and I'll never be finishing it because I want it there forever.

overall: 1/3 WHM Lillies.

Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers (2019)

ffxiv immediately got better the second 4.0 was over. even the patch quests instantly shot up in quality. it's not even funny. the lead up to shadowbringers was the most fun I had had with the game since a realm reborn, and all of the first was heartbreaking to go through even though I was spoiled on That Character's Identity.

the duty trust system (is that what it was called?) made dungeons much more fun. getting to go through hell with alphinaud alisaie and thancred made everything 10x better, even if it was a lot slower. the story, again, heartbreaking — ryne's arc in particular felt like being stabbed by thousands of little needles while trying to play. in the best way, of course. and amaurot... amaurot. getting to quote our favorite knight in there was my 8th umbral calamity.

shadowbringers also marks when a lot of your job's functionality is really unlocked, so doing the level 80 raid series was genuinely a ton of fun. and again the thousands of little needles. i cried at least 7 times during the main story.

overall: 85/100 kenki gauge.

Katana Zero (2019)

possibly my favorite game this year. the protagonist, zero (or as i like to call him, katana from zero,) ticked all the boxes for a character I'd be absolutely obsessed with. true enough, i fell in love. the fast-paced gameplay, the diegesis of gameplay elements which would typically go unquestioned, and the care that seeps through every dialogue choice all solidify katana zero as one of my favorite game experiences ever. I'll leave it at this, because I encourage everyone to at least give it a try.

overall: Yes, that should work.

Fire Emblem Engage (2023)

this is one of the few 2023 releases on this list that I didn't get on launch, because at the time I had relatively little interest in fire emblem as a series. then I made a lot of friends who enjoy it, and in october, bestie sen decided to buy it for me as an early birthday present. everyone say thank you sen.

considering this is my first fire emblem game, i have absolutely no deeper insight into how it matches up compared to the others, and plenty of people more eloquent than me have already talked about that. what I do know is that the gameplay was surprisingly fun as my first tactical rpg, and the story was passable. all the characters were appealing in one way or another, and I'm still mad I had to choose between marrying kagetsu or fogado. they're both my husbands at heart.

overall: I didn't internalize enough of this game to come up with a clever rating.

Fire Emblem Engage: Fell Xenologue (2023)

I was expecting the dlc to continue the main story, so I put it off until I had finished the base game. in hindsight, I regret it, because I'd love to have brought the winds and twins with me to fight their evil versions and alternate universe dad. the story was... alright. I really liked all the small battle interactions between fell characters and our party members which they would've known. I instantly recognized fogado in chapter 1 because I am in love with him by the way.

overall: i dont know. 1¾ dragonstones

with 2024 upon us, I'll probably be writing reviews for games as I play them. I'm trying to use tumblr more as a social platform instead of just reblogging. we'll see how that plays out. if you like any of these games (yes, even tears of the kingdom) please talk to me about them! that's all for now. look out for my mangled thoughts on SANABI and Nier: Automata next :)

#op #long #octopath traveler 2 #tears of the kingdom #xenoblade chronicles 3 #future redeemed #pikmin 4 #ffxiv #stormblood #shadowbringers #katana zero #fire emblem engage #fell xenologue

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gossipsnake · 3 months

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PARTIES: @the-lil-exorcist and @gossipsnake TIME: Current WHERE: A bar Downtown SUMMARY: Sometimes two lesbians just deserve a fun night out. WARNINGS: None!

Lil was quite done with the town, her entire body seemingly tired and fed up with the utter chaos that seemed to follow her around. She couldn’t even say that most of it was caused by her, something that was even more annoying to her. She liked helping people, even when it came at the expense of her own safety, but it felt like she was taking karmic hits for things she didn’t do. She couldn’t even run from it either, stuck in the town for better and probably worse.

So she did the only thing she really knew how to do when she couldn’t run from her problems, she decided she was going to go sit in a bar and sip on whatever and pretend they weren’t there for a few hours. While it probably wasn’t a high list on what a therapist would recommend, Lil was having fun laughing with some of the regulars in the bar, and overall forgetting the weight and pain for a moment.

After a bit she sensed a shift next to her at the bar and without thinking about it she turned to greet the new person who was sitting down much more open then she usually was. After all, right now she wasn’t the Reaper, she was a late twenty something year old in a bar.

“Come here often?” Lil said with a smile giving away a laugh behind her eyes knowing that it was rather lame but feeling bold enough to do so anyway. “That was incredibly stupid, let me get you a drink to make up for that. - Hey you look familiar, do I know you?” Lil registering that the other’s face looked familiar, but not quite placing where or when. Honestly she was just hoping it wasn’t a friend of an ex or something like that. She really didn’t need it.

Even though she had only been in town for a few years, Anita had already established herself as a regular at nearly every bar in town. They all seemed to offer something unique so where she ended up spending her nights depended on what she was looking for. Some places were good for a true escape - cheap drinks and bartenders who didn't cut people off until last call. Other places were good hunting grounds, either for a meal or for some fun.

That night in particular, however, Anita was just in the mood for a lively crowd. Despite having been mostly on her own since she left home for college, she was really feeling the absence of her former housemate in the past weeks.

The bar was busy when she arrived, but there were a few scattered empty stools to choose from. One was off to the corner next to a couple that looked like they were on a first date and the other was next to a beautiful woman. It wasn't a difficult choice on which spot to take. What she hadn't been expecting, however, was that the woman was going to initiate a conversation with her before she even had the chance to order a drink. Anita smirked, maybe this was going to be a fun night after all.

”Not stupid at all, but I'd never say no to a free drink from a beautiful woman.“ Anita met a lot of people but was usually pretty good at remembering faces. It took her a second to place it but she got there eventually. ”Bakery girl, yeah? Lilian?“ Damn. Her online profile hardly did her justice.

Lil was more relaxed then she had been after coming back home. It was easy to let things go at the moment, although she knew that they kept looming over her shoulders ready to snatch whatever type of peace she made for herself.

Still, at the end of the day she was alive and that made her want to shed the bits of her life that made her feel like she was just haunting the living, and the fact the other smiled at her made that a little easier to do. That and the whiskeys and cokes she’d managed to down so far.

“Glad to know that’s not just me,” Lil said with a chuckle waiting for the Bartender to notice her so she could get the other a drink. At the connection Lil nodded and continued, “ Yes but I go by Lil. Lilian kinda sounds like a grandma's name right? Oh! Are you the professor? The one that was looking for the beatles? Anita? Or I’m sorry should I call you Doc?” She giggled a little at the notion.

It had taken her a moment, but she couldn’t forget a pretty face either and she had found the Professor pretty. Lil had been somewhat shy though worried that she would put her foot in her mouth. Mostly, she didn’t think she was particularly smart enough to keep the other’s attention for long. Still, it was nice to match a person online to what they looked like in person. “I hope you found them.”

There was something about the environment of a dimly lit bar that felt intoxicating even before any liquor passed her lips. It was as if simply showing up to the place unlocked a cage, releasing people that were usually restrained by thoughts of what one should do and not of what one wanted to do. It was an environment that encouraged release. Anita lived the entirety of her live in that state which was maybe why she liked being in places that brought others to her level.

When the bartender approached Anita made eye contact and there was a nod of recognition. “Hola papi,” she hummed, her already present accent amplified by switching to her native Spanish for those few words. “Dragones Resposado,” she held two fingers up and tilted her head towards Lil. “Put some tonic and a splash of lime juice in it for us, yeah?”

“It may be an older name… but nothing about you seems like a grandmother. I’m glad you remembered me as being a professor, most people go with ‘weird bug lady’.” In a way, she preferred the latter. She liked her eccentricities. The Doc comment made her laugh and she shook her head, “if you think Lilian sounds like a grandmother then Doc surely makes me sound like a graying old man! If that’s what you’re into you can call me Doc… otherwise Anita is perfect.”

“I found most of them, a few managed to slip away. Hopefully off into the woods surrounded by nature and not on the bottom of someone's shoe.” It didn’t take too long for their drinks to arrive and Anita cupped one of the cool glasses in her right hand while she slid the other drink across the bar towards Lil, “If you don’t think this is better than what you’ve been drinking, I’ll buy drinks the rest of the night.”

Lil realized that Anita probably came here often, which she also noted in her head, still sipping on her own drink when she realized the other was ordering for the both of them. She hadn’t expected it, but she was perfectly happy by it anyway finishing the drink she had in her hand. After all, if she couldn’t run away from this town again she could at least have a few moments with someone else that made her feel like she had.

At the mention that she didn’t look like a grandmother Lil laughed and said, “I mean I knit but that’s probably the only thing. Although hey, anyone can rock this aesthetic if they wanted to.” She had, rather young, decided to dress punk-ish at first to annoy her father but more so when she realized it suited her. While she’d taken out some of her piercings over the years, mostly she just grew more into it. At the comment of people calling her weird Lil raised her eyebrow a little shocked, “Yeah no you seem really cool. I wouldn’t think of calling you weird. People really have too much time on their hands.”

At the comment Lil chuckled, raising her hands a little and going, “No no - can’t say I am and I don’t think that matches you at all now that you’ve put that image in my head. Anita it is then. It’s a pretty name and I think it suits you.” At the fate of the beetles Lil sighed and nodded, “Hopefully so. I wouldn’t want to think that they met that fate.”

As the other slid the drink towards her Lil caught it and laughed, “ You know, it probably will be but sure I’ll take the bet anyway. Cheers.” Lil raised her glass to clink with the other, hoping it wasn’t too cheesy.

“Cool and weird aren’t mutually exclusive,” Anita chimed back with a grin. “But I’ll take the compliment anyway.” Maybe it was because for so much of her life, in nearly every aspect of her life, she felt like the odd man out that Anita had grown to view being weird or different as a positive thing. It set her apart from the ordinary. “I’d rather be called weird than boring, ya know.”

There was another compliment tucked into Lil’s next statement as well. That mixed with the statement that she wasn’t into graying old men was enough for Anita to decide to graduate from light flirting to a more direct approach. “Thank you, it means graceful. I like to think I live up to that.” As they clinked their glasses together her eyes remained fixed on the other as they each took a sip, studying the gentle lines of her face as she let the tequila pour down her throat.

“What’s the verdict?” She suspected that she knew the answer already, but there was always room for surprises in life. “And feel free to lie to me, if you want,” Anita teased with a smirk, lowering her voice slightly, “Cause I’d be happy to buy you a few more rounds even though we both know that was better than the usual offerings here.”

Lil nodded, trying not to chuckle at the idea, “You’re right, they aren’t, but I’ll still hold on to the fact I don't think you’re weird. Then again, I don’t have a super great track record of being called not-weird. Also for the record, you don’t seem boring either.” It was true at the very least, the girl who could see ghosts was never going to be welcomed with open arms - despite the Wicked’s Rest community’s habit of wanting to be a horror zone. She always figured it was the closeness with death people got uncomfortable with, but she decided not to dwell on that - instead smiling to the other. After all, Anita didn’t seem to find her that odd, and that was enough.

“You certainly are,” Lil said with a light laugh, drinking the tequila sliding down a lot smoother than what she usually drank. It wasn’t hard, to be fair. Lil for most of her life was a traveling exorcist, and she had gotten used to staying in dive bars until four am drinking whatever they offered.

So while she wouldn’t have minded lying to not pay for drinks she couldn’t help shaking her head and replying, “No no you won the bet on that one. It’s a lot smoother than what I usually have, and I can’t deny your victory.” Lil said, putting the glass back down.

“I will get another round if you want one too - probably not a shot or the floor and I am going to be great friends,” Lil said with a chuckle looking back at Anita. “And while I think I’m pretty adorable sitting here, I promise you I won’t be then.”

Anita grinned softly when the other woman implied that she, too, seemed to have experience with being a bit weird, a bit eclectic - different. “When I first moved to the States, my English was horrible, I was experiencing intense culture shock, and I was very gay and very very into insects. I didn’t have a great track record with being called not-weird for several consecutive years of my life.”

“A woman of honor, how noble,” she teased, given that Lil didn’t deny the obvious outcome of their little bet. “I do love a little victory, even if I was sure of the outcome before I even made the bet.” Anita signaled over to the bartender, who was finishing up a round of drinks for another group of customers.

Turning her attention back, Anita smiled widely at the compliment Lil had given herself. “I love that. I love when women aren’t afraid to compliment themselves. Cause you do look absolutely adorable sitting there. And while I think you would look equally adorable laying down,” she paused for just a moment, her eyes dropped down to the other woman's lips briefly before returning to her gaze, “we’ll certainly avoid any more shots tonight.”

“Do you wanna order this round?” Anita asked once the bartender returned to where they were sitting to take their order. “Or should I? I don’t mind taking the lead.”

Lil nodded at the explanation thinking that was a way to get called weird. Not knowing how much the others knew about ghosts she just shrugged and said, “Dressed like this most of my life, got in a lot of fights and my family is pretty- uh - notorious around here.” It might have been enough of a hint about the ghosts that seemed to haunt her, and was light enough that it wasn’t dragging down the talk. “I speak a lot of languages too - but haven’t managed to learn Spanish. Maybe you could help?” Lil said a little teasing.

She chuckled at the idea of being honorable but still gave a little bow in her seat. “What can I say, I might bullshit a lot, but not with an obvious win.” That, and it was just nice to agree with Anita.

Lil couldn’t help the blush that filled her face as the other doubled down on her own compliment to herself, her eyes widening slightly. She was only glad she didn’t stutter and kept Anita’s gaze replying, “Glad you agree. Would be a shame if you didn’t.” Lil’s smile grew as she started to hide her own blush behind light joking,“ Good on you to think of my relationship with the floor.”

Turning to look at the bartender with a nod and back to Anita, Lil shook her head and said, “No it seems like you’ve got the better taste with drinks. Go ahead.”

“Oh yeah? You mentioned a brother, if I recall. You two get into too much trouble around town as kids or something?” Anita declined to note the similarity between their families as being somewhat notorious in their hometown. She had no desire for the night to be derailed by too many family details. “A lot of languages? I’m impressed. What languages? Well, I am an excellent teacher. If you ever want a private lesson… yo te doy una clase privada, mi amor.”

“I’m a very conscientious person. Always gotta think about your relationship with the floor. And any other flat surfaces, of course.” With all the utter bullshit that had been happening lately, Anita felt so relieved that the possibility of a simple normal night was still an occasional option. There were no crystal monsters, nobody trying to kill her roommate - just two beautiful women sharing a drink at a bar.

“Two paloma’s.” She ordered from the bartender. “Thing about having good taste is you just have to try things sometimes, push yourself out of your comfort zone.” When the drinks arrived, Anita held hears up to cheers, “To… being a bit weird and trying new things.” She smirked slightly before putting the glass to her lips and taking a long, slow drink. “If you ever do want Spanish lessons, I could also teach you how to make some mean cocktails. Always a real crowd pleaser at parties.”

“Nah it was almost always me,” Lil said with a bit of a grin at the idea that Jonas would get in trouble for anything. While it wasn’t true that he was a goody two shoes or any other such markers - he didn’t like making people upset. He was quiet, and kind. “Yes - I mean I can list them if you want, but it’ll probably get boring,” Lil said looking at Anita with a smile. At the idea of her being her teacher one of Lil’s eyebrows went up, finding her switching to Spanish very attractive, “I would like that.”

Lil laughed and continued, “Oh of course. I also think we should make sure it’s comfortable. Wouldn’t want any more bruises than necessary. I wouldn’t want you to have a bad time on a horizontal surface either.” It was nice flirt back and forth, something from a more simple part of Lil’s life rearing up than what the last while was.

At the drink choice she nodded thinking it was a good choice and focusing back on Anita. “True - I guess I have been stuck in my comfort zone lately.” Something like that at least. Lil was in a holding pattern, waiting for the other shoe to drop. It was making her on edge, although she had to admit the tequila was making it a little looser now. Clinking Anita’s glass Lil echoed the statement with a laugh.

“Oh now that’s also a great deal. I’ll have to take you up on it. You’ll have to let me know what you might want in return,” Lil said, taking a sip of the drink and pausing for a moment. “After all, I don’t think you should be giving away trade secrets for free. I’ll have to get you dinner at least.”

“A lone trouble maker. I like that.” Anita certainly got up to her fair share of trouble, both now and in her adolescence, but back then it was always accompanied by her sisters - who often caused far more of a scene than she ever did. She shook the thoughts away, focused instead on the evening and how she hoped it might unfold. “I doubt anything you do is boring. Even listing off things.

The comment about more bruises than necessary caused Anita to slightly raise one of her eyebrows, she didn’t know if the comment meant what it did in her head but she was certainly interested in finding out. “I don’t think either of us would have a bad time on a horizontal surface, especially not together.” It was hard to put her finger on, but there was something about the other woman that simply drew Anita in. She was interesting. “If you ever need any help busting out of your comfort zone, I’d be happy to help.”

“I hope you take me up on every offer I make tonight.” Anita smirked as she placed her glass to her lips again, savoring a slow drink as her mind danced around for an appropriate response to the question about what she would want in return. “Oh, I wouldn’t give away all my trade secrets for free. Gotta keep ya coming back.” Anita adjusted how she was sitting in the stool, placing her glass down on the counter and leaning in a bit closer to Lil. “ Drinks and dinner? If I didn’t know any better I’d say that sounded like a date. ”

Lil chuckled at the idea leaning back slightly to give a ‘bow’ to the idea. Out of her siblings she had always been the one to cause problems. Maybe she should have been ashamed by that, but well she didn’t feel like she was in the wrong most of the time. Besides, even if she had been more well behaved it wouldn’t have been better. She would have just been more tired then she already was.

At the comment Lil couldn’t help but smile and said, “Oh I’m certain that it wouldn’t be a bad time.” It had been a long time since she felt flirty in person and it was fun to talk to the other woman, especially about nothing particularly deep at all. At the suggestion she nodded and said, “First one I’d call.”

Lil’s eyebrow raised slightly a look of amusement in her eyes as she said, “I wouldn’t dream of denying one.” Leaning arm on the bar she turned more to Anita and continued, “Of course. I wouldn’t want to be a freeloader. - Sure. If you’d like to go on a date I’d love to take you on one. If not, just drinks and dinner. You are fun to be around.” The drinks finally made her a bit more brave and less nervous, Lil didn’t mind either scenario. Normally she would insist it wouldn’t be a date, a fear of commitment pressing on her bones closer than most other things, but Anita didn’t seem to be one to take all of that particularly seriously. That and if she was honest she did want to see the other again.

“Guess I gotta give you my number then, so you can make that call whenever you feel so inclined.” Anita said with a smirk before reaching across the bar and grabbing a pen and a napkin. She quickly jotted down her first name followed by her cell number before offering it over to Lil. “And please, feel free to use it for any other reasons too. No limitations.” It was more of a line than it was the truth, but it was one that she had learned tended to work out pretty well. And in the event that someone took the no limitations caveat too seriously, the technology to block phone numbers was always at her fingertips.

There was a pang of hesitation, it felt, in her response to the joke about a date. For how much of a player she was, Anita didn’t have the same disdain for the word that she noted many others seemed to. A date didn’t mean anything serious, to her. Maybe that wasn’t the case for everyone, but Anita didn’t view it as anything more than an agreement to enjoy the company of another person in a romantic context. “Drinks and dinner and fun with a woman like yourself? I’m sure it will be a night we won’t forget no matter what we call it, mami.”

#come here often?#lil #para #p:lil #lilian

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astra90x · 2 years

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Flufftober Day 22 - “Have you heard?”

@flufftober

Fandom: Stardew Valley

Pairing: Sebastian x Reader

Word Count: 1138

Reader Pronouns: She/Her

Warnings: Cursing

This is one chapter of an entire linear story! It can be read separately but is better when read as a whole. Enjoy!

❤❤❤❤❤♡♡♡

The rest of winter passes by in an absolute flash, and before you know it, it’s the week leading up to the feast of the winter star. It’s a huge celebration for the entire town, and on top of that, every single person gets to anonymously get a gift for another member of the town. The person you’re making your gift for is sent to you through the mail by Lewis, and this year, you have Penny.

Though you’ve been in town for almost a year, you haven’t had all that much interaction with Penny. You’ve run into her a few times when she was teaching Vincent and Jas, but she never really had time to chat, and the only other time you’ve ever talked is when she was reading by a tree outside Sam’s place and you asked her about her book. You do have a baseline idea of what she likes—literature, teaching, family—but you’d like to learn a bit more about her so that you can get her something you know she’ll really like.

You’re not sure about how you’ll learn more about Penny without asking her directly and giving away your secret, but then you remember that Sam is decently close with her. Though you probably shouldn’t tell anybody else who you’re getting a gift for, you figure you can break the rules a little bit to get Penny something she’ll love instead of having to just guess.

Once you’re finished with your morning duties, you pull on some nicer clothes to get out of your muddy work overalls and head into town, arriving at Sam’s house a few minutes later. Jodi lets you in when you knock, letting you know that Sam is in his room. You knock on his door next, and he answers with a look of both surprise and happiness.

“(Y/N)!” he exclaims, stepping aside to allow you entry into the room. “Nice of you to visit, what’s up?”

You step past Sam and into his bedroom, where you sit on the stool next to his keyboard and watch as he flops down onto his bed. “I actually came by because I need your help.”

“Yeah, no problem! What can I do for ya?”

It’s hard to deny that Sam’s eagerness is really cute, and it’s really nice of him to want to help you out with absolutely no hesitation. Feeling better about requesting this of Sam, you start to explain your predicament. He furrows his brow in thought.

“Well, she’s mentioned to me before that she loves this one quote by, um, I think it was Paulo Coelho? ‘It’s the possibility of having a dream come true that makes life interesting.’ Maybe you can do something with that?”

You think for a moment, and then you remember that back home, tucked away in an old jewelry box that you never open, you have a heart-shaped locket that would be just the size to fit that quote. That seems like something Penny would like.

“Thank you, Sam, that’s actually perfect,” you say. He grins.

“Awesome, I’m happy I could help!” His grin quickly fades though, and he purses his lips slightly before adding, “I’ve been having so much trouble with mine. I got Pierre, I have no idea what I would get him aside from money.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know enough about Pierre to help you out,” you admit. “Maybe a nice bottle of wine? Something like that always goes appreciated.”

Sam nods. “That’s a good idea, actually. I just wish I was as lucky as Sebastian, it’s easy to make a gift for a close friend.”

“Oh, he must have Abigail, right?”

“No, Mom has Abigail.” Sam pauses for a moment, but then his face jerks into one of pure “oh shit,” and it’s only because of his reaction that you put two and two together. Sebastian only really has three close friends, and if he doesn’t have Abby or Sam, then…

“Does that mean Sebastian has… me?” you ask. You don’t figure Sam will answer honestly, because it’s supposed to be a “surprise” and all, but the way that Sam’s body seizes up for a moment gives you the only answer you need. “How did you find out?”

Sam opens his mouth to say something, and it looks like he’s going to try and deny your claim, but after a moment, he just sighs and says, “He told me. Figured it was alright since we didn’t have each other.”

You can’t help but smile. Though the secret has been spoiled for you, the idea that Sebastian will be the one giving a gift to you makes you feel really amazing, for some reason. Screw the secret.

“Do you know what he’s getting me?” you know you shouldn’t try and spoil the secret even further, but curiosity won’t allow you to let it go. Unfortunately though, Sam shakes his head.

“All I know is that he’s been busting his ass to make whatever it is he’s making for you,” Sam says. “Ever since our people got revealed, he’s been shutting himself away in his room more than usual, and the only times he’ll reply to my texts are to tell me that he’s too busy working on your gift to hang out.”

Though you were smiling before, now the only thing you’re experiencing is shock. Sebastian is really putting that much effort into you? It’s really touching that he would care enough to want to make you something big, but it still feels like too much.

“Um, wow…” is all you can manage to say. “I didn’t know he cared that much.”

Sam laughs. “Have you heard the way he talks about you? Of course he cares, he adores you! You’re one of his best friends!”

Best friends, you think, and though the words bring a warmth into your heart, there’s something hollow there as well that you can’t quite place. You don’t dwell on it, though, because Sam keeps talking.

“I know he’s not the affectionate type or whatever, but I’ve known the guy long enough to know how he feels about people, and you’re special to him.” Sam puts an arm around your shoulder, squeezing it affectionately. “Trust me on that one.”

Your mind wanders back to all the moments that you and Sebastian have shared over the past seven or eight months. Him helping you take your revenge on Pierre, watching a meteor shower together, bringing you soup when you were sick, locking yourselves in your barn, bringing him hot chocolate on a cold winter’s day, and then to just a few weeks ago, when he kissed you on the cheek to give you good luck for the ice fishing competition.

Maybe you can see why Sebastian thinks you’re special, because when you relive every important moment the two of you have shared, you realize just how special he is to you, too.

❤❤❤❤❤♡♡♡

#flufftober2022 #day 22 #stardew valley #sdv sebastian #stardew valley sebastian #x reader

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mariana-oconnor · 1 year

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The Naval Treaty pt 3

Yes, we apparently have got to the point where I'm memeing myself.

Right, last time, after Percy, Watson's old 'pal' from school failed magnificently at understanding how to protect confidential data, he followed an old woman into the night and the stress gave him a brain fever. Meanwhile, I'm still certain that Joseph Harrison, who has not been implicated in any way, is involved because I am a well-balanced and entirely reasonable person.

Mr. Joseph Harrison drove us down to the station

See! He's trying to get rid of you! 🤣🤣😂

“It's a very cheery thing to come into London by any of these lines which run high, and allow you to look down upon the houses like this.”

Last time we had Holmes looking out a train window: Ugh, look how terrible the countryside is! I can't bear it.

The contrast is palpable.

“The board-schools.” “Light-houses, my boy! Beacons of the future! Capsules with hundreds of bright little seeds in each, out of which will spring the wise, better England of the future. I suppose that man Phelps does not drink?”

Board schools are not the same as boarding schools, the internet tells me, but the first state run schools with no religious affiliation. I was about to be cynical about Holmes' view of children and Victorian educational standards, but I can't. He's right, those schools were important and really did pave the way for a brighter future.

And then a bit of mental whiplash as he snaps back to the case at hand, because he's Holmes.

In answer to the question, I can't say whether Percy drinks alcohol, but he definitely has a caffeine addiction that he should work on. If not for that, he wouldn't be in this mess.

Also, it was unreasonable of his uncle to expect him to copy so much text in a foreign language in one night. But even so, Percy needs to work harder on curbing his need for coffee.

"Then came the smash, and she stayed on to nurse her lover, while brother Joseph, finding himself pretty snug, stayed on too."

Oh, so he's just hanging around leeching off people, huh? Exactly as I suspected! This is just the beginning. Clearly, he's been a wrong'un all along and I will be vindicated.

"But to-day must be a day of inquiries.” “My practice—” I began. “Oh, if you find your own cases more interesting than mine—” said Holmes, with some asperity.

First of all, Watson does have a job, Holmes. I get that you want to play with him, but he does have responsibilities. You really shouldn't be bitchy about that.

Second, if Watson actually cares enough about his patients to ditch you, that would be the first time ever.

“I was going to say that my practice could get along very well for a day or two, since it is the slackest time in the year.”

See. No problem at all. Why would Watson ever do his actual job when he could be running around with Holmes? What a preposterous idea!

"...there is Lord Holdhurst.” “Lord Holdhurst!” “Well, it is just conceivable that a statesman might find himself in a position where he was not sorry to have such a document accidentally destroyed.” “Not a statesman with the honorable record of Lord Holdhurst?”

Oh Watson, my sweet summer child. Out there believing in unicorns and fairies and honourable politicians.

I discounted him because honestly, a political plot involving the politician uncle and corruption seemed too spy thriller. Also, the time frame of everything being nine weeks ago, I think discounts a political motive because if there were spy games going on, it would be far too late to do anything about it. Of course, it might be the case. These stories have surprised me a few times so far.

“£10 reward. The number of the cab which dropped a fare at or about the door of the Foreign Office in Charles Street at quarter to ten in the evening of May 23d. Apply 221b, Baker Street.”

The Bank of England inflation calculator tells me that's equivalent to approximately £1000 today, which is a pretty impressive reward for a little bit of information. Honestly, I'd expect people to be climbing out of the woodwork to say they saw Queen Victoria herself driving the cab and dropping off Jack the Ripper.

"Why yes, Mr Holmes, I saw a man with a long white beard and carrying a large sack. No, it was right odd, y'see: he didn't go in through the door. He climbed up on' roof and went down the chimney, that he did."

"And then, of course, there is the bell—which is the most distinctive feature of the case. Why should the bell ring?"

This is what I'm most interested in. What is up with that bell?

He sank back into the state of intense and silent thought from which he had emerged; but it seemed to me, accustomed as I was to his every mood, that some new possibility had dawned suddenly upon him.

Tell me! Tell me! I need to know. The bell is plaguing me.

a small, foxy man with a sharp but by no means amiable expression.

So Lestrade is a ferret and Forbes is a fox. Must all police officers be described as animals? This appears to be a pattern.

“You are ready enough to use all the information that the police can lay at your disposal, and then you try to finish the case yourself and bring discredit on them.” “On the contrary,” said Holmes, “out of my last fifty-three cases my name has only appeared in four, and the police have had all the credit in forty-nine. I don't blame you for not knowing this, for you are young and inexperienced, but if you wish to get on in your new duties you will work with me and not against me.” “I'd be very glad of a hint or two,” said the detective, changing his manner.

Forbes changes his tune pretty quickly here, so he seems open minded enough. Although it does seem a bit like he doesn't understand the purpose of Holmes. Yes, he's supposed to take all the evidence the police give him and try to solve the case. That's kind of how being a detective works. I get the emphasis here is on 'yourself', but still.

I like this exchange, because we've already seen in the stories that Holmes really doesn't care about the notoriety or the accolades - though he's more than willing to display gifts he's given in his own home - it's entirely the case and helping the people involved that he cares about.

Not sure he really needed to say that 'you are young and inexperienced' bit, though. Seems a tad direct.

“We have set one of our women on to her. Mrs. Tangey drinks, and our woman has been with her twice when she was well on, but she could get nothing out of her.”

OK, I thought it sounded unlikely that there were female police officers in the late 1800s, and it seems like the first female police officer in London was in 1919. But it definitely appears from this that they have women working for them - unless one of them has set his wife on a suspect, which... fair. Fascinating either way.

Also, Mrs Tangey has an alcohol problem, that could be an angle.

“What explanation did she give of having answered the bell when Mr. Phelps rang for the coffee?” “She said that he husband was very tired and she wished to relieve him.”

Alright, so it either was her, or she's involved in some way. Which I think we already suspected, but this clarifies that no one impersonated her without her knowledge, at least.

“Did you point out to her that you and Mr. Phelps, who started at least twenty minutes after he, got home before her?” “She explains that by the difference between a 'bus and a hansom.”

That's fair. Not everyone can afford their own taxi. Check your privilege, Holmes.

Standing on the rug between us, with his slight, tall figure, his sharp features, thoughtful face, and curling hair prematurely tinged with gray, he seemed to represent that not too common type, a nobleman who is in truth noble.

I may have rolled my eyes at this bit. Watson sometimes needs to back off on his earnest belief in the glory of England and its political and social systems. He's so classist it's actually painful at some points. Even if he's saying the type is 'not too common' it just makes me wrinkle my nose.

I also don't like Lord Holdhurst, but that's mainly because I believe hereditary nobility is immoral and also because he is a tory politician. There was never any hope of me liking him. I don't think he murders puppies, but I bet he'd pass legislation saying that murdering puppies is okay in certain circumstances if his old chum wanted to start a puppy murdering business and was a generous donor.

"I fear that the incident must have a very prejudicial effect upon his career.”

Yeah, that I do agree with.

“But if the document is found?” “Ah, that, of course, would be different.”

This, I do not agree with. Not after nine weeks, anyway. If it had been a couple of hours and the document was found to have fallen down the gap between the desk and the wall then he could probably just be given extra training and not allowed to touch confidential documentation without supervision for a few years. But it's been nine weeks. That treaty is lost. Even if it's returned, he still lost it for nine weeks.

“Did you ever mention to any one that it was your intention to give any one the treaty to be copied?” “Never.” “You are certain of that?” “Absolutely.”

OK. That cuts off that line of thinking, as Watson's insistence on him looking 'noble' clearly means we're supposed to believe him. But we already knew it wasn't him.

Because it's Joseph Harrison.

“If the treaty had reached, let us say, the French or Russian Foreign Office, you would expect to hear of it?” “I should,” said Lord Holdhurst, with a wry face.

Like I say, any political motivations would have been thoroughly completed by now, before Holmes was even called upon, so that's not likely.

“Of course, it is a possible supposition that the thief has had a sudden illness—” “An attack of brain-fever, for example?”

Given he called Holmes in, I sincerely doubt Percy's involved. Again, if this weren't a Sherlock Holmes story, there's a slim possibility it could be that his brain fever cause amnesia meaning that he doesn't remember taking the treaty and causing the whole problem, but that doesn't seem like a likely plot here.

“But he has a struggle to keep up his position. He is far from rich and has many calls. You noticed, of course, that his boots had been re-soled?"

OK so now we give him a motive, when you've all just gone on about how he's a 'fine fellow'? Are Lord Holdsworth's money problems going to be relevant to the plot? Maybe. We've heard nothing of Percy having any cousins, so as it stands he might be his uncle's heir. Not sure how that would lead to the treaty being stolen, but we'll bear it in mind.

Ah, and then Watson is racist again. Native Americans this time. These stories are really trying to spread the racism around, aren't they. This whole section is strange though, because it's about how Watson can't read Holmes' face, when multiple times (in this very story) he's said how he knows Holmes so well that he can instantly tell from his face what Holmes is thinking.

“God bless you for saying that!” cried Miss Harrison. “If we keep our courage and our patience the truth must come out.”

She and Watson should get together and have optimist meetings.

Although, it's definitely your brother, Miss Harrison. I don't know how, but it is. It's got to be. We're running out of suspects. Mrs Tangey seems like she might be involved, but I doubt she's the mastermind behind events.

Maybe Joseph just bribed her into trying to discredit Percy, she saw the paper and thought 'well this looks important' and took it not really knowing what it was.

But that doesn't explain the bell. Unless it's because she was drunk and she stumbled and grabbed it. Or she didn't really want to be doing it, so she pulled it in a weird attempt to get caught. Or she let Harrison in and then saw him stealing something and pulled the bell, only to be threatened if she said anything.

“Yes, we have had an adventure during the night, and one which might have proved to be a serious one.” His expression grew very grave as he spoke, and a look of something akin to fear sprang up in his eyes. “Do you know,” said he, “that I begin to believe that I am the unconscious centre of some monstrous conspiracy, and that my life is aimed at as well as my honor?”

He's probably right to be worried - maybe not for his life, but I'm pretty sure this entirely thing is aimed at him, not the treaty. But at the same time, this does not sound like the thinking of a mentally healthy person.

"A man was crouching at the window."

No. No, you see it could be him. Of course you're going to want to make it seem like it was someone from outside forcing their way in. To keep the suspicion off the people who live in the house. It has to be him. Has to be.

Did he have a knife, or was it just something that looked like a knife... like...

uh...

The thing he used to unlock the window?

"As it was, I rang the bell and roused the house. It took me some little time, for the bell rings in the kitchen and the servants all sleep upstairs. I shouted, however, and that brought Joseph down, and he roused the others."

Oh oh... convenient, being the first person on the scene, huh? Was that because you weren't in bed asleep at all? Mr Joseph Harrison?

(If I am by some miracle right about this, it will be entirely undeserved as literally the only reason I decided it was him is because he seemed too happy and his sister is getting married)

"There's a place, however, on the wooden fence which skirts the road which shows signs, they tell me, as if some one had got over, and had snapped the top of the rail in doing so."

Okay... well... well... that doesn't really fit with my theory at all, but maybe it's a coincidence. People climb over fences all the time. Maybe it happened ages ago. I bet they don't check the fences every day. Totally not a sign I'm wrong.

“Oh, yes, I should like a little sunshine. Joseph will come, too.”

Why?

No, seriously. Why? Percy says Joseph will come, but not his fiancee? That's weird. Is it because Joseph is stronger if Percy needs to be carried back?

"I should have thought those larger windows of the drawing-room and dining-room would have had more attractions for him.” “They are more visible from the road,” suggested Mr. Joseph Harrison.

And right here we have the classic Columbo moment. I know Sherlock Holmes came first, no need to send me angry messages. But this is something that happens in Every. Single. Columbo. It's part of his method, it's kind of his whole method. He makes a comment about 'I wonder why the murderer didn't do x' to the person he (and the audience) knows is the murderer and the villain, in an attempt to cover their own tracks, immediately presents an explanation.

“Do you think that was done last night? It looks rather old, does it not?” “Well, possibly so.”

Aw shucks, is Holmes not falling for your clever ruse? What a pity!

“Miss Harrison,” said Holmes, speaking with the utmost intensity of manner, “you must stay where you are all day. Let nothing prevent you from staying where you are all day. It is of the utmost importance.” “Certainly, if you wish it, Mr. Holmes,” said the girl in astonishment.

Not the weirdest thing Holmes has ever asked a person to do - still remember Watson pretzeling himself behind the headboard that one time - but still kinda weird. I hope she has some sort of enrichment in her enclosure. Tell me she has a bookcase at least.

“Why do you sit moping there, Annie?” cried her brother. “Come out into the sunshine!”

Look! LOOK! He's trying to get her out of the room. He hid the treaty in the room and now he's trying to get it back but he can't! All aboard the Joseph Harrison train, next stop: Vindication.

Got to assume that even though Joseph wasn't present when Holmes was speaking to Anne, or when he was speaking to Percy, he will be aware that Percy is not in the house. But he'll only be able to break into the room by the window again, so I guess that is the plan. To catch him red-handed.

#Letters from Watson #The Naval Treaty #Sherlock Holmes #long post #It's beginning to look like I'm right #But that's absolutely nothing to do with my problem solving ability and everything to do with my natural paranoia and distrust #Also ACD has a type #We saw it in The Copper Beeches and in The Greek Interpreter #Men who laugh too much and smile too easily

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