#i do like harold though i know i made him up but what a good dude

[undercoverpena]

8. dark olive

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter eight of do me yourself

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

wordcount: 3.9k chapter warnings: frankie calls you 'rainy' (paint-related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used. no use of y/n. frankie being a good dad. bad tool names. frankie has a little panic attack as he shares canon things. an: this one would be called the revelation.

prev chapter | series masterlist

key: frankie is in bold, you are in italics

Rounding the corner, hands pushing the cart, you spot him immediately. Hands busy, comparing two types of tape in the middle of the aisle he’d left your side for.

Fuck, the tape looks so small in his hands.

A thought you're quick to shake out, eyes glazing past items on the shelves as you wander to him.

This store is so different from the one you met him in—the one he works in. Even if the circumstances feel oddly similar. Him, down an aisle; you, hopelessly and completely out of your comfort zone, still struggling to understand what it is you're here for.

It also smells different here. The place is a lot brighter, the lights above gleaming—newer, more LED than bulb—and the floor has little to no stains. You’d also noticed that the paint tins live across several aisles, with more colours than you thought possible.

Mostly, you miss Harold.

Oddly, for saying you’d rarely been there, you feel like you’re cheating on him. Almost betraying Harold's Hardware by being inside this larger, more fancier store.

A thing which tugs at the corner of your lips when you come to a stop near him. Finding Frankie turning his chin, wearing a puzzled look across his ridiculously handsome face. One that almost makes you break out into a smile, instead choosing to drag your tongue across your bottom lip as you inhale—trying not to let your eyes drop from his loose curls to his dark jeans.

“Do you feel like you’re cheating?” you ask, voice dropping as you come to a stop next to him, watching as he simultaneously places one tape back and one in the cart as he moves around to where your forearms are resting. “Because we’re shopping in a store that isn’t yours.”

Sliding his fingers under your chin as you straighten, making it easier to slide his mouth over yours.

Smirking, you bite your lip. “I feel like he’s going to know—Harold. He’ll smell it on you.”

“He’s not a vampire.”

“Could be. Instead of blood, it’s wood chippings and—”

Fingers crawling up your cheek, you catch the whisper of shh before he kisses you.

An attempt made to steal your breath, a thing you allow him to take willingly, practically handing him all you have in your lungs as your smirk and thoughts fade. At the feel of his hand sliding around you, you melt. Hands sliding from the cart to his face, feeling the fuzz of his hair against your palm, the smile that adorns his face against your mouth as you do all you can to hold back a moan in the middle of a tool and supplies aisle.

“Morales,” you warn as your mouth parts from his, catching the sound of him groaning—even from the back of his throat.

Tongue peeking through his teeth he snorts. “Morales? Ay?”

“Butterscotch in the sheets, Morales in the streets.”

Even if he shakes his head, you spot how soft his eyes are—all adorned with mischief, love. A sight you can't get over as it does a good job of making your heart flutter, especially as he continues to stroke your cheek—his calloused thumb dragging back and forth in gentle movements.

One he woke you up with the other day; one he does when he can tell your heart is racing quicker than your worries.

Fuck, you like him.

A lot.

His thumb still drags along your cheek as you think as much, as he sighs—all faint, with ease. As though he’s thinking something similar. Or maybe, you're just hoping.

“I think it's our little secret,” he murmurs.

His hand slides down, brushes down your body before he reaches for another item on the shelf. Not even looking—just knowing.

And, for the third time since being in here, it makes you warm. Makes you hot. It makes you want to drag him back to his truck and ask him to park it somewhere out of sight.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you smile, hands finding the cart again. “I just…”

“You just?”

Running your tongue over your teeth, you lift your chin. “I don’t know how you just… do things, sometimes. You’re so—”

“Handsome?”

“—Competent.”

Narrowing his eyes, he tries not to smirk. You can tell. Giving you that look—the one he gave you in your kitchen, in the aftermath of when he almost choked on his juice, when you said you had breakfast he could eat. Meaning eggs. Even if the two of you burnt them doing something far more fun.

“Do you like that, Rainy?” You try not to warm at the pet name, at the nickname that’s grown to have more meaning than your own. “That I’m competent?”

Grabbing the cart, you nudge it into him. “Stop.”

Smirking, he winks, adding a noted before he begins leading you. The two of you weave through the aisles, mundane items ending up in the cart—the mess of things all rolling around the metal frame. On occasion, he mumbles something before scratching his forehead with the back of his hand, while you hover, not at all sure if he's naming a product or just making up words.

And, you just admire.

Completely in awe as he calculates something and then looks at you—like you’re the answer. Or because he knows now that it somehow turns you on.

“Have I told you how pretty you look today?”

Rolling your lips, you shake your head, watching him add more things to buy.

“Twice, actually.”

Pulling a face, and moving closer, he hooks a finger around the loop of your jeans. “Doesn’t feel enough.”

“No?”

Shaking his head, you stare at him—right into his eyes, falling into them. “We should go pay.”

He smiles at you, the corners of his lips curling into something more as he nods his head and leads you to pay—joining an empty checkout.

"Same time next week?" he asks.

“Are you making these hardware dates with me a regular thing?”

“Why not? Maybe we can visit them all—I know some guys take girls to new cities or towns, but I wanna show you all the hardware stores.”

Laughing, you watch him empty everything, shooting you a grin each time he grabs something else from the cart until it empties.

Then, you bite the inside of your cheek when he goes to grab his wallet, fumbling for it. Your eyes spot it, that line—the one you love to smooth out with your palm—and how it begins to deepen. Moving from your place as you slide your phone out, ass brushing against him as you mumble that you’ll get this one.

It’s only when you hear the distinct beep of the payment, that you look over your shoulder. “You didn’t lose it,” you announce, watching him pause, face smoothing out. “Your wallet.”

Hands pause on the back of his jeans, he stops.

“It’s here,” you continue, patting the pocket of your jacket, “But, I’ll let you buy me lunch if you want?”

The cashier chuckles, hearing it, distantly, something about your girlfriend is funny—even if you’re focused on him, on how his eyes soften and his lips have curled into a grin.

We should think about constructing your shelving soon.

Good afternoon to you too, baby. That sounds fun. How do we do that?

Hello baby. I’m thinking, as it’s entirely bespoke that we get some drawers from IKEA, but the shelves above we make ourselves.

Does this mean you’re going to show me how to use power tools?

Yeah, sure. Probably be safer at mine, then I can transport them over to yours when we’re done?

Sounds good to me. So, an IKEA date?

Yeah. That can be next week's Hardware trip.

Oh, how you spoil me.

You know it, hermosa.

I still need to pick a paint, right?

Yes, you thought about any of the swatches you’ve done?

Frankie answers in record speed, your back leaning against the wall—staring at the now smooth wall the two of you had gotten pristine.

“Thought this would be easier.”

“Admit you missed my voice.”

Fighting a groan at the sound of the way he lowered his voice, you flex your toes in your socks. “You’re getting awfully big-headed, Butterscotch.”

Snorting, you hear a crash from his end of the phone, and the distinct sound of the phone being brought away before he shouts to Luca.

“Is he okay?”

“He’s building the equivalent of Jurassic World in my living room.”

Smirking, you lick your lips. “You sound thrilled.”

“Tim and Vinnie needed a home. And, it’s cruel of Daddy to make them homeless—”

Nodding, you glance at the swatches as you listen. Eyes flicking over taupes and golden yellows, over soft pinks and sea blues, but you keep being drawn back to one shade each time.

One that makes you linger, before gazing away from it—hesitant, somehow. The reasoning is half-known, yet you don’t want to unfold or unravel it properly.

Because you know why you like it—why you’re drawn to it.

Why it makes you want to smile, why it makes you feel at ease and calm, safe—

“—Is that your friend, Daddy?”

“Luca—”

“Hello, Daddy’s friend!”

His voice, all little and high-pitched—almost out of breath, as you imagine him running—makes your heart flicker, managing to croak back a, “Hi there.”

“My name is Luca and I’m—Daddy no—”

Your hand comes up to your mouth, grinning behind your fingers as you hear giggles and little screams. Frankie’s voice jokingly calls out that he’s a little monster—the phone clanging and clattering before the most joyous sound of two laughs blending into one before you’re picked up from whatever place you’d fallen to.

“I’m back.”

“Hi, baby.”

Sighing, he apologises, “Where were we?”

“Olive green. I like olive green.”

He makes a noise, one that you can’t help but think he’s surprised by.

“What—green is growing on me,” you add.

And he makes a different noise, one you suspect is married to a smile—a grin. One you’re pretty sure you’re mirroring neighbourhoods away, as you hear Luca in the background cheer at the sound of another crash.

So, I know you mentioned us going out for dinner tonight, but I wondered if I could interest you in something else.

I’m intrigued.

Well, you said you were still sore from training yesterday with Ben and I know you’ve been doing extra at the store, so how about UNO and pizza?

Baby, I promised you I’d take you out.

And you are. From my kitchen counter to my living room.

Is this what you really want?

Yes. Please.

I'm starting to think you don't like going out.

Why would I want to share you with more eyes, Morales?

Let me bring pizza then.

I guess I can agree to that.

Throwing down the last card, cheering, you watch him scowl—the few UNO cards he had left thrown down onto the table as you grab another slice of pizza. Wearing your win on your face, letting it descend like mist to your shoulders, hips as you do a little wiggle—all cross-legged on your living room floor.

He, on the other hand, huffed in faux annoyance, a glint in his eyes—the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. “Best out of three?” he proposes, already reaching forward and shuffling the deck with a smirk.

“You know you’ve lost two already.”

“Best out of seven then.”

And so, the game continues. Frankie on your sofa, leaning forward over the coffee table—surrounded by the remnants of pizza and scattered UNO cards. The glow from your lamp cascaded over the room, his curls teased and pulled on as he lost another game.

“Alright, cheat. Last round,” he declares.

As the game unfolds, you can't help but feel so incredibly happy. Just being here, with him. It's a simple night, nothing fancy, yet it feels more special than any other night with any other people.

You don’t even mind that he wins the last round, rolling your eyes at the triumphant grin on his face. “Told you I could beat you,” he gloats, gathering up the cards.

You roll your eyes, but there's a smile on your face. "Alright, alright, don't let it get to your head," you tease, unfolding your legs as you stand, grabbing the plates and napkins.

After everything is tidied up, you both settle down on the couch, snuggling into each other. His arm wraps around you, pulling you close to his side. You rest your head on his shoulder, letting out a content sigh.

“Thank you for tonight,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

You look up at him, a soft smile on your face. “I had a great time.”

“Because you won?”

“Because I won.”

He swallows, shaking his head lightly as he stares at you—as you purse your lips and think about throwing your legs up over his. Heart doing a steady skip, the longer you stare, mouth opening to ask if he wants to stay when his opens and beats you to it.

“I want you to meet Luca.”

Face softening, your eyes widen to match the smile spreading over your face. “Yeah? You do?”

Nodding, he runs his knuckles over your chin. “I talked to Sam—Samantha. ‘Cause I wanted to make sure she was okay with it, y’know?”

“Of course! I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t want to do it without her being okay with it.”

Smiling, his hand drops to your knee, drawing a square. “You’re also… the first person,” he adds, nose scrunching as the words wash over you.

“Oh. Well, Frankie, I’d love to meet him. When you’re ready.”

His eyes drop, and you feel it—the air shift, something changing—before he clears his throat again. Retracing his hand, the heel of his palm runs across his forehead, and your heart’s pattern changes, and alters.

A dread falls out, sliding down over your skin, cooling the warmth that had been steadily growing all evening.

“But,” he swallows, fingers brushing over your knee. “I need to tell you something first.”

It’s quiet, the okay that escapes. That slithers out and spreads its fingers towards him. A panic rising in you, twisting—knotting. It makes you want to clear your throat, swallow, and do all you can to make it shift, but you can feel it pulsing, waiting.

Swallowing again, you spot Frankie’s hands twitching nervously. "Remember I told you about when I helped a friend—the dangerous thing?”

Eyes flicking, watching his hand lock over the other—fingers moving back and forth, scratching, eyes on you like a hawk as you nod, bracing yourself.

“Well…”

And it falls out of him. Listening, even over your racing heart—taking it in, as much as you can, more than bits and pieces, but not confident the full thing is reaching your brain.

You match the names of his friends to the ones you met, two shadows forming in the picture he paints—briefly wondering if they were in the photo at his, if they were people you’d heard about before, and never known. Hearing names like Ironhead and Pope, not realising until a second later explanation of who they were.

The more he spills, the more panicked his voice becomes—the more breath he attempts to take in. As though it's been shoved somewhere inside of him, crammed in a space too large, it bursting out of him now. All visibly affecting him, making his hand continue to scratch, nails digging deeper into the other. Red lines appear, clawing into the back of his hand as he continues on, and on—

“Frankie, you don’t have to tell me.”

“I do, baby. I do because—” he chokes, a sob there—likely bubbling and unwilling to burst in his throat, eyes shimmering, swimming in unspent tears, “—I made a rushed call, and… and my friend—“

“Frankie.”

“He died.”

It feels like you’ve been hit in the chest.

A hand reaching in, twisting in past your ribs. A tightness that had been turning and shifting, suddenly explodes, leaving you breathless. Your mouth falls open, thoughts empty as you simply stare, blinking.

Not because of what he said, but because you knew it before he said it. Before he confesses the next thought, which you had a feeling had been eating him alive since he first began—

“And it was my fault.”

Your heart breaks, shatters for him.

Worsened by the way his words catch on his teeth as he shakes his head, as a tear falls down his cheek—as his nails continue to scratch, and scratch, more words tumbling out from his tongue.

The weight of his confession presses down on you, a suffocating force that threatens to crush your spirit. The air is heavy in the room, charged with sorrow and regret, his eyes encased in torment as his skin begins to peel apart—a raw wound laid bare, both metaphorically and literally.

“—and if I hadn’t crash landed, if I hadn’t taken the shot, if I hadn’t—“

If I hadn’t. If I hadn’t.

If I hadn’t.

The words are balled up, dropping out—followed by other things. Failings, all of them. Ones that have rippled inside of him for longer than you care to think about; them all likely rotted, become a mass of heavy regrets that have clung to the inside of his chest.

You whisper his name, but it’s like calling out a person in the centre of a stadium full of noise.

It’s swallowed, smothered. Barely reached his ears as you want to reach out and touch him, to centre him, bring him back to you. In all the ways he does so with you.

“—It's why I couldn’t fly, why I took the job, why… she left me.” His eyes snap to you, all clear, focused—unlike they’d been a moment ago. “You deserve to know—to choose, to know who you're with. ‘cause I fuck up. I fucked up and I took a man from his kids. I lost my head, I just needed to get out and I—”

Eyes flicking to his hand, you stand up, all suddenly, forcing his voice to trail off as he stares up at you. The room falls quiet as big, brown weeping eyes watch you shift your weight from side to side.

He looks lost, floating in a sea of pain that’s drowning him, that he can’t kick up from as he tries to keep swimming.

And he says your name. All broken, the edges of it chipped—cracked and fractured.

It’s quick, the way you mumble one minute before moving into your kitchen. The way you scramble for the green box, knocking over bottles of cleaning products and bleach as you hear him crumble, as the sound worms in your chest and cracks you. Hearing it, the distinct sound of shit and the way he curses himself for fucking up.

You barely shut the cupboard behind you when you’re moving back to him, seeing him panicked, gasping for breath between sobs. Sorries echoing, vibrating out. They're all a mashing of words and syllables, yet you can discern every single one as you drop back beside him.

Watching him try to shift away, your hand grabs his—quicker, smothering out over the one that sits on top of the one he’s scratched.

“Breathe. In, and out.”

Your name slithers out, between gasps and shakes.

“In for four, that’s it—then we hold for seven, like me—and exhale. Good. Again.”

Watching him come down, settle—ease falling out over him as you hold his hand, grip it, hold him so tight so he knows you’re not going anywhere.

“You don’t have to—”

“I just needed to get this,” you soothe, grabbing the first aid kit, placing it between the two of you. “You… you’ve cut yourself, baby.”

Swallowing, he blinks—either at the name, or the softness of your tone—before he glances down.

“Fuck.”

“It’s okay,” you say, a double meaning.

Opening the kit, pulling out antiseptic and bandages, feeling him watch you as you gently clean his wounds, his breath hitching when the antiseptic stings, but he doesn't pull away. Not even when you ask if he's talked to someone, or when he nods, when he explains that he had to, that he hadn't been able to sleep and he was worried about having a baby overnight.

Frankie doesn't move even after you’ve cleaned it, or when you softly bandage it. Your fingers move with precision, all the while careful not to press too hard.

When you're done, you let your hand linger on his, your thumb gently rubbing over the bandages. You meet his gaze, seeing nothing but pain—wishing you could light a flicker of hope, do something to ease it.

“I need you to hear me say something, Frankie. Can you do that or would you prefer I wait?" you ask, voice steady, even though your heart pounds in your chest.

Waiting. Waiting.

Waiting.

Swallowing, he averts his eyes. “Yeah. I can hear it."

Your heart falls in your chest. “Frankie, I'm not ending it." You reassure, thankful his head shifts to face you. “Baby, whatever happened, it happened. It doesn't—it doesn’t change things for me. Doesn’t change the person I know. I know it’s a part of your story, a thing I can never heal for you, and I know there's likely more there, but you don't need to tell me. I don't need to know the whole thing.”

His eyes don't leave yours, and you see them fill with tears again. But this time, there's relief in them, too. Your hand lightly brushes over the bandage.

“Because what I do know is how much I like getting to know you. I know how Ben talked about you—how good Will said you were, are. I know what person I’ve been seeing, so, I don’t feel any different, about you—about us. Okay?”

Nodding, chewing his tongue for a moment, he slowly pulls you into a hug, burying his face in your neck. And, you hold him just as tight—hand stroking his back, feeling his tears on your skin. How his breathing steadies, and becomes more regular.

Only when he loosens his grip do you pull away slightly. Seeing enough to catch his face, how he's looking at you with such raw gratitude and vulnerability that it makes your chest ache. Pressing your forehead to his, closing your eyes as you take it in, you lay a soft kiss on his mouth, taking a moment, letting it all settle.

And then you clear your throat. “But, you are really bad at UNO.”

He snorts, eyes closed, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Like really bad—maybe the worst person I’ve ever played UNO with—”

Grabbing you, almost tickling you, he half-smiles, somehow having shifted himself to be above you, pressing you into your sofa cushions. “Yeah, alright”

Smiling up at him, you flick your eyes from his to his lips. “Do you want to stay and make me eggs in the morning?”

Rolling his lips, he takes a deep breath, before slowly nodding. "If that's okay?"

"I'd like you to."

Baby, you were fast asleep when I had to get up for work, so I made you a thank-you-for-listening-to-me-omelette. The recipe was complex, with lots of various thanks woven into it, so I hope you like it. I also spotted my brand of coffee in your cupboard, I’m trying to stop grinning at that, so I’ll try and call on my break if you want—so you can remind me how bad I am at UNO.

I just woke up, so I’m going to hunt down this omelette that definitely didn’t need to be made from thank-you-eggs.

Okay, first report, your omelette is almost as good as your coffee. Which yes, I bought.

Starting to think you really like me, Rainy.

I might do, Butterscotch.

NEXT CHAPTER ->

AN: hope we're all doing okay

#frankie morales x reader #francisco morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales #triple frontier x reader #francisco morales fanfiction #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #francisco catfish morales x reader #catfish morales x reader #pedrostories #jo: dmy #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal character fanfiction

[stevesbipanic]

Eddie loved nicknames.

It started with little 8 year old Eddie telling his Uncle to call him Eddie not Edward since his dad called him Edward and Eddie didn't want his Uncle to be like his dad.

He gave all of his friends nicknames, usually like they were DnD characters. Gareth the Great, Jeff the Just, Harold the Heroic, Dustin the Defyer, Lucas the Lionheart, Mike the Magnificent and of course Lady Applejack. When he met Will he loved Will the Wise. The girls he called Red, Supergirl, Better Wheeler and Robs.

With Steve though he couldn't help himself.

It started with Stevie since of course he wasn't going to call his new friend by his real name. He had tried Harrington but Steve grimaced and Eddie knew enough about Steve's absent parents to know what that meant. So Stevie it was.

Steve and Eddie became closer. Steve became not only Stevie but sweetheart and big boy. The soft blush Steve would get on his face didn't deter Eddie it only made it worse.

Sweetheart branched into sweets, sweetcheeks, sweetie, sweetums if he wanted to make Steve laugh. Big boy became baby, angel, love if he was feeling bold.

"You're not fooling anyone, Edwin (Robin had been trying to guess his name, it was lasting longer than he thought) if the heart eyes aren't enough the pet names are."

"I don't know what you're talking about, my favourite lesbian."

Eddie knew exactly what she was talking about, Eddie's crush turn full blown love was getting out of hand, since Steve came out to him as bi Eddie couldn't help but cause a blush on his Stevie's face. He just couldn't ask him out, too afraid of ruining everything.

Little did he know his nickname obsession would fix all his problems.

Eddie had gotten a job at the music store teaching guitar on the weekends and manning the register during the week. It was close enough to Family Video that he would visit sometimes on his break. Today however, he had a visitor.

"Stevie, what do I owe the pleasure."

Steve smiled softly making his way over.

"Well I know for a fact you never pack lunch, so I thought I'd bring you some."

"My hero, thank you pretty boy."

Eddie couldn't help but notice the quick drop in Steve's smile before it was right back, if a little strained along the edges.

"Course Eds, anything for you."

The boys shared lunch together having fun but in the back of Eddie's mind he was trying to figure out what made his favourite babysitter sad.

He knew it wasn't the thank you, he'd basically strong armed Steve into accepting thanks for things after too many years with the anklebiters taking him for granted.

Maybe it had been the my hero thing? Eddie doubted it since Steve did have a bit of a hero complex, but just to be sure.

"There's my favourite hero."

"I saved your life one time Eds."

"And yet you continuity save me from starvation with your sandwiches."

Steve had giggled at that so it couldn't have been that. Eddie soon got his answer. The party were hanging out at Steve's for a movie night and Eddie was helping Steve with the popcorn.

"Butter, pretty boy?"

There it was the drop in his smile and Eddie was certain Steve wasn't sad about butter. When the kids had nodded off and he and Steve were hanging up in his room listening to music he decided to bring it up.

"Do you have a problem with me calling you nicknames?"

Steve turned towards him confused, "Of course not, Eds, I like them, they're very you."

"Then why do you look sad when I call you pretty boy?"

Steve looked away again and sighed.

"Cause I'm not pretty anymore, Ed's. I know that sounds conceited and vain but I always had my looks. I wasn't smart or funny or really that good at anything, but at least I was nice to look at. Now I'm just tired looking and covered in scars."

Eddie sat up, Steve following him. Eddie turned towards Steve and took his hands in his.

"Stevie Harrington I know you've had a few blows to the head but you can't actually believe that. You are so smart, maybe not in the same way Dustin and Nancy are but you're the one that knows which movie to cheer someone up or when one of the kids are lying to you or which colours look best for people. You're so funny, it's one of the reasons I love hanging out with you, you've always got some story or little snark to make me laugh. And especially I know for a fact that you're the prettiest, cutest, most beautiful person I've ever seen, your scars show the lives you've saved and the things you've survived and they just add to how beautiful you are."

Steve's eyes had turned glassy with unshed tears, but instead of answering Eddie he learnt forward kissing him soundly. Eddie sighed into the kiss, moving his hand sup to cup Steve's face. When they pulled away Steve had the soft blush on his face that Eddie loved so much.

"So does this mean I can call you pretty boy?"

"Keep kissing me like that and you can call me anything you want."

And well, that was just asking for trouble, but Steve didn't mind, not when he had Eddie to remind him he was beautiful.

#stranger things #stranger things s4 #steve harrington #st4 #eddie munson #steddie #stranger things season 4 #fluff with a sprinkle of sad steve #ficlet

[whositmcwhatsit]

Enjoyable Slide to Oblivion

Like a lot of girls, Chancy Crawford had once been able to call herself one of Elvis's girlfriends, but that was long time ago. Now, she called herself his friend, or his 'cousin' if any of his girlfriends asked. It was just easier that way. And their relationship was all about being comfortable and easy. Until she gets asked to come and join a tour that seems endless and cursed.

AN: I'm not sure if anyone remembers I used to write silly stories, but here's the next installment of one I have neglected for too long. Thank you to everyone who continued to patiently message and let me know how much they liked the characters and very politely ask for the next chapter.

Thanks to @thatbanditqueen for injuring herself in order to give me motivation. And reading to check that I still remembered how to type words. You might need to remind yourself what happened before: Chapter 11 Chapter 12- Move Across the night sky, with those anonymous lights.

Pulling up to the gate of one of Elvis’ homes always invoked a strange combination of emotions in Chancy no matter how often she visited. Maybe it was the fact that there was always, always, at least a few people standing around ogling her curiously, but there was also the insecurity that this might be the time that the gates would not open for her, and the pride she felt at how much he had achieved, as well as an undeserved sense of personal achievement that she knew someone who had so much. That last one always made her feel guilty. 

Harold kept her waiting, pretending that he needed to come to the window of her Chevrolet to see who she was and then saying he would have to call up to the house to check it was okay.

“Can’t be letting in just anyone, you know.” He went to the gatehouse and the gate began to open immediately. She smiled and pretended to be amused by his trick as she rolled past. 

Chancy pulled up around the back near to the fence where the staff parked. Her car fit in better there than next to the limo and the Lincolns and the cadillacs. She glanced in the rear view mirror and checked her make-up hadn’t slid off her face in the humidity. Her air conditioning was busted, again- it only ever seemed to happen in the summer, a cosmic joke or a punishment. 

Grabbing her two small, yellow travel cases, she swung the door shut with her hip and sighed, trying to force her heart to slow down by denying it oxygen. Just a visit, just a visit, she focused on the words and willed her heart to follow their rhythm. 

“Well, hello there, Chancy.” She started and dropped one of her cases as Mr Presley approached her from the office, a smile on his plump face. He had that end of the day twinkle in his eye and Chancy mused how, between his twinkle and Mrs Presley’s dancing glow in her brown eyes when she was laughing, it was no wonder Elvis could incapacitate people with just a glance.  

“Hi, Sir, it’s good to see you again!” She went to grab her fallen luggage, but Vernon reached it first and picked it up, adjusting his grip and miming like the case was heavy. 

“My Lord, what do you have in here?!”

“Well, you know now a girl can’t give away the secrets needed to make her presentable, it’d spoil the magic, wouldn’t it?” 

“I guess it would,” he agreed, still smiling slightly. “Though I reckon I need some magic to help this ole mug.” 

“Nonsense! I was just about to ask you for your secret!” 

Chancy could do this all day. In fact, she did do this all day; most of her job was buttering up clients and making them feel good about themselves. The fact that there was a slight ache to her cheeks as she smiled now was proof of how hard she worked. 

“Well, you always were a sweet girl,” he returned, glancing over his shoulder at the house and tightening his lips. “Let me walk you in, I know Elvis is expecting you.” He reached out for her other case and she let him take it, puzzled since Vernon didn’t usually go out of his way to be helpful or even really acknowledge her much past a short, pleasant greeting. 

On the way, they made small talk about the weather, which was the law in civilised society. One of them remarking on the heat, the other saying that it had to break soon. Debating whether it was hotter or cooler than previous years and then exchanging stories of the most extreme heat they had ever encountered. He told her about a time when he was a young man down in Mississippi and he was doing some work for a man who wore a hairpiece. The day got so hot that the glue melted and the hair started slipping when he spoke. No one was brave enough to tell him and lose the job. He mimed the man’s hair flying back and forth and how they had to all fight to keep their eyes from flicking from side to side with it. His laughter at his own story was infectious. 

As they came in through the back door, he paused in the dim back hallway. Somewhere nearby she could hear a football game being played on television and men’s voices rising and falling as they questioned plays and commiserated. 

“You know, it sure is good to see you, Chancy. Elvis’ mother always used to speak so highly of you and how well you took care of him.” He left the rest unspoken, looking behind him to the stairs to the basement, and then turning back and nodding at her. 

“Thank you, Mr Presley,” she smiled, a little puzzled. She awkwardly fished back her cases and wondered if he was working up to something, and if she should wait. 

Instead, he opened the door to the kitchen and motioned her in, wishing her a good night. 

In the kitchen, Elvis’ aunt Delta was complaining about trying to buy something and how they had raised the price when she gave them the delivery address. 

“Shouldn’t matter if it’s Tom, Dick or Elvis, if it’s fifty dollars it should stay fifty damn dollars. The nerve of people!” Her little dog was yipping and bouncing around her feet, excited by the heightened emotion in her voice. Mary, Elvis’ cook, her coat on like she had been trying to leave for some time, agreed with her, nodding her head wholeheartedly. 

They both turned to look at Chancy as she paused by the counter with a faint smile of anticipation. It was always a roll of the dice which side of Delta you would get, but that evening was a good day, because they exchanged greetings and Chancy was invited into the story of the new chair that had started out as fifty dollars and became one hundred once it was destined for Graceland. 

“One hundred dollars, my ass! I said, it’s for me, not Elvis and we both of us have enough sense not to waste another fifty dollars on some piece of-” 

The phone rang on the wall by where Delta was sitting at the breakfast bar and she snatched it up, listened for a minute, and then nodded to her. 

“Elvis said to go ahead and go on up.” 

Chancy had to temper her speed as she moved through the kitchen, heading towards the back stairs.

“I’m sorry you didn’t get your chair,” she shrugged, stepping onto the first tread. 

“Oh honey, I got the chair, and a little table to boot. Soon’s I told ‘em that I’d go home and say what a rat-infested flea-ridden store they had and how we ain’t never gonna shop there again, we got the friends and family discount too.” 

“Well, they’ll know better than to mess with you next time, Mrs Biggs. I might need to get some tips from you for when I have to negotiate with my suppliers.” 

As she was climbing the stairs, she heard Delta say: 

“Honey, I don’t think you need any help from anybody trying to get anything.” 

Her foot momentarily faltered as her body wanted her to stop and march back down, but her brain won out just barely and forced her to continue her climb. By the time she had opened and closed all the doors that marked her journey, she was pretty sure she had knocked her case into her left shin enough times to leave a bruise, and she paused just inside Elvis’ office to run a finger under each eye to catch the slowly dripping mascara. She tapped on the door and waited to hear a low murmur of assent before she pushed the slightly ajar door open. 

Elvis was sitting on his enormous bed with the newspaper laid out before him, apparently deeply engrossed in it, though she knew he had to have been watching the monitors at least a couple of minutes ago to know that she had arrived. 

“Oh no! I think there’s been some mistake!” she lisped in a high voice. “The man at the reception desk said that this was my room.” She whirled around, wide-eyed, in the doorway. “This is room 385631.6 and half, right?” 

Elvis smirked, his lips and cheekbones all curves as his eyes narrowed. His voice was a little thick like his tongue was still waking up.  

“Damn, they must’ve double booked the rooms again, and, you know, I heard the clerk say that they were full up, no vacancies.” He clenched his jaw and shook his head like he was genuinely upset and disappointed in the ‘hotel’. 

“Right,” she responded. “I guess that’ll be because of the convention?” 

He nodded, rising slowly and stepping closer to her, his fingertips tickling her wrist. 

“Uh huh, right, the, uh, One-eyed Albino Python Lovers of America convention,” he nodded, turning away as he almost broke. 

“Oh, yeah, that’s a popular one,” she murmured, hearing him snort over his shoulder, and fighting to keep her face straight. 

“Well,” he sighed with a sense of inevitability, turning back to her. “I guess there’s only one thing for it.” He shrugged with his whole body, throwing up his arms. “We’ll just have to share the room.” 

“That seems like that’s all there is to it,” she agreed in her ditsy high voice.

“You sure your boyfriend won’t mind, uh, Miss…?”

“Tallulah-Wanda, and I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“You don’t, huh. Well, I guess I’m just fixing problems all over the place tonight.” He pulled her into a clinch worthy of one of his movies, dipping her down so that she dropped her cases and grabbed his shoulders for safety. They broke apart and smiled breathlessly at each other for a minute. 

“One-eyed Albino Python Lovers,” she muttered, slapping his shoulder. He smirked and pulled her back up. 

“What? I’m telling ya, Tallulah baby, it’s a real group.”

“Uh huh, and I bet you’ve met quite a few members.” 

“I meet a lot of people,” he replied evasively. He grabbed her jaw and kissed her hard on the mouth. “How was your day?” 

She paused, surprised by the question. “Uh, it was fine, thank you for asking. How was yours?” 

“Honey, I woke up less than two hours ago,” he pointed out, with a wry lift of his eyebrow. 

“Right, right, I’m in the Elvis time zone now. Gotta adjust my clock accordingly. How was your breakfast?” He rolled his eyes and tugged her towards him, cradling the back of her head as he kissed her. 

“That’s enough of that,” he murmured, though he didn’t elaborate on what ‘that’ was, just steered her around and nudged her backwards towards the bed. “Gotta unwrap my present here.” He tugged on her pale pink pussycat bow, teasing the ends out from where they were tucked into her low scooped waistcoat and pulling the loose knot free. 

“You want me to give you my scarf?” she murmured, keeping her voice low to hide how affected she was. “Hmm, that’s a twist.” 

The corner of his mouth lifted slightly, but he seemed absorbed in his task, letting her silky scarf flutter off to the side as he studied her. She returned the favour, noting how fair his lashes looked in the daylight. His face was fuller, maybe because he hadn’t been well, but his colour was better than when she had last seen him at her house. 

Biting his lip slightly, he unbuttoned her waistcoat, but there was nothing seductive or gentle about his movements. She genuinely felt like a gift given to an overexcited six year old. The waistcoat went in the other direction to her scarf, quickly followed by her heels. 

“I’ll show you where your things are,” he said, pulling away and holding out a hand. She had to tamp down a smile as she let him lead her, padding behind him in her stockinged feet. 

That morning, she had deliberately dressed up in her most businesslike outfit, stopping just short of wearing pants, because she knew he wouldn’t like it. Not to antagonise him exactly, but there had definitely been something pointed in her choice. Some barbed reminder that she was a whole person with a successful, fulfilling life that went on out of his sight line. She wasn’t one of the no doubt many girls around the country just waiting for his call, their life outside of him just filler that happened between their time with him. 

In the ‘guest’ dressing room off his office, he showed her the row of plastic covered outfits that he had bought her on tour as if they had been there ever since he returned and not, as was more likely, hastily moved in that day after the last girl had left. 

“You don’t like what I’m wearing?” she asked as he hovered in the doorway. He shifted uncomfortably and opened his mouth, clearly still formulating his reply. “I’m teasing you. Go on now, let me change.”

“Oughta tan your hide,” he muttered, giving her a sideways look as he retreated from the door. “Don’t change your hair.” 

“Saying please don’t hurt you know!” she called out the door. 

“I know!” he hollered back from presumably the bedroom. 

In the small dusky pink dressing room, Chancy deliberately did not touch any drawers, no matter how painfully her curiosity niggled at her. She tried to be as dispassionate as she would be in a communal dressing room, which, essentially, it was. She made sure not to make a mess and folded her own clothes neatly, putting them back into her case. 

There were a few toiletries sitting on top of the dressing table and she leant over them in order to apply more make up to her eyes, appreciating the good lighting. When she had finished, she checked that she had not left a trace and came back out into the office. 

Elvis was sat at his desk with Joe standing over him and murmuring into his ear, his arms spanning the desk and the back of Elvis’ chair. His broad back blocked Elvis from her view. The body language could not have been clearer. 

Without stopping, she tiptoed past them towards the bedroom, still holding her bags. 

“Hey, what are you doing?” Elvis snapped over the top of Joe’s low mumbling. Chancy glanced over her shoulder almost guiltily. 

“Going in there? I got changed like you said.” Elvis visibly relaxed, his face smoothing and shoulders dropping. 

“I thought you were ducking out on me. What you got your bags there for?” 

“I didn’t want to leave all my things lying about. I’m trying to change my messy ways, you know.” He shook his head and waved his hand back towards the dressing room. 

“No, go ahead and put everything in there, honey, that’s yours.” She hesitated, but Joe had already resumed his whispering and Elvis was frowning at the console of his desk with its screen and knobs and switches. So, she tucked her cases inside the door of the dressing room and speed-walked past them back into the bedroom. 

The curtains were closed and, though the lamps were lit, the room still felt dark to Chancy. This was not helped by the enormous bed that was clad in black every way from the headboard to the bedcovers. She perched on it primly, her feet barely skimming the floor. She didn’t like that, being reminded that she was short. It made her feel like the room was patting her on the head somehow. 

Instead, she pushed off the bed and scanned the shelves of the units, smiling a little at the framed photos of a blond little girl and running her finger over the ornaments, some of them clearly from fans. 

There were a few records scattered around the record player, their labels a mess of scrawled handwriting that revealed them to be demos. And there were books, piles and piles of books with fuzzy, slightly scary titles like ‘The search for…’, ‘A Study of…’, ‘Explore the world of…’ 

One caught her eye, a small, slim volume with exotic gold patterns etched into the worn covers. She glanced up at the door before she opened it to the foreword. It was Sufi poetry translated from the original Persian. Chancy pressed her fingers to the pages in wonder, trying to make it fit into the already complex and contradictory picture of Elvis she held in her mind.

The man himself burst into the room, slamming the door shut behind him, but he stopped short when he saw her standing by the shelves as if he had forgotten she was in there. She could see him biting down and breathing hard, his nostrils flaring, like he was trying to change gears while still accelerating.

She didn’t say anything, looking back down at the book and reading the first poem silently to herself, giving him time to collect himself without being observed, to leave without feeling obligated or ask her to leave. She felt him as he drew close to her, his chest brushing her shoulder. 

“It’s good, you should borrow it when I’m done,” he said quietly, calmly. She smiled as she took her hand away from the page and turned towards him.

“What’s it about?”

“I- I can’t exactly say,” he shrugged. “It makes me feel like words and ideas, even sermons and laws, they’re just getting in the way and confusing people, distracting them from the truth and the real essence of God, you know. I-I-I ain’t saying it right, but the guys in this book, they pull back the curtain, you know, and you feel like you’ve caught a glimpse of something, just for a moment, that’s greater and truer than anything else.” 

Chancy tilted her head, letting that sink in.

“I do think I’d like to read it after you, thank you.” He leant past her and picked it up.

“Here, take it, honey. I can get another. Ignore the scribbling though, sometimes I just gotta work things out in my head. Try and get things straight, you know.”

“No, Elvis, I can’t, not if you’re enjoying it! I can wait until you’re done.”

“Baby, I want you to. Like I said, I can get another. And we can talk about it when you’re done reading it. I don’t- I don’t have no one I can discuss these things with. They all just get this damn pie-eyed look on their faces like ole Elvis’s gone nuts and they don’t know who to call to fix it.” He crossed his eyes and pulled a silly face while he pushed the book into her chest until she took hold of it. 

“That’s dumb,” she murmured, cradling the book to her chest. “Everyone knows you already went crazy years ago.”

“Yeah, well whose fault was that,” he returned, gritting his teeth and pushing his forehead against hers, smushing the tip of her nose. She wrapped her arms around his waist and drew him closer, simultaneously loving and resenting the almost painful wave of relief that rolled over her as she nestled into his arms and felt his soft lips brush against hers. The big sigh he let out as he squeezed her in tighter at least let her know that she wasn’t alone in this comfort trap. 

“I missed this silly little face,” he murmured, one hand gripping her jaw playfully but gently. 

“Really? This one?” She crossed her eyes and scrunched up her nose, tightening her lips so that it looked like she had buck teeth. 

In response, he wrapped one big hand over her face and put a little pressure into it, nudging her backwards. She went with it, trusting him not to have her tumbling on her butt down the stairs. The side of the bed pressed into the back of her legs and she grabbed him by the biceps to stop herself from falling backwards. 

“You missed me too, right?” he almost whispered, leaning down to kiss her again. “Tell me you missed me, Cha Cha.” 

Chancy heard her own voice as if it came from far away, muffled and almost whiny with longing. 

“I missed you, Elvis.” She continued to kiss him even as he turned his head slightly. She could feel his cheek bunch beneath her lips as he smiled, enjoying her affection. “I missed you, I missed you.” She felt his faint stubble grazed against her lips as she let them trail down his cheek and under his jaw. He was bent slightly at the knees so that she could reach, rubbing his thumb around in little circles on her back. Her awareness narrowed to only those points of sensation, the thumb circles on her back, the tingle on her lips, the warmth down her front. 

The phone started trilling. They both looked at it blankly for a second, before Elvis straightened and sighed, going to answer. 

Whatever was being said on the other end of the line irritated Elvis, he mumbled one word answers until he slammed the receiver back onto the hook. 

Without a word, he disappeared into his bathroom and left her yet again wandering around his room, running her fingers over his belongings and trying to pretend that she belonged there. She opened her new book at a random page and let her eyes trip across the words:

“That’s how you came here, like a star,

Without a name…”

She had no idea what it meant, but it sounded beautiful. She murmured it under her breath, finishing with a sharp inhale as Elvis stormed back out of his bathroom clad in a long leather coat, gloves and carrying a police flashlight. 

“C’mon, we’re getting out of here.” 

Billy was waiting at the bottom of the kitchen stairs, hands shoved into his jeans pockets. He grinned, reflecting Elvis’ smirk as they converged in the kitchen. 

“They fell for it, huh?” Elvis remarked, knocking Billy’s shoulder with his knuckles. 

“Uh huh, I told ‘em we’d meet ‘em on up ahead.” “Joe bitchin’ and whining about it, I bet,” Elvis remarked gleefully, heading towards the back door with Billy beside him. Chancy trailed them, wondering what the hell was going on. 

The wall of wet heat hit as soon as they stepped outside and Chancy shook her head as she stared at Elvis’ broad back wrapped in black leather even as she was peeling tendrils of her hair away from her damp neck and face. 

Elvis was too busy crowing over his ability to fool everyone to notice the temperature. He and Billy were joking and laughing about it as they passed the car port and continued on down towards the back gate near where Chancy had parked her car. On the road was a white Cadillac coupe with an old, black truck behind it. 

Billy tossed some keys to Elvis, who was still laughing as he got into the truck, but Billy’s smile faded as he turned away and he looked at Chancy with something close to reproach. She couldn’t think why he would be mad with her or blame her when she had no idea what was going on. He was the one going along with whatever crazy plan Elvis had come up with. 

“Is anyone going to tell me what’s going on?” she asked nobody in particular. 

“Shh, we’re being sneaky!” Elvis whispered in an Elmer Fudd voice, leaning out the window. “C’mon, Cha Cha, get in!”  

She looked to Billy again, hoping for something that made more sense, but he had already climbed into the Cadillac and the back gate was opening. Elvis beckoned her and she hurriedly circled the truck and jumped in. 

As they pulled out into the narrow road that ran down the side of the church next door, Elvis accelerated slightly and gave the Cadillac in front a little nudge on the bumper, grinning so wide that his dimples made an appearance. 

“Uh, shouldn’t you have your lights on?” Chancy asked, goosebumps of anticipation nonetheless breaking out over her arms as she caught his infectious excitement. 

“Now that wouldn’t be very sneaky of little old us, would it.”

“Billy’s got his on.”

“Exactly!” 

Ahead of them, Billy pulled out onto the highway and faintly they could hear a few people shouting. Elvis waited, engine idling with his lights off. Chancy watched him expectantly as he tapped his thumbs on the top of the steering wheel, humming quietly under his breath. He seemed to become aware of her eyes and glanced towards her, eyes narrow and cheekbones brimming with mirth. 

“Being bad feels good, don’t it?” 

“It might, if I knew what we were doing.” He didn’t reply, just flew out onto the highway, switching on his lights at the last minute and swerving around the oncoming traffic. 

Eyes on the rear view mirror, he murmured, “I bet they’re shitting a brick right about now, man. Serves ‘em right, serves ‘em right. I tell you, boy…” 

“So we’re not going to the recording studio?” Chancy asked, mainly to remind him that she was in the car too and he didn’t need to talk to himself. 

“You catch on fast, don’t you,” he remarked, shooting her a sideways look. “Baby, what are you doing all the way over there?” He reached blindly across the bench seat and clamped a hand on her thigh, trying to drag her closer to him. She made a series of unladylike noises as she left behind half of the skin from the back of thighs on the warm leather. 

“Where are we going then?” she inquired, once she was flush against him, her forearm resting on his thigh and her cheek stuck to his coat. 

“Well…” He tailed off. “Where would you like to go?” She bit down on her lip as he made himself sound very magnanimous and not at all like he hadn’t thought his great escape plan all the way through.

“I haven’t had anything to eat since lunch,” she reasoned. “Maybe we could-” He took a sharp turn that almost sent her sprawling. “Or maybe we could not die, Elvis, how about that?!”

He snorted and glanced at her with his eyebrow quirked playfully. She swatted at him, because he knew exactly what to do to take the heat out of her irritation, leaving her with just the intellectual understanding that she should feel annoyed. 

“Poor widdle Cha Cha, all moody and mad cos she’s hungry,” he murmured in that damn baby voice again. She was about to swat him a little harder when he did a double take out of his side window. “Hey, you know, I ran out of gas there one time.”

“Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah, back when I was starting out. It was one of the first times it got really crazy, boy. The cops had to come out and everything. It was wild.”

“Uh huh, getting a ride in the back of a police car to the gas station is not something you ever forget. Especially after I got back and some girl called me your whore.”

Chancy watched his face as his brain worked overtime, recalling the little details that he usually airbrushed from the patter he gave his dates as he took them on a personal tour of his home town, like who else had been there.

“They called you a whore?” he echoed finally, focusing on the detail where he had no culpability. “I didn't know that.”

“Well, it wasn't something I would've wanted to repeat.” 

It had been the first time she had been the victim of jealous, spiteful resentment, but not nearly the last. She shook her head like she could dislodge the echoes of embarrassment, hurt and outrage she had felt. 

“Besides, you didn’t even remember I was there!” She smacked his leg and turned away slightly, playing at being mad. 

“Honey, I did! I-I remember, I was just testing you!” 

“Uh huh,” she murmured. “Well, I guess I passed.” 

“With flying colours,” He hit her with a poorly aimed kiss on the ear as he steered the truck into a parking lot. Chancy glanced around and realised he had pulled into Dairy Queen. 

“You do take me to the fanciest places,” she teased, already moving to climb out. 

“Well, I only know of two ways to get you out of this mood you’re in,” he returned with irritating insight. “One’s food and the other… Well, we’re in public, honey, you know.” She felt so much better about the shiver she had to fight back when she saw that, despite the naughty look on his face, he had gone pink. 

“You are terrible,” she informed him. “Hey, where are you going?” He paused as he pushed open his door.

“There’s only one way out,” he replied, looking bemused. 

“You can’t go in there!” she exclaimed, then wanted to rewind time and roll her tongue back in, because the one way to guarantee Elvis would do something was to tell him that he couldn’t. “Baby, you don’t have any of the guys with you. It’s not safe.” 

“It’s late, Cha Cha, I’m not letting you go in there by yourself,” he returned. Then, she witnessed the exact same expression of regret cover his face that must have shone from hers moments before. Because telling her that she wasn’t allowed to do something was like firing a starting pistol. 

“It’s not exactly Times Square.”

“I don’t give a damn. Cha Cha, honey, you got all kinds of characters out there now, crazy sonsofbitches and losers strung out on all these fucking drugs they’re pushing on the streets. Baby- Baby, you don’t understand because you don’t know what it’s really like.” She bristled at the condescending tone and folded her arms over her grumbling stomach. 

“Well, then it’s not safe for either of us.” 

After ten minutes of silent sulking and hunger, they came to a compromise. Chancy would go in and order the food, and Elvis would park as close as possible with his gun ready just in case. 

As silly as she knew all that was, Chancy still felt tingles of apprehension as she pulled on the metal bar and opened the door.

At that time of the evening, the place was full of teenagers hanging out and families grabbing a treat on the way home from the movies. None of them really spared her a look apart from a few pleasant smiles as she made her way to the counter. 

Not long later, she was juggling a sack and two milkshakes and stopped to thank a man who had jumped up to hold the door for her. He smiled back, nodding at her chest rather than her face. 

Turning towards the truck, she let out a little gasp as she saw a small knot of people standing by the driver’s door. Her heart hammering, she glanced towards the phone booth at the front of the parking lot, wondering if she would have to make a call to Graceland to get someone out to help. 

As she drew closer, she saw that it was just an older couple and their children. As long as they made a getaway before they attracted any more attention they would be okay. 

When she climbed in the cab, Elvis was signing a scrap of paper, what looked like a receipt, and he handed it over, ruffling the young son on the head. Chancy kept her head down so as not to attract notice. The only problem was that the family did not seem satisfied with the autograph and small talk and lingered, forcing Elvis to say that they had to leave. They even took a few steps forward as he backed out, like they were going to follow them on foot. 

“Just can’t stay out of trouble for a minute, can you,” she remarked, handing him his milkshake. 

“Well, you were gone so damn long,” he complained, spilling a little of the shake on his pants as he tried to negotiate the road. “Goddamn it! She quickly retrieved the paper cup before it was thrown, possibly at her. He was still swearing as he pulled into a rest area, the frosty drink slowly trickling into uncomfortable places. 

Seeing his mood souring, she grabbed a napkin from the sack but hid it at her side. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll get it,” she exclaimed brightly, ducking her head down towards his lap. 

“Chancy, no!” His voice went impossibly high, breathless and panicked. 

She burst out laughing, she couldn’t help it, and tossed the napkin at him as she collapsed against the back of the seat, gasping and giggling, wiping her eyes. She tried to get herself under control as he irritably wiped at his pants with the napkin, muttering under his breath, but every time she looked at him, all kitted out in his flashy badass outfit, she kept hearing his panicked protest like he was a sweet virgin being propositioned by an over amorous date. 

“Don’t see what’s so goddamn funny,” he snapped. “My fucking pants are ruined.”

“I’m sorry,” she replied, her voice quivering very slightly as she bit on the inside of her cheek. “I…” She started laughing again and he smacked the steering wheel and started the engine, shaking his head. “No, baby, no, I’m sorry!” She lifted her milkshake and tipped it slightly as if she was going to dump the whole thing in her own lap. “Look, you give me the word and we’ll match. Want me to?” 

A fast diesel truck rattling by startled her and she jerked slightly, causing a large drop to splat onto her bare leg. 

“Damn, that’s cold!” she hissed. His eyes twinkled and a slow smile crept across his face. She realised that there was a very real possibility that he was about to knock the cup over her and almost resigned herself to it. 

“You’re crazy, you know that,” he remarked, before very slowly and deliberately leaning down and licking the milkshake from her thigh. He punctuated that by opening his mouth and pretending to take a bite of her, his teeth leaving a faint imprint in her pale skin under the light of the cab. Holding her breath, Chancy now understood how fish felt drowning on dry land.

They ate their food at the rest stop without much chat. Elvis was still mad at her for laughing at him. It was always a sore point for him, and she sensed that he was embarrassed by his unfiltered reaction to the idea of her going down on him in public. He always loved to give off the impression that he was unflappable, that there was no boundary that he would not push and no impulse he would not indulge, but that wasn’t true. Not really.  

Licking the salt from her fingers, she leant up and kissed his cheek as he chewed the last of his third burger. He didn’t reciprocate, but nor did he move away, just looked out the window at the shadowy brush. She stuffed the wrappers into the empty sack and slid a little closer to him, her bent knees knocking into his thigh. 

Rising on her knees, she nudged her nose into the hair at his temple, pressing butterfly kisses into his skin, catching her lip on the arm of his sunglasses. His fingers tapped on the ledge of his open window, almost like she was keeping him from a more pressing appointment, and she wondered if his mood had sunk too low to be recovered. She started to draw back, but the firm line of his arm just behind her shoulders stopped her retreat. 

She studied him, looking down from his turned cheek to where the tendon in his neck was just visible above his turned-up collar as he craned his head away from her. Almost tentatively, she pressed her lips against it, feeling his pulse pounding beneath the salty skin. She lapped at it with tiny kitten licks until he jerked away, trying to hide his smile.  

Leaning forward, he started the engine and pulled back out onto the road, executing a neat u-turn so that they were heading north. 

“Where are we going now?”

“Gotta get you back to the nuthouse before they send out the guys with straitjackets,” he replied, shooting her a sly grin. 

“Uh huh, I’m sure it’d be me they were looking for,” she replied, settling herself down at his side. He just kept smiling, dropping his hand into her lap and entwining their fingers. That didn’t last long, because he had to keep twiddling the dial of the radio every time the deejay started talking. 

“Wasn’t that George?” she asked, as he abruptly twisted the knob again, muttering a curse word. “I don’t care who it was,” he snapped. “Don’t talk over the goddamn song. What’s the point of them even playing songs if they’re gonna-” He let out some high pitched gibberish that sounded like an irate chipmunk after sucking helium. 

“So, where’s next on the famous Elvis’ hometown tour?” “Aw, honey, there’s no…” He didn’t even bother finishing his lie. “There ain’t no point showing you, you know more about it than I do. I ever end up writing that book about my life, you’ll be there…’No, Elvis, it didn’t happen like that, I was there.’” She shook her head at his usual high-pitched impression of her. 

“The two of us in rocking chairs, me trying to edit every story,” she added. “In my head, you’re old when you’re writing this life story.”

She felt her cheeks heat as she had basically admitted that she pictured them together when they were old. That was giving away too much and also trying to take too little. 

If he noticed her embarrassment or thought that the idea of them being together when they were old was far-fetched, he didn’t show it, huffing a laugh as he guided them back through more familiar streets. “We’re going back? So soon?” She thought of all the people back at the house, likely some annoyed employees and some tense phone calls to be made. She wondered if they would get to sneak out like this again during her stay, and considered that plans would probably be put in place to stop that happening. 

“Well,” he bounced a closed fist against the inside of the truck door. “I gotta change my damn pants and… It seems like you might still be in a bad mood, honey. I think it might be time to try the second thing.”

Tag lIst: @richardslady121, @dkayfixates, @fallinlovewithurlove, @notstefaniepresley, @heartbrake-hotel , @freudianslumber , @bbrtt777, @18lkpeters , @prompted-wordsmith, @literally-just-elvis-fics , @eliseinmemphis @lookingforrainbows , @stylespresleyhearted , @amydarcimarie , @returntopresley, @savedrebelcreation, @lettersfromvenus , @littlehoneyposts, @joshuntildawn13, @i-r-i-n-a-a, @from-memphis-with-love, @ellie-24, @be-my-ally, @vintageshanny

#elvis presley #70s elvis #elvis fanfic #elvis x oc #elvis fanfiction #elvis presley fanfic #elvis presley fanfiction #enjoyable slide to oblivion #whositmcwhatsit #Consider this my dessicated zombie hand breaking through the ground and finding the world above has changed beyond recognition

[mywifealhaitham]

HAIII

can you do kissing or general dating headcannons for Harold and Noah separately?

Tysm for your time :)

◟✶◝ harold & noah dating + kissing headcanons (separate)

◟a/n◝ hooray my first total drama request... sorry that harolds seems shorter than noahs I didn't really know what to write for him... I still hope u enjoy!!

• Harold is so sweet as a boyfriend, a bit cringe to the point you wanna pick him up and throw him into a lake, buy very sweet nonetheless...

• he tries his best to impress you with his awesome skills which include either rapping or some type of martial arts... but you can clearly see how much effort he puts into his hobbies and how confident he looks while doing it so you half-fake swoon for him when he sees you he'll have the biggest smile on his nerdy face

• as for your first kiss with him it was awkward to say the least. you both were hanging out probably either watching some kind of show or playing video games when you two got gradually closer to eachother until both of you were reallyyy close. you don't notice until after awhile and that's when it gets awkward. Harold notices it too and of course says something a bit corny like "I can stare into your eyes all day" or something. after he says that you giggle and proceed to grab his cheeks and kiss him all over his face turning him red and flustered in the process

• honestly lives for that type of attention I mean pretty much everyone else he's met in his life have been jerks to him so let him bathe in your love for a bit

• like Harold, Noah is also a sweet boyfriend just alot less cringe and a bit more mean... his love language is practically just teasing you and being sarcastic alot. of course he never fully means his mean and snarky remarks, don't worry its all out of love!

• though we know that he can get down bad for someone and that probably happened when he first started liking you. if you both were in total drama he'd probably help you with challenges or fall behind to stay with you whether you two are on the same team or not.

• his kisses are probably a bit more frequent than Harold's but still very few since he prefers practically anything else then face sucking. when you two had your first kiss it was during a little "argument", which was basically just back and forth teasing, and also like Harold's was awkward for a bit. it started off with you two throwing around insults and slowly moving closer until Noah gets the most genius idea he's had in a while. he spits out a "oohhh you wanna kiss me so bad" and still full of adrenaline from the remarks he's previously made you quickly respond with a "yeah. so what?". let's just say that shut the both of you up really fast.

• after a few moments of silence you whisper a quiet "... wanna do it" in which he responds with a awkward nod which he might regret later. when you too actually kiss its stiff but still good and could probably satisfy him for about a year. (afterwards you two kinda ran off out of embarrassment and he immediately got home and started giggling and screaming into his pillow)

• overall still a sweet boyfriend but beware he will get on ur nerves, it's apart of the Noah package.

#total drama #total drama x reader #td noah #td harold #td Noah x reader #td Harold x reader #noah x reader #Harold x reader #kiana☆posts

[mercurygray]

I'm still trying to figure out whatever Cord and Bucky's deal is, and @basilone suggested a slightly different perspective on the scene.

May, 1943. First impressions, as they say, are everything, and Harold Huglin is not impressed.

--

His mouth still tasted like chalk.

Colonel Huglin breathed in deeply through his nose and tried not to notice the aftertaste. It was nearly lunchtime, and he was simultaneously hungry enough to eat a horse and not in the mood to eat anything at all. His doctor had him on the most bland diet known to man, for the sake of the ulcer, but the milk and calcium carbonate he was also being prescribed wasn’t doing anything to help his appetite. He’d been managing pretty well for the last few days on dry toast and stewed vegetables, but it was May in England, and the chill of springtime was still hanging around the crabapple trees and absolutely cutting through his overcoat.

“It would appear our new Air Executive is late,” he said, testily, glancing out over the field for some sign, any sign, that Egan had remembered that they had a meeting scheduled this morning with the RAF, in advance of the official hand-over of the station.

“Would you like to go inside, sir?” Callaway looked worried about him, even though she herself was in even worse shape than him, out in her service skirt and stockings. “It’s still a little cold out here.”

She said it as an observation, not a complaint, or a request for special treatment. She hadn’t complained once, since they’d arrived - not on the drive over, even though the Jeep was open to the air, and not in the twenty minutes they’d been waiting in the wind. Huglin admired that, even if he didn’t have a way to say it. The lieutenant from Ohio was going to do all right, he thought. Captain Brennan had made a good choice to send her to the meeting today. A good head on her shoulders - a clear eyed way of seeing things that would serve her well, in the control tower. She’d shown up for their meeting on time, in perfect order, and even had a pad of paper to take notes. On the safety of that part of the venture he was perfectly sure. Of everything else?

Well, his Air Executive was late. That was about all he needed to know.

“No, thank you, Lieutenant. We should go in together.” A united front, he wanted to say, even though the Brits were their allies, and this was supposed to be the friendliest of friendly meetings. They were here, and making good on Roosevelt’s promises to Churchill to deliver the full force of American air power to the continent, all for the low, low price of several extra airfields in Norfolk and other points south. But Huglin already knew what the British thought of them - four years late to a show that had started in 1939 and had hardly stopped hitting them on the chin since then.

Four years late - and now late to this, too.

John Egan had come with the greatest of references from Kansas - a glowing career that had started well before Pearl Harbor, an officer who’d worked his way up from the bottom, been a valued instructor and a fixture to his unit. So just who the hell was this man who couldn’t show up to a meeting on time?

The familiar whine of an engine came roaring up from the road, and Huglin and Callaway turned to see a single man drive up in a jeep, crusher cap rakish on his head. He threw the shifter into park, turned off the engine, and pulled his rather tall self out of the Jeep, bounding over the still-thawing mud with his greatcoat flapping open as he went. Disorderly uniform, Huglin thought to himself, observing the way he’d already started shaping his hat. Well then.

“Colonel, hello.” The Major had something of the overgrown schoolboy about him that even the carefully cultivated mustache couldn’t hide. “Sorry to keep you waiting - got stuck behind a herd of cows on the road on the way up here.”

“You’re late, Major. I hope you won’t make it a habit.”

“Of course not, sir. Won’t happen again.” He smiled broadly and turned to take a good look at Callaway, his smile changing pitch a little. “Good morning, gorgeous. I don’t think we’ve met. John Egan. My friends call me Bucky.”

Huglin watched Callaway freeze in place, her expression hard to read. Was that embarrassment, or fear? He couldn’t tell - all he felt at the moment was a rising sense of anger. She had a bar on her shoulder and an eagle on her hat the same as his - so why address her like she was nothing more than the secretary? “Major Egan, this is Lieutenant Callaway, one of our flight control officers. She'll be in charge of the first shift, so she'll be sending the group out most mornings. She’ll be inspecting the site with us this morning.”

Callaway found her voice and held out a gloved hand to shake. “I believe protocol says I should address you as Major, sir.” Huglin smiled at that, the appreciation faint but there as he watched Egan’s smile falter a little as she failed to respond to his charm. At least someone around here knows how things ought to be done.

He glanced again at his watch and swallowed, still tasting chalk. “Right. Let’s go in.”

“After you, sir,” he heard Callaway say behind him, as the two of them fell in behind their CO. “Rank first.” Smart girl, Callaway. Keep that one where you can see him.

#i have written a thing #mercurygraypresents #cordelia callaway #masters of the air OC

[not-eli]

Some peeps asked for Heather character analysis and that's literally what I live for so let's go

pay attention this is long.

Heather is portrayed since the very beginning like the perfect example of the word brat. Her literal first line is, "I'm calling my parents, you can't force me to stay here!"

Even though this could hint that she has a very close relationship with her parents, at the same time in the extra clips for the parents from home we understand that her parents aren't really so caring for her, since they were celebrating at the thought of her leaving.

Even if this can seem controversial, there's a perfect explaination for this kind of behaviour:

As an example, my cousin is a goddamn brat (so glad my family doesn't know about my blog), always whining and asking for my aunt's phone, even cussing in front of his parents, and he's about 5. The thing is, due the desire of not hearing him protest my uncles tried to please him in everything, giving him what he asked so he would stop crying.

i think that Heather's parents kind of did the same: They complied with her every request so as not to hear her complain, not because they cared about her but because they wanted her to keep quiet. Heather of course got used to this and that's literally all she knows. She knew that if she conplained, she would get what she wanted.

We also know that her parents used elettro shock therapy on her in order to "make her nicer" which also hints that they didn't have a goddamn clue of what to do with her.

Furthermore, in tda when she thought she was about to die she wrote her will where she left most of her possessions to her mother. Plus, when Chris offered the team a chance to talk to the person they were closest with, who was the person suggested to Heather? That's right, the mother.

When she "opens up" a little to Harold she asks, "do you think it's good to be hated by everyone?"

I think that her bratty behaviour, maybe even in order to gain a little of attention from her parents, led people to stay away from her and to cope she became even worse, trying to convince herself that it wasn't her, it was them.

In an extra clip (cannot find it) we learn from her younger brother that she was used to be seen as "unattractive" when she was younger, which adds to the whole "no one likes me but who cares" thing.

I have the feeling that she closed herself off for so long to avoid being seen as weak, someone who can't provide for herself. We know that her number one objective is winning and only winning, she wants the money and for what? To start a life of her own, show the world that she's Heather and she's so worth it.

However, we sometimes caugh some moments of weakness: When she broke down while teaming up with Harold, when she looked upset when Lindsay and Beth stayed away from her (who, to remember, were the only friends she made on the show), when she comforted Courtney after the whole cheating thing and lord, even when Sierra the creepy crazy girl got hurt she showed to care for her. Also, did you see how happy she looked when Cody called her "the good guy"? (well not exactly but you get my point) or when she won?

And when she fell for Alejandro, she probably thought that was stupid - why falling for a boy that will just slow you down, break your heart?

Heather is hated by everyone, it's true. But deep inside she's just a girl that never understood how the world really worked. She never got how she had to actually behave in order to be liked. When she and Alejandro had that lovey dovey honeymoon phase she genuinely looked so happy because he was treating her like a literal queen. In my opinion, she finally felt respected and that was enough for her. Until Chris mentioned the money that is.

She deserves to win again :(

@math-is-math

@cass-hector-simp

#my fingers are dying #alejandro x heather #aleheather #td heather #she deserved better #:( #character analysis

[lidiasloca]

can you do a fic where cardan get jealous loveee your work btw

jealous high king Cardan (jurdan fic)

Post QoN

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄☆

“She’s just playing the part, Cardan,” the Roach tells me, patting my shoulder. “And you should remember this was your idea.”

I guess it actually was my idea to gain the favor of a faraway powerful someone that Jude told me would make a great ally. And I guess it was also my idea that we did this through my wife’s charms. So he is somewhat right…

“Oh, shut up. I can’t hear what they’re saying,” it's what I answer, though.

The Roach's chuckle becomes a distant sound as I walk closer to my wife and the idiot that now happens to be touching her arm. Caressing it up and down. Each time closer to her shoulder, then to her jaw and neck and collarbone and-

“Harold,” I greet, making him look up at me. Jude turns to me as well, one arm still linked with his.

And though she notices my fixated glare there, she doesn’t give away any reaction other than a charming smile.

Harold, however, seems smarter, and moves his arm from hers. Good.

“King Cardan,” he says with shaky voice. I grin wide.

“High King Cardan, if you may.”

“Cardan!” Jude barks, clearly irritated. When I meet her glare in silence, she angrily takes my hand and leads me through the ballroom, totally dismissing stupid little Harold.

“What are you doing?! I almost had him,” she says as we walk.

I stop in my tracks, making her too. “You almost had him,” I repeat. “And what exactly does that mean, lovely wife?”

Jude regards me for a moment, frowning. And when she speaks again, her voice is soft, as if she had understood where my mind had gone: “You know what I mean with that.”

“I thought I knew, but that was before you two got so handsy with each other,” I replied. “Then, I wasn’t exactly sure if a political alliance was what you really wanted from him.”

“Cardan,” she breathes, calm and understanding, and inclines her head to the side. No, that won’t work.

“Jude,” I mimic mockingly. Which makes her chuckle softly.

“I did let him get a bit…handsy,” she admits. “Sorry, Cardan. I didn’t think it would bother you, since we both know my intentions with him. But,… I’m sorry.”

Instead of answering, I let a silent moment unfold upon us. Our eyes are the only thing that communicates our understanding with each other.

“Plus, he’s not that handsome,” she says eventually. “Too soldier-like for my liking.”

At that, I can’t help but laugh. “You’re so funny, huh.”

She smiles as she places her hands on my shoulders, starting a dance. “Do you forgive me, Cardan?”

I nod before slowly spinning her.

- characters by Holly Black

i missed writing so much. thanks a lot for the request and the lovely compliment, made my day fr <;3

#cardan greenbriar #jude and cardan #jurdan #jude duarte #jurdan fic #cardan x jude #i miss jude and cardan #the folk of the air #the queen of nothing

[the-cu-genswap-au]

next: updated refs for the main adult cast (aka, the other core quintet)

- As principal of Jerome Horwitz Elementary, Erica Wang has dedicated her career to making sure every child in her school gets the support they need. Under Erica's leadership, JHES is a much less depressing place, sporting features like an art program, a fully-stocked library, after school tutoring, and an actual full-time school nurse.

- Erica herself also likes to take a hands-on approach with students, taking notice of anyone who seems to be struggling either academically or socially and working together with Bo to figure out the best course of action. While her intentions are definitely in the right place and come from a sense of genuine care, she does have a habit of forgetting to ask the students themselves what they think of her ideas....

- Design note: Erica's design is a fusion of her main kid design and her future "Grace Wain" persona

- Bo Hweemuth is the school's student guidance counselor, which basically means his job is to talk to students and help get them any resources they need, both in and outside of school. Though a lot of students feel intimidated by him at first glance, he's actually a very chill guy who likes to approach students with as much kindness and empathy as he can. He knows what it's like to be treated like a nuisance.

- Besides being co-workers, Bo is actually very good friends with Principal Wang, genuinely enjoying the work they do together to make sure every child at Jerome Horwitz can thrive.... despite any misgivings he might have about her approach. And speaking of co-workers, he's also recently struck up a pretty close friendship with the school librarian....

- In his spare time, he likes to experiment with clay sculpture. His office is decorated with all the little sculptures and figures he's made over the years.

- George Beard and Harold Hutchins are known around school as That One Pair Of Teachers; they're always together and are each other's best friend, even outside of work. To their students, they're some of the funnest teachers they've had at JHES, since they prioritize making their classes into fun, engaging learning environments through creative lesson plans and treating their students like actual people. Especially George, since he teaches the traditionally "boring" subjects of English and Literature.

- George and Harold are also the current co-leads of the school Music and Arts Program, along with music teacher Dressy Killman. Harold mentors in art, while George handles creative writing. They like to joke that they're "professionals in their field," except they're not really joking about that and it's just that everybody thinks that they are because nobody knows anything about them outside of the school.....

- Design note: George and Harold already have canon adult designs, so I just added on a few accessories to distinguish their AU selves from their canon counterparts (George's suspenders, Harold's vest)

- Melvin Sneedly (that's Professor Sneedly to you) is starting his first year as Jerome Horwitz's new science teacher, after a regrettably failed attempt to get his robotics career off the ground. He absolutely does not want to be here, he hates teaching, he hates kids, the sooner he can get out of this terrible place the better.

- He's not exactly helping his case by driving away everyone who tries to connect with him, either. Instead of spending his break times in the staff lounge with everyone else, he's spending them holed away in his classroom, poring over lesson plans, reminders of his broken dreams, and.... other stuff. It's probably not a good idea to keep bringing these personal projects to work with him but then again, his science career did fail for a reason....

- Design note: the main design philosophy here is "hey, what would Melvinborg look like without the robot half.....?"

#all there in the manual #we like to be vague on this blog no concrete answers allowed

[freedomfireflies]

ahhhh can you write something where reader has been teasing harry all day and he has a show so he ties her to the bedpost while he performs 😭 maybe some smut ???? a hint of daddy kink 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨 if ur comfy w it don’t feel pressured if you don’t want to ik it’s kind of uncomfortable

The clinking sound of the handcuffs tightening echoes in your ear, loud and resolute as your eyes slowly trail up Harry’s profile.

“What…are you doing?” you ask airily, a bit taken aback by the sudden switch in behavior.

You feel his lips trailing up your arm. Feel him smirk before he leans back and catches your forlorn expression. “Did you really think I’d let you go unpunished, sweet girl?”

You swallow. You had, actually. “I...I thought you liked it.”

He straightens up, hand coming out to grasp onto your chin and tilt your head back. He regards you carefully, much too smug for your liking. “Did you, hm? Thought I’d like to sit through sound check with you dripping down my cock? Or that I’d appreciate listening to you touch yourself while I was stuck in the car with Jeff?”

He leans down and your breath hitches as he ghosts his lips over yours.

“Or maybe you thought I’d appreciate the way you begged me to do something about that pretty ache between those pretty thighs,” he whispers, and you have to swallow a whine. “You played with fire, sweet girl. And Daddy doesn’t appreciate when you misbehave.”

He leans back, leaving you to huff a stray hair from your eye as you glance down at your bound wrists now attached to the arm of the sofa. “Okay, you’ve made your point. I was just…excited about getting to spend the weekend with you, that’s all.”

His arms cross as he watches you frown. “I know, baby, I was excited, too. Until you disobeyed me.”

Your head tilts. “Disobeyed…or entertained? Because I know you, Daddy, and I know…you liked it.”

You’re not so quick to surrender, which Harry had anticipated, and his mouth quirks up in a smirk once more. “Is that any way to talk to the man controlling your pleasure?”

“Yeah. If he’s being a dick.”

You resist a smile as you watch him hum, eyes trailing across your face as he debates his next play.

But you know him. You know that his need to put you first will outweigh his need to seek revenge, and even though you’re on a time crunch, you can already see the pieces falling into place.

His tongue comes out to swipe across his bottom lip. “You know what? You’re right. I’ve been a little unfair.”

“Yes. Yes, you have.”

He begins to crouch down, hands finding your thighs as he encourages them apart. “All you wanted was to show me how much you missed me, yeah?”

You nod, now a bit too distracted to continue your quippy remarks.

“Make me feel good?” he murmurs, nose nudging your skin. “Make me need you?”

You suck in a quiet breath as he ghosts his mouth up the curve of your leg, thankfully continuing with his practiced torture as you feel yourself hurdling back toward that edge.

The sounds of fans somewhere inside the arena almost makes you laugh. If only they knew that their precious Harold was down on his knees right now, worshiping your body in the same way he'll be singing about in a few minutes.

Sometimes, the irony is just too good.

Despite your bound hands, you steel yourself, ready for the contact as those pretty green eyes look up at you deviously.

Then, he plays his ace.

The delicate, purple vibrator he insists on bringing with him everywhere he goes (for moments like this, you assume) comes into view as he turns it on and places it on the couch between your legs.

You do gasp this time, squirming away once he’s pushed it into place, focus flicking up to your face to watch you fall apart.

“You…dick,” you pant, wrists tugging on the cuffs as you attempt to remove yourself from the torturous object.

You don’t mind it all, really, although you had been hoping for his touch instead of a toys, but you digress. As long as he watches you come apart on this little sofa, then that's perfectly fine with—

“Where are you going?” you ask as you watch him stand to his feet and grab his glittery cardigan. “Har…Harry—”

“Where do you think?” he retorts, nodding toward the door. “I’ve got a show, baby doll.”

Your teeth grit. “I know, but you’re kind of already in the middle of something.”

He smiles. Softly. Condescendingly. “I told you. Daddy doesn’t appreciate when you disobey him.” There's a brief pause as he watches you begin to realize his plan. “If you wanna play with fire, darling...you’re gonna get burned.”

You have two choices: bully him into staying…or debase yourself and beg. Appeal to that sadistic side of him that gets off on hearing the way you need him. Your soft, pathetic whines as you plea with him to take care of you.

“Har,” you whisper, wiggling against the back of the couch as your lashes flutter. “Baby…please—”

“S’too late for that.”

“No…no, Daddy, please,” you just about gasp, head rolling back as a chill runs down your spine. “Shit, please…please don’t leave me here. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I won’t do it again, I promise. I promise, Daddy, please—”

“Oh, sweet girl,” he murmurs gently, moving closer once more as he dips down to cup your face between his palms. Your eyes soften as you look up at him, just about melting into his touch as you whimper. “I know you won’t. I know you’ll be good for me, won’t you?”

You nod fervently, tears already beginning to gather around your lash line as the pleasure just about overwhelms you. “I promise, Daddy. I promise…just please don’t leave me. Please…please, I’m sorry.”

His large thumbs stroke back and forth along your cheekbones, delicate and sincere. He leans down to press his lips to your forehead as you exhale a breathy sigh, lids falling shut in anticipation.

Then…he lets go.

And steps back.

He reaches for his phone, the exact same phone the vibrator is connected to, and shoves it in his pocket before opening the door. 

Your mouth just about drops open as you watch him turn around.

“Enjoy the show,” he calls smugly as he slips into the hallway.

Your heart drops.

He winks.

“I know I will.”

~ Full Masterlist

~ Other Harry Blurbs

#harry #harry edward styles #harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles fan #harry styles request #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles daddy kink

[total-drama-brainrot]

Hello hello ophe 👋😇

Just gonna say hockey bro Gwen

That it’s that is the ask

But I have a question? If you mind answering I’m fine if you can’t answer it really 👽

Do you have any writing tips for an amateur fanfic writer? (Me😔) cause I have a hard time with characterization. Just tips on that would be great😊 but it’s kinda sad to see that some people think of Rice Krispies like that even though it has been tagged and all that 😔

But I wish you the best of luck ophe! 😎🥳

-Ass Stars anon

Hello hello, Ass Stars Anon! 👋😊

(Is it obvious that I know literally nothing about hockey?)

As for writing tips, I'm not exactly a qualified or professional author, but I'm more than happy to share some of the tips and tricks I use when it comes to characterisation.

Primarily, it's really important to understand three key aspects of the character you're writing; their habits, their motives, and their temperament.

When you're writing for a certain character, always consider not only what they're doing, but why they're doing it. You can have your characters do something entirely OOC if you can justify why they'd be doing it, either through circumstance or by utilizing the three key aspects.

For example, when Trent gets uncharacteristically aggressive towards Cody in "Up the Creek", it's still in character because it's motivated by his feelings for Gwen- Trent's already established as a bit of a hopeless romantic, so having him act irrationally due to his uncertainty over Gwen's returned feelings excuses his hostility (despite his usual laid-back nature). We see later, especially in Action, that Trent has a habit/tendency of acting irrationally when it comes to anything that threatens his love life.

Of course, habits can also refer to the little patterns and behaviours certain characters have; for example, Harold's continuous use of "Gosh!" is a habit of his- something that can be easily identified as a Harold Behaviour, and something super easy to add to his dialogue to keep it feeling in character.

Another good example of utilizing dialogue habits is (not to self promo here) how I write Alejandro's speech in my stories. Throughout the show itself, you'll rarely hear Alejandro use contractions and abbreviations (he'll say "we all" instead of "we'll", or "is it not?" instead of "isn't it?"), and his manner of speech is very formal (for a ~16 year old) both due to the fact that English is his second language and the fact that he's the son of a high profile diplomat. That's why, when I write for him, I make a point of keeping his written dialogue as contraction-free as possible.

I hope that my little tangent there helps at least somewhat!

And thank you for the concern! I think some people misconstrued what my intentions were with the RK fic, which is understandable given one of the primary concepts used in the fic is generally used in a sexual context (which is such a waste of a perfectly good plot device by the way! Honestly, I wish people would stop associating cool concepts with The Horny to the point where people trying to explore them as narrative devices are assumed to be creeps 😓) but the anon who initially accused me of unsavoury things has since apologised, so no harm no foul. Though my fic is properly tagged, I should've made it more apparent either in the summary or the author's notes that it isn't as, uh, 'distasteful' as some might assume.

I wish you the best of luck too! 😁

#this one's kind of all over the place huh? we've got doodles writing advice and fic discussion all in one condensed post #i'm not gonna use any main tags for this one in the interest of not clogging them up with my ramblings #ophe doodles #ophe rambling #ass stars anon #replies #rice krispies fic #⬅ (for blacklist purposes)

[andydrysdalerogers]

Undercover ~ Chapter Twelve ~ Her Royal Highness

Pairings: Jake Jensen and OFC Samantha Matthews

The Losers have made it back to their families and are out. Well, almost. A threat against the British crown needs to be handled and the CIA has tapped the Losers for one final mission. And they are sending in Jensen.

Jake Jensen hasn't been a civilian in years but now he's undercover to find out why his target is where he is and who he's after.

Enter Sam, someone who Jake doesn't expect and well, he didn't know he was looking for.

Can Jake handle his mission and falling in love? Especially when the truth leads to a bigger mission than expected?

*~* A Jake Jensen Story *~*

Author's note: this story continues after the events of the Losers. I may weave other characters into it but they are all minor. THE TAGLIST IS OPEN.

The playlist is available on Spotify.

cover photo by me! Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Warnings: angst, death, smut, and a bunch of stuff a can’t say because it gives away the plot!

Previous: Chapter Eleven ~ Separation Anxiety

Story Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Sam doesn’t usually wallow. Her life had been pretty good up until right now. Her parents loved her, she had good friends, a man who loved her, a steady job and a home all of her own.  The last two weeks had proven that complacency was dangerous.  As her father’s car pulled up to Kensington, Sam sighed, wiping a tear away at the thoughts of Jake not being with her.  When she stopped, her father exited and offered his hand to her. She accepted, as any princess would, and he led her into their family home.  

“Samantha, I’ve set up your room. It's Apartment 10, your own space as you are an adult now. We need to go over the plan for you and introduce you to your security. I’ve also taken the liberty of gathering some CVs for a secretary for you. And we need to go over the presentation to Parliament.”  

“Great,” Sam deadpanned.  

Her father sighed. “You could be more grateful.”  

“Grateful for what papa? For you taking me away from my home, away from the only place I really knew.  From the man I love?” Sam kept her composure.  “I was safe with Jake.”  

“You were shot at with him!” 

“And he took that bullet for me! Does that not make him worthy of me Father?” 

At the use of the formal title, Harold stiffened. Sam was rarely upset with him, even with how absent he was with her. His focus had been getting his son to take the throne and with that, his daughter had to be on her own. “Samantha...” 

“I’m Sam. That’s how I want to be addressed.  I will only be here long enough for the heir to the throne be born before I am no longer necessary.”  

“Samantha...Sam please, don’t be like this.  You know your brother had no choice.”  

“My brother hates me.  He blames me for his mother dying.  I wasn’t even in the picture and yet its all my fault. I am here because YOU want me here, not Tony. I will do my duty to you and then I am gone.  I have no desire to be a part of his court nor his family.”  Sam turned around and stomped away, aware of her petulance.  Once a steward took her to her apartment, she opened the door and took a look around.  Like everything else in Kensington, the designs were dated and royal. Too much gold inlay for her liking. Her bag had been brought up and she moved to unpack it.  

On top were three photos, one of her mother, one of Bowie and one of Jake and herself during Christmas.  She clutched the photo and laid in bed, sobbing for her lost love.  

Jake watched from the two way mirror. John Fitzgerald. He looked beat down and ragged from his run-in with the Embassy guards. He sat there with a smug look however, and it made Jake crazy.  This bastard started a turn of events that caused the love of his life to be taken from him.  He needed to get answers so he could fight for her.  Clay entered the room.  

“Fitz, long time.”  

“Not long enough,” Fitzgerald replied. “Would have though you would have retired after Colombia.”  

“Which Colombia, the first, second or third time?”  Clay took a seat across from the man.  “Either way, I still got out and you are still captured.”  

John snarled at him. “I would have taken what I needed if it hadn’t been for your boy.”  

“Right, Samantha.” Clay opened the file he had brought in with him.  “Otherwise known as Her Royal Highness, the Dutchess of Manchester.  Funny, you would think that they wouldn’t have titled her if she was a secret, but the best kept secrets are the ones right in front of you.”  

John swallowed. “I knew she was special,” he replied, without the cockiness he had prior.  

“You knew she was special,” Clay repeated. He studied John for a moment.  “You knew she was special, but you did not know she was titled, did you?” 

“Of course, I did.”  

“No, I don’t think so.  See, you searched for the Duchy of Manchester on a tip from someone who knew that she was it but didn’t tell you why. My bet is on the fact that the money led you there.  The Duchy was paying someone but the transactions when to an unnamed account and that’s where you got lost.”  

John fidgeted in his seat. “No.”  

“Liar. You don’t have to answer but I have a feeling you’ll give yourself away Fitzy.  Someone in the royal family or in the opposition is bankrolling you.” No answer. “And it’s someone who either wants the crown or wants the line to die and start a revolution.”  

“You’ll never know Clay.  Maybe I just wanted that sweet piece of ass to be mine. Maybe I just wanted to bend her over my desk and fuck the shit out of her because she looks just that good...”  

The door flew open and Jake came in the room and hit John in the jaw, toppling him from his seat. “Don’t say another word about her like that, you fucker.”  

The guards helped John back into his seat, his bloody smile looking back at Jake and Clay. “Nice shot. Doesn’t help your cause though. I mean the princess is just one piece of the puzzle. My homeland has always needed better leadership and they gave birth to it 50 years ago. We’re just strong enough to take it now.”  

“What did you just say?” Jake looked at him. “Birthed new leadership?” Jake ran through all of his research. “Son of a bitch. I know who his backer is.”  He turned to Clay, “do we have his computer?”  

“Yeah, everything from his house and … where are you going?” He chased Jake out of the room with Fitzgerald spitting and swearing at his idiocy.  

A few days later, Sam was being fitted with her gown for her presentation.  She stood still as the royal seamstresses flited around her, pinning the royal blue material in place.  As she sighed for the hundredth time, her father and brother walked in. “Can I help you?” 

“Sam, enough,” her father said.  “Ladies, will you help her Royal Highness out of the gown?  We need to speak to her in private.”  All of the ladies bowed and took Sam behind a screen and out of the dress. She popped back in her jeans and the Petunias shirt she had stolen from Jake.  

“Could you look any more American?” her brother scoffed.  

“Could you be any more of a pompous prick?” Sam countered, sitting on the armchair farthest from him.  

“Alright, that is enough,” her father said, stopping the insults before they became worse.  “Princess, we need to talk about the future. Your role within the Monarchy, your security and future plans.”  

Sam looked alarmed. “Plans? Like what?” 

“Like getting you to meet people,” Anthony said. “With the right company escorting you, of course.”  

“Right company?” 

Her father looked uncomfortable for the first time in her life.  “I’ve arranged for you to be escorted by the Earl of Stratham.”  

“Earl of Stratham? Peter Cambridge?” Sam had remembered the boy from her visits when she was younger. Ten years her senior, she was surprise to hear that he was still single. And then it dawned on her. “No.”  

“Samantha...” 

“No, I refuse. I am a woman in love. I will find my way back to him Father.”  

“Samantha be realistic,” Anthony said with an eye roll.  “You are the Princess of England not some American tartlet having an affair with a GI Joe. He is not of your station.”  

“So what? He is a good man who took care of me.  Who loves me. I would rather be locked up in a tower than give him up.”  

Anthony stands. “I am ordering you to present yourself to Parliament when it is time.  The Earl of Stratham will be by your side. We will announce your engagement to him in a few months after you have acclimated back to being a good Englishwoman and Princess of this royal house.”  

Sam’s face shatters as she runs from the room. Harold turned to his son. “Did you really feel that is necessary? She hasn’t been brought to be royal. And once you and Marie have children...” 

“I can’t wait to have a successor in place. You know Edward would jump on the chance to become King or have one of his children take over. We can’t allow that to happen.”  

Harold looked to where he could hear his daughter’s cries. “I know. But to take away her first love like this is cruel.”  

“He’s American, Papa.  She needs to get over it. She almost died with him and his team.  This is the best solution. Jacob Jensen is not good enough for our Princess.”  Anthony started to walk out the door. “She is our best hope to preserve our line until I produce my own heir.”  

“I hope you realize that by doing this, you are essentially cutting off any chance of getting to know and love your sister. It is not her fault that your mother left.”  

“She may not be the reason, but she had the chance at the normal life that I was never given. I’m sorry she is hurting but as head of this house, my decision is final.” He walked out without a backwards glance.  

Harold headed in to see his daughter. He found her in bed, chest heaving as she cried. “Oh, princess.”  

“I hate you,” she replied.  “I hate both of you.” Sam looked at her father squared. “I will not marry that man. I will not give up Jake. I’d rather abdicate and be a poor woman in love than a rich woman without. Get out of my room.”  

“Samantha...” 

“I said get out! You know no love for your daughter when you allow your son to do this to me.”  Sam moved into her bathroom and locked the door.  She sank to the floor and cried.  “Jake, please, come get me.”  

Jake had been working on the computers for the better part of a week.  The encryption was something to be admired and, in another lifetime, Jake would have appreciated it.  But now, it was nothing more than the bain of his existence.  He needed the information on it. Proof of his theory of who was after his Princess.  

“How’s it going Jake?” Aisha asked gently, setting a cup of coffee next to him.  

“Thanks,” he took a sip. “I’m almost there. I’d be impressed by this if it wasn’t pissing me off.”  

“Have you taken a break?” She looked at him with concern when he shook his head no. “Jake, you are going to burn yourself out and be no good to Sam when she needs you.”  

“I need to find this. I need her to feel free and not trapped.”  

“Jake! Man, have you seen this?” Pooch ran in, holding a tablet.  

“I haven’t looked at anything but this and my photo of Sam. What is it?” He took the table from his hand.  

PARLIAMENT CALLED INTO SESSION EARLY ~ANNOUCEMENT TO BE MADE BY HIS MAJESTY 

“Shit.” Jake reads the article. “The session is being called tomorrow.”  

“They are going to present her, aren’t they?” Aisha asks.  

“Yeah, I think they are. Fuck, I need to crack this shit.” Jake sat back down at the computer as Pooch kept reading.  

“Says here that the Earl of Strat... Strut... Stat... shit what is this word?” He showed Aisha.  

“Statham.” She took the tablet. “Says that he has begun courting and that its serious, but they don’t name the woman. Just that she is close to the crown...” she trails off.  

Jake stops typing, holding still.  He slowly looks at Aisha and Pooch. “You don’t think...” 

“It could be anyone Jake.”  

“She wouldn’t do this to me, would she?” 

“No, of course no. Jake,” Pooch grabs his shoulders, “Jake, look at me. She loves you. She was devastated at having to be pulled from you. This has to be her family not her.”  

“She’s mine,” he whispers.  “I have to fix this.”  He taps on the keyboard again before grabbing his mug of coffee and launching it at the wall. “Fuck! I just want to talk to her. To let her know I’m still here.”  He dropped his head into his hands.  

“You can,” Pooch says.  

“What?” Jake looked at him. “She lost her phone. I don’t...” 

“I slipped one into her bag.” Pooch shrugged. “To track her just in case.” Jake jumped up and hugged Pooch hard. “Get off me man.  

“Can’t do that Poochy. Gimme.”  

Pooch laughed and handed him the phone.  “Its encrypted and hopefully still charged.”  

Jake selected the contact and let it ring.  

Sam heard the ringing, but she couldn’t figure out where it came from. Her phone had been lost in the race to safety and she didn’t want to use the in house phone in case anyone was listening.  She went to the closet and the ringing got louder.  She searched the bag she had brought from home and found a phone.  She answered the unknown number. “Hello?” 

“Princess.” 

“Jake? JJ? Is that you?” 

“Sam, oh god its you.”  

“Jakey,” she cried. “I miss you so much”.  

“I miss you too Princess.  How are you?” 

“Tired and scared. Frustrated with my family. Jake, when are you coming?” 

“As soon as I can, love. We almost have it.”  Jake swallowed. “I heard you’re being presented tomorrow.”  

“Yeah,” she said softly. “I hate it. The dress is itchy and my crown is heavy. Would rather stay in your Petunias shirt.”  

“Hey, you have my shirt,” Jake said, making Sam giggle.  “That’s my favorite sound baby. We got a couple of articles about life in England.”  

“I bet.”  

“Are they making you date someone else?” Jake listened as Sam sniffled on the phone.  “Oh.”  

“I don’t want to Jake, I promise. I told them I am in love with you, and I would rather be locked up than let you go.  I promise JJ, I only want you.”  

“I thought that’s what you would say Sam. Fuck, I miss you in my arms.”  

“I want to be there with you.”  

“I’ll find a way Sam I promise. Your knight.”  

“I love you Jakey.”  

“I love you Sammy. I’ll call again tomorrow, ok?” 

“Ok. Bye.” 

Jake hung up, feeling better about the situation.  As he took a moment, the computer binged.  He looked down.  “Son of a bitch, I knew it.”  He took the computer to Clay. “We need to get to Fowler and Hart.”  

Clay read over the details.  “Hot damm Jensen, good work.  Let’s go rescue your girl.” 

Sam was primed and primped to within an inch of her life.  Her royal blue gown was heavy and uncomfortable.  The pins holding her hair were stabbing her skull.  But she waited in the receiving room until her brother called her forward.  She sat, wishing she was in Jake’s lap, cuddling with him.  

“Well, I see our prodigal princess has returned.”  Sam looked up to see her Uncle Edward.  

“Uncle, how nice to see you.”  

“You look well my dear.” Edward appraised her. “For being raised as an American.”  

“It is always a pleasure to see you Uncle. Excuse me.” Sam walked away with a shudder.  She really hated that man.  As she walked, she bumped into another body. “I’m so sorry.”  

“The error is mine, Your Royal Highness.” Sam looked up to see a handsome man with dark brown hair and blue eyes.  

“No, I wasn’t looking where I was going.  Sorry. I’m Sam.”  

The man chuckled.  “Yes, I know. Peter. Peter Cambridge.” He offered his hand and Sam took it. He raised her hand to place a kiss on the knuckles. “It's nice to see you again.” 

“Thank you, Your Grace.” Sam blushed. Her secretary interrupted.  

“Your Royal Highness, Your Grace, it is time for the presentation.”  

“Shall we?” Peter offered his arm and Sam placed her hand. There was nothing she could do to stop this now, so she conformed until the time was right.  

Peter escorted her down the aisle to the front of Parliament. Her father and brother stood on either side. Once they reached the end, Anthony took her hand and walked her to the center.  

“Ladies and Gentlemen, please allow me to present my sister, Samantha Marie Elizabeth Matthews – Davenport, the Duchess of Manchester and heir to the throne of England.”  

There was silence in the room before the clapping started.  As cameras flashes in their face, Sam noticed an odd look in her uncle’s face.  She went to point it out when the room when black, screams heard, and chaos ensued. Once the light returned and the smoke from the flash bangs dissipated, Harold checked on his children.  “Anthony are you ok?” 

“I’m ok,” he said coughing.  

“Sam?” Nothing but silence. “Samantha?” 

Her Royal Highness was gone. 

NEXT

Taglist:

@patzammit

@texmexdarling

@slutforchrisjamalevans

@firephotogrl74

@tinkerbelle67

@before-we-get-started

@bunnyforhim

@alexakeyloveloki

@sunnyhummingbee

@whiskeytangofoxtrot555

@peaceinourtime82

@saucy-sassy-sparkly

@kmc1989

@kandis-mom

@lokislady82

#andy's shenanigans #andy's hea #chris evans #chris evans fanfiction #Jake jensen #jake jensen smut #jake jensen fic #the losers #the losers au #chris evans fic #ofc Samantha matthews #British royalty au #Jake jensen au #Jake jensen x Samantha matthews #undercover

[the-hovel-of-a-nerdy-rabbit]

Welcome to PokéOmens! Gym Leader 1: Azira Fell

I'm SUPER happy to start off this little Pokémon AU I created with my partner's help. Each gym leader and Pokémon team are crafted with inspiration from the show as well as some small head cannons we enjoyed or came up with. I'm only drawing 6 of the 18 gym leaders (you probably know which 6 I'm thinking of). If I have time, I'll draw a couple more, but keep in mind that there are 18 types and I'm very slow with my process. If someone would like to draw some of the leaders I don't get to, by all means do it. I'll post a list of all of the gym leaders and their teams after the I post the sixth leader.

Now that's out of the way, let's talk about Mr. Fell!

When I initially brought up the idea of this to my boyfriend, I IMMEDIATELY said that Aziraphale would be a fairy type trainer. If you were to glance at all of the fairy type Pokémon, the majority of them would give off "soft" energy. Not to mention, the fairy typing gives off an air of magic, which of course works with Mr. Fell.

Most days, he would be a humble book seller, but once a month, he performs his duty as a gym leader...well, after he gives his breath-taking performance with his wonderous team. His lovely outfit (which is of course based on his magician outfit in S2E4) was crafted by himself, yet the choice of making his suit purple (even though he wasn't a fan of the color) was from an old friend of his, thinking the purple would be a flattering color considering he made the vest and cape before having a single idea for the suit.

Meet Mr. Fell's lovely assistants!

Lucky the Sylveon - He was the first Pokémon Azira ever received. When he was found as an Eevee, his trainer noticed that he had a large tear on his right ear that didn't heal properly, so Azira tied a small bow to hopefully mend it. However, instead of later taking it off, the young Lucky kept it as a gift from his trainer, which inspired Azira to match with his Eevee when performing. He's often playful and brings most of whoever he is in contact with good luck (hence the name).

Harry the Azumarill - As the second oldest, Harry brings a slight maturity to the group...just kidding, she's just as rambunctious as Lucky with just a bit more bounce and sass. If you are wondering, Harry is short for Harriet (and wasn't short for Harold. Azira definitely noticed she was a girl when he first met her.)

Reginald the Gardevoir - For a creature called the Embrace Pokémon, he isn't exactly touchy-feely. Coming into the team as a Kirlia, Reginald was very to himself until he started performing in the magic shows. As corny as his trainer is, he does care for him...until Azira tries to saw him in half.

Pear the Alcremie - She isn't much of a performing Pokémon anymore. She used to when she was a Milcrey, but after she evolved, she kind of mellowed out and became a bit sluggish. Azira didn't mind though. He needed a 'biscuits and tea' kind of companion on slow days at the shop (which is every day).

Bo the Floette - Considered the youngest of the team, Bo brings an air of wonder and naivete to each performance. This petite Pokémon often gravitates to the tallest of the group as a mentor, much to his "displeasure".

Arthur the Klefki - 'A ball of panic' is an accurate description for this poor thing. His trainer doesn't remember how he came to be. Was he a gift? Did he catch him? Who knows. All Azira has to know is that his little buddy has his back and keeps him from straying his schedule...and remembers his keys.

Thank you if you made it through the post! I'll post the next trainer sometime next week. If you have any questions as to what my thought process was for most of this, feel free to ask.

Have a great day today!

#god I posted this a day late #sorry i had was drained from life #pokéomens #good omens #crossover #pokemon #neil gaiman #good omens season 2 #aziraphale #good omens fandom #gomens #go2 #good omens fanart #go fanart #aziraphale fanart #fairy pokemon #gardevoir #sylveon #azumarill #floette #alcremie #klefki

[ozimagines]

The theater kid in me is about to come out in a way only an English professor could appreciate but

kirk whatshisname always plays minor roles in other shows, a few episodes on The Walking Dead and that one time on White Collar. Both times my man was a grade-A ASSHOLE. My boo thing was stone cold and also??? His voice is so deep like. damn.

He’s almost always an asshole and I love than bc Miguel is just the kindest soul ever. His eyes are so kind I’m 99% sure that makes sense. His accent is so soft and he’s so soft and he’s my lil guy okay leave my man alone

It’s such a drastic contrast and I think it’s proof his actor is just. mwah. Perfection.

also I started watching OZ when I was 14 and my parents told me I couldn’t bc there were penises so being the good child I was I finished s3 within the next week. Now whenever I talk abt it I always say “but I only watched one eps, ofc” and they know I’ve watched the whole thing it’s just so funny to pretend I didn’t.

I’m 16 btw. I regret nothing and everything(good lord there were pee pees everywhere what the fart)

LOL I’m gonna address every part of this but can I just say thank you for making me smile this early in the morning!

First of all, no one ever has to apologize for going full theatre kid on my page. I am, as Funky Frog Bait calls it, “theatre kid syndrome gone terminal”😂.

Second, Kirk Acevedo was the whole reason I watched Oz. I watched Band of Brothers first and fell in love with him as Joe Toye. I searched his IMDB page and this came up. Didn’t think much of it; just wanted to see him. Then I saw Harold Perrineau! And I was like Michael, from Lost! Then I saw Ernie Hudson! And J.K. Simmons! And Dean Winters! And B.D. Wong, Rita Moreno, Adewale Akinnuoye-Agbaje, and so many others. Just a star studded cast. (To say nothing of Luke Perry, Luis Guzman, David Zayas and so on). Then I found people on Oz. Otto Sanchez, Lee Tergeson, Terry Kinney, Eamonn Walker, and others! (I know they were all known but still they were new to me!) Every character feels so real.

Im reminded of a story Kirk Acevedo told about his daughter. He said he was watching TV with her when she asked him why the heroes on TV never looked like them. He told himself he’d play hero characters when he could… even though he admits the villains are fun to play.😂 Love him. Even though Miguel Alvarez is far from your typical hero, he’s not your typical gang banger either. He’s complex. And you’re right, with very kind eyes. Wish he got a better ending. But hey, that’s why fanfiction writers are here!😂

My parents monitored everything I watched until I turned 18. I remember, four months after my eighteenth birthday, I had decided I wanted to watch Oz and I made a whole proposal to my parents about why I should watch the show. (Think Turning Red when she tries to get her parents to let her go to the 4 Town concert🤣). I finished my proposal and my mom was like… “you’re 18 , do what you want, lol”. So it was actually the first show I watched as an adult. That was about six years ago. I’ve been a fan ever since.

Just some fun set and off set pics of our favorite guys❤️❤️❤️

#hbo oz #oz meme #miguel alvarez #Kirk Acevedo #kirkkkkkk my guy #much love for this show #would reccomend #even with all the pee pees lol #(especially because of all the pee pees)

[natalynsie]

Candy (Noco Oneshot)

Cody’s afternoons consisted of normal teenage things. Playing video games, doing homework, and thinking about Gwen.

So, a usual Thursday afternoon, Cody was laying in bed, watching a youtube video but not fully paying attention, and thinking about Gwen.

He thought about how she looked today in Spanish, and the things she said, all the typical stupid delusional teenage boy things that consumed Cody’s life.

Yeah. By this point, Cody knew he had no shot with Gwen. He stopped flirting with her for the most part. And they were chill as friends. Well, more like acquaintances. Either way, he stopped all of that because at this point he knew he was being annoying. But that didn’t stop him from thinking about her.

Cody yawned and turned off his phone.

Spanish was great. Cody loved sitting behind Gwen. When the teacher wasn’t being a stickler, Cody had a good time talking to Trent, Gwen, and Noah. And he did. And Gwen looked so good. She put her hair up in a half-up-half-down and she couldn’t have looked cuter. Cody was 79% sure she caught him staring.

Cody rubbed his eyes, adjusting his pillow.

Noah looked pretty cute too. He wore jeans today, and this cute little button-up shirt. Cody wondered why Noah had dressed so nicely these past few weeks. Whatever it was, Cody was not complaining. He didn’t mind a little eye candy.

In English that morning, they played grammar games. It was table versus table, and the winners each round got candy. If that wasn’t a motivator, Cody didn’t know what was.

Unfortunately, the rest of the class thought the same way.

“The second sentence should have a comma. You need to move you’re in the way. should have a comma between move and you’re. Congratulations to Eva’s table.”

Eva smirked at Cody and his table.

Ms. Brown walked to Eva’s table with a bowl of candy.

“Thank you Ms. Brown,” Harold said dryly. Leshawna, Ezekiel, and Eva just responded by taking their candy.

“You won this time Eva, but we will be victorious!” Izzy exclaimed.

“Calm down Izzy,” Noah suggested.

Izzy shook her head at Eva before returning her eyes to her own table with Noah and Cody.

“We gotta step up our game, guys,” Cody heard Courtney say from another table with Duncan and Alejandro. Cody turned his attention to Trent’s table, but it seemed he, Tyler, and Justin weren’t really interested. The other two tables did seem in-the-game, though.

“Okay, gameplan,” Noah began. “Me and Izzy do the work. Cody checks us over if we get our paper returned. Owen gives the paper to Ms. Brown when we tell him to because he sits the closest. Ready?”

“Wow, Noah. I didn’t know you liked candy that much,” Izzy expressed.

“Yeah, I thought you weren’t big on sweets,” Owen confessed.

“I’m just competitive,” Noah stated.

“No, you aren’t,” Cody replied. “You’re in my gym class. I’ve never even seen you touch a dodgeball.”

Noah crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair. He took a quick glance at Cody before looking away. “I’m just into the game.”

“Ohhh,” Owen smiled. “I get it.”

“Get what?” Cody asked.

Owen laughed. “Nothing.”

Cody remained confused, but brushed it off. “Well I’m glad you’re doing whatever you’re doing, because I love candy.”

“We know,” Noah stated.

“I didn’t,” Izzy told the group.

Ms. Brown handed out the new papers. “Three, two, one, turn your papers over.”

Papers all around the room were immediately turned over.

Cody watched as Izzy and Noah stared at the paper, analyzing every word.

"Capital," Noah deadpanned, scratching the paper with his pencil.

Izzy made some changes all well before Noah handed the paper to Owen.

Owen charged for the teacher's desk, but unfortunately he came back with the paper. "We got the first 3 right but we're missing something."

"Cody," Noah said, shortly.

Cody nodded and immediately took the paper. "You forgot punctuation here," Cody pointed to a spot that read "I asked for a ham sandwich" he said. "Wait. Comma or period?"

"Comma," Noah answered quickly. "Dialogue with dialogue tags after it always has a comma instead of a period."

Cody quickly added a comma and handed the paper back to Owen.

After skimming two other papers Ms. Brown took Owen's.

"Good job. Owen's team wins this round."

Ms. Brown explained why Noah's team won, a few groans at simple mistakes were heard around the room.

Ms. Brown took the candy bowl and let the group each take a piece.

Cody quickly grabbed a green apple jolly rancher and popped it in his mouth.

"I can't believe you like green apple," Noah stated, twirling his snickers bar between his middle and pointer finger.

"It's the best flavor, no questions asked," Cody responded.

Noah rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Want my chocolate?"

"Really?"

"I wouldn't say it if I wasn't offering."

"Okay. Sure." Cody took Noah's snickers, smiling widely.

Noah smiled back.

Cody sat up in bed. He looked at the clock for a moment before staring back at his wall.

When the hell did I start thinking about Noah?

How did he get from Gwen to Noah? He was just thinking about how beautiful Gwen looked and all the things she did today and then he started thinking how beautiful Noah looked and all the things he did today.

And Noah looked so beautiful today.

Why was Cody thinking about how beautiful his friend was?

"Fuck," Cody whispered. "I like him"

Cody laid back down. He liked him. He liked Noah. Of all people.

And why? Because he wore a goddamn button-up shirt and gave him a candy bar in English. Izzy really was right when she said his type was girls who are mean to him and boys who are nice to him.

Cody did not need to like a boy. That was not something he needed to do. Especially with his parents.

Well to look on the bright side, maybe this would help him get over Gwen. Hopefully. But he hoped it wouldn't give him another useless unrequited crush.

Either way, this was a problem for morning Cody.

#fanfiction #fanfic #oneshot #cody x noah #codyxnoah #high school #high school au #noah x cody #noahxcody #td #total drama #td cody #td noah #td gwen #td izzy #td owen #natie fics #natie wawanakwa high school fics

[adaineabernantsfrog]

Sweet Satine

BASED ON @romeoandjulietyouwish 's BROADWAY AU. THIS STARTED AS SOMETHIGN SMALL.

Keyleth had never felt like she was more unsuited to a role than fucking Satine, of all of them she had ever played this one was so far out of her comfort zone. It’s not like she was doing it alone, though. Percy was Christian and Gilmore was Harold, and Vax was Toulouse, which made Nature Boy a lot more emotional. She had Vex as well, with a scene in the show where their two characters described each other as ‘sisters’ in. And she couldn’t fucking breathe. She was gasping for air through her warm-ups and her rehearsal today, and was sure Percy had noticed it. The door opened and in rushed Gilmore, who had his hands around her waist in the next second. Thank god her entrance was not until 15 minutes in. 

“Gilmore, hack,” She said, curling into him. 

“I know they talk about method acting, but this is too much darling. You need sleep.” Keyleth shook her head, but still curled closer into Gilmore. “I’ll make you some tea, yes?” She nodded, “Save your voice, no talking until you’re out on that stage. If you’re still bad at the end of act 1, you’re leaving.” Keyleth could do nothing but nod, and hack above her dressing table. “Oh dear, your lipstick has smudged. Here.” Gilmore took a make-up wipe and gently reapplied it. “Let’s go.” 

From the stage, Keyleth could hear Vax beginning his song. 

“I’ve never seen a diamond in the flesh.”

~

Keyleth had always been afraid of heights. She coughed gently into her elbow and looked at the swing in front of her, sitting down. It was, arguably, the best entrance in the show. If she could hold off her coughs for a little while, she could get through it. Her legs swung and she felt herself lower. Hundreds of people were expecting the diamond. She could show them Keyleth. 

“Diamonds are forever,” She began, letting go of the grip of one of the handles, she continued the song as her feet landed on the ground, and if slightly less effort was put into the notes so she could do Crazy Rolling extremely well later? That was a secret only she got to know. She was, mostly, fine. 

~

Something was wrong with Keyleth. Vex didn’t know her as well as her brother did, but she could still tell something was off. There were too many well-placed coughs in the show where there weren't before, and it took a little extra effort to pull her off the floor during Sparkling Diamond. “Vax.” She said, backstage. A risk she was willing to take, because the audience may have been able to see her. 

“What on earth are you doing, Stubby?” He asked, voice barely above a whisper. 

“Something’s wrong with Keyleth.” Vex said. “I can see it when I get behind her. She’s slightly weaker.” 

“Oh no the exits not a good…” Vax, in his panic, looked back to his sister, who was already gone before she could elaborate and he was making his entrance. He was supposed to look at Keyleth, Satine, anyway, and when he did there was no way she wasn’t ill. “Idea.” Even under the thick stage make-up, he could see dark circles under her eyes. When the three boys went away to argue, she coughed into her arm. 

~

The second the curtain fell on act 1, Keyleth collapsed into Percy’s arms and started coughing a little too violently. Percy held onto her as she coughed and prayed nobody in the audience could hear her. Method Acting was going a step too far with Keyleth tonight.

“Keeks.” He said. “Are you sure you can keep going?” Keyleth coughed some more in response and looked up at him. She was panting for breath. “Actually, don't talk. Come on, let’s get you sat down.” She leaned on Percy all the way to her dressing room, where she sat down on her chair and had a blanket draped over her shoulders and handed her a notebook and pen. Vax came in immediately after that, still in costume, closely followed by Vex. 

“I think you should go home.” Vax said, “When does Pike’s show finish? Maybe she can take you home.” Vax was always like this when any member of the group got sick. “Vex can go on for you.” Keyleth began to scrawl in the notebook. 

I’m fine. She coughed off to the side again, Check my temp. Percy raised an eyebrow. 

“If it’s raised too high, you’re leaving.” He said, “We’re calling Cass.” It always looked strange seeing Vex with the blonde Nini wig on, Keyleth thought. Not many people knew that her natural hair colour was a deep, dark brown. She nodded at Percy, who went to fetch the kit, and Vax bent down next to her.

“What’s wrong, love?” Keyleth touched her throat. “Voice hurts?” She nodded, “Want me to go on for you?” She tried not to laugh, and spotted Gilmore in the doorway. She waved him and Scanlan in. “What, I have great sexual tension with Shaun and Freddie.” 

“No doing well then, Dove?” Gilmore asked, and Keyleth nodded. Vax had launched into an intentionally bad rendition of Firework. “Vocal rest would be the best thing for you.” 

“Want me to call Kaylie?” Scanlan asked. “She could get here in ten minutes.” Keyleth rolled her eyes and wrote something in her notebook. 

I don’t want to delay the show. Vax was still doing his bad rendition, but he was doing the choreography to Chandelier with it. It made a complete mess of the song, but Keyleth was smiling. Percy and Vex returned with the thermometer, and Keyleth allowed the momentary discomfort of it being shoved in her ear before it beeped and Percy read the temperature. 

“It’s fine.” Vex said. “But-”

“No buts.” Keyleth croaked out. “If it was fine. I could stay.”

“You sound like you’re dying.” Scanlan pointed out. 

“Method acting.” Keyleth shot back. 

“Sing for me.” Gilmore said, and because Keyleth could not hold her tongue, she launched into Christine’s run from Phantom of The Opera. It sounded fine. It wasn’t going to get her any crazy standing ovations, but it sounded fine. “Well. No more talking until you’re on that stage, yes?” Keyleth nodded again. One by one, they filed out of the room until it was just Keyleth and Vax. 

Vax leaned down and kissed her on the forehead, and then he was gone too. 

~

“You need a doctor, Ke- Satine.” Vex (as Nini) insisted after almost messing up the line and during the scene that Nini and Satine shared after Satine had revealed her illness to the other members of Moulin Rouge. She had to notice that Keyleth’s breath caught in her throat, which only made her cough more. Vex was by her side in a second. 

“I am fine, Nini.” Keyleth said, “I will open the new show and- hack.” That wasn’t in the script. Keyleth could not stop coughing. Whatever she did next had to be in somewhat character until they could get the show back running, but her chest was so tight and the coughs were so violent and she didn’t know whether her microphone was on or off. 

“Deep breaths, love.” Vex said, so close to her character Keyleth could not tell whether she was faking, “Harold will understand.” Vex found the pocket of her costume where they kept the tissue, and handed it to Keyleth. 

“Nini- I can’t breathe.” Keyleth said, falling over and into Vex. Vex, in all her good grace, picked her up and carried her off stage. People were talking all around her and she was vaguely aware of orders being yelled by the stage manager and an announcement of a brief show stop. 

“Vex, go get on for Satine, Vax-” 

“I’m staying with Kiki.”

“I know. I’m telling you to make the both of you sparse so we can use this area for make up.” Keyleth was aware of strong hands by her side and Vax gently lifting her up and towards her dressing room. She didn’t have a car and neither did he, so they’d have to get the subway back to Keyleth and Pike’s tiny apartment, unless they signalled a cab. 

~ Keyleth woke up the next morning to a post from Moulin Rouge’s official twitter account and more replies under it than was natural. Vax was asleep on the floor next to her as she scrolled through the replies. Percy had once called this ‘doom scrolling’, but she couldn’t help herself. 

@MoulinRougeBway: For the remainder of tonight's performance, Satine will be played by Vex’ahlia De Rolo and Toulouse-Lautrec will be played by Kynan Leore. We thank you for your patience. 

It was calm, it was reasonable, it was professional, it was everything that the official account for their job should be. The responses were always rough to get through, but Keyleth did it anyway. 

@BellaSmith: WTF?? Came all this way to see Keyleth and she can’t even do the show. 

@NCDR: Calm down Bella. 

@Cheffery: Wishing you all the best Keyleth! So lucky to get to see yours and Vex’s Satine in one night…You both bring something good to the role. 

@Strongjaw: Get well soon Kiki!!!!

Her phone was covered by a hand and pulled out of her grasp by Vax, who had woken up.

“How’re you doing?” He asked, and she hadn't tried speaking yet. “We need to get you to a doctor, yeah? Satine is emotionally and vocally demanding. I know you don’t want to think about it but better safe than sorry, yeah?” 

“Vax-” Keyleth’s voice was still cracking at every single chance it got. “-Fine. I’ll go see a doctor.” Vax kissed her on the forehead again. 

“I love you. Please don’t kiss me, I don’t wanna get sick.”

#vaxleth #legend of vox machina #vox machina #keyleth of the air ashari #vax'ildan #vex'ahlia #percy de rolo #will this make very little sense unless youve seen moulin rouge #yes #did i have fun with it

[kinderartifact4]

First post on my Magic AU! Someone was interested in it, so, before I start on answering that ask I thought I’d post the species I’ve assigned to the characters for now. Just the hosts, gen 1 cast, and Emma & Kitty for now. Quite a few of them don’t have additional info because I couldn’t think of anything significant.

Questions? Comments? Concerns?

-

-

-

Chris & Chef- Humans

+Chris still hosts TD

+They’re both pretty much the exact same

+Chris is a little bit nicer though

Blaineley- Human

Don- Human

Josh- Human

Noah- Angel

+Burrowing Owl Wings

+Mage (very skilled in magic)

+Telekinetic

+Dated Cody after WT, but he broke it off due to religious backlash.

+He knows how to speak demon

Cody- Ajror Demon

+Blue Jay Wings

+Genetic magic, like all demons

+Deathly afraid of Driders, specifically the giant variety, so Phobia Factor definitely plays out differently for him

+He got the Cone of Shame during World Tour

+The whole “mauled by a bear” thing happens a bit differently; that bear was also fighting for it’s life, it was an equal opportunity mauling

+Tried so hard to court Noah during action and WT, but he didn’t do so well because he tried to be somewhat subtle this time around but Noah didn’t know what demon courting customs looked like so it flew right over his head.

+Cody was the one who kickstarted the revolution that lead to the war.

+His mother’s side of the family is Ajror nobility, so by default Cody is also nobility.

Emma & Kitty- Angels

+Magpie Wings

+Emma knows how to use a sword

+Kitty knows basic healing magic

+Emma and Jake’s break up played out differently in this AU

+To put it short, he was a specist prick who made it very clear he thought Emma looked better without her wings (for context, an Angel without their wings looks exactly like a human)

+Emma definitely still had her own flaws, but still

Eva- Satyr

Izzy- Halfbreed

+3/4 Demon, 1/4 Naga

+Tokë Demon(plant variety)

+One thing she got from being part Naga is her sense of smell; she can track people kinda like a bloodhound

Heather- Drider

+Magical knowledge is limited to making herself look more human

+Glamour magic, if you will

+Wild-Born

+She basically domesticated herself

+Type of venom is non-lethal, aka paralyzing

+She HAD siblings when she was little

Alejandro- Human

+Doesn’t have magic during the show, but discovers he has a magic ability known as “leeching” during the war

Sierra- Human

Duncan- Neko

+Lives up to his species ‘thief’ stereotype

+Really good at what he does too

Gwen- Naga

+Wild-Born

+Still claustrophobic, which is ironic because wild nagas typically live in burrows

+Uses glamour magic to make herself look more human

Owen- Naga

+Not Wild-Born

+Uses glamour magic

Trent- Mer

+Siren subspecies

+Uses magic through singing, but can also channel it through instruments

Bridgette- Mer

Justin- Elf

Ezekiel- Harpy

+Nobody likes him that much because of how his species is viewed, Noah especially

+Tries too hard to show he’s nothing like how his kind is depicted

DJ- Human

Courtney- Human

Leshawna- Human

Geoff- Human

Harold- Human

+No magic, typical human

+However he knows a lot about the other species customs and cultures and such

Tyler- Satyr

Lindsay- Faun

Beth- Human

Katie- Demon or Mer

Sadie- Demon or Mer

(Sadie and Katie will be updated when I make up my mind, any help with that would be appreciated)

#tdi #total drama #total drama au #total drama island #td au #td chris #td chef #td blaineley #td don #td noah #td cody #tdrr emma #td kitty #td eva #td izzy #td heather #td alejandro #td sierra #td duncan #td gwen #td owen #td trent #td bridgette #td justin #td ezekiel #td dj #td harold #td tyler #td courtney #Magic ✨ AU