#family being overly complicated

[lactoseintolerentswag]

Rise Characterizations Pt. 3!!!

Now that Leo and Raph are done, it's Donnie's turn for character analysis as a writing reference. So without further ado,

Donnie Character Notes

Language Habits:

Straight up talks like a redditor who hasn't touched enough grass (affectionate)

Oscillates between very scientific paper polished, sometimes adding a dazzle of shakespearean for dramatics, or abbreviations/a shorter version of a word with a more fun connotation (i.e. "brekkie" instead of breakfast)

Uses food as surprised exclamations or curses, "oh my peaches and cream", "banana pancakes!"

Emphasizes each syllable of a long word when he's excited or trying to make a point. Conquered becomes con-qu-ered

Either exaggerates his speech or speaks in deadpan

The science terms he uses as battle cries aren't chosen at random, but rather are related to the action/subject at hand, i.e. yelling "fibonacci" when throwing his spinning tech-bo

Will overly describe an item or a situation, and often gets caught up in these observations before processing what just happened

Will repeatedly yell "help!" when he's distressed and/or outnumbered

Refers to Mikey as "Michael"

Refers to his brothers as "brethren" or "gentlemen"

Refers to splinter as either "father", "papa", or "dad" depending on the weight of the situation

Refers to his tech as his "babies"

Answers the phone with, "You're conversing with Donatello"

Uses "gesundheit" instead of bless you

Personality:

The fixer, he supplies the family with tech and resources. He always has a trinket made for the situation at hand and/or offers his knowledge/data collected. He's always prepared to help. Even with outside resources, he likes to feel useful in solving their problems (i.e., building Todd that dog park)

The theater kid, in a similar vein to leo, Donnie has his own style of dramatics. He often uses shakespeare-like language, is mentioned to regularly recite the jupiter jim musical soundtrack, and has a music mode for his battle shell. He belongs on a stage, or at least thinks he does

Not good at lying, despite the glamour he can put on in the spotlight. This may be due to the side of himself that over explains his thoughts

An over-thinker, who really tends to over-complicate things. His first theory or idea will always be the most extreme buck-wild concept. After some filtering, he still word vomits

A dreamer/big idea guy. He does have big ideas and goals. A lot of these he's able to put into place, although some go a little haywire (see Albearto). He doesn't do things in halves, and puts everything into a project

Meticulous, someone who's very detail oriented. As mentioned before he tends to over-complicates things. This may be impacted by his love for data and collecting information (he does record Everything for a reason)

Always on the edge of violence, which is surprising. Donnie's not known as being the angry archetype of tmnt, but he can get a little violent in his fighting style and does often cite his desire to use lethal force

Low empathy, which is mainly due to his issues processing and recognizing emotions. He's been pegged as unemotional, but in canon he's rather emotional and expressionate, just lacking the skills to process such emotion (he's just like me fr)

Praise motivated, as seen with his interactions with Splinter. Also desires the praise of his brothers, who he doesn't feel understand him with all the teasing that's sent towards his direction. This also pushes him to seek validation and acceptance in other groups (i.e. the purple dragons), to feel a sense of security or belonging

Ignores his own mistakes, and will often pretend like they didn't exist or ever happen. This most likely has to do with his desire for praise, so he feels bad when he fails. If he never made a mistake, he never has to feel bad

Miscellaneous:

Fourth to unlock mystic powers

Uses "Bootyyyshaker9000" as most of his usernames and passwords, with his alt. username being "Alpha-Bootyyyshaker9000"

Has a fear of bees, spiders, and of course beach balls

Breaks the fourth wall the most

Loves the smell of pineapple, hates the texture

Has a hobby of rooting around in the junkyard and dumpster diving

Uses cheat codes in video games

Mikey's next of course :)

#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the tmnt #rottmnt #tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt donatello #character analysis #long post #fanfic #writing #critter talks

[luciddownloading]

Moon-Ascendant Aspects and Moon-Midheaven Aspects 🥺

MOON conjunct, square, opposite, sextile or trine ASCENDANT

🌙 Their feelings and reactions are written all over their face, to a degree that may be embarrassing, at times. Like "Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to feel that out loud"

🌙 Either acts exactly like their mother OR their behavior (and life path, as a whole) is a direct contrast to her and her life choices

🌙 Soft features, soft skin, soft lips. Stays moisturized and hydrated (most of them actually do drink tons of water)

🌙 When their guard is down, people ADORE them. They are so warm and inviting and real. Their energy can really be disarming and make people feel safe. They also have the potential to come across as rather cold but this is only when they aren't feeling safe or are being shy

🌙 Maintain the eating habits of a child well into adulthood. They may be addicted to candy or sweets, be ridiculously picky eaters or be able to eat whatever they want and not gain weight

🌙 Those with these aspects are HIGHLY intuitive. They always trust their intuition and its accuracy, even if it makes them look crazy or irrational to others. And they're usually proven right

🌙 They have an aura of femininity, whether male or female. They are very motherly, kind, supportive and vulnerable. But, they also can be very fierce when protecting others or themselves

🌙 Those with the square can be super-defensive and overly self-protective, most likely due to childhood trauma. But, when they work through those insecurities, they radiate a very healing energy

🌙 Their look or aesthetic can definitely go through "phases", like the Moon. It depends a lot on their mood or what they're going through

🌙 Having the opposition can attract a mate (or close friend) who is either emotionally draining and demanding or who is also a caregiver and allows you to be nurtured for once

🌙 Trying to be "perfect" really does not suit them. They're too complicated for that. These people come off best when they let themselves be authentic and natural and a little messy, behavior-wise

🌙 Children and animals gravitate to them and their nurturing ways like magnets. Most of them really, really yearn to be a parent from an early age. Those with the conjunction probably experience the biggest "before and after" effect once they have children

MOON conjunct, square, opposite, sextile or trine MIDHEAVEN

🍭 Could be most successful in: the culinary industry, restaurant or fast food, nursing, counseling, the arts/entertainment, childcare, social work, real estate or anything involving working from home

🍭 Very susceptible to burnout. People with these aspects need to make sure they are checking in with themselves and not sacrificing self-care for their job. "Hustle culture" becomes their enemy if they get too caught up in it

🍭It is also crucial that their line of work fulfills them emotionally. They CANNOT just work simply for a paycheck. It will make them miserable and not take them very far anyway

🍭 Having the conjunction can make your public image go either way. People will either think you're SO adorable and cuddly and nice or they'll think you're really crazy or wild or unhinged. You also could be seen as both, at different points

🍭A lot of artists or performers have this influence because it makes it easy for them to emotionally move people through their work. They will have people in their feelings!

🍭 Might end up working alongside family members, especially their mother. They could also follow in her footsteps or achieve the goals she always wanted to achieve but never got to

Speaking of the mom, the quality of your relationship will become public knowledge. If it's good, she'll be seen as really lovely and your biggest supporter. If it's bad, well, then a lot of drama could play out publicly

🍭 You could get picked on a lot by detractors but you will also have highly protective fans/followers who are ready to go to war for you. (Famous people with these aspects are often known for having "crazy" fans who others don't want to piss off or get entangled with)

🍭Those with the square or opposition tend to struggle to strike a balance between being accessible to the public and keeping aspects of their personal life to themselves

🍭Their intuition will be their greatest asset in terms of business deals and decisions

🍭 Women or feminine individuals with these aspects typically don't get as much respect until they're in their 30's or 40's. They kind of need to enter that "mother" phase, in the slang use of the word, where they are seen as this strong, mature feminine force that others want to emulate or look to for guidance

🍭 Straight men with this influence often brand themselves as The Wife Guy, becoming adored because how much they seem to love or respect their wife or girlfriend

🍭If and when these individuals have kids, the public can look at them in a newly positive light. Their children can also become equally renowned, in their own right, alongside them

#astrology #astro notes #astrology observations #moon ascendant aspects #moon midheaven aspects #moon conjunct ascendant #moon conjunct midheaven #moon square ascendant #moon square midheaven #moon opposite ascendant #moon opposite midheaven #moon sextile ascendant #moon trine ascendant #moon sextile midheaven #moon trine midheaven #moon aspects

[moonstruckme]

hellooooooo, could you please make (when you have the time) something where James Potter has a girlfriend that its sooo touch starved but also has a hard time being touched/hugged (for some reason kissing doesn't bother her but she gets really shy with that) an she is unable to receive compliments, she tries to express her love in other ways tho

i'm that type of person so i would love to see something like that:(

Ugh same baby! Thanks for requesting :)

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 1.2k words

You and James are on opposite sides of the couch, and you feel like you’re going to combust. 

The issue is his foot. You’re covered by a blanket, but James’ foot is brushing your calf through the fabric, moving back and forth so slowly you wonder if he even realizes he’s doing it. And it’s not not nice, but even that tiny bit of contact (again, through a blanket) is almost too much for you. Every nerve in your body is at attention—you don’t think James could breathe in your direction without you noticing it—and you want him to cover your entire body with his even if it’ll probably kill you. 

“You doing alright over there, lovely?” James asks, eyes still on the TV. He must be paying more attention than you realize. 

And one of the difficult parts of your relationship with James is that there are some parts of you he simply cannot understand, but that won’t stop him from trying. Like, James is a naturally tactile person. He wants to hug and kiss and love on you all day long, as he made abundantly clear from your very first date. But you’re not. You want to be, you want to let him give you all the affection he has to offer and return it with twice the zeal, but no one touched you like this before him. Your family weren’t the physically affectionate type, and your friends didn’t bother with it around you, so James’ particular brand of overly touchy loving was…new. You crave it and yet when he gives it to you it feels foreign and borderline uncomfortable. You’d done your best to explain it to him, and James had taken it all in stride, though you could tell there was some mixture of pity and bafflement at your odd love/hate relationship with physical closeness. Now, he does his best to give you that particular form of affection in small doses. He checks with you before putting his hands on you, hugs you just until your blush gives you away, and restricts his casual contact with you to chaste areas. Like his foot and your calf.

“Mhm,” you reply, unsure how to explain the effect he’s having on you and unwilling to say anything that’ll make him stop.

Narrowed brown eyes move from the TV screen to your face. “Promise?”

“I’m okay.” 

“Something’s bothering you, though.” 

You hesitate. You don’t want to lie to him, it’s just that it’s more complicated than that. “Not really.” 

“And you’re not really avoiding the question, right?” James grins at you, though it’s tinged with worry. “C’mon, angel, be straight with me. Something’s on your mind, yeah?”

You’re silent, but an involuntary glance downwards gives you away. James’ foot is drawn back towards him in an instant. “Ah, that was too much, huh? My bad.” 

“No, James, I—” you sigh heavily. “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be sorry, lovely girl,” he says it easily, but not without gravity. “I’m the one who didn’t check if it was okay.” 

“But you shouldn’t have to check.” You’re shaking your head, drawing your legs into your chest, shrinking from him even in your frustration that you shrink from him. “I don’t want you to feel bad about touching me, James. It’s not like it scares me or anything, I don’t know why I’m so weird about it.”

“Hey.” His voice is lightly chiding, remonstrance gentled. He’s not touching you, but he’s doing his next best thing, turning his body to face you so you’ll know you have his full attention. “I know, you’ve told me how you feel about it. I don’t take it personally, sweetheart, I just want you to be comfortable. You don’t have to be scared to not be having a good time.” 

You let the quiet noise of the TV fill the silence for a moment, looking at him. He’s smiling just a tiny bit, even now. He told you once that he can’t help being some degree of happy when he’s with you, no matter what’s happening around him. His eyes are big and brown and open behind his glasses, eyes that haven’t learned to dull themselves for the sake of self-preservation, but there’s a slight pinch around the corners. He’s evaluating you, trying to figure out where your mind is going and how to meet it there. 

“I think my problem,” you say, trying the weight of each word before voicing it, “is that I want you to be able to show…affection, whatever way is natural to you.” A crease appears on James’ forehead and you can see the rebuttal forming on his tongue, but he lets you say your piece. “And it makes me feel bad that I’m stopping you from doing that, and that I can’t show it back to you either.” 

The crease deepens. James has an easier time choosing his words than you did. “I don’t mind not being able to touch you. I mean, would I have my hands all over you day and night if you wanted it?” He flashes a flirty smile. “Obviously. But I care about you, not that, and you aren’t as used to that stuff. The idea of touching you is as unappealing to me as I imagine it is to you, because you’d be uncomfortable the whole time. What kind of boyfriend would I be then, huh?” He sticks out a foot to nudge your knee gently. “Anyway, I don’t need you to be all over me to know you care. You think I thought the muffins I ate this morning made themselves?” He raises his eyebrows at you, nodding for you to answer. 

Your face warms. “No.” 

James nods encouragingly. “As I suspected. And that was some of the best love I’ve ever tasted! Plus, those little notes you write when you’re going to be home late or you know I have a busy day? Angel,” he says, voice dropping into soft earnestness, “those make my entire week.”

You bite your lip, but you’re powerless to stop the spread of your smile. “I’m glad you like them,” you reply bashfully. 

“Like them?” James throws up his arms, indignant. “Sweetheart, I can feel the love coming off those things like you’ve drowned them in amortentia. Don’t get me wrong, I love hugging you, but that?” He shakes his head. “There’s nothing better.”

You imagine your complexion is approaching fire-hydrant red about now, but you’re so happy to hardly care. “Thanks, Jamie.” 

“Thank you, angel,” he says, and you can tell he’s smothering his grin intentionally to make you take him seriously. “I mean it, I wouldn’t want you any other way. You’re my best girl, understand?”

You can’t look at him for embarrassment, but you nod. After a moment, James’ silence draws your eyes back to him, to find him grinning. The sight is familiar, as is the warm, fuzzy sensation that spreads through your insides. His eyes narrow slightly, assessing you. 

“Do you feel like a hug, lovely girl?” 

You nod again as you go to him, abandoning your blanket. James’ arms open, his legs parting automatically to slot you between them. One hand finds your mid-back while the other cradles the nape of your neck, and you press both of yours to his shoulder blades, drawing him downwards and into you. He makes the most of it, fingers curling in the fabric of your shirt. You can feel his heartbeat a few inches to the right of yours. 

A tiny shiver of pleasure goes through you, and you tighten your grip on him so he won’t let go, but James understands, and pulls you closer.

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x self insert #james potter fanfiction #james potter fanfic #james potter fic #james potter oneshot #james potter drabble #james potter imagine #james potter scenario #james potter fluff #marauders #the marauders era #marauders era #the marauders #marauders fandom #hp marauders #touch starved reader #touch starvation #touch starved!reader

[astrolavas]

Who do you think Hunter will stay with at the end of the show? Or who do you want him to stay with

tbh out of all the possible future caretakers of hunter, my primary hope for who will adopt him rn rly is camila. y'know, loved all the different possibilities too but…. camila ❤️❤️❤️ like, just. like. that's his MOMMMM

the vision of him living with camila (and luz and vee), going to hexside (cuz obv there's gonna a portal), and having a woodcarving mentorship under the clawthornes' and some mentorship under darius. and then once in a while occassionally staying over at the owl house.... Y'KNOW? so real.

camila's just too perfect of an option, LIKE. he spent months under her care already, he doesn't have even one bad experience with her that could possibly make him doubt and feel bad abt their relationship (no feeling like he needs to prove himself to gain her respect, no complicated past that'd have to be dealt with, no wondering if the care he's shown is genuine, no previous authority issues, no previous hostility etc etc) like camila's been extremely sweet and caring towards him and nothing else since the very start. it makes me sOO... 🤲😔❤️

the very first MOMENT they interact and hunter kneels in front of her out of respect she warmly tells him to never do it again; makes it clear that he doesn't have to be overly formal with her. just offers her kindness, expecting nothing in return. right away.

camila is probably the first adult ever that hunter associates with only warmth and goodness and whom he feels comfortable with from the start, with whom he doesn't have any past grudges or things they'd need to work out, just.. unconditional love. and justttt just just oughhhghh she called him baby. she's been basically treating him like her son already, and she's SUCH a good and supportive mom, to luz, to vee, to hexsquad. she taught him how to sew. she DIVED into FREEZING WATER at an OLD ABANDONED CEMETERY without a second thought in order to save him. JUST!!!!

him wanting to impress her with the spanish. her touching his shoulder and him showing not even an OUNCE of fear, just smiling and knowing she's not going to hurt him. him taking up interest in camila's and manny's old hobby. camila having experience with dealing with grief.. oof. him being happy living in the human realm (wanting to do things in the demon realm as well but having ties to BOTH worlds). even the fact that the entire noceda family is clearly neurodivergent, just like him. even him being an animal enjoyer and camila having a vet clinic, which- he WOULD LOVE to volunteer there in his free time, like?? COME ON.

AND THIS???? okay......

and we KNOW he WANTS to have a permanent family. it's established at the beginning of the episode when he looks sad as others hang up their family drawings. he wants ppl to care abt him, he wants to have a place to call home, wants to feel safe. he cries (from happiness) when luz calls him family.

and camila cares abt all of these kids so much. she was willing to take vee and hexsquad in JUST LIKE THAT. we can even assume her and manny wanted more kids, like just OUGHHGH she wouldn't even have to think twice before taking hunter in permanently. and she most likely knows hunter doesn't have anyone. she's not going to let him just….. go away on his own after everything is over, or make him move out or sth 💀 she'll want to help him, she'll want him to be safe and cared for.

like the only other possibilities for who else hunter could stay with after the show were: darius, eda/the clawthornes, or joint custody. but imo after... he lived under camila's roof for MONTHS, found a place that he feels safe in.. nocedas are just the best and healthiest option for him. after he'd spent MONTHS feeling happy with camila, i don't think it'd be good for him to be thrust into a completely new environment, and.. there's simply no time for his connection with other adults to be properly fleshed out, or to establish that he'd prefer anyone over nocedas.

like, i feel like sth has to happen with darius as well cuz their arc is unfinished, esp since it's been hinted they've grown closer since ASiAS, and there's a lot they could talk abt now re: grief + darius' mentor... so they HAVE to reunite at least. however, in my opinion at this point of the show there'd be just no time to conclude it as a parent-child bond in a satisfactory way. especially because there would be a LOT they'd have to work through first, considering their very complicated past.

like, all these years in the coven, their relationship pre-ASiaS, how darius treated hunter all these years... we know their relationship has progressed positively since ASiAS (even though mostly in the background/subtext) but still, i feel like it'd definitely take a while until hunter felt truly comfortable while living at darius'. he'd probably worry that it's conditional, could even easily fall back into his old coven mentality/habits, would try to make darius proud no matter what, etc. etc. it wouldn't be the healthiest for him. although eventually he would get comfortable, and that concept also had sm potential, but like the journey to that wouldn't be quick, and it'd have to be an arc on its own too. and, again, there is no time for that. rly cheering for a reunion and a talk, maybe even a mentorship of sorts, but considering hunter already has a place he feels fully comfortable in and ppl who consider him family right now, i feel like him ending in a completely new place after all that wouldn't be his #1 preferred option.

same with eda/the clawthornes tbh; it had sooo much potential and he is technically related to them AND is going to find that out soon, so some kinda interaction/development HAS to happen, and he did say he wants to learn how to carve palismen, so a mentorship may also happen... but as for actual adoption mm i don't think anything can come close to how safe and happy and Good he's felt for those months while under camila's care. again, in the future things COULD develop in such way, but considering we have two episodes until we get a conclusion... mmyeah

so................ yeah.

i just have so so so many thoughts abt hunter finding a family and getting to be a teenager and feeling loved and feeling like he has his own place in the world and being safe and allowed to explore his interests and to be himself........ hunter nocedaaaaa oughhghhh 🤲❤️

#not to mention zeno (hunter's va) choosing 'hunter noceda' as his twitter display name after thanks to them premiered 😭😭 so iconic of him #nicole answers #my toh talk #hunter toh #the owl house #toh analysis #*passes away* #hunter noceda #i'm biting and jumping on walls #made this thread on twitter and ran here when i remembered i have this ask sitting in my inbox #Anonymous

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

HOTD Reactions - You refuse them

Dark Daemon, Aegon, Aemond and Jace.

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

(female reader)

WARNINGS: Mentions of Non-con, Murder.

AN: Please, reblog and give me feedback.

--

Daemon

Daemon is a calculative man, one that will do anything to get what he craves. Only to find out that the woman he wants to wed is already betrothed to another. He killed his wife for you, thinking that it would solve everything only to discover that annoying detail. 

Daemon starts losing patience and he feels irritated, why are things getting so complicated and messy? He just wants to have you as his wife then why are bureaucratic and social norms getting in his way? 

He asks Viserys to set a marriage between you and him, only to be met with a firm denial. He tries persuading you to elope with him, only for you to completely renegade him, declaring that you have no love for him. 

Daemon is a man with a short patience and it gets to the point that he has to arrange for your betrothed to die from mysterious causes, leaving your parents with the obligation to find another suitor for you and who better than the king's own brother? 

Aegon

Aegon is not one to avoid his desires and one thing he desires the most is you.

He is not coy in his pervert advances towards you, making it very much obvious how much he wants to fuck you. It becomes borderline scandalous when Aegon makes extremely suggestive and graphic comments to you, even in front of other noble ladies. 

After you delicately talk with Alicent about this, she does her best to stop Aegon from being a pervert towards you, a young lady from a reputable family. But that does little to prevent Aegon from keeping with his attempts, even if it had earned him a few slaps from his mother. 

Aegon quickly charges back at you and this time he’s forceful in his pursuit for you, making sure to taint your maidenhood in such a compromising way that both of your families will simply have to marry you, in a quick solution to save your dignity. 

Aemond

The fact that you’re Jacaerys’s twin sister doesn’t stop Aemond from taking a liking on you. You’re different from your brother, you’re innocent and kind. Always offering Aemond a warm smile, so differently from the other court ladies that prefer to ignore him because of his scarred face. 

Aemond is never hostile towards you, even if you are a Strong bastard, like your brothers. He simply acts as if you have no relation with the Strong boys, even if you’re their blood sister. 

He is quite subtle in his advances towards you, preferring to attentively watch you from the shadows, quietly joining you in the library or while you’re walking around. But either way, he’s always suffocatingly around you. 

Although everyone from his family is against his feelings, except for Helaena who rejoices in the possibility of you becoming her sister, Aemond still goes ahead and declares his love for you.

But you don’t love him, you never did  and it shows as your pretty face is startled with intense guilt, refusing to look Aemond in the eye. Furthermore, both Jace and Luke eavesdrop on the conversation and start a fight with Aemond, worsening the situation.

But if your family really thinks that they can stop Aemond from having you, then they are very wrong. 

Jace 

Jace is quite the gentleman so at first he tries his best to respect your decision, trying to avoid you as much as he can. However as time passes by, his love flourishes a little too much. 

Jace will once again declare his ardent feelings for you and even if you decline him again, he won’t give up this time. He can’t live without you so why can’t you realize that.

You’ll start hiding away from him, keeping an overly attentive eye for the corners of the castle as Jace seems to appear out of nowhere to pester you with his extensive speeches of being a good and honorable man, of being worthy of you, that he’ll devote in you as his future wife and queen. 

As you still refuse him, Jace would be forced to ask his mother for help. Rhaenyra would ignorantly take Jace’s obsession as an innocent crush that could eventually lead to healthy marriage and as such, she’ll soon offer a marriage proposal to your house.

No father would ever refuse the possibility of having their daughter married to the heir of the throne and soon you find yourself getting engaged to the same man that you’ve so desperately tried to avoid. Bad luck.

#yandere hotd #yandere house of the dragon #@mrsdarkandyandere7 #yandere aemond targaryen x reader #yandere aemond targaryen #dark aemond targaryen #dark aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #dark daemon targaryen #dark daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x reader #yandere aegon targaryen #yandere aegon targaryen x reader #dark aegon targaryen #dark aegon targaryen x reader #yandere jacaerys velaryon #yandere jacaerys velaryon x reader #yandere jacaerys targaryen #dark jacaerys targaryen #dark jacaerys velaryon #dark house of the dragon #aegon targaryen x reader #jacaerys x reader #house of the dragon x reader

[peakbys]

TAILORED

Pairing(s): Tommy Shelby x Fem!Reader, Luca Changretta x Wife!Reader Summary: Your little double life starts to unravel when your husband shows up to avenge his father. Request: Yes. Sorta.             → @alana000 requested the reader in a love triangle between Tommy and Luca, I ended up combining that with my idea for Tommy's poll result and my brain kind of just ran away with it. So, it may not be exactly what was requested but I hope it's enjoyable regardless. 😅 Warnings: Long post, cheating, tension, mentions of arranged marriages, poor Italian, friends to lovers to enemies (if you want to interpret it that way, ending is left as it is.) Eye contact (for the gif?) Note: This is hard to wrap up in a one-shot, so I'm sorry if the ending is less than ideal. Still, I've been working on this thing for weeks so I hope you all enjoy.

You had just wanted to ride horses. 

Of course, life was never so simple, yet it really didn’t need to be as complicated as it was currently. You had left America feeling uncertain, but excited. You wrote back home whenever you could, especially once you managed to make a bit of a name for yourself in horse racing. Really, you wanted to move onto training, yet you knew you could race those horses too. It was extra money, of course, but something you earned on your own. It wasn’t passed down from your family, your husband’s family. Though, in hindsight, you had to wonder if this really was the place you were going to end up all along. 

When you had made a bit of a reputation, it brought the attention of some people that operated in a way you were all too familiar with. Crime was in your family, and it was certainly in the one you married into. It didn’t take long to figure out what was being asked of you when you were asked to take the fall sometimes. Horses lost races, yet that didn’t mean that you couldn’t benefit. At least, that was how it had been explained to you back when your pride was too stubborn to accept that you’d participate in fixed races.

Yet, the opportunities got harder to turn down after a while. 

Your involvement with the Peaky Blinders was something you left out of your letters outside of vague gesturing toward ‘buyers’ and ‘bosses.’ 

Tommy Shelby was definitely a person you didn’t write back home about, as much as he was a very common face in your life over the last couple of years. In a strange way, Tommy had a demeanor that was overly familiar too. You had associated it with controlled movements, sharp grins and the chewing of a toothpick. With him, it was a neutral expression and a stare that felt like he was looking through you at points. Yet, both your husband and Tommy had the same commanding air that pulled your attention to them as soon as they stepped into a room. 

Outside of the wounded pride that came from losing a race you were certain you could win, that alone had almost been enough to call off working with him. You had more than enough of that back in America, and you didn’t want it here for however long you were planning on staying. 

Though, Tommy proved up to your expectations in that he was very hard to ignore. 

It had started off friendly enough–professional, despite the nature of what you were doing. More races won, a few lost with a wad of cash tossed into your lap with a vaguely smug look also tossed your way. It was profitable, so it was easy to stick with. Tommy brought horses to you, sometimes, too. Beautiful creatures. If there was something that easily bonded you to Tommy, it was the horses. The conversations got easier and more frequent. Longer, too. You could remember the mild surprise that crossed your expression when he asked about something more personal than the horses and the races. 

That was what had you both sitting outside your little ranch home that you were living out of currently, talking about your family, America. Your late brother, especially, given that he had passed in the war and Tommy revealed that he had fought as well. Your brother had joined in hopes that maybe it would be something noble–something that wasn’t crime and making his living from getting involved with the families in New York. Dying in a trench so far from the people who loved and knew him didn’t seem very noble in your mind, especially with the memory of how your mother wailed when she got the news. 

Yet, you got a sense of understanding from Tommy that you hadn’t expected to find. It opened the door to some…very troubling feelings. 

You had initially tried to dismiss them as the similarities with your husband causing you to feel homesick, but that really wasn’t the case and you knew early on that you were lying to yourself about that. Given that the majority of letters that you wrote back home were to your mother-in-law, outside of the odd one you got directly from your husband when it seemed like he had the time, it was hard to ignore the growing distance that had festered. It had lingered in the background before you left America, and it only grew once the physical distance was there. 

Still, you had been quick to state that you were a married woman when it felt like Tommy was catching on to your conflict. Didn’t change much, however–it was a weakening defense and you both knew that. 

It resulted in a moment of weakness that haunted you, one that had your loneliness and conflicting emotions taking control. When it came to money, you knew things could get rough. In the back of your mind, you knew there could be some volatile tempers. Yet, you figured some people might not take that out on the riders. 

A man cornering you in the stable one night proved you wrong about that, however. Your feet barely scraping against the stable floor, his hands wrapped around your throat while you tried to talk him down through what little space he gave your windpipe. Between the pressure on your neck and the tightness in your chest from your lungs begging for more air, Tommy’s arrival was lost on you until the man released his hands from around your neck. 

You could remember the way you crumpled onto the ground, coughing harshly and gasping in air. You had registered the threats uttered and the shine of Tommy’s pistol, yet it wasn’t until he helped pull you to your feet that reality had come back around to you. 

–

“Come on. Sit over here.” 

You were used to his usual calm, straightforward approach to most things, yet at the moment it seemed at least vaguely caring. It was hard to tell with Tommy, yet you didn’t have the energy to really dig too deeply into that. As much as your pride wanted you to hold your head up and shake off the guiding hand on your arm, you were focused on trying to still the racing of your heart and ease the tightness in your chest. 

“He really wasn’t here to talk,” you commented once you were sitting down in a chair, holding a hand to your neck still. “I should’ve known better.” 

“Don’t think it would’ve stopped him any,” Tommy replied, “Least I’m not down a good rider.” 

“I appreciate the concern,” you commented around a bitter huff, though the touch of amusement in his gaze settled that feeling easily enough. 

“I was comin’ by to give you this, anyway,” Tommy continued after pulling up a chair and passing over your cut of the winnings from the race. “Just in time, too.” 

You nodded lightly, carding lightly through the cash as you counted quickly in your head. Something you had always done since you started working for him–suspicious at first, more like a force of habit now. In the current moment, however, it was more like an excuse to not have to look at him while every swallow and movement of your head reminded you of the forming bruises that you’d have to cover for the next while. 

It had never been in you to enjoy being rescued, yet you certainly knew that could have been worse if he didn’t show up when he did. You could feel a ‘thank you’ forming on the tip of your tongue the more you thought on it, though the feeling of his fingers under your jaw had you stilling. He tilted your head up somewhat, the action pulling a small wince from you as he examined the marks on your neck. 

Your gaze remained locked on his face as he did so and even after he shifted his hand to let you lower your head again. The tight feeling in your gut cropped up again, a familiar sensation when you looked at Tommy these days. A fluttering feeling that was both familiar and unfamiliar in a sense. Something that you had talked yourself into feeling over time with your husband, yet with Tommy it had formed on its own. 

It scared a part of you, yet you found yourself unable to pull away. Especially when you felt his hand shift along the back of your neck, a few seconds of hesitation and a sinking feeling until his mouth pressed against your own. 

If it had been you who leaned in to kiss him or if he crossed that line himself, you didn’t know. Yet, you found yourself returning it all the same, a hand coming up to cup the side of his face. You lost track of reality for a few moments–it was just you and Tommy, his lips, his tongue. His hands on your shoulders, waist, lower back. The excitement about the kiss made your gut twist, heat in your face. There was relief in there, too. 

Finally, you felt like someone wanted you. You weren’t an obligation, or worse a charity case. Your first kiss hadn’t been forced, yet it felt more like it was something you should do. To prove a point, an intention. It wasn’t like this with your husband. 

That thought hit hard, sinking into you like a heavy stone just as you could feel both your own and Tommy’s hands venturing further. You were married–and kissing your boss in the stable of a racetrack while your husband was an ocean away. 

Shame burned hot in your gut as you pushed Tommy back, standing quickly to put some distance between the two of you. The look he shot you was calm, as if he expected this. Your marriage wasn’t a secret, he knew what he was doing too. 

“I…shouldn’t have done that,” you said after a few moments, tucking your earnings into a pocket. “Thank you for the help, Mr. Shelby. Goodnight.” 

–

Naturally, you didn’t talk to him much after. You wanted to, the thoughts tumbling around in your head, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to. The situation didn’t stop you from feeling relieved about his attention shifting away from the races after a while, however. You still raced, listened to the directions that would come in about certain horses and races. Things were normal, stable, and it was like you could just forget what happened. Things were calm. That was, until word got back to America that Sabini was having issues in London. It was a bit of a surprise to you that you weren’t asked to get involved. At the time, that is. 

It was something that was brought up in some of the letters–more of a warning at first, just keeping you informed in case you did need to make a move in the name of your husband’s family. You usually weren’t set to do those things, however, so you didn’t expect much outside of a possible trip to London to see what information you could get from the Italians there. 

That was, until your brother-in-law was killed. Things were a bit of a blur after that. 

Everything had escalated well beyond anything you had imagined and it seemed unavoidable how the two sides of your life were now overlapping. 

It was what had you pacing around the lavish room that you had been told to move to. It was very similar to the one that you had stayed in when you had joined your husband for a family wedding. The very event that put the idea of moving away from America for a couple years to begin with. 

A maid had been in and out over the last couple of hours, leaving you food and drink when you asked but otherwise gave you a polite distance. You appreciated that, despite the fact that no amount of food or tea could settle your nerves. 

You hadn’t unpacked, your little suitcase sitting by the door. It would look a little odd, you knew that, but you couldn’t bring yourself to. 

All you could do was wait, wondering how all of this would play out. The letter had been vague, just the address that he said he’d be staying at and that you should be moved there by the current date. It didn’t do anything to reassure you, obviously. A part of you just wanted to know. Another part of you just wanted to see him–as if seeing your husband would clear all the muck from your head and it would be easier to think. 

So, naturally, you were jumpy by the time you heard the door open. The maid always knocked, so it was clear who it was. 

Luca hadn’t changed much in the three years you had been away, dressed in his typical dark attire. Expensive, tailor-made and you knew how much he seemed to care about his appearance. That had initially struck you as pompous when you had first met him, yet you had quickly grown used to how connected his family was and it seemed to be more so about bragging about his family’s reputation. You knew it pleased him when you humored the expensive clothing and gifts–a little less common as the years passed, you had noted. 

At the moment, you couldn’t help but feel almost…underdressed. A number of things had changed, in more ways than one. You still didn’t know how you felt about the situation or what you even felt in the moment you saw him again. 

Regardless, you worked up a somewhat tight grin and approached him, Luca removing his hat to place on the desk nearby. 

The rings on his fingers were cold as he cupped your face, pulling you in to press a lingering kiss to your mouth. Your hands came up to rest on his wrists, finding an odd sense of comfort in the familiarity of it. Yet, it was lacking now. You knew that. The memories of Tommy that cropped up made that sharp edge of shame known in your gut, yet you still managed to keep the small grin on your face as Luca pulled back. 

“Carissima,” he said, hands still cradling your face as he ran his thumbs along your cheeks, “Non sei invecchiato di un giorno.” 

“Nemmeno tu,” you replied, the words heavy and cumbersome on your tongue. Luckily, Luca just grinned, dropping his hands to wag a light-hearted finger at you. 

“You promised me you’d still practice your Italian.” 

“I don’t get to use it often,” you replied, “Not a lot of Italian speakers around.” 

“Should’a listened to me about movin’ to London,” Luca commented, “Be with the family. Though…well, maybe it was good you didn’t.” 

“Right…” 

You let out a soft exhale through your nose, watching as he circled around the desk slowly as if he was looking for something. The atmosphere shifted as soon as the topic was brought up, your gaze following his movements as you tried to gather together something to say about it all. Killed his brother, his father, and you weren’t naive enough to believe that he was there to drag you back to America. Luca glanced back up at you, almost studying you for a moment. 

“Ma’s told me a few things she’s learned about you, too,” Luca stated, a cold sweat breaking out across the back of your neck as your heart jumped. 

Still, you held his gaze, expression impassive. It didn’t seem likely that she would know about what happened while you were staying overseas, yet it didn’t ease the feeling like you were looking down the barrel of a gun. 

“I told her quite a bit in my letters–you, too. In the ones you read, at least,” you replied, crossing your arms as he moved to lean against the front of the desk. 

“Left out some details,” Luca said, “How you’re racin’ horses in the tracks managed by the Peaky Blinders.” 

“It’s hard not to if you’re looking to fix races,” you said with a nod, feeling that tight not in your stomach loosen somewhat. “I didn’t make it a habit to dip my hand in that. When your horses get a reputation, there’s some interest. I might have been approached, but I can’t say I’ve had any personal interactions with them.” 

“No Tommy Shelby?”

“Not personally,” you lied, “I know of him.” 

He met your gaze without a reply for a few moments, arms crossed in a way that almost mirrored your own. A part of you wondered why you were protecting Tommy–of course, you didn’t want Luca to know of certain details, but clearly you didn’t swear any loyalty to him or his gang. Yet, you did so anyway. Luca eventually nodded lightly, pressing his lips together in thought for a moment before he stood up to approach you once again. 

“I was hopin’ you might have some information that might make this easier, but you’re just racin’ horses.” 

You could almost hear a touch of something to his tone, yet it didn’t seem he was willing to make that clear or say what he was thinking. It didn’t sit all that nice, but you figured if he was suspicious of you, you would’ve known. (You hoped.) Still, you gave him what you hoped was a convincing enough apologetic smile as you reached out to rest your hand on his cheek. 

“I know what you’re here to do. I wish I could give you more information than that,” you said, “As I said when I left, I didn’t want any involvement in that business and it’s been kept that way. If I had known…” 

“I wouldn’t want you catchin’ a bullet anyway,” Luca replied, “Though, you remember anythin’ or might be leavin’ anythin’ out…” 

“I’ll tell you,” you said with a small grin, “I wouldn’t want you catching a bullet.” 

“They can try,” he stated before pressing a kiss to the side of your head, “Quicker this is done, quicker we can get back home.” 

You hummed in response, not quite agreement. As much as you were uncertain about the outcome of all of this, you had a sinking feeling that it wouldn’t be dealt with so quickly. 

*****

As much as you knew you shouldn’t be out by yourself, especially with the fact that this vendetta business could escalate at any moment, you didn’t think too much of it. 

There was an issue with one of your horses back where you were staying, and you knew suddenly disappearing would look odd to anybody who was paying attention. You were on edge and alert, yet you figured it would be best to look as if things were business as usual. Family was visiting, you were staying in a hotel. 

Yet, you couldn’t help but notice the quietness of the home. If there was an issue, you figured there would be a few different people running around. You frowned as you pulled up to the property, noticing that the stable was empty. You clenched your hands around the steering wheel of the car, ready to pull out at a moments notice. Though, the familiar figure standing outside the home, near the very chairs you had sat in when you chatted over the years. 

You debated leaving, but thought better of it. While it seemed unlikely that he didn’t know the people he was up against, you didn’t want to appear too suspicious if he hadn’t pieced together your involvement. 

Regardless, your approach was guarded, eyeing Tommy with a questioning gaze as he moved to step down from the porch. 

“Long time since I’ve seen you last,” you greeted, “...It’s very quiet out here for the emergency I was told to come see.” 

“Right…” Tommy replied, his expression unreadable as he approached you. “I had to get your attention somehow. Someone here said you are staying elsewhere for a few days.” 

“Family’s in the country for a while,” you replied casually enough, “I didn’t want to drive back and forth.” 

“Family. Well, I guess you really should see this, then,” Tommy stated, finally pulling a hand out of one of his coat pockets. 

He extended what looked like a photo, folded at a particular edge. You paused for a moment, looking into his impassive stare before you reached out to take it. 

Unfolding it completely, you were greeted with a wedding photo filled with familiar faces. The family wedding from a couple years ago, a seemingly routine celebration for the most part at the time. For the Changrettas, at least. Of course, standing just along the folded crease was you standing next to Luca, a faint smile on your face with your arm interlocked with his own. You had only seen the photo once when you had returned to New York after the wedding, yet it really turned out to be a terrible reminder that you weren’t as well hidden as you thought sometimes. 

“I did tell you I was married,” you stated, finally glancing up to meet Tommy’s gaze, “Though, with what your family’s done, I guess this really changes quite a few contexts.” 

“My family…” he repeated, you catching a glimpse in his expression that you never really saw. It was sharp, angry. It had you propping a foot back in case you needed to step away from him as he stepped a little closer to you. “Your family…killed me wife and my brother.” 

“Yes. You killed my husband’s father and brother. Spared his mother, which was a mistake. If you’re here to kill me to think you’ll get a leg up in this, I wouldn’t. Luca’s old fashioned–wants this done by tradition. As I’m sure you know. Yet, you kill me, I can’t say he’ll not just put a bullet in your head on principle. Considering you had to lure me out here, you have no idea where he is, right?” 

He didn’t say anything, lingering close as you looked up at him. As much as you knew he could kill you where you stood–there was enough spilled blood on his side to warrant it. Yet, there was that part of you that was fond of him. Felt something–might not have been deep or fully developed. It might never be. Yet, you knew you had a bit of a leverage here. You knew how to survive–keep your head down, do things for the sake of connecting your family, and taking advantage of opportunities when they presented themselves. 

“I like you, and I didn’t come to this country with the intention of getting wrapped up in a vendetta between you and my husband’s family,” you continued, “So, I’ll say this. I’m not here to be your enemy, yet I will do whatever I need to in order to get out of this alive. Luca, on the other hand, knows how to hate and will not stop until one of you is dead.” 

“I don’t need a lecture on the vendetta,” Tommy stated, “If you have no involvement, you’re a citizen in my eyes. I would be very careful about crossing that line.” 

“I’d be careful about crossing Luca Changretta,” you replied, “As it stands, I don’t know enough about you to give him anything of value and I have no obligation to tell you anything more about him. Give me a chance to get out of this alive, and I may change my stance on the latter.” 

“You’d sell out your own husband, eh?” Tommy asked, tilting his head somewhat as you continued to meet his gaze. 

“Arranged marriages can be tricky.” 

“I can’t make any promises, Mrs. Changretta.” 

“Then I guess we’ll see how this all plays out, Mr. Shelby.” 

#peaky blinders x reader #tommy shelby x reader #luca changretta x reader

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for not letting my uncles bury my dad the way they want? (very long, TL;DR at the end)

This is definitely too serious for this page but everyone I know is too invested in the outcome to have an objective view and I don't want to spend the rest of my life regretting this more than I have to.

My [22NB] father [late 50sM] died suddenly about a month ago. Our family is Nigerian and so there are certain things that are expected when people die, and you are supposed to respect and obey your elders. I understand that, we've always been raised that way, but I feel like the fact that we're his actual children should automatically make our wishes just as important, if not more so, than those of our uncles.

First, his brothers decided, without asking, to bury him in the US, which is where he lived/died, but in a state closer to where his brothers live. We (my brother [27M] and I) live in the UK. We don't want him to be laid to rest somewhere thousands of miles away. That decision was made because "your father loved the US and never wanted to live in the UK again", which is true, but they don't have any kind of evidence that he wanted to be buried in America other than that. I don't really disagree that those were probably his final wishes, but I don't really... care?

After my brother and I talked, we decided to overrule them (his brothers can't legally do anything without our permission) and bring his body back to the UK, and eventually they relented. Then, they told us that they wanted his body to be taken from the state it's currently in to the state that they wanted to hold the funeral in on the day that they planned to hold the funeral for "viewing" and so they can pay their respects, and then send it to the UK so we can bury it the way we want. Immediately, we both refused (because honestly, what the fuck kind of request is that?) and we were called disrespectful and insensitive. I'll admit that we said some unkind things that we shouldn't have, but they didn't ASK, they TOLD us to do it.

Again, I know why they're upset, but I just don't care. We don't want him buried there (even though that's probably what he would've wanted) and we definitely don't want his body taken across the US "like he's some kind of prop on tour for them to use to hold a party" (actual words we said to them). We're probably overly emotional about this and his brothers are very angry and upset about what we're doing, so maybe we are being insensitive and we should let them either bury him in the US or take his body for their own mini-funeral before we do ours.

This entire planning has already been difficult and delayed because I didn't tell them he'd died for three days (because they wouldn't return my calls) and I then made them keep it quiet for another four days because I couldn't see my brother in person to tell him until then, so some of his brothers didn't find out until a week after he'd died. Plus, we don't live in the US, so there are difficulties with making phone calls and getting documents and forms completed so things can progress, and these arguments are making it take longer. There were unilateral decisions I made, so maybe I don't have the right to get mad at them for doing the same thing, especially when they're not wrong that that's probably what he wanted. My dad's sisters (who he had a complicated relationship with, but that was true of him and his brothers as well) and all of our family friends (who were very close with my dad) are on our side, but I don't know if that's just because they feel sorry for us or because they have their own beef with his brothers or what.

TL;DR: My dad died and his brothers want to bury him in the US or at least have his body viewed at a ceremony in the US before being buried in the UK, while I and my brother want him buried in the UK and don't want them to have any kind of ceremony with his body in the US first. AITA?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

[rigberts]

thinking about how insane the demon slayer art style and character design is. like, the the nose, mouth, and face shapes of everyone in the main cast are virtually identical regardless of gender, and yet every single character has a very distinct personality at first glance. And unlike other popular anime, it isn't their rainbow hair colors or painstakingly customized uniforms that help the audience tell them apart (though I do love their outfits).

It's almost entirely their eyes.

The best example of this is probably shinobu. Her eyes are enormous, round, and purple, things associated with femininity. However, they have no pupil or sclera and have a matte gradient effect. The gradient effect gives an appearance similar to an insect's compound eyes, giving a nod to her abilities and character aesthetic, but more importantly, the lack of reflected light makes her eyes look completely dead. This tells you everything you need to know about shinobu's character. She's beautiful and graceful in her appearance and mannerisms, but she's also lost the most important thing in her life, is capable of great cruelty towards her enemies, takes a sadistic delight in their pain, and her cheerful and benevolent persona is a facade. Basically, by just drawing a couple of carefully shaded circles, the artist lets you know that even if this character acts lively and upbeat, that fact that there is no light behind her eyes shows that it is false.

This is thrown into even greater contrast when a flashback is shown of kanae, shinobus late sister, who we know that shinobu seeks to imitate with her faux cheerfulness. Though their faces are identical, their eyes couldn't be more different. Where shinobus eyes are matte and reflect no light, kanaes are glossy and have three enormous highlights in each eye, making her look literally starry eyed, and that's reflected in her personality. Kanae is shown to kind, overly idealistic, and optimistic to the point of being airheaded: the exact opposite of shinobu, who is bitter, cunning, and capable of great cruelty.

Anyway demon slayer really makes the most of visual storytelling in even its smaller details.

Some other highlights in character design:

rengoku's constantly wide eyes with their rings of contrasting color that almost resemble an optical illusion perfectly convey everything about his most important character trait, his unrelenting intensity. Additionally, depending on context, his wide-eyed appearance can either be played for laughs or deeply unnerving, depending on whether his neverending enthusiasm is being directed towards complimenting tasty food or carving up his enemies with a smile.

Obanai has heterochromia identical to that of a cat, and let's be real, his personality is pretty cat-like. He's proud, disdainful, and judgemental of others, but he is also full of unconditional love for Mitsuri, even if he usually only shows it by quietly enjoying her company. Plus, it's also revealed that the reason obanai fell in love with mitsuri is because she is a genuine person who doesn't push his boundaries, giving him someone he can truly be comfortable around. Anyone who's interacted with a cranky stray cat before can tell you how familiar that sounds.

Nezuko has three separate sets of eyes throughout the series. As a human, her pupils are pink with complicated black shading and with a white highlight, once again hinting at her innocence. As a demon she usually has pink eyes with a circular highlight, but all the shading and therefore all the "depth" is gone. Since she doesn't remember that her family was killed and has somewhat regressed to a childlike state, nezuko still has her innocence (as shown by the highlight) but has lost her complexity that made her fully human. When she becomes enraged, her pupils become dark and slitted and her irises lose their reflective sheen, showing that not only is she monstrous, she has temporarily regained the capacity for anger and other dark emotions, and lost the ignorance/innocence that keeps her monstrous instincts at bay.

Muichiro has no memory of anything but the last three months of his life, and likewise, his eyes are foggy and dull

In the case of aoi, the square, blocky shape of her pupil implies a lot about her character: the fact that she's somewhat ordinary and a reliable, steady ally, even if she can be a little stiff.

I'm fairly certain that tanjirous red eyes were supposed to have narrative importance and signal that he is a descendant of yoriichi until it was decided at some point that yoriichi had no children and tanjirou was a descendant of a friend of yoriichi instead (either that or the reveal was planned from the beginning and the eye color was a red herring), but that's beside the point. Tanjirous eyes are red with dark shading, and do not have a highlight, though they do have a white pupil. This combination represents tanjirous emotional maturity, the combination of negativity and positivity. Unlike shinobu, who has no light in her eyes and is controlled by her resentment, and kanae, who has nothing but light in her eyes and was idealistic to the point of foolishness, tanjirou has both. Yes, he has suffered, he lost almost his entire family, even after he dedicated his entire self to caring for them after his father's death. However, tanjirou is still a fundamentally compassionate and hopeful person. No, Tanjirou is far from the first shonen protagonist who is kind and a genuinely good person (Luffy, Naruto, and Goku come to mind), he is one of the more emotionally intelligent ones. Tanjirou empathizes with the demons and recognizes the suffering that made them into monsters, but at the end of the day, he still kills them. There is no talk no jutsu, there is no transformation of enemies into allies, and there is no sparing of enemies out of respect for their fighting prowess. Though Tanjirou recognizes that demons are tragic and pitiful, he also knows that they are creatures that survive only on the slaughter of innocents. This isn't to say that stories about redemption or forgiveness or once-feared villains turning into the protagonists wacky neighbor are inherently bad, far from it. But for the story that demon slayer is, tanjirou is the perfect fit. And you can tell, just by looking in his eyes.

#demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #kny #tanjirou kamado #nezuko kamado #iguro obanai #rengoku kyojuro #muichiro tokito #shinobu kocho #kanae kocho #aoi kanzaki

[omi-papus]

What to me strikes as the most impactful part of the Hope speech is the fact that Al-An dosent entierly need it. The player is not once given the impresion that Al-An has any intention of giving up. Hes even shown being offended by the idea in the deleted voice lines. But there is always this feeling that he is running purely on the obligations to continue. Of not being able to concive of stopping because what would become of him?

A few times I might have mentioned the fact that Al-An hasnt always been Al-An. Actually Al-An has only really existed at all for a very short time. There has been the part of the network that seems to be handy good at science, but all that Al-An is has been born out of crisis. Even before his disconection, he was set as the sole lead researcher of the cure for Karaah, that might have been the first time he was ever truly singled out as unique. Not one of ten thousand voices but a leader, an authority. An authority that failed. Hes a head researcher that couldnt complete his research.

He was then the one who disobeyed the collective orders. Not the networks decision but his. And subsequently the one at fault for the destruction of the laboratory and the release of the disease into the planet. These are framed not as the actions of the architects but of an individual, and he clearly belives this too. He blames only himself.

And then he was Human seed code-Almanac, a single string, alone, unable to do barely anything, and ridden with guilt, nostalgia and petrifying fear.

Al-An is a collection the worst of him. Born in times of crisis, cemented in catastrophic failure, and given a name in isolation.

Within the character we see in game there is both the collective and there is Al-An. His actions throughout the game are what is left of the collective, of the architects mission. The task of procuring a cure for the Karaah and bringing it home. A task that is inherent and unquestionable reguardless of the method. One that at no point left him. Al-An is all the rest. The bundle of autism that tries to do a sarcasm to get back at his human host, who finds the idea of being put inside a fish disturbing, who is full of guilt and terrified of being alone forever.

The mission of the architects was never going to stop. Whats left of the collectives objective is unshakable in the face of all odds. Al-An on the other hand can break. Al-An might not survive the fallout of his actions. The cure would be brought to the homeworld, and then it will be done. Mission acomplished. But then all that will be left is Al-An. He will be the one who will miss the sounds of his people, he will be the one who has to face extinction on his own if he is the last one. And Al-An cant do that. Not alone.

And Robin obviously dosent make this overly complicated distinction. She dosent know that the will of the architects will drag his corpse for as long as it has to to acomplish its goals. Because Robin dosent know the collectives will. Robin only know that pesky englishman sounding alien that bullies her about her joints.

Al-An had never been reached out to with kindness before. Al-An had never been aknowledged in the way that Robin does. In that scene, we see the first time Al-An has been told that he is worthy of any type of positivity. That he deserves some peace of mind while he completes his mission. That he dosent deserve to agonize over his fate when hes busy fighting for a better future.

On a surface level, Robin is telling him to not give up. But really when she tells him to have hope, she is telling the vulnerable, guilt ridden person behind the voice that he deserves to feel ok. That he gets to look forward to being with his family again, instead of dreading finding them dead. That he gets to be enthusiastic about finally getting home. That he can imagine his planet prospering and the sounds of the network as vibrant as ever.

Hes being told that he deserves that. That Al-An, disgraces scientis Al-An, gets to make it through this too. Al-An isnt just his failures but also all the reasons why he dosent just have to, but wants to save his people. Al-An is the one that misses the networks thrum, Al-An is the one that is afraid of loosing everything they worked for, Al-An is the one who remembers the Torloque parades and the pets they used to keep. Al-An is his feelings and his dreams. And those dont deserve to die either. Because in that moment, Robin heard Al-An starting to slip. And Al-An contrary to the collectives will does need to be told that. He would have died if he allowed himself to suffer through that distructive dispair alone. Left a husk of himself driven only by the singular instincs to finish a job.

“Have hope” means “You dont have to suffer through this. You dont have to neglect and emotionally hurt yourself in order to succeed. All the things that make you you, good and bad, are important, and deserve happyness.”

Hope, is a coping mechanism designed for people after all.

#subnautica #subnautica below zero #al-an #al an #robin ayou

[ezdotjpg]

hello!!! i am interested to know more about Wake do you have anything that you could share? I absolutely love the design you've given him and he's great in the eyepatch comic

wake facts wake facts!

Cool Cousin Energy off the charts

mediator, problem-solver, cat herder. but not in a way that comes off as overly strict or stuffy. it's more that he's so easygoing, when he actually tells you to knock it off you feel like a dick for making a scene lol

Tries to keep the mood light-hearted but can get serious when necessary

It's really hard to get him actually angry

He will tell you "Safety first, safety second, coolness third" but he'll backflip off the crow's nest into the ocean if u dare him to so

Even though he's matured quite a bit, he hasn't grown out of mischief or being a smartass lol and never will

He has however grown out of like, being embarrassed ever. he has no shame. cringe is dead. wear the clothes ur grandma lovingly made for you. LIVE A LITTLE!!!

I feel like I've said this before but if you ask him what happened to his eye he'll tell a different story every time

Very expressive with his face and body language, which makes it seem like he's an open book. But he's not really.

On that note. He seems pretty unfazed by most of what's happened to him. That's one part having a genuinely positive outlook on life and on part locking everything into a box in his head and then never opening it ever again. He's fine. It's fine. That's what boxes are for. Mostly it's been working for him.

That's another area where he's kind of "do as I say and not as I do" because he's often first to lend a ear to others and help them work through their feelings

He's got complicated thoughts about Ganondorf but we'll get there!

Family's really important to him. He brings Grandma and Aryll gifts back from his adventures all the time

Mask, Spirit, and Mini all remind him of Aryll

Currently sailing around with Linebeck

#sorry if some of this is repeat #that's all i gots for now #bonus wake #bonus lore #bonus links #askdotjpg #bonuslinks

[jellfishjellfish]

Love the most recent chapter not enough people capture the fact that Clay is objectively kinda an asshole especially to JD. Like as much as Clay has good reasons too be angry he has little awareness of the time and place to start a fight with someone. Like Clay in cannon started shit with John Dory about him being overly focused of performing the perfect family harmony when Floyd’s life was dependent on them performing the perfect family harmony. That scene alone shows that Clay is almost fundamentally incapable of putting aside his anger or issues with a person even temperamentally when it’s a life and death situation he has the inherent need to prove his point right here right now the second something bothers him and you captured that character flaw of him very well.

Thank you!! I know some people might feel like I’m playing into the whole ‘Clay is the asshole problem child’ shtick, but it’s like you said, I feel like for someone to react like how he did in the film it would only be more prominent if less time passed. I’m giving him some legitimate reasons for his anger, but he’s not had a real outlet for it or any focus (or need) for self-reflection so far. He was too busy surviving at the golf course, trying to come across as serious and mature. Unlike John who’s been having therapy and who had those years alone where he did a lot of reflecting, Clay’s thoughts just festered. He just hasn’t considered that John might be anything but his infallible asshole older brother, because JD never showed any weakness before. He’s a complicated character for sure :)

#dereliction trolls #dereliction #trolls #ask #john dory #trolls john dory #trolls clay

[scoobydoodean]

Everybody leaves you, Dean. You noticed? Mommy. Daddy. Even Sam. You ever ask yourself why? Maybe it’s not them. Maybe, it’s you.

(5.16 "Dark Side of the Moon")

Just. A quick post on this, because I think that some fans, right along with Dean during this interaction, have been tricked into believing that this is true. They have been tricked by this dialogue into believing that Dean is a clingy, overly needy person who pushes every single person he loves away by needing too much or just by being too much in general.

This is not true.

Mary didn't leave because her four year old was a burden, and if she had, that wouldn't have been Dean's fault at four years old. Mary died because she made a demon deal before she even had kids.

John didn't leave because Dean was a burden. John's absences from Dean (AND SAM's) life happened because of John's issues—because he coped with trauma through vengeance and lost sight of his family until the end, when his last act was to sacrifice himself to save Dean's life.

Recognizing that Mary and John leaving Dean had nothing to do with Dean being a burden in real life, the idea that Dean is always being left behind and that him always being the common denominator implicates him breaks down.

Dean and Sam's relationship is a particularly complicated one—made so by multiple deaths, parentification in childhood, childhood neglect, and terrifying apocalyptic destinies. To make Sam running away at 12 or going to school about Dean being the problem is to vastly undersell the conflict Sam had with John. In fact, even with Sam clashes with Dean directly in the early seasons, he is usually using Dean as a stand in for a fight he can't have with their father—and we see the actual blow up occur between father and son in 1.20. Strife between Sam and Dean about living in each other's pockets also isn't one-sided when that kind of strife rears its head. In fact, Dean was the one relieved to be away from Sam a little earlier in the season, from 5.02 to the end of 5.04. Dean called his family chains in 5.03 and was very directly referring to Sam.

There's good and bad among Sam and Dean's feelings about each other, but we know from 5.22 "Swan Song" that the idea sold in 5.16 "Dark Side of the Moon"—that Sam doesn't have happy memories with Dean—is a flat out lie. Happy memories with Dean are literally what breaks Lucifer's control over Sam's body, flipping a switch in Sam's head as memory after memory of being on the road with Dean rushes fondly through Sam's mind.

Zachariah leads Sam and Dean through heaven like rats in a maze. He knew where they were the entire time they were in heaven. Sam and Dean were lead to believe they could hide, but Zachariah always knew where they were. He popped up in certain areas to drive them from one place to another, in a loop through memories selling the story Zachariah wanted to sell.

He pushed them away from the happy memories Sam has with Dean (as seen in "Swan Song") and toward memories where Sam was away from their family (two of which specifically represented escape from John) to sell the narrative that Sam doesn't care about Dean. Zachariah tries to sell this narrative because 5.04 "The End" culminated in Dean feeling he and Sam were both stronger together than apart. Zachariah is deliberately trying to break Dean's belief in that family bond to drive him away from his family and toward despair. He wants Dean to stop believing that he could ever be enough to keep Sam from saying "Yes". Zachariah wants Dean to see himself as disposable because Zachariah wants Dean to make himself a disposable vessel. Zachariah wants Dean to feel completely unloved and alone.

#5.16 #season 5 #pk rewatches spn number ? #5.22 #angels lie #angels and demons lie #zachariah #spn revisionisms

[nogoodsheepstealing-greatgrandma]

Team Green: Sorry your faves are boring 😊🤷‍♂️ Sure you're supposed to root for the Blacks but the Greens are just more fun. Jace is boring I'm here for my angsty disaster mess 💚

You realise that's bad writing, right? This is a family civil war drama. One side of that family civil war shouldn't be populated with blank slates. If no effort is made into making Rhaenyra and Daemon's children as fleshed out as Alicent's children then that is bad writing.

Some people find the Lannisters more fun than the Starks, but the Starks are still fleshed out characters (and considering in the books Jace is 14/15, Luke is 13, Joffrey, Baela & Rhaena are 12, Aegon the younger is 9 and Viserys is 7 - these kids ages almost map straight onto the Starklings so they were so meant to be our Targlings). It didn't have to be a zero sum "you can only have ONE side that's interesting". The show is poorer for it. Game of Thrones was a disaster in many ways, but at least the different sides of the conflict had equal screen time and attention.

How hard would it have been to flesh out Jace, or at least give him a half-decent haircut? He could have been a mirror to Jon Snow (they technically have the same initials). One is a bastard who does not know he's a targaryen prince, the other is a targaryen prince who discovers he is a bastard. In a world that hates bastards, that insists they are 'wanton and treacherous by nature', there was plenty of potential to explore some complicated emotions, to give weight to how he feels about being a bastard. The whispers that would have followed him, the scrutiny he would have felt, the internalised guilt and shame, his protectiveness over his little brothers and wish to spare them the truth. Maybe after Alicent confronted Aegon over the pig there could have been a shift where Aegon turns his bullying away from Aemond and towards Jace (more in keeping with book canon). Maybe Jace could feel anxious about lessons with Criston Cole due to his open hatred of him. Maybe he could be equal parts devoted to and resentful of his mother over his parentage, maybe he could be driven to perfectionism to prove himself worthy.

The show made Jace more violent in the fight with Aemond than in the book, by changing who started the fight (from Aemond to Rhaena and co.), by narrowing the age gap to make Jace more of a match for Aemond, and by having him draw a knife instead of a wooden toy sword. But they didn't earn that moment. How much more satisfying would it have been if both Aemond and Jace were given equal emotional weight in the build-up to the fight? If the hurt and anxiety at discovering he was a bastard had been building and building until it burst out. The entire reason the show changed the age dynamic between Rhaenyra and Alicent to make them peers and best friends was supposedly to make their conflict more dramatic - why would you then drop that approach with their kids? How does it make the civil war story better if one half of the next generation of characters aren't really characters?

They didn't even have to put much effort into Baela, as GRRM already had her brimming with personality on the page, but they just... ignored that and made her a non-entity. Oh she gets one punch in, and there's a blink and you'll miss it background shot of her trying to hit Aegon (at this point I don't think the actors were even directed to do that I think they just took it upon themselves). Meanwhile Baela in the books is wild and fearless and deliberately provocative and quick to anger and fiercely defensive of her loved ones and wrestles squires in the training yard and has a pet monkey and sneaks out in search of adventure and brings home 'unsuitable' friends. Including a legless beggar, a blacksmith's apprentice whose muscles she admired, a street conjurer, twin prostitutes and an entire troupe of mummers. And she alarms everyone due to being 'overly fond of boys' and gets epic lines like this when it is suggested she marry Lord Rowan:

“I’ve bedded two of his sons. The eldest and thirdborn, I think it was. Not both at once, that would have been improper.”

She could have been an absolutely chaotic presence onscreen. Rhaena meanwhile is a little more like Sansa to Baela's Arya, but would have needed more work to flesh her out onscreen. Her insecurities and wish for a dragon seemed promising at first, but they were dropped as soon as Aemond lost his eye. Because that was ultimately the narrative purpose she served - to provide a new reason for the fight to start that wasn't Aemond hitting and pushing a toddler into a pile of dragon poo. She helps Aemond's image by being the one to start the fight instead of him, and from then on she becomes a voiceless non-entity. We watch Aemond fly away victoriously on Vhagar, we don't see Rhaena tearfully watching the last link to her mother vanish over the horizon.

Considering the prominent role of bastards during the dance (especially the dragonseeds), the uninterest in exploring bastardy in Jace makes little sense. Considering the centrality of gender to the story (and considering a certain event involving key players during the dance), the lack of effort into Baela and Rhaena makes zero sense (the show doesn't even bring up their right to Driftmark in an episode dedicated to discussing the rightful heir to Driftmark).

Considering especially that in fantasy black women are so often consigned to minor Missandei roles, the fact that we were robbed of Baela and Rhaena as main characters particularly stings. Baela in particular was an easy fan favourite in the book, and its a role that black women and girls so rarely get to play. If you had told me before the show that Helaena would be a fan favourite over Baela, I wouldn't have believed it. And don't get me wrong, I like that they fleshed out Helaena in the show, like Rhaena she didn't have much of a presence in the book. But it is so typical that the relative non-entity that they kept white gets to be fleshed out, while the more fleshed out character that they made black becomes a non-entity. And Helaena is skinny now, of course (all love to Phia Saban, but I am mourning plump Helaena).

And don't get me started on Kylo Raemond.

#hotd critical #house of the dragon #team black #team green #pro team black #jacaerys velaryon #baela targaryen #rhaena targaryen #aemond targaryen #helaena targaryen #kylo ren #jace #jon snow #valyrianscrolls #f&b

[precious-little-scoundrel]

Welcome to Germany, Mrs. Presley

A Sarge & lil Mama fic

Summary: After the birth of your firstborn twins and his subsequent deployment, you and Elvis reunite for the first time at a German Airport. Sweeping romantic scores and idyllic kisses in the rain may have to wait for hungry babies and overly full breasts…the latter problem your husband may or may not have a chivalrous desire to aid you with

Warnings; yes, this is the lactation “kink” you were promised, I tried to not make it icky, I swear I did, but beware if that’s not your thing 💋

Also note: I will be changing lil mama in this series eventually to an original character instead of reader insert. This one has remained an insert as I started it that way, although the reader is referred to by the name “Elaine” at the very end 🥂

“Welcome to Germany, Mrs. Presley!” the kind hearted stewardess pulled you away from your panicked survey through the window of the crowd on the tarmac. Prompted by the stewardess’ concerned smile you turned yourself to the task at hand -bundling up the babies in their carriers to prepare them for the torrent of snow outside. 

October born Memphian babies as they are, they’ve barely seen the outside of Graceland as the season turned cold, and impromptu as this flight has been, you were still prepared with blankets and woolen caps and fuzzy socks on their tiny feet. With all these precautions in place only their noses were susceptible to freezing off in the blizzard and that really couldn’t be helped without suffocating them and- oh god, you were a nervous wreck. 

Elvis had been arranging for you to join him in Germany since he married you, right after going into the army, it had always been the plan. But his first plan -to make a family with you, out of you- had worked a little too well, and you had been stuck at home with a complicated pregnancy of twins contracted on the wedding night, a terrible bout of mastitis following that, while he got shipped off across the globe. Evocative letters and the few stilted phone calls were all that had kept you going, a keen awareness that both of these could be intercepted having cooled the initial honeymoon ardour of your arranged union. A kind friend had alerted you to these available seats on this commercial airline and, tired of waiting for arrangement to come together for private jets, you’d torn apart your room to pack and roped Dodger into being a traveling companion and pack mule, and the four of you made it to the terminal with ten minutes to spare. Vernon had called ahead to tell his son that his young wife was hauling herself and her twins over the ocean posthaste, and you hoped to god that Elvis' previous insistence on you waiting to take a private jet had been out of concern for your comfort, not desire to prolong separation. 

When you’d said as much aloud to his grandmother she’d scowled at you and made a significant face at the twins, as if to remind you that he’d been the one hell bent on having you, not the other way around. 

You scan the waiting crowd outside in hopes of seeing him, noticing multiple fan signs held aloft in greeting for you and his babies, and wondered how rumors could spread that fast. And there was always the shock you felt that some people would freeze their toes off just to catch a glimpse of the gal Elvis the Pelvis had wedded and bedded. 

You grab a baby carrier in each hand, your “yittle” hands and arms having grown strong and defined in the past months just from hauling your progeny around, and Dodger determinedly manages the luggage. You bump between the airplane seats, shuffling sideways and maneuvering yourself and your precious load, smiling when making eye contact with one gawking passenger after another, even having to make small talk when the disembarking line stalls only a couple yards away from the exit door. There’s a bottle neck happening up there, just out of view,  no more passengers managing to get out the door and passed a charmingly stuttering young husband who’s giving the plane Captain the same working over he gave his commanding officer - the one that procured him a furlough to come pick his wife up from the airport with zero notice. 

“Elvis!” you holler, ignoring the fascinated way people’s necks swivel to watch two individuals they've only read both filthy and devine things about in the newspapers interacting in real time. 

“Mamas! that really you?” a very darling and familiar voice carries over a couple dozen heads in the tubular space and it makes you want to giggle over how desperate he sounds. Like he’s rescuing you from the lion’s den instead of a commercial airline. 

Elvis has a massive trust and appreciation for the common man, the set he came from, except when it comes to their treatment of you. Public feeling towards you has been exacerbated negatively by the newspapers stirring up filth and he’s nearly gone nuts with worry in the ten hours it took the plane to arrive in Germany. 

“Yessir, it’s me alright.” you yell after a giggle and the rest of the crowd joins in good naturedly.

“W-w-well, well come o-on o-o-out then!” he booms in exasperation. 

“Can’t.” you holler, “you’re clogging the drain, daddy.” 

“Oh well, I’ll be-“ and then there’s a sudden shuffling and the Captain starts waving people on again.

You make eye contact with a withered little lady who is right up ahead of you, her ancient smile lines craggy and you feel a little validated as she alone beams at you from where she is still pressed against the side of her equally weathered fella. You’ve found it’s this ancient generation, the one before the commercialized, sterilized, American household set, who didn’t really bat an eye upon reading a tapped phone transcript of Elvis assuring you that he’s “gonna stuff your yittle cunt to the brim as soon as you’re back with me again, gonna pump you full, darlin. Yer gonna be gushin out with every rut but I ain’t gonna stop, ain’t gonna stop till we’re half dead the both of us, and you got a gallon of baby gravy leakin outta ya. I swear it lil mama, I’ll get you full again, just hang in there, hang in there, oh goddamn, I hear ya whinin, those tiny fingers of yourn ain’t doin near enough, are they….”

‘Soon as you were back with him. That was the promise, and here he was now, he couldn’t even wait for you to disembark before trying to get to you. And the weathered dame smiles at you, and you wonder if she’s thinking of the times she rolled in the hay with her man, sat on him under a blistering sun when he was working his tractor, maybe made a dozen children in a room shared with two other couples. Back when no one gasped at the notion that married couples must entwine and rut and spew in order to make those “three little curly heads in a row” that everyone still sought after. 

She looks happy for you, she looks passed you back at Dodger and you know grandma is proud that someone’s out there not being a hypocrite and just acknowledging, revelling even, in the fact that marriage is a very primal thing.

Elvis, feels close to vomiting as he smiles and waves and even signs a few crinkled napkins as people file past him onto the jetbridge, standing ramrod straight in his uniform beside the rest of the plane crew who politely act as if he’s a member, not an embarrassingly frantic husband. A famous, frantic husband. A husband who keeps spinning his service cover round and round by the bill in desperate need to see his little woman come into view. 

He’d left you to fend for yourself at Graceland, still hemorrhaging and fighting a life threatening infection in those pretty tits of yours that he had been so sure would feed his children as dutifully as the rest of you had proven to be. But they’d rebelled, they’d swelled up, they’d grown hard knots and made you sob in pain and still you went down to the Memphis train station and clutched his hand smilingly until the locomotive's gaining speed had torn him from your grip. He’d never been more proud of a human in all his life. And then he’d been worried sick ever after. 

Not even married a year and he had inadvertently broken his promise that you’d always have him, always be a family, never be apart if you’d just be his wife. You’re healthy now, you’d assured him over the phone. Been feeding the children like a prize milk cow, even feel well enough to go down to the Graceland gates and stand and chat with the fans, have even stuck your dainty hand down south and played with the previously torn little petals of your cunt. You assure him all is back to normal. 

You can be a dirty, dirty liar, though, you don’t know it but Elvis does, he has seen the way you convince yourself you are grand so others don’t worry, when you’re not well at all. Your welfare and wellbeing is hai to ascertain, he’s your husband and he’ll be the judge of that, thank you very much. If he could just see you over all these ‘tarnal heads —

—god what a vision. His wife. Twelve hours on a plane and all it cost you was a droop to your eyelids that vanishes the moment you catch sight of him. That old spark in your eyes lights up and your face burns red as a smile splits your cheeks apart and he loves you so badly, loves knowing this ravenous joy hasn’t caressed your face since last time you saw him, he alone provokes that look. 

You are easily managing two carriers between the rows of seats and your hat is fetchingly tilted, your hair is curled and your coat is the one he ordered from the magazine and he’s gonna have fun peeling those nylons off your legs and — there’s still an ocean of people between you two but despite your moderate height, you two manage to keep the grinning eye contact as the distance jostles and ebbs closes and he plucks you forward by a outstretched hand, making you trip over your heels for the first time in this whole ordeal and he squats with you to let you set the carriers on the ground and before you can rise back up to your height, he’s kissing you ravenously in front of all the onlookers. My god he is comforting, his hands cup your cheeks with fevered concern and his warm tongue plunges familiarly and without prelude, his powerful embrace engulfs you, crushing you into himself like he’s gonna tuck you inside his heart. He’s your sanctuary and you slump into him, nearly knocking his hat off in your desperation to rake through his growing locks. 

“Ma darling” he pants against your cheek and you both rise up from your semi squat. 

Below on the tarmac, through the glass of the jetway, a dozen flashbulbs pop to capture this moment, the crowd of fans is screaming and the crew beside him titters. It’s what you signed up for, life and love in the fishbowl of fame, and he gives you an apologetic grin before you smooch it off him, and move to the side so grandma Dodger can pat his face. He gives you his arm and you both swing up a child apiece with ease, shuffling along the jetway to the immense relief of the remaining passengers. He can’t choose where to look, your face or down at the infant swinging at his side, peering over to look at Miss Ella as you carry her. He finally looks straight as the terminal comes into view, a literal light at the end of a tunnel, and he gnaws his lip and slows his stride and squeezes your hand rhythmically. 

“I’m sorry it’s so public.” you murmur, knowing a private jet would have spared him all this. “I just couldn’t bare it any more.” 

And even if he had been of a mind to begrudge you your rash action, hearing you unabashedly admit you missed him that much soothes everyone little worry he has harbored that now you’ve got these babies you wanted, you may have gone off the idea of a husband. Particularly one as testy and hungry as he can be. He is starving for you and it only grows as he registers in relief that you’re eyeing him up appraisingly, taking in the adjustments that “rigorous army life” has made on his physique and face. 

He looks older, he knows that, but not in the way of it being the sad, sulking, pudgy fella of before, he’s chiseled and broad and virulent now and he sees you lick your lips in between smiles. You married a sad boy, you’re returning to a capable man. You knock your forehead against the patch at his shoulder like an interested cat and he snickers happily just as you both walk into the gauntlet of the terminal. 

“C'mon Dodger, stick close.” he commands her and keeps craning his neck to make sure she’s not separated by the crowd despite her gripes that she’s quite capable. 

“Don’t mind me,” she says, “it’s your wife you should be frettin’ bout, get ‘er a room to relieve them yams of hers, they’re near burstin and she’ll catch another bout of the clogged ducts if she keeps being so damn prudish bout nursin in public-“

“W-what the hell is all this bout y-you, you -?” Elvis comes to a full halt in the middle of the busy thoroughfare and looks frantically from her to you. You want to curse her for her tactlessness in scaring him after all the fretting he’s subjected himself to, but in all honesty, you have not nursed in eight hours and the agony you forgot for a brief moment upon seeing him again comes to the fore at the mere mention of your engorged state. You can feel yourself leaking and each shuffle rubs the fabric pads against your nipples and makes you want to whimper. 

“I need a room to feed the babies before we get in a car.” you whisper the plain truth in his ear while standing atiptoe as more flashbulbs go off, capturing his look of recognition and the scarlet flush that burns his face at your confession. The tell tale vein in his neck thumps to life and you aren’t sure if it’s panic or desire sending his adrenaline through the roof. Neither will the captions under the photos in tomorrow morning’s paper. 

The thought of his wife’s breasts full and heavy and warm with his hands still so cold from the winter chill makes him want to hold them and bury his chilled nose between them and -he needs to get you a room. Hates himself for being so hungry for you when your eyes are watering upon closer inspection and his children must be close to starving. Oh god, how often do infants eat? Will they be stunted for having to wait? He’ll spank the hell outta you if this little plane ride costs Jesse or Ella a single inch of height or a roll of fat. 

You can see all this chaos flit underneath his crimson blush until Dodger grunts in so suggestive a way that it rouses him and suddenly he’s a man on a mission, the same man who got a furlough in record time and arranged your status on the board of the March of Dimes. 

Mr- umm, that’s Private now- Presley snaps his fingers and tells a man he needs a room, the man gets him a whole lounge, Elvis gets you all guided through a throng to it, and Elvis thanks the man with such charming profusion the fella downright forgets the brusque order preceding it. 

He spins around a few times in the lounge as if he can’t figure out what to fix first and you laugh and make your way to the couch, setting your carrier down and starting to undo your heavy mink. 

“Right, right.” he mutters as the obvious hits him, your presence working that old steady calm on him. He feels like he takes his first true breath of German air then and sets to work. 

Always, he doesn’t know how you manage it for him, but a soft smile, a head tilt and eyebrow arched in gentle direction and suddenly he’s got his feet back under him, even here as he arranges his children by the sofa -dear god he has kids, those are his kids-  

and helps you with your coat. You sit yourself down and he stands ready for the next softly spoken order.

“Could you help me unbuckle them, darling?” your sweet guidance spurs him and he’s squatting, face to face with his baby he hasn’t seen since it was fresh popped into the world.

“Hey lil mister.” he whispers, half astounded to see something so little and fragile with his eyes staring back from beneath a mountain of blankets. He has to will his hands not to shake and has to try about five times to get the buckle undone, he’s being so timid about the clasp and maybe pushing too hard on his baby son’s belly. He swivels around to you after he loses track of time watching his child stare back, but baby boy starts to scowl and of course, of course there’s a point to this, so he swivels back to you and finds you undoing the buttons of your silk blouse and you’re so damn lovely as the inches of creamy skin begins to swell into view and he longs to touch and then there’s a wet patch and those pretty little nipples peek into view and a dribble of white from them startles him, and he makes a noise he hasn’t ever heard himself make. 

“Whoops!” you laugh pained, leaking and swiping the flood from the one released breast before popping the wet finger in your mouth. 

You reach for the baby and he pulls his gaze from your leaking breast to hand him over, and you smile shyly in thanks, and he wonders if it embarrasses you for him to watch but he can’t help it, you look so perfectly in your element as you tuck Jesse in the crook of your elbow as your other hand guides your nipple into his shiny little mouth. He latches on eager and you moan in pain and relief. Elvis hears his own breath come out in a ragged exhale as if he were sharing your feeling. 

“This place sells soft drinks, yeah?” Dodger’s voice shakes him like a rocket going off as he remembers his grandma is here too, he nearly falls back on his ass in his haste to turn towards her.

“Yes’m, reckon they do.” he agrees, “different currency though, and you’ll get mobbed by the press outside.”

“Well, hand me some of them Nazi bills or whatever they use over here.”

“Dodger-“

“Hush boy, I’m in need of a coke and you’re in need of a minute alone with your family, I can handle it.” she makes a motion with her hand and he stands up and digs in his pocket and places enough currency in her palm to buy her a coke and a few mink coats, too.

She rolls her wise eyes and he suddenly hugs her hard, missing her and the home she represents. She strokes his back for a good minute before patting him and disentangling, going straight to the door and exiting without giving the sea of cameras even a sliver of a view of your makeshift oasis. 

Poor little Ella has begun to fuss in her carriage and he spins around and drops to his knees to tend her, joints cracking hard against the frigid airport tile. 

“No, no, no you’re ok my girl, you’re gonna be ok, oh no, oh shh it’s ok, it’s ok.” his worry for his daughter makes him forget his unease and he collects her out of her own mound of fluffy blankets and hold her to him, rocks her back and forth on his knees, face looking torn between adoration and terror that she won’t be pacified. It’s just a small cry and some baby faced puckering whimpers but you’ve never seen him look more devastated that she won’t respond. “How long’s it been since ya fed her?” he asks, voice raised and tone a little harsh. 

“Just a couple hours,” you soothe, running a pacifying foot up the top of his thigh since your hands are occupied, he understands the gesture for what it is and his posture softens and he starts patting Ella more confidently. “I brought formula, Elvis, it’s just me that needed…”

“Course, course.” he swallows and hates how unsure he is, how stilted he’s making everything by this strange brand of insecurity, “I’m sorry for bein’ all -for doubtin your capabilities.” he makes amends and you can’t help but feel terrible for the lost look on his face. “I don’t got any nowhere to speak from, do I? -leavin my wife and children behind after all I promised.”

“You didn’t leave.” you reiterate the point you’ve hammered on him over the phone a dozen times, putting Jesse on your shoulder to burp him as he was so lackadaisical in his nursing he nearly fell asleep, “You were commanded away, and no one here blamed you for that except yourself, and I forbid it.”

“It weren’t right-“ he’s got Ella calmed down now he’s looking down at her with all of the remorse of a man who orchestrated a family for himself and then left them high and dry the minute they came to fruition. 

“-really Elvis, I forbid it, that kinda talk,” you whisper and he looks up at you with those big eyes and a curious set to his mouth, like he wants to protest your command but it’s also everything he needs and more, “I forbid it ruining here and now, what we’ve got now -which is us, together, just as you promised. This!” you gesture between his kneeling form and yourself, each with a child you so lovingly made, “This is what your promised me, or nearly, if you could just, just not dwell on it any longer. Be here with me, please?”

He grabs your hand from Jesse’s little back and kisses your knuckles fervently, all that gentlemanly sweetness he showed you on your wedding night when he told you that it would hurt, but he’d give you babies and love and joy and forever in return. You’d sat atop him and done the deed yourself, impaling your virgin body on every hefty inch of him, and in return he had given you those babies you’d always wanted. And love, he gave you that, security, direction and a devotion you weren’t quite sure you had a large enough heart to match, but my god you wanted to try. 

“Yes, yes Darlin I - oh god you’re…you’re d-d-dripping all over the place.” the mood shifts towards comic as he watches your neglected breast splutter out sweet milk into your silk shirt and you offer him Jesse in exchange for Ella. 

Jesse’s head lolls back alarmingly once his daddy’s got him, his blue eyes half lidded in a mommy’s milk coma. Elvis giggles at it. “Son of mine, you’re plastered.” he takes an elegant finger and traces the tiny nose down to the little button chin, “Guess I should tuck him back in.” he sighs regretfully, hating having him out of his arms for even a minute, but also knowing he needs to get you back to the house in order to have any real and extended privacy. 

You hiss as Ella latches on vigorously, and he looks up from his work on Jesse’s carrier in concern.

 “All’s good.” you put on a brave smile, the one you gave him as the contractions started to hit, the one you gave him when you sank down on him fully for the first time and tried to be brave about the feeling of a cucumber in your keyhole. He may have not had that much quality time with his family as a whole so far, but he’s been studying you for years. He spots bullshit.

“You’re dirty little liar.” he tsks but he can’t help his smile, you look so bashful and then haughty about it.

“I just, I hope she’s hungrier than him.” you explain, and somehow you have a great deal of elegance about you, he thinks, sitting in your pressed skirt and heels and hat and curls with your shirt open and leaking ripe tits gushing at every mewling sound the infants let out. Its fascinating to him just how, well -full- they look, how it’s like a leaky faucet or a break in the hose or…precum, dribbling and oozing without coaxing and it’s making your whole breast shiny from the mess of it and -he can’t help it, he licks his lips, and you don’t miss it, even as he blushes scarlet at the desire that flashed across his brain. 

You don’t out him, the jive of your relationship still feeling somehow precarious, like there’s a old shyness in the air. You pat at Ella’s bottom encouragingly, trying to keep her eager as her daddy still kneels and watches. She’s already starting to slow. And your breasts ache, they ache terribly still despite the munchkin’s having their dinner. You wonder about this shyness, you wonder about the way he’s shifting on the floor, the way his licked lips shimmer and the way you have a sneaking suspicion that the force of both your yearnings is so strong you’re playing safe until it can explode in some contained environment.

At some point he stopped just watching and took to leaning over your lap, the better to watch and stroke little Ella’s cheek as she sucks down what you give her. “A goddamn miracle, she is.” he whispers in awe and you nod in agreement, “We made this.” he states as if in shock, “We made these!” he boyishly exclaims, swiveling back to look at a conked out little Jesse before he turns back to you. 

“We did indeed.” you grin warmly and he bites his lip, hands running up and down your thighs atop your skirt. 

The familiarity of his old touchiness soothes you, and you lean over to kiss him gently, Ella already having let the nipple slip from her lips, sated with a measly meal after all that formula. You dribble on the cuff of his sleeve during the kiss and his eyes lock on the white stain seeping into the wool. You watch as he impulsively brings the sleeve to his mouth and sucks the moisture. His eyes blow wide, and you suck in a breath. 

“I d-dunno what I-I-“ he protests his rash action.

“No, no, Elvis, would you -do you…” you lick your own lips and look down at Ella as she snoozes in a tremptohan dream, your engorged breast neglected. 

You gently set her beside you on the couch while he clutches at your legs, waiting breathless to see if your mind is as compatibly wicked as his own. 

“I need you, Elvis, I really do, please.” you whisper it so pained that he’s drawn closer as if it were a sirens sing -his woman needs him. “It’s not wrong, is it?” 

All you’ve ever learned about any of this has been from him and the good book, and neither said nothin about forbidding anything done between couples in love. His tongue darts out and he shakes his head vehemently, even as his face burns scarlet across his cheekbones. 

It’s like a slow movie kiss, the way you both gravitate towards each other, he rising up higher on his knees and leaning over your lap and you inclining yourself towards him. 

You lift up a heavy breast and he’s so close to it his hot breath makes your wet nipple burn and tighten impossibly more, he pauses, open mouth puckered right before, eyes flicking up to yours with a wild need for assurance. 

You put your other hand to the back of his head, knocking off his army hat and lacing your fingers through his shorn locks, gripping and guiding him that last inch, and then he’s there, his searing mouth engulfing you just as you remember from when you were a milkless maid. 

“Please, please.” you gasp out, pushing his head closer and you see the broad line of his sturdy back ripple beneath his army greens in a shudder before he gives you what you need, mouth tightening, tongue dipping, cheeks hollowing. He sucks. 

You moan in agonized relief, tugging his hair unconsciously and he moans back as the shockingly sweet deluge of you coats his tongue and slides down his throat. His heavy lidded eyes fly open at the taste, so sweet and refreshing and he finds that it’s not just the heady eroticism of it, or even the soothing closeness you’re both finally managing here and now that makes him float -it’s the truly comforting state of being clasped to your breast like this and being looked down upon so adoringly by the mother of his children. His arms wind round your waist and he locks his hands together at the small of you back. You’re a wonder of creations, an unfairly beautiful creature with a near unbearably impressive use. Rather like your tits, he thinks, and that makes him snicker around you little bud and you “oh ha!“ prettily in surprise at the vibration before settling and stroking his face. 

“That’s it, that’s perfect, daddy, please a little more.” you whisper as he guzzles down his children’s sustainance.

He wouldn’t think of stopping, redoubles his efforts just to show you how invested he is, that this is no favor he is doing you. The painful throb between his legs, pressing as it is against your shin, ought to be proof enough to you he finds this nothing less than agreeable. His frostburned nose is warming up, nestled against burning hot flesh as it is, and he takes a chilled hand away from your waist to reach out and grasp your other breast. You gasp in shock and pain as out dribbles more milk, running in rivulets over and between his knuckles, down to his wrist.

“Oh my lord, there’s so much.” he groans in appreciation, greedily switching his spigot of choice and latching onto the other tit eagerly and your head falls back from the overwhelming feel of being taken care of. 

“So good to me.” you marvel, dragging your hands through his hair, anchoring him still to you and he hums, his eyes growing heavy and milk settling warm and calming in his gut. “Always so good to me.” 

You’re not suprised to feel the hot splash of what must be a tear on your breast, his sniffles just a little audible above the lewd noises of his suction and moans. This is you two, this is back to how it ought to be. You can feel him as he settles back into place with you, his whole body relaxing and leaning in. You flex your foot and it makes your leg brush against where he’s pressed to you and he bucks against your shin helplessly, a hand back on your waist and the other hefting your breast to his mouth. He ruts against your leg, months of absence and abstinence turning him into something no better than a dog in heat as he leans across your lap. 

He pulls away with a gasp as if he’s been submerged this whole time. His face is glossy and his lips puffy and the collar of his shirt is wet from some of the milk he couldn’t catch. He looks wrecked and dazed and you thumb at the messy corner of his mouth. He reaches out and squeezes the breast he just deflated and laughs at the way it sags.

“Don’t.” you whine, a little shy but he just giggles harder and keeps jiggling it until you have to laugh, too.

“You all better now?” he asks soft, and your face is swimming in front of him, his hand staggers upwards on its way to clasp your cheek.

“Heavens, are you milk drunk?” you laugh, his whole expression hilariously childlike.

“Feel a lil funny.” he nods, slumping back on his knees but keeping his hands on your knees. 

“That is becasue all the blood is down there.” your shiny black shoe toe nudges the tent in his pants and he grins bashfully. 

“Well, hang on now!” he speaks up after a moment, frowning at one of your breasts and you look down to find a bead of milk gathering to drip again, “I just drained you!” he protests with wounded pride to your offending breast, “I just drained ya, and you're already drippin, what’s the big idea?”

“Elvis baby,” you laugh merrily, “It makes up to replace what comes out. Nursing encourages more production.”

“Sure but -but this is excessive!” he’s being louder than usual, inhibitions gone out the window the minute he’s sucked titties like a starving newborn while wearing his country’s uniform. “Hell, they ain’t gonna win this time.” he shakes his head and leans in again, “Gonna keep you comfy now you’re here wi’me.” he swears competitively before latching on again to the fuller breast and swallowing down the fresh brewed batch. 

You can feel the relief mounting in your chest as that final little bit gets drained, soon there won’t be any more for him to suck out, so while you can, you take the opportunity afforded to you, one you never thought you’d have. You place your hand against his throat to feel it work as he swallows you down, a motion he is familiar with, one he does around your throat every time you swallow his release. It makes him growl in want and he laps around your bud as he ruts and stares deep into your bright eyes. The fan of his eyelashes flutter against your breast and you push back his hair, thumbing at his eyebrows, he goes a tad crosseyed as his pupils blow out and suddenly the desire for a nap is mighty powerful in him. He giggles, nipple falling from his lips, and you giggle too, through your blush, and cradle his head.

A hard knock on the door snaps both this pretty moment and the line of drool from his lips to your nipple. He rolls and scoots out of your lap and back on his ass like a soldier out of his foxhole and you hear Dodger’s voice saying something about the car being ready through the muffle of the partition. 

“Right, right, ok.” Elvis hollers, vigorously wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand as he watches you do up your soaked shirt with nimble fingers. 

“You’re really drunk, I think. You sure you’re alright?” you murmur, watching as he blinks and shakes his head as if he’s got water in an ear. 

“Maybe.” he hiccups and then looks horrified by it, “Lordy, really don’t know what’s wrong with me, I-I-ill be fine i j-just a lil…what’s in that stuff anyway?” he nods at your now (sadly, deplorably, regretfully, criminally) covered breasts.

“Nutrients and sugar, I guess.” you chuckle, choosing to strap Ella in yourself, since he seems a little woozy. 

“More like moonshine.” he gripes and then gasps in shock and you see what he does about the same time, a massive wet patch on the crotch of his khakis that he pokes at as if he isn’t sure when he’d spilled a drink in his lap. 

“You didn’t!” you exclaim in gleeful shock and he gives you a warning look but you’re too far gone in smug satisfaction at making him blow a load just from tiddy sucking that you keep grinning down at him manically. 

“I-i-I didn’t!” he insists, flustered and bewildered, “I don’t remember doin it! Wasn’t even touching m’slef.”

“You looked pretty happy there for a minute.” you tease merciless.

“Hell mama, how am I gonna stand up without makin it run ery’where? Gonna be goddamn humiliatin goin out there with wet pants.”

“Your jacket covers that area.” you soothe, ascertaining that the patch is high enough up. 

“Not when I stand up it won’t, whole load is gonna run down ma leg an’drip on the floor. That’s three loooong months worth of cream right there, lil mama.” 

Dodger knocks again and he looks up at you half panicked, “I’m coming in, all this press doin my head in.” she hollers in warning.

“Yes of course, come on in!” you encourage her while reaching down into the carrier and snagging the burp cloth, “Here, sop it up!” you hiss at him, extending the cotton cloth and he looks at it incredulous for a brief moment before the door opens and he spins away to shove his hand and the fabric down his pants and collect the mess so it doesn’t streak his pant leg upon standing up. 

He has to give ya credit, it sorta works. He pulls the sodden rag out of his waistband and turns around to see his grandmother helping collect the luggage and you smoothing out the wrinkles in your skirt. He thinks he sees a shiny patch of fluid on the shin of your nylons. He shivers again. 

Dodger makes no comment on your wet blouse, she expected as much and the mink you don again covers it just fine. Elvis she observes with a critical eye and a shake of her head, he’s a hopeless case really. He looks a mess, not in any particularly blatant way, just the dazed light in his eyes and the plump of his lips and the wet around his collar, the glow to his cheeks. He looks like he just enjoyed himself somehow, though the HOW remains a bit nebulous. One can only hope the papers put it down to familial affection. 

There are reporters from every paper outside, American and German and British, and then the fans to boot. It’s all rather rude just to plunge ahead through the well wishes and welcomes so you and he walk arm and arm through it all, a baby carrier strategically carried in front of him, and dish out pithy replies to an abundance of questions. 

-“You look lovely, Mrs Presley! So glad to see you recovered!”

-“Oh my god I can’t believe it’s them!”

-“Did she really fly commercial?”

-“How do you feel about her going spring unaccompanied, Elvis?”

“She weren’t unaccompanied,” he shakes his head, “she was with my Grandma.”

-“Can we see the babies?”

“Sure ya can!” he tugs the blanket down past Ella’s chin but as the bulbs go off and her eyes crinkle sadly he quickly snaps back the hood of the carrier, “Aww, she ain’t a fan of your lights, man.” he apologizes, a huge smile on his face as the crowd coos and he almost forgets in his pride to not raise the carrier up and expose his accident. 

“You look a little, uh, wet, Elvis.” an oft encountered American journalist has the audacity to reach out and touch the soaked collar of his shirt, a shit eating grin on his face. 

Elvis tenses and his stride beside you gains speed but the slimey columnist keeps pace, “So much meltin snow out there, man,” uour husband tries to grin for the cameras, “I’m from Memphis, I dunno how to handle that stuff, gets on ma trousers and collar and er’ryrhing.”

“Sure, sure.” the reporter nods, “Bet you’re glad to have your wife on this side of the pond but there’s gonna be a lotta disappointed Frauleins.”  

“They won’t be disappointed for long once they get to know ‘er.” Elvis states with jovial certainty. You can’t help but beam.

“You can’t blame them for being sore,” the guy won’t be put off or dislodged from your side as you exit the airport out onto the frigid sidewalk, “not every dame was born to be a cum guzzler.” the guy acts as if he’s agreeing with something Elvis said while throwing this tabloid trash back up into your face. 

You positively refuse to flinch at the reference to the bugged phone call but Elvis stalls to a complete halt right beside your shiny ride, looking over at the man with deathly hate in his eyes, “The hell did you just say?” he inquires, terribly quiet. 

“I was just quoting you, man.” The guy throws his hands up defensively and you duck and scoot around Elvis to help Dodger load the car, watching your husband coil up for an attack out your periphery.

“You’re quotin a newspaper that coughed up a couple million in damages for illegally tapin’ a private call!” he explodes and if anyone was unaware of what spurs him to grab the fellow by the shirt front and pin him to the hood, they are now informed. “If you ever, and I do mean ever,” he goes on, fist crushing the guy's diaphragm and voice shaking in terrible, hushed rage, “say or repeat or even so much as think of my wife like that again I’ll ruin ya. I don’t mean your job, I don’t mean your life, I mean I’ll ruin ya so bad you’ll wake up everyday wishin your mama washed you out with a douche when she had the chance. You hearin me? Yeah, yeah, what’s that? You’re sorry? That’s reaaalll nice of ya, you should be sorry. Alright, alright, I’ll take your apology but yer gonna apologize to my lil wife, too, you hear me? Go’on now, you scummy sunnuvabitch, you don’t even deserve to look at er.”

You lean against the inside of the car door, straight backed in your heels, family all packed inside the cab and await the windless reporter to get his voice back enough to stammer out a “apologies, Mrs. Presley, I didn’t mean to be inappropriate, I didn’t mean to-“

“We all know what you meant to do, you ungentlemanly bastard,” your husband shakes him by his collar and you glance uneasily at the gathering crowd but they seem mostly sympathetic, “You’re tryin to shame an admirable woman for her God given talent of pleasin her husband -and for likin it while she’s at it. Well you ain’t gettin away with it, not this time.” 

When he lets go of the man, the guy nearly catapults into the crowd from the force of the shove. He meets no helpers among them and ends up face first on the cement. 

Elvis saunters back and holds the car door open wider and motions you into the cab, you take your seat. He clears his throat before turning back around and dipping his hat to the throng, “Night yall, god bless.” before scooting in beside you and the ride takes off to your new home, your new life here in Germany.

Dodger’s eyes are smiling around her coke as she sits between the babies, watching proudly as Elvis settles next to you and heaves out a long breath. 

“Always some bastard tryin to ruin a nice day.” he murmurs but it fades into a happy little sigh as you reach out and take his hand, your head leaning on his shoulder, finally snug beside him again. You smile, knowing he’ll raise your son right, kindly, respectfully. 

Elvis’ pant leg beneath your fist is wet and you sneakily pat him there beneath his coat flaps. He nuzzles your hair with his nose and you feel his hot breath tickling your ear as out comes a deep whisper, “Don’t fret o’er that, Elaine, there’s more where that came from.”

If you’d like to be tagged in this particular series please drop a note below. I’ll admit I’m disorganized and have trouble keeping all the requests sorted when they’re scattered, what I do check regularly are the requests in the notes for chapters -and I do manage to get those added. So, if you’ve put in a request and I’ve failed ya, or if you’re new and would like to be added, please pop a note below. Xoxo 💋

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#Repost #of an old #Fic #for #archive #masterlist #sarge fic #elvis and me #elvis fans #elvis fanfiction #elvis fanfic #austin elvis x reader #elvis presley #elvis history #elvis x oc #elvis x reader #elvis x y/n #elvis x you #elvis smut #elvis presley smut #elvis presley fanfic #elvis presely smut #elvis presley fanfiction

[peakbys]

A MINUTE AND GONE

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Fem!Reader Summary: Quieter moments with Tommy almost feel like you're in another world, and you can't bring yourself to walk away when they present themselves. Request: Yes.            → @runnning-outof-time asked: Hi there! I saw that your requests were open and couldn’t pass up on the opportunity - you’re such an amazing writer! Would you be willing to write something for Tommy using the prompt "I believe this belongs to you."  ?? I’m not sure how you feel about prompts, but I’m not the best at requesting things and so they’re always a go-to for me. Feel free to ignore this if you’re not interested. Thanks so much in advance if you choose to write it! 💕 Warnings: I went into this with the intention of fluff, but it got more angsty than intended. So, heads up for a dysfunctional relationship and reader's conflicting feelings. There's still some lightness to it, ofc. It's a mixed bag. Note: Thanks for sending this in! Took me a minute to get around to it due to life, but I hope you enjoy it!

Things were never simple with Tommy.

Sure, you knew what he and his family were, yet it was difficult to be pulled into that life from what would have been considered outside. Even with the close and intimate relationship you had with Tommy, it was a hard feeling to shake. Outsider, not really allowed in too close. Whether that meant you not being too involved in the business or not being allowed too deep into Tommy’s mind depended on the day, sometimes. For a while, you had accepted that. Some days, you accepted that the human mind and heart was too complex for a simple black-and-white idea that he didn’t have room for you. 

There was always someone else, you knew that. It filled you with such bitterness sometimes, and yet in others you supposed you could understand. 

It had you feeling like you were being torn between two mindsets on it. Sometimes you swore you were done, that you’d leave. Other times, you just couldn’t shake him and you found yourself trying to just make it work to the best you could. It was overly complicated, sometimes too much to really explain with words. (As much as you caught the odd knowing look from some of the other Shelby women.) 

Perhaps that was why you weren’t berated too hard for the little outburst you had the other night. Usually, you did your best to keep that behind closed doors, yet it felt like you couldn’t really stop it from coming out when it did. A little spat and argument at a public function with Tommy didn’t seem too bad for what you had seen in pubs and other functions like that, yet a part of you couldn’t help but kick yourself when the anger had subsided. Yet, your pride wouldn’t let you admit that in the moment. Really, you were stuck with some feelings that were all too familiar. 

Anger, discarded, hurt, like you couldn’t compare or compete. It wasn’t until a few days after the event that you realized it was that sense of competition that caused you the most issues. 

That night, Tommy hadn’t really done anything to set you off. Other times, definitely, but that fact had settled in when you had fallen asleep without saying another word to each other. You were lashing out from an insecurity that had plagued you long before you even got close to Tommy, but it certainly had a lot to play off of with him. That realization had come with a heavy pit of embarrassment that took another day before it was too much for your pride to push back. 

Apologies weren’t always a huge struggle for you, but when it came to things like this? It was hard to form the words. You knew you didn’t want to pick at it, make things worse, but it was more like you didn’t really have the words for the explanation that followed. 

It was with those thoughts you found yourself approaching his office, stepping inside with somewhat slow, cautious steps. You shut the door behind you softly, lingering by the door as you took in the scene before you. 

It was almost ill-fitting, how beautiful the day out was. 

It lightened up the room, giving a natural light that seemed all too inviting. As much as Tommy had only given you a flicker of his gaze in your direction in acknowledgement of your presence, even he seemed relaxed. He was notoriously difficult to read, sometimes. Expressions flashing in a small flicker on his face, his eyes more cold than you could stand at points. It was hard to tell what he was thinking, especially when things were rough. 

On the other hand, ironically enough, he was easier to read in neutral moments like this. 

He was focused, yet he didn’t seem that frustrated. A touch bored, maybe, but nothing that really suggested to you that you couldn’t approach him. That you should rethink your intentions on showing up there. 

With a small, reassuring breath out, you finally approached him. 

“Are you busy?” you asked, placing your hands on the back of a vacant chair in front of his desk. 

“I’m always busy,” he replied matter-of-factly, “This can wait, though.” 

Tommy looked at you, then, giving you his full attention. His expression was neutral, gaze expectant. You had a hard time not meeting his gaze, feeling your fingers dig into the back of the chair somewhat as a sense of nervousness settled. You couldn’t help but wonder if it would have been easier if he had just let you talk while he worked, yet you knew this was the best way to do this. In a way, you were almost intimidated by the genuineness of it. 

“I…wanted to apologize,” you stated after a moment, “For what happened a couple of nights ago. That it’s taken this long to even say that. I was…lashing out over something that wasn’t anything you caused. I was acting like a frustrated child. It was wrong of me, and I’m sorry.” 

He seemed to take that in for a moment, meeting your gaze before he leaned back in his chair somewhat, the touch of a grin crossing his face. 

“Believe it or not, that was not the first time someone’s lashed out at me in public,” he replied, “I thought it was something like that. I’ve already forgiven it.”

“I…still wanted you to hear that. From me,” you said, taken a little off guard by the casualness of the conversation. Yet, in all honesty, you weren’t sure how he’d react anyway. 

Despite only giving you a nod in return to that, you couldn’t help but feel some sort of relief upon hearing his words. There it was again, pulling you back toward him again when you had promised yourself, yet again, that you weren’t going to. A part of you knew that it would probably do you better to actually say what you mean–to actually explain your behavior outside of acknowledging that it was out of line. 

Yet, a bigger part of you in that moment was just tired. Of the overthinking, the seriousness, the isolation, the frustration–all of it. 

You knew you let it win when you backed away from the chair, but didn’t leave the room. The wheels in your head had started to turn, and the idea that formed was quite appealing. If he’d humor it, you supposed. It wouldn’t hurt to offer. With some mild amusement, you stepped forward as you fought to keep a small grin from slipping onto your face. 

“Well, if that’s how it is…” you began, pausing a moment before you held your hand out toward him, “I believe this belongs to you.” 

It was hard not to grin at the slight confusion that settled into his expression, his sharp gaze searching your own as you flexed your fingers somewhat invitingly. Amusing as it was, and you didn’t want to ruin the moment by spelling it out for him, yet you knew you wouldn’t leave him in suspense for much longer. Though, after a few moments, you realized that you may not have to. The realization that settled softened his expression, his eyes brightening in a similar amusement. 

Tommy’s smiles were rare–the full ones, at least. The ones that almost changed his face and let you catch a glimpse of someone he might’ve been before the war and the world he lived in hardened him. The ones you were fortunate enough to catch always seemed to catch you off guard–in a good way, at least. So, it was hard to hold back the one you were hiding when he gave you one at that moment. 

“Now you want to dance, eh?” he asked, making you chuckle. 

“I promised,” you replied with a light shrug, still (somewhat awkwardly) holding your hand out. 

You had left that night before you had gotten the chance, and you figured perhaps this would be a good signal to show that you really just wanted to move on from the whole thing. You knew it didn’t solve what caused it in the first place, but it was hard to make the decision to ruin a moment like this. Despite everything, moods seemed high and your resolve had crumbled plenty over the last couple of days. 

Luckily, it seemed like his resolve didn’t need much poking to fall in that moment, either. 

“You’re leadin’, then?” he asked teasingly as he took your offered hand, which prompted a small chuckle from you as you pulled him further into the office where there was some more space. 

“I barely know how to dance as it is, so no,” you said, letting him pull you in closer to him. 

Tommy slipped his arm around your lower back as you rested your own on his, your free hands entwining in what was a loose representation of waltzing positions. You tried to mirror his movements in what was a light sway, no music and much too close for what it probably would have been if you had managed a dance that evening. Yet, you really couldn’t find it in yourself to care about that, sinking into his touch as you leaned your head onto his shoulder. 

It was odd. For all the violence that Tommy had within himself, it was moments like the current that surprised you. The small, tender moments that he could show behind closed doors or with people he trusted. So, in a way, you supposed that it had to mean something that he was willing to do this so freely with you. Yet, it was hard to say that with much certainty, especially when it came to Tommy. 

Yet, despite the doubts, it really only had you grasping these moments alone with him all the tighter. 

“...I don’t know if I understand you, love,” Tommy admitted quietly after a few more moments of your silent dancing. You couldn’t help but let out a soft huff at that, almost a touch bitter. 

“Next to you, I must look like a half complete puzzle at worst,” you replied, somewhat muffled as you still were pressed close to his shoulder. 

“Maybe.” 

“Maybe we just don’t know each other that well,” you muttered, although you knew the proximity and the quietness of the room would allow him to hear every word of that. 

You weren’t entirely wrong, either. On your own side, at least, but you doubted if he wanted more out of this than the odd event and nights spent together that the crumbs that he knew about you would be enough. Really, maybe a part of you should have realized that he wasn’t someone who would just let you in easily–from what you knew about him, that made complete sense. In a way, a part of you knew that was the case and made sure not to share more than what he gave you. 

You weren’t without your own walls, after all. 

Still, it seemed like it was enough to keep you around. The rope that kept you close to him certainly pulled tight at points, but it hadn’t snapped just yet. 

“We’ll do somethin’ soon,” he said, pulling you back into the current moment. The certainty of it caught your interest, as much as a part of you hated that it did. 

It was odd to hear–for the most part with him it was a lot of ‘try’, ‘maybe’, and ‘might.’ 

“Just you and me,” he continued, making you pull back somewhat to look at him, “We’ll go to London, take the car into the country or the horses. Whatever you want.” 

“I’d like that,” you replied with a light nod, not ready to put much stock in his word about things like this. You knew that his life could change depending on the day. Still, you couldn’t help but feel a pit of hope that settled in your gut. 

Yet, in your mind, it was still another ‘maybe.’ You accepted the lingering kiss he pressed to your mouth anyway, still holding onto that light feeling in your chest that had built up throughout the last while with him. As it was, in that little world in that moment, you wanted to pretend that you could trust that. 

In time, maybe you actually could.

#peaky blinders x reader #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby x reader

[overly-dramatic-artist]

Week One: Introduction!

@encanto-extended-edition

OMG how have I never done a proper introduction of my girl??? Anyways…

Full name: Angela Leilani Yaamil Morales Estrada

Age at the time of the movie: 48 years old (December 8th, 1901)

Angel was initially a name holder for the reader insert in my fic, “Why did it have to be me?” She was never intended to become a full fledged OC, but thanks to several supportive friends, Angela evolved into what she is now.

Angela is born to parents Guillermo and Anamaria in 1901, and shortly after childbirth, Anamaria sadly passes away, leaving Angela to be raised primarily by Anamaria’s parents, Quinuama and Raymundo. She is the youngest of six cousins on her maternal side, and she knows very little about her father’s extended family. The passing of Anamaria puts Guillermo in an inconsolable depression, leaving his daughter to be brought up by her grandparents due to his emotional absence. Her family owns and runs a tailoring shop in the Encanto, renowned for their fine fiber arts and beautifully crafted clothes. Angela is best known for her impressive bead work and crocheting, as she enjoys fixating on tiny details.

At age five, she befriends the Madrigal triplets, the four of them becoming close companions, but especially between Angela and Bruno. The two of them grow close over the years, considering the other to be their best friend. I’ll save the juicy details of their companionship for Week two, but to summarize, their friendship takes a dramatic twist following the breakup of Angela and her fiancé when she is 19.

Following in her mother’s footsteps, she joins the church choir at a young age, and quickly blossoms into a vocal star, devoting her time to organizing musical events and writing songs. Later in life, she takes to traveling outside of the Encanto, something inside her yearning to know more about the world and escape the limitations she feels trapped in. She gains herself a notable reputation as a performer in multiple social clubs and lounges, her name taking her across South America, and eventually across the sea.

Angela’s personality and mannerisms are based a lot on my own. She is extremely caring and compassionate for others, but often has a hard time deciphering her own emotions, and will usually bottle up her complicated feelings to save herself from causing trouble. She is often lovingly criticized as being overly dramatic by her family and friends, causing her to become extremely cautious and anxious about how she presents herself to others. Sometimes, something small will set off her temper, and she gets very cold and unresponsive as a defense mechanism, or if something makes her deeply upset after a buildup of repressed feelings and stress, she will fall apart into tears. Often times, her stimming gets interpreted as flirtatious behavior, and her attempts at masking usually have the same effect (hair twirling, too much eye contact, smiling and nodding).

A few little bits of information and trivia:

The bracelet she is almost always seen wearing was gifted to her on her fifth birthday. It had originally belonged to her mother. It is made up of pearls, jade, and a thin gold chain. Her rosary is constructed of similar materials.

Leilani was her intended name in canon, as Guillermo wanted to name her after his mother, but Anamaria immediately called her baby ‘her angel’ when she was born, so the name Angela was chosen instead and Leilani was bestowed as her second name.

I imagine her voice sounding like that of Angela Aguilar when she’s younger, and evolving into a vocal powerhouse like Beyoncé or Selena.

She is terrible at cooking. Her grandmother and aunts had tried to ingrain the kitchen skills into her at a young age, but it stressed her out because she wasn’t naturally gifted in it. She can make a good cup of coffee, but it’s best to leave to crafting of fine foods in the hands of someone more capable and confident.

💖Some amazing art from some amazing people💖

@prophetic-hijinks @egofan4evr @lvnamuraart @dororoxpenana 💖

#encanto #encanto oc event #encanto oc appreciation #encanto extended edition #wdihtbm #encanto oc #Angela morales Estrada #angel morales estrada #bruno madrigal x oc #mandys drawings