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h0unds-of-h3ll · 2 years

Text

The reporter

You’re a journalist in the 50s. You were fortunate enough to have known the king. However, you were not wise enough to not be swayed by his temptations.

Elvis Presley x Virgin! Reader smut.

Word count: 9k

Viewers beware you’re in for a scare with the: angst, language, explicit content, making out, groping, dirty talk, corruption kink, innocence kink, daddy kink, spanking, choking, unprotected sex, hickeys, talk of breeding kink, biting, dry humping, voyeur kink, fingering.

A/n: I’m not going to defend myself for writing this. It is written for Elvis but can be imagined with Austin’s! Also I made all of this up it’s fiction!

You’re walking into a venue. The venue was a high-end joint that had people bursting out from the seams. People of all different backgrounds. Kingpins to teens who snuck their way in. Elvis had really outdone himself with this one. The last time you had seen the showman was back in ‘54, at the Louisiana Hayride.

He was just a growing kid at that point, nineteen in a pink suit who was scared out of his mind. His huge aspirations overpowered his jitters. He just made the trembling a part of the show. In all honesty, he’s surprised that no one called him out. He was otherworldly and ‘hip.’

You were barely grown enough to attend, but your newspaper begged you to get an interview with the upcoming boy. It wasn’t easy sneaking back into his dressing room. If people asked you about your identity, you just walked like you didn’t hear. You admired the flashing lights and the labels. It was pure beauty.

You fixed yourself up in the rectangle bulbed mirror. Plastering a customer service smile on and waiting on the couch. You tap your feet to the show going on outside. It’s loud with the women screaming. Deafening with his singing. The last song plays, and you hear the shuffling of feet. Your heart thumps and blood rushes.

The man of the hour is ushered inside, people pat him on his back with huge smiles. He’s dripping sweat, makeup smeared and hair messy. You saw him perform in a jacket, but he is missing it. He puts the guitar in its holder. He struts to his mirror fixing his hair with a wide-tooth comb. In the few seconds he walked in, he didn't notice you.

You hold your breath. You’ve met a few rising stars in your years. Heard of the stories of girls passing out from seeing them. You thought it was just exaggerations but as you stare at his back. It makes sense. A small waist with big shoulders. Those hips are the seventh wonder of the world. You nibble on your bottom lip in a daze. You can hear the talent playing on stage. His dark blues lock onto yours staring at his backside in the reflection. Eyes narrowing.

“Well, I’ll be damned.”

A low rumble in his chest. His voice is guttural. Fried from giving his all. He shakes his head as he grins wide. Perfect white teeth glaring. He turns around leaning back onto the vanity with his gigantic hands. Your heart thrums and the fireworks in your stomach burst. You feel you’re set on fire by the way you’re sweating. You wave your notebook to fan your face.

“George said he’d do it, but I didn’t think he would.”

He scratches the back of his neck. You’re confused by who George is and what he did. But when you go to talk, you can’t speak. He does it for you.

“Surprised he got such a pretty little thing.”

Your cheeks go red and you bow your head. You’re embarrassed to be called pretty by someone so handsome. You play with the hem of your dress.

“Thank you, sir.”

That does something to Elvis. That sir from your mouth. His Ma's teachings are being put to shame. He’s not a gentleman. He’s a sinful man who needs to repent. He feels the devil on his shoulder, the one from those cartoons on Saturday he used to watch.

“Mhm.”

He mumbles.

“I like the reporter outfit.”

He takes one of his indexes and circles it around where you’re sitting.

“It’s cute.”

He says cute the way you tell a child. He means it to be demeaning. You’re offended that your hard work to achieve this level of Journalism is taken into a joke. You smooth out the skirt of your dress and sit straight.

“I mean no disrespect, Mr. Presley. But I think that there’s been a misunderstanding.”

He nods, squinting his eyes.

“Sure, Mrs. Reporter. How’d you get back here?”

He gestures to the surrounding space, then plants the hand on his hip. You bite your tongue knowing if you answer you’re screwed. You take a deep breath in.

“I’m with the Wall Street Journal. We’re looking for new and upcoming talent that deserves recognition.”

You lied. You were a rat and a snake. The newspaper company you were with was growing fast. He didn’t need to know that. He nods and takes his bottom lip between his index and thumb.

“Mhm.”

He nods. Jaw clenching.

“Ask me some of those Yankee questions.”

He leaves the vanity. Taking a few long steps to stand in front of you. You look up at him. He’s so tall and big and dominant. Those deadly blues stare down at you. He takes your cheek into his palm. Warm and inviting. Slightly clammy but it adds to him. He tucks his fingers under your jaw, stroking your cheekbone with his thumb. You’re absolutely absorbing his energy. You’re being fried from his touch. All that fight and that ‘man eater’ behavior has fled you. If you looked straight ahead, you could see the beautiful curve of his hidden cock becoming more prominent. You cross your legs tighter. He can see your pupils dilating. Cute.

“An’ after you’re going to strip for me.”

_______

After explaining to him that you were actually a real reporter. And that you needed to ask him those important questions, he budged. Still, he thought you were one of the escorts that George had hired. But the man loved foreplay so he bit. He was taken aback by how diligent and bright you are, along with how young. A dangerous thing. Elvis liked to feel alive, and he didn’t have crushes but he looked forward to seeing you at his next show.

That three-minute only slightly intimate interview changed both of your lives. Since then the rest between the both of you has been history. You and he had a business associate relationship. Just friends. You told yourself that every single time you went to see one of his shows.

He knew you were going to be here tonight. You always knew which shows were going to be breakthroughs. Although, he loved to see someone so refreshing. You made him feel alive, and had his heart pumping. The worst type of addiction. Elvis also seethed seeing you. He hated the aftermath of talking to you. The Colonel says any publicity is good publicity, but the judging stares as he walks down the street. Makes Elvis think otherwise. You’re a sight for sore eyes to him. A piece of home that follows him like a stray. It revives him and kills him wrapped in a pretty red kiss.

It’s ‘57, and he still remembers every time you’ve been there since ‘54. Always in the shadows pushed to the back or balcony and working your way to him. It’s romantic and a tragedy.

It’s like a square filled with a few thousand people, some crammed into tight spaces. Others climbed onto the stage that Elvis wasn’t even on. The curtains were drawn closed. His emblem was on the satin.

Somewhere a countdown begins among the people, and that’s your cue to swim through the sea to the back. You clutched your notebook and pen. Your black swing dress only was held by straps tied around your neck. The skirt swayed as you walked. Your heels stuck to the dirty tile. Curls bobbing with each step. You’re a seductress. You muttered apologies as you shifted your way past people. It’s dark and dimly lit. There’s a bar that hoards people. A balcony that’s stuffed. A floor that is making the entire building breathe in anticipation.

You nibble on the inside of your lip, looking for a way into the back. There are photographers lined up everywhere, bound to be a hundred reporters disguised. It’s going to be a show of strobing lights if not less. You feel proud of your work. To know that you have ties with the talent, makes your life less miserable.

You shuffle quicker, as the count nears three. All you can do is barricade yourself against the front and center of the stage and whisper. Shit.

To say that Elvis was loud and amped was a joke. The twenty-one-year-old almost literally broke his knees while performing. He fell to them, glitter dripping off him. He grips the metal mic in his jewelry-clad hand. Black hair slicked back and gleamed with pomade. A few hairs stray out to touch his forehead, slipping out of the pushed-back mop. He’s soaked in sweat. He finally finds you in the sea of people and smirks. His top lip arching, taunting you. He watches you shiver.

“It’s gold.”

The girl beside you says, amazed. She was in an utter stupor. She wasn’t yelling or having a psychotic break. She was wide-eyed and her mouth slack open as she gawked.

The suit was in fact sparkly and yellow. Every time he turned, he looked like a disco ball. He crawls to a woman, youthful and face painted not a hair out of place. He reaches out and so does she. The electricity crackles, extending to her finger. A touch from the king is petrifying. Time is frozen still as he reaches back in slow motion. He leaves the girl in a dissolved puddle in front of the stage.

Hound dog turns into a possession of a spirit in desperate need of an exorcism. He shakes and cries out while looking like an Angel. He pants as he walks to the middle of the stage. With a shaky smile, he regained his breath. He quiets the crowd and they hush after a few moments.

“Now I don’t know much about anythin’”

Thick Southern drawl poisoning his words with incoherence.

“But I do know one thing.”

He grows closer to the mic, his voice dropping to a small growl.

“Seems like you folks can’t get a ‘nuff of me.”

He smiles lopsidedly. His nose scrunching and the audience roaring under his amusement.

“Ain’t that right?”

It’s complete and utter chaos. You’re dizzy and stunned. Flashing lights and other flourishing things arise. He’s working the crowd, making them fall even more in love with him. You shake your head, ridding the spell. There is a mission and business that you have to tend to. You weave yourself to a door that’s below a neon sign blaring ‘VIP’ perfect.

You pin it to be a lounge of some sort. You guide (push) a few people out of your line of stride. Moving with the mayhem that a single man controls. You look over your shoulder to sneak a peek at the disco ball. The stage is absolutely full of things that people have thrown at him. Articles of clothing, along with other intimates. He catches some things tossed, like flowers. Other such things he makes a mental note to simply not.

Feeling your hips squeezed and groped made you snap back to reality. It plays to your advantage because the people just push you farther to your destination. Your hand grazes the handle and just like Elvis teasing the girl. You’re ripped away from your hopes. The audience breathes and you’re being pushed back into the hoard. They breathe again and you unstuck yourself from the amoeba.

You open the door and quickly whisk yourself inside. The room is a lot bigger than the first dressing room you snuck in. A huge lavish couch sitting next to the wall is plush. The vanity is the largest section in the room. The expensive rectangular mirror had fluorescent bulbs lined up on the sides. It’s blinding. A minibar is in a corner. Someone could live here if they wanted. An electronic box sat on a round coffee table in the middle of everything.

You go to sit on the most oversized couch in the world. It’s cotton. And you’re being eaten alive into the sinkhole that is the cushion. You sigh, closing your eyes. Soft as a bed. You could fall asleep and never wake up. As you open your eyes you think you’re dreaming. The wall that looked like brick from the outside is see-through. Like those interrogation rooms in jail. You’re floored at such magic. There is a clear view of the crowd and Elvis. You were behind a brick wall, but you can see through it. Your head throbbed in confusion. The world was advancing at such a rapid pace that you weren’t sure how you could keep up.

Hearing a few scattered voices, you look over to your left. The people behind the show are like mice. Running to pull ropes, handing instruments back and forth. They were getting things arranged like clockwork. Going through the minutes with precise ease.

The room you’re in smells like cigars and alcohol. Intoxicating with each breath. The ceiling is stained, your hunch was right. You feel like a mob boss. You dared to put your notebook and pen on the table. Leaning back and spreading your legs open wide as men do. The skirt of your dress hides the obscenity, and you smile.

The black and white static on the box’s screen, plays a live feed of what’s going on in front of the brick wall. He has the mic stand straight between his long legs. One hand on the mic, his lips brushing against silver. The other goes from being flat on his chest down to the metal stick. His extensive fingers stroke the thick cord. He’s teasing the stand with heavy petting. Agony spreads throughout you as he kisses a young broad. Maybe you should’ve just skipped work and gone to the show for fun. To kill this overlong tension and get it over with. Your thighs burn and your breathing turns heavy. You cross your soft legs to rub your thighs together.

After forty minutes came to pass. Elvis slowed into the last half of his performance. His hips are pressed firmly against the mic, he goes on about an appreciation speech and how they’re such a wonderful audience.

You were in such a stupor, that you hadn’t noticed a large man wobbling his way down two stairs to over where you sat.

“You.”

He snarls with a thick foreign accent lacing over his words. Your head whips up and you feel like you gave yourself whiplash. You’re seeing things. You thought he died years ago. The ghost of The Colonel is cutting daggers.

You and The Colonel had a funny relationship. You’d press his boy, free of charge for your little paper and during that exchange, he’d learned that you were grooming his talent. Grooming his boy by putting false promises into his head along with the lead of lust. His boy already had problems with his temptations. Elvis had a weak heart. Couldn’t say no to defend himself, hell, the boy couldn’t even manage himself. And you. You were a rat in his mansion and The Colonel didn’t like rats. So, he had to simply eliminate you from his empire.

“You’re a leach, little girl.”

He wobbles over to the side of the table. A good three feet away from you and the man is a raging bull. He puffs smoke as he breathes.

“Slithering into places you don’t belong.”

He stomps his cane punctuating his anger. Instilling it into your stubborn skull.

“Now I told you what would happen if you wedged your ugly little head into my presence.”

He steps a long way out. Grabbing your bicep and pulling you upwards. His breath resembles a toad.

“I’ll send you postcards of my boy's success to you in prison.”

This is when you start to panic. You understand that you’ve crossed boundaries, but now that you look at it. He could pin you as a stalker with ill intentions. You didn’t cry. You didn’t plea for forgiveness. You just stood there blurry-eyed and in the clouds. Body as rigid as a board, unmoving. You don’t cower under his gaze; you look at him with the same disgust.

“Do your worst.”

You spit at him with venom. He starts to tug you out of the room. His fingers tighten around your arm. He grows more aggressive as he nears the door. However, neither of you noticed that the show had ended. Was your little tussle really twenty minutes long? You’re not surprised, The Colonel loved his little tantrums. Elvis yells thank you and good night into the mic. You watch as the blood from The Colonel's face drains. Maybe he could fake a stroke and look like it’s just a big misunderstanding. Elvis’ voice booms along with telling his band how well they performed. They part ways and he rounds the turn. Your knight in shining armor with a guitar. He’s met with the scene of you being handled by his manager. His cheeks and neck burn red with embarrassment. He furrowed his eyebrows and his mood turned sour.

“The hell ya doin?”

He wasn’t mad, just upset at what he was witnessing. He watches your face look back and forth from him to the man who’s holding you captive. Little one is scared, and it makes his stomach churn. He’s had it with his so-called manager, but he remains calm and controlled.

“Let her go.”

The Colonel’s sausage fingers are deathly around your arm.

“But son she-“

The Colonel tries, but Elvis sets his guitar down and steps closer. He tilts his head to the side, seeing if The Colonel wants to test him. His liner and mascara smudged against his skin. He narrows those blue eyes. Raising one of his thick eyebrows. He clenches his jaw and his hands turn into fists at his side. Knuckles turning white.

“I’m not goin’ to ask ya again.”

One of the things you learned about Elvis is that he hated repeating himself. He became irritated when people questioned him. The biggest thing of all is that Elvis absolutely lost his mind when people wrote him off as a fool. The Colonel opens his meaty claw and frees your arm. He walks to the door, pausing like he wants to say something. He rids the thought and lets it go.

Elvis takes deep breaths trying to regain his composure. You look up at him, giving him a toothy grin. He notices that you painted your lips a dark ruby color. Batting those lashes with that makeup on. He’s happy you didn’t wear gloss, it always makes his lips sticky.

“I could press charges, you know.”

You declare while wiping off The Colonel from your arm and pointing a manicured finger to his face. Feisty as ever. Elvis takes back what he said out on the stage of not knowing anything. He did know something, and that it was you are trouble.

_______

A few arguments and promises later. Elvis finally got to walk you back to his hotel just you and him. No photographers and a few stray fans, but it was personal. He walks by your side on the long street. He gives you his jacket, as he takes you back to his hotel. You pat yourself on the back for missing your flight back home. You put up a fight about leaving your (blank) journal back at the venue, but he just promised to buy you another one. Envious of such disposable income. He feels like his jacket and buying you something nice will help him get over the guilt of The Colonel's behavior.

He looks down at you to see if you are okay. Your head was empty of thoughts, you were in outer space. Only thinking of Elvis, he just had that effect. Even off-stage, he was hypnotic. His shoulder brushes against yours. He walks by the street and you walk by the buildings. His jacket shines under streetlamps and neon signs. It’s quiet for most of the walk, it’s peaceful. He’s always loud and bouncing off the walls, but that was just Elvis the showman, not the man you started to know. You follow behind him like he had a leash on you. He appeared to know where he was staying so you walked with him.

“‘M sorry ‘bout The Colonel.”

He scratches the back of his neck, frowning a bit. He’s antsy and nervous.

“Don’ know why’d he do such a thing.”

He sighs. You don’t know why he’s apologizing for something he didn’t do. But you shrug.

“I’m sorry that you have to deal with him for a living.”

Elvis nods in acknowledgment. If he had known back then what he knows now, his life would pivot. For the better or the worst, he couldn’t decide. If he never played at Hayride, never met The Colonel. He could’ve loved freely, and did what he loved freely. He runs a hand through his full head of hair.

“‘M happy you showed even with what happened.”

He mumbles, but his voice has dropped an octave. Deep and gravelly. Send tingles down your spine. Your throat closes, and your heart is heavy. He’s happy to see you. Your insides twist.

“It’s always somethin’ with you.”

He stares dead ahead, watching cars fly. People swinging in and out of breweries. Friends hanging on each other. Lovers taking in each other. He hears your little scoff, and he smiles to himself. He’s so ornery. You cut him a deadly glance.

“Me?!”

You squeal in shock.

“Yes, you. Always makin’ my life hell.”

You scrunch your nose as he whips around in front of you. You go cross-eyed as he takes his index and presses it to the bulb of your nose. He smiles and grabs your hand after as if nothing happened. His hand is so warm and calloused from playing guitar all those years. He’s wrapping his fingers around yours and you’re dying. After going insane you chuckle.

“You’re wrong, I make it interesting.”

He shakes his head, smiling softly.

“If that’s what you want to call it. Sure, doll.”

Doll slips off his tongue with such ease that he doesn’t even realize the effect it has on you. He squeezes your hand and departs from you to open the door for you to enter. He walks behind you as you walk in.

The place is worn down most likely from the 20s that they “remolded.” You stand still enamored by the crystal chandelier that looks like rain. He moves your hips slightly to walk ahead of you. The feeling of his hands on you is riveting. You catch up to him. He’s talking to a receptionist, an old man with an array of keys behind him. Only a few are gone and you wonder if this place is for the rich or just unknown.

“Room number?”

The man doesn’t look up from his music magazine, where Elvis is plastered along with the older article that you wrote. It makes your heart race, seeing you and Elvis tied together. The old man holds his head up with his knuckles.

“Long night?”

Elvis asks earnestly. The old man peeks his head up with curiosity. The young man’s voice sounded awfully familiar. He looks up, and he’s remarked with a mood resembling winning the lottery. He points out like he’s seen a ghost.

“You’re the king!”

Elvis smiles bashfully, head bowing as he scratches the back of his neck.

“That I am, 210 please.”

The man scurries behind and takes the key. He opens a dusty log-in book and writes the date and asks for Elvis to write his name down. You feel a pang of jealousy because he doesn't ask you to. He pockets the key, and you bid the old man farewell with a small smile and Elvis takes your hand back in his. You’re happy that this became a normal thing for him. He walks you to the elevator and presses the room’s floor.

“You get that a lot don’t you?”

You ask, but you already know the answer.

“It seems to be happenin’ a lot more lately.”

He says absently; he doesn’t care that he’s noticed often. But it makes him sad that he can’t do normal things like he used to. His Ma calls every night (she called before the show) to check up on him. He’s getting more comfortable as the days pass. You’re his rock and every time he sees you it makes him remember where he’s from. He smiles. Looking down at you staring back up at him. He could kiss you right now.

“I’ve got a pint of ice cream up in my room. You can have it if you’d like.”

He says humbly, his Southern upbringing making him have hospitality. Your eyes gleam with brightness and you smile.

“Can we share it?”

Your little voice shrinks in and he nods. He thinks about the other things he can share with you. The doors chime open and he looks back and forth for his room number when he walks out with you. The carpet is shag, and the paper is falling.

You’d think he’d have a better hotel, but he probably opted for something quaint. You feel alone when he removes his hand from yours. He gets the key out of his pocket and unlocks the door. He opens it for you (again.) He watches your skirt dance when you walk. He bites his bottom lip. Wishing that his blood wasn’t rushing.

The room is luxurious and vast. The ceiling is..odd along the stretch of the ceiling is mirrors. You stare up in awe as you did in the lobby. Below you can see yourself. You watch him enter and lock the door again. He turns on the lights and the mirrors are even more dreamy. You see his suitcases open and his things thrown around. Fast food is open all around the place. It’s a pigsty and his Mother would lose her mind. The bed takes up most of the room, gold bed frame, and thick blankets. A couch was pushed to the center in front of the bed and positioned in front of the couch was a small television box. There are no windows, only mirrors and you’ve never felt so exposed. Elvis walks around you to turn on the small box. The chatter of Casablanca plays. He gives you a half smile.

“I can sleep on the couch if that makes you comfortable.”

He tugs the collar of his shirt open, unbuttoning the first few. Your throat closes up seeing his sternum. He tilts his head over to a small fridge.

“Ice cream is in there, sweetheart. I’m going to head to the bathroom to clean up, but make yourself at home.”

He gives your shoulder a squeeze of assurance and walks away to the left to a door to the bathroom. A few seconds later you hear the spray of the faucet turn on. You blush softly thinking of Elvis naked.

You grab the pint and a plastic spoon and you take off your heels and his jacket on the floor. You sit on his bed by the headboard. God, the pillows smell like him. It makes you insane. You kick your feet under you and eat the delicious treat. Watching Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman kiss and waltz. Another spoonful in and you hear a loud moan and your head whips around so fast your neck hurts. Spoon stuck in your mouth and tub sat in your lap. You narrow your eyes. You hear it again louder and more of a rumble. He isn’t. Is he? You burn from the inside out. The moans grow faster and louder and then it stops with a low growl. You can’t breathe.

The shower turns off and the wet slapping of feet is heard. His skin is damp as the door opens. The plastic spoon falls from your mouth. His skin is glistening. Broad shoulders hold a crimson robe, his emblem is on his right pec. The dip of the cut shows the unruly hair on his chest. His hair is drenched and soaking wet. He leans on his forearm, perching himself on the door frame. He gives you a wolfish grin.

“Starin’ is rude, sweetheart.”

He runs his hand flat over his chest, then points at you, circling his finger.

“Have to teach some manners.”

He laughs softly, walking to the edge of the bed and sitting on his side. Legs spread wide. It’s quiet, just the pounding of your heart is heard. He takes the spoon from your lap, digs a scoop, and takes it to his mouth. He makes you deranged; he has your DNA on his tongue and you’re going crazy by how good he smells. Patchouli and grapefruit. He pushes his elbow to yours and puts the spoon back in the tub. He leans over to you.

“What are we watchin’?”

“Casablanca.”

You whisper back, and he nods going back to sitting up straight. He leans back with his hands clasped in his lap.

“It’s an excellent picture.”

You agree with an ‘mhm’ and another scoop of ice cream. You practically kissed Elvis and your thighs feel damp. He stares at the side of your face, admiring you. Your lipstick is almost gone from your eating, but it makes his heart skip a beat. He places the pads of his fingers on your knee. Rubbing soothing circles on the bone.

“You look awfully purty tonight.”

You snicker and snort a laugh.

“Purty.”

You laugh harder as you mock him. He opens his mouth, faking shock.

“Knew you were a little minx.”

He kisses your shoulder.

“Ever since my first show.”

He kisses the same spot again. You shiver and put the spoon back into the pint and set it on the nightstand.

“You’re such a liar.”

His brows furrowed in confusion.

“You don’t even know my name.”

He huffs, putting his forehead on your shoulder.

“Of course, I know your name, it’s my sweet girl.”

You blush and cross your arms over your chest. He kisses your cheek. Soft delicate, plush lips bless your skin. He lays his chin on your shoulder.

“Don’t be like this, sweetheart.”

He sighs deeply into your ear. You ignore the thoughts of jumping his bones.

“What do you want me to do Elvis?”

He kisses your neck, slipping his large hand above your knee. His pinky ring dug into your skin.

“I want you to love me.”

You stiffen, breathing slowly.

“You’re capable of love?”

You whisper painfully.

“I’ve only heard of the heartbreak you cause.”

He moves away and stops touching you. He stays silent and watches the movie. You stare at the ceiling, willing yourself not to cry. This was so embarrassing for you to reject the king. Why did things have to be so complicated?

“You know I hate you sometimes. My job depends on you, it’s just business I remind myself but it’s hard to remember when you treat me like this.”

He deflated, not looking at your confession.

“You don’ get to hate me, sweetheart.”

He licks his lips.

“I don’ treat you anythin’ other than the people I love.”

You grow frustrated.

“You remember the first time we met?”

He mumbles an ‘mhm.’

“I asked you a few simple questions, and you told me to strip.”

You glare at him.

“Who does that!”

He runs a hand over his face.

“I thought George had hired you. I didn’t expect press on my first show.”

“Some friends you have.”

You sob quietly. He grabs your hand and ties his fingers between yours.

“You’re my friend.”

Your eyes are wet, you’re a millisecond away from crying. You’re sniffling, and your face is burning and your throat closes. You don’t know why you can’t allow yourself to be with him. Are you scared of him? Of being vulnerable? You don’t know and you react before you can think.

“I don’t want to be anything to you anymore.”

Elvis feels like he’s been shot. He nods accepting your choice. He removes himself from you. Walking away. He’s learned that to walk away was better than to stay on most occasions. He squats and digs through his cases for some clothes for you to sleep in. He finds a black long-sleeved dress shirt. He lays it by you.

“I can’t imagine a swing dress is comfortable to sleep in.”

He grabs his pillow and a spare blanket from a closet. He makes a bed on the couch and goes around to turn off the lights. He lies on the couch staring at the ceiling, watching you. You take his shirt and go to the bathroom.

“Thank you.”

You leave the door ajar. Watching to see if he’d leave. You watch him twist and turn trying to sleep and finally decide to shed the layers. You took off your pantyhose first. Then the puffy dress. You’re able to breathe from being freed. Your nipples peak up from the cold air, and panic races through you. The bra was knitted into the dress. You’re going to be naked above the waist, you breathe heavy. Surely, he won��t notice. You sigh. Cotton white panties are visible when you reach. The bottom of his shirt goes to your thigh, it’s baggy. You roll up the sleeves to your elbows. You button up the shirt leaving a couple at the top undone. Pivoting to the mirror you take one of the small towels and wash your face. Giving yourself a small pep talk before you walk out.

It’s pitch dark other than the television. You stump your toe on the banister and scream internally. Your grip on your dress tightens as you wobble back to your side of the bed. You leave the dress by his jacket and your heels. Bending over to place it on the ground. You lay with a huff flat on your back. Staring at the ceiling, admiring Elvis being passed out peacefully. You’re not surprised at how hard he went at his show.

You shuffle under the covers trying to sleep. But who are you kidding, how can you sleep when you can hear him snoring? You kick your leg up and lay on your stomach. Flipping to the other side, then lay on your side. Head running with ferocious thoughts of defiling the man. You give up, accepting your demise.

“Elvis?”

You whisper loudly. No answer, except a louder snore.

“Elvis?!”

You say hushed but louder. He stirs, doing a sit-up.

“Mhm?”

He grumbles while running his hands over his face.

“Can you sleep up here with me?”

He groans as he kicks his leg out and grabs his pillow. His hair is matted to one side, strands sticking up everywhere. He shuffles to his side with a yawn. The sash around his waist is more open. His stomach is in full view. Laying back down, he holds his arms straight out. He welcomes you into his embrace. You wiggle backward and accept his offer. He wraps his arms tight around you. Your back is to his front, and he shoves his face into your hair, breathing you in. You smell pure and like a woman, and his mouth is watering. His hands are spread out on your ribs. He kicks the blanket up over your hips.

“Prettiest girl I know.”

He murmurs into your neck; you play with his rings. He scoots his thigh up between yours, spreading you open.

“Have you ever thought of me?”

You ask it to yourself, more than anything. You can feel his lashes on your neck. His lips brushed over your covered shoulder.

“All the time.”

He mumbles groggily. He presses a soft kiss to the back of your neck. You smile, closing your eyes to focus on him.

“Saw you at the show.”

A kiss.

“I looked away and looked back and you were gone.”

Two kisses.

“Made me sad.”

You push your hips backward, he hissed, grabbing your sides tighter to keep you in place. He buries his forehead into your shoulder. His hand ducks below your belly button. His pinky taunts the waistband of your panties.

“Makes me wonder where you’ve gone.”

He plays with the elastic as he continues downward.

“Who you’re with.”

He nibbles your neck, making a dark bruise form. He’s a mosquito, a monster of the dark. You turn your head smiling at the ceiling.

“You’re finally admitting to being jealous?”

You poke fun at him. It’s nice to be the one in control. He’s always kissing those girls, getting the reaction he wants from you. It’s your turn now and he bites.

“Ain’t jealous, just worried.”

His voice drops lower. His fingers dipped past the elastic, warming the top of your mound.

“Worried about how bad you’re getting to be.”

His hand on your ribs goes to cup your breast through his shirt. Your nipple grinds into his palm as he squeezes.

“You and I both know that snatch of yours is trouble.”

His hand fully dips under the elastic. It’s boiling warm and the bite of his ring makes goosebumps on your skin. You grab onto his wrist with both hands.

“Elvis I-“

He groans into your neck, continuing to feel you up. The whine of his name has his cock swelling on the bottom of your back.

“What, little one?”

You debate about telling him, but then your fingers push into that wet cave of your cunt and you shake on his chest. He kisses your cheek when you push up. Your chest lifts into his hand. He moves his hand with such precision; it makes your head fill up with air. He mutters words of encouragement as he works you open.

“Knew you were good for me.”

He’s drunk with lust, his words slurring together. You’re pushing him away, and he’s pulling you right back. He’s plucking you like the strings of his guitar. His palm circles on your clit and you bite your tongue to stop your wails. He still hears the moans coming up through your throat. Feeble and weak angel whines. His pinky with his chunky ring lies on the crevice between your thigh and labia.

A finger turns into two and you feel stuffed. Long and wide fingers swirl in your walls, your stomach twists and the pressure builds. You can feel his length growing harder on your tailbone. He gyrates his hips against you, stifling his own arousal. You such in a breath at how big he feels. You keep stiff with fear. How is he going to fit in such a small space? His fingers keep you dazed.

“I’ll treat you good, honey.”

He kisses the side of your open lips. Your brows are furrowed, and your eyes are shut tight.

“I won’t hurt you, I promise.”

He pauses his moving fingers at a slow pace. Making you mewl. Your pleasure is delayed. He spreads his fingers out, feeling your velvet walls expand. Your back arches and he smiles.

“Unless you want me to.”

He breathes heavily on your soft skin. Your insides become on fire. He curls his fingers and you’re whimpering. His hand is dripping with your arousal.

“Wish I could’ve had you back in January. Back of ol’ Sullivan's dressin’ room.”

You remember it in perfect detail. You wore a lacy little black thing, just asking for a bruising. That was the day everything shifted. You stuck your manicured claws in him. He’s thought about you, fucked his hand on those lonesome nights every day. Since the Big D’ Jamboree in ‘55 and the Corpus Christi’s Memorial Coliseum in ‘56 and everything in between. He looked forward to seeing you every show. Every show you went to felt like he did phenomenal in it. His little lucky charm, his angel.

Your breath hitches. He’s wanted you since then. He wants you now. You mean something to him. You were special, not one of the girls he uses as a distraction because he needed the distraction from you. As he works you closer to your peak, you heave. He moves those extensive fingers deeper and kisses your cheek longer.

“Let go, baby.”

Those three paltry words made your body tingle and spasm. Light and heavy at the same time. You moan loudly, and he continues to push you higher. You open your eyes and you think you see God, but as they focus, you see a man in a red robe grinning like the devil incarnate. He peppers your face in kisses, letting you lay there and take whatever he gives you.

“Look at the mess you’ve made, sweetheart.”

You look down and you see the blanket has a huge black spot down your legs. You blush instantly. He smiles and you can feel his sharp teeth on your jaw. He slips his hand out of your panties, tracing shapes on your bare stomach.

“You’re evil.”

You swallow thickly, batting your pretty eyes. He narrows his eyes, shaking his head.

“I can show you what evil really is.”

He lifts to sit up straight, and before you can process what’s happening. He brings you over his lap. Flipping his now damp shirt around your waist. You yelp, eyes going wide as saucers. Your face is shoved into the expensive duvet, and you’re surprised to see the end of Casablanca. He traces over the middle of your panties where it’s absolutely drenched. Middle and index running through your covered folds. You squirm from the sensitivity and he places his hand flat on your back, pushing your front down farther.

“Don’t make me mad.”

You bite your cheek down hard to keep a scream down. Your skin burns and you’re sweating like a slut in a whorehouse.

“I’ll make your ass seven shades of red, honey.”

He says honey in such a degrading way that your pussy clenches around nothing and new darkness appears where his fingers are tracing. Your once-white panties are now a dark gray.

“Lord.”

He wills God above to give him the strength to not push your head down and fuck you into the bed. He can’t make love to you. You’re not the type for tender loving. You need a good old fashion fucking to get that whore tendency out of your system. He takes both of his fingers on each hand to tuck under the band and slide the fabric down your pretty legs. He tucks the article into the breast pocket of his robe for safekeeping. He sucks in a sharp breath, whistling lowly. He watches your thighs shine from your slick. You shiver from the cold air rushing to your core. He looks to the ceiling, watching your form wiggle in his lap. His meaty thigh pulls you apart, you sink your nails into his other. He groped the globes of your ass. Grasping then smoothing out your skin, spreading them apart to see your puckered ass then pinch. He smirks as you jump.

“Say that you’re sorry.”

He says deeply under his breath.

“For what?”

You whimper, pushing your head deep into the covers.

“For your teasin’”

Before your bottom lip trembles, he raises his hand and barrels it down. He’s mesmerized by the ripple of your skin. The sound of your ass being whipped is loud and you jerk up. With your back arching and a high moan. He soothes your bruise. Your blood rushes.

“Say it.”

His cock is pressed to the side of your stomach, you can feel him throb whenever he clenches his hands on your ass. Tears well up in your eyes. You won’t suffice for his pleasures. He’s teased you more than anything you’ve ever done to him.

“No.”

He spanks you harder. You kick up your legs, but he just pushes them back down. He spanks you harder, his jaw is clenched. How much of a spoiled brat you are is making him angry. He spanks you once more on the same cheek. His ring, the symbol of his status, makes itself known on your ass. Like branding, you’re his property now and you do as he says, but what if you don’t?

“No?”

You pause at his question, and you quickly nod. Affirming your doom. Tears slip down your cheeks. He grabs your hips, making you sit on his thigh like a little girl on her daddy’s lap. It’s much thicker than you thought. Your mind is boggled trying to figure out how he gets himself in those skinny suits.

You bow your head, not daring to look in his eyes. You cross your arms over your chest as you cry quietly. He clutched your waist, pulling you to his chest. You lay your burning head on his shoulder. You don’t know why you’re crying or why you’re horny, but that’s the thing about Elvis. Nothing makes any sense with him. His hands roam your back, as your heat spreads along his thigh. He kisses the side of your head.

“You did well.”

Another to your forehead.

“I’ll teach you how to be better.”

He grabs your jaw and makes you look into his dark eyes. His pupils are dilated. His eyes flick across your face for a trace of you. Your face is red, and your eyes are blurry. Tracks of old tears tread with new ones. His cock twitches. He’s turned you brain-dead. You poor thing.

“Okay?”

And you nod.

“Okay.”

He smiles, that familiar grin. He pushed your cheeks together with his fingers, making your lips pucker. He kisses you. His plush lips morph to yours. Those satin clouds. It’s different from the ones he gives to fans. This is passionate and meaningful, a promise of sanctuary. His hand moves to cup the side of your neck. Your small hands hold on to the lapels of his robe. You experience him. His tongue licks its way into your mouth. Tongue tying with yours. He’s mapping out your mouth. You’re too shy to put up a fight, so he asserts himself to take over. His hand drops to match his other on your hips. He guides your hips to drag along his knee. Up to his hip on his bare skin. The more you grind, the wetter his leg becomes. You tilt your head back, finally being able to breathe.

“Elvis, please.”

You moan loudly. He licks his swollen lips as he stares at your pussy, thighs wrapping around him. Your tits trying to free themselves from his shirt. His stomach churns.

“Tell daddy what you want, little one.”

He mouths at your jaw, guiding your hips back and forth.

“He can give you anythin’ your pretty little head can wish for.”

You can’t think as you can feel your second orgasm coming rapidly. He kicks up his leg to see you bounce. Your eyes widen and you squeak. Grabbing onto his shoulders.

“I want you.”

He shakes his head, black hair swaying.

“You’re too vague, little one.”

You take a deep breath in and close your eyes.

“Your cock.”

His breath shutters and his eyes roll back. There it is, little miss innocent becoming his dirty girl. Just for him and him only.

“What do good girls say?”

“Please.”

You spit out immediately, and he nods. He helps you swing your leg over his hips. He makes you turn around, so your back is to his chest. You laugh quietly as none other than Elvis’ Love Me Tender plays in the small square. He kisses the side of your neck. Your legs are bent at the knees, sat onto his lap. Both of his hands run up your sides to your breasts. He groped you through the fabric. Your nipples are being played with his fingers.

“You.”

Kiss on the shoulder.

“Make.”

On your jaw.

“Me.”

Cheek.

“Crazy.”

He bites the shell of your ear. He lifts you up, and unties his sash around his stomach. Grabbing the shaft of his erection he angles it to your entrance. The crown punctures you. Your hands shoot out to his. Your grasp is tight.

“Elvis!”

He shakes his head in disbelief at how tight you are and how much wetter you’re becoming and then it clicks. You being nervous about his touches, how complicated you were tonight.

“Oh.”

He whispers against your hair. Elvis has done many things, but popping a girl's cherry was new. It only made him harder.

He pushed his head back with a thump as he watched you in the mirrors sink down his girth.

“I-I’m sorry I can’t.”

You start to lift back off his length. He grabs your hips and thrusts up into you.

“You will.”

He murmurs at the ceiling. He swallows thickly, straining himself to not just fuck you into tomorrow. Your face is pushed into agony. He pushes his hips off the bed to fill you up completely. You sob out his name, a silent prayer. He wraps his arms around your torso, pulling you back to his chest. He holds you there as he fucks up into you. His hips smacked up into your ass with a wet squelch. Your mouth falls open, and your eyes roll back. He huffs with each deadly thrust. He can feel your walls tighten around him and then release. He’s going to go insane over your hole.

“‘M gon’ make you have my kid.”

Your calves crush his hips at the thought of him filling you up. One of his hands pushes at your abdomen.

“‘Gon’ make you swell. Make you need me.”

He speaks incoherently. Voice dropping to the low rumble that you heard in the shower. You understood enough that you would not walk out of this room without being pregnant. Shot after shot, your body cries. You can’t take the abuse of your cervix anymore. You cry out for him to slow and he wants to. He doesn’t enjoy seeing his girl in pain, but the thing is.

He can’t.

Your pussy has been the only thing he’s had in a very long time, and he doesn’t have the strength to walk away. He watches you cry in the mirrors. Watch you bounce on his lap. A soft clap is his favorite drum. His finger goes around to your clit and he has you seeing stars. Your legs kick out and the position makes him go deeper. Now you’re sitting, he’s stopped pounding himself into you. His hot cum fills you to the brim. It spills out from your channels onto his lap.

“Gon’ make you my princess.”

He’s plugging you up at this point. You can’t even feel your orgasm as it crashes through you. You’re passed out on his chest.

“You promise?”

Your head is in a castle with your king who’s slaying dragons. You ask it delicately, barely even there.

“I promise you the world, little one.”

Your face is red with sweat. He’s a bright shade of pink. Hair slicked back with sweat. He blinks hazily at the ceiling, watching you sleep. He kicks up the now-soiled duvet to cover you. He smoothed your hair from your forehead, to kiss your hairline. He breathes heavily and watches the last bit of his movie play. He watches himself get betrayed and die. Laughing softly, it was such a silly ending. He just hopes the next movie isn’t such a piece of work and that you’ll be on set. You stir and observe him.

“You’re coming to my show ‘marrow?”

He asks, but he's essentially telling you that you're going without giving you a choice. You mumble an ‘mhm.’ He smiles, dozing off while listening to you snore. Dreaming of a bright future with you.

_______

It’s been a month since your encounter with Elvis. Two things have happened since then. Your newest article has blasted into space, with people reading and supporting your choices. Second, you’ve had multiple more encounters with the king. His promise of making you into his princess has come true. You didn’t know how he manages to sway The Colonel into allowing him to continue your little alliance. However, you’re cleaning your shared home in Memphis. Nursing a growing babe in your stomach. You were worried that he’d lose interest since you were showing, but it seemed that it made him want you more. You watch him at the new gates that had just been installed. Signing autographs and saying and meeting new folks. You begged him to allow you to go with him, but he told you that your leisure and his kid were more important. So here you were, dusting the big window arches. You watch him bid farewell and walk back to the enormous doors with a paper in hand. He takes off his jacket and rolls up the sleeves of his black dress shirt. The one you wore a month ago has become his favorite. He finds you in the lavish black sundress he bought you. He made you match him every day, sometimes he listened to your fashion. Most times he picked out what he wanted you to wear. He finds you in the living room with a duster in hand. Pretty little maid. He leans on the banister with his forearm.

“A night with Elvis?”

He shakes his head. Clicking his tongue against the back of his teeth. Wading up the paper, the way you do to discipline something. He tilts his head to the side, curious.

“Thought I told you, that you don’ need to write anymore when I’m supportin’ you.”

He looks at his watch that you picked out. Your face drops. You panic, pleading that it was a mistake that you wrote it. (In all honesty, you thought it would be a one-night stand.)

“I didn’t mean anything from it. Elvis, please!”

He counts the minutes on his watch. Not caring about your begging. It’s quiet and you’re confused as to why he’s just listening and not talking. Is he mad? Upset? You can’t read him when he’s quiet.

“I’d start runnin’ doll.”

It clicks in your mind that he’s giving you a head run from him. He often gave you a head start. He was fair even when he knew he’d always win. You drop the duster. Breathing heavily and racing across the house with bare feet. He’s hunting you with a rolled-up paper with your article on the front page. He has a motive. The only thing you can think about is the fact that you’re going to be incapable of walking straight for the next few days.

#xreader #smut #elvis presley #elvis 2022 #elvis #elvis presley x reader smut #elvis presley smut #austin butler #austin!elvis smut #austin!elvis x reader #austin!elvis x reader smut #Austin butler x reader smut #austin butler x reader #elvis presley x reader

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light-everything-in-pink · 19 days

Note

hmm

how about harley aka helly

ASDIB!Helly/Harley Robinson headcanons! (TW: bullying)

(and also, ASDIBAU refers to the AU as a whole, and ASDIB refers to the in-universe show)

•A rare case of my AU Helly NOT having—to some extent—an ability to see things he shouldn't like the 4th wall. Works for me as it would make the narrative shenanigans of ASDIB even worse and more of a headache if he did (it already was one with Modfall, as the Narrator there is his own character). Also a rare case of a straight Helly, although his general awkwardness over his one-sided flirt schemes (one-sided as in he doesn't take reciprocation well) and gender expression shows.

•I forgot to mention this but Mr. Robinson is in his late-30s at the 'main' events of ASDIBAU, while Harley is in his early teens. That means he lost his parents way too early in his life 🥲 (not the worst Helly backstory tho. The MD one had [REDACTED] his parents).

And said loss happened at the same time Robinson got the Trauma™.

But due to the connected and misfortunate series of events, Harley and Robinson got along like bread and butter, although not as stable without them.

•Local helicopter enthusiasist and loves the feeling of the wind going against his body! He's a natural adventurer and gets himself into trouble (nature or social). However, he is not yet used to patching himself up because he was used with his late parents doing it for little young him.

•His favorite cereal is Fruit Loops while he surprisingly likes a little bit of matcha. The matcha part comes from when his late mother lets him have a taste of "adult ice cream".

•Regular customer of the local toy store, always getting things from it and either tries to tinker with the toys he bought or just play with it as it is. Also the local sunshine boy and the light in Robinson's life (note the fact that Robinson is just Poli + Unsolved Depression, and it will get worse), making modified vehicles that can play songs.

•Doesn't go to school anymore because he is the one bullies always pick on. From his wardrobe choices, hair length, and even just his general personality, Harley ended up feeling despised amongst his peers, and is going thru an oddly optimistic 'emo' phase that goes "no one understands me and if they do meet me near the trees! :)"

In short, he has Trust Issues™, something surprisingly many Hellys lack.

•He doesn't like Narrator at first, especially as the later came off as controlling to his trapped uncle. But whenever he is both resting from collecting things around the attic and at the same time the tapes have its intermissions (which is night for Broomstown as the show takes place at daytime), Harley started to 'talk' (via poor Morse) to Narrator. Getting under the latter's persona was surprisingly an achievement, and due to the things Harley finds in the attic and what Narrator tells him about himself, Harley is a bit aware that:

Narrator lost someone thru unfair fates and tragedies, using the semi-digital microworld of ASDIB as an escape, the only thing he knew of the real world,

And...there is certainly a connection between his late mother's letters, Robinson's nightmares, and the way Narrator presents his semihuman form to Robinson.

"Were you just a living program, Narrator?"

"Of course, my little lily. I'm...part of a set of experiments my company did where instead of hiring a voice actor...they made me alive instead."

"That was oddly specific. But why are you so open about this, 'Narra—'"

". …- . -. / .. / …. .- …- . / -. --- / ..-. ..- -.-. -.- .. -. --. / -.-. .-.. ..- . / .-- …. .- - / .- -- / .. -.-.-- / … - --- .--. / .- … -.- .. -. --. -.-.--"

"😐 Alright..."

Harley sat down the creaking attic floorboard as he puts together a picture frame of the main voice cast of this old cartoon, and his eyebrows narrowed at the cast, especially with the crack line conveniently going between to men: likely the real voice actor for Poli, and another, unknown person.

Well, it's 'unknown' in the sense that this man doesn't seemed to be credited in any credits, but it made the brunette curious regarding that one redacted area in the credits where any sorts of a VA for the Narrator stood.

What's worse is that this...man...

Resembles his semi human form.

Meanwhile, another person deep inside Broomstown lifted up her pen. This might be too early for her to invoke him to be more open to not just the kid of the man he trapped inside, but if she is too slow with this...

Nobody will win this game.

Nobody will be saved, physically or emotionally.

The story must go on, even if it repeats over and over.

And over

And over.

()Will you sing in grief for a lost soul whom you loved and was unable to express such intricate emotions to, even after death?

I don't think so, at least I can't. I would rather wish this world to end already. I'm too tired, I'm too tired. I just want it to end already. I'm too tired seeing this echo of a show struggling to exist. Why can't I euthanize it with words of farewell and ending the end? Is there really a planned end for this show? Have I been running around in circles?

Am I a fool for thinking that my suffering is undeserving? I didn't want to be in this role, I never wanted to. But the power of actions overpower the power of words, and something is wrong about each and every action he takes, we take, everyone takes.

If only I let go all those years ago, then I wouldn't have to bear seeing the echo if his face again...but a part of me longed to be with him again...

One way or another.

And I won't let her get in the way again.

Maybe the boy in green has a point: I was running around in circles. But what I did has no reversal; it never have in the first place. I don't even understood what it was that I can do, and to think I have it all is quite pathetic of myself.

All I did was ending up making psyches rot inside this glitched little show!

So...

Can I sing a song of grief, for my love that have no one to feel?

No; I do not deserve affection.

I never did.()

<>Please...let go of me.<>

#dave answers shit #robocar poli #asdib

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sea-creature-things · 7 months

Text

This is my first fanfic so be nice pls. I've been sitting on this story ever since Thanks to Them came out. It's the first fanfic I've EVER made and I was kinda scared to actually put it on here.

But now i really want to share it. I don't care if its cringe, it makes me happy. So maybe it'll make other people happy too?

Read on AO3 or below.

How Vee and Hunter became friends

Vee didn’t like Hunter. Not just that, she didn’t trust him. He had been in the Emperor’s Coven after all. He was the golden guard! He was the physical embodiment of everything she ran from. She knew it was unfair, they crashed here searching for help, but it felt like her past had followed her.

No, she definitely didn’t trust him. Luz said he changed, but she couldn’t believe it. Even then, it didn’t matter if he changed! She just didn’t feel safe with him. His mere presence reminded her of all the things she’d rather forget.

Vee especially didn’t want to be alone with him. But even if they were both with the group, she made sure she wouldn’t be next to him. The few times she had ended up walking next to him, she’d increase speed to be next to anyone else instead. She didn’t care who saw.

If they were all together in the living room, she would rather sit on the floor then on the couch, just so she could be on the other side of the room from him.

If they were all in the kitchen for dinner, she’d quickly claim the farthest seat away. By now the two of them basically had assigned seats on opposite ends while the others changed places every day.

If they were in the old house, working on a new portal to the demon realm, she'd rather help Camila with chores. The portal wasn’t any of her business anyways. And it’s not like she fit in with the group. Yet. Hopefully.

Hunter wasn’t stupid, he could tell she didn't like him. But he didn’t mind. Actually, he thought he deserved it. Luz, Gus, Willow and even Amity had all forgiven him so fast. At least someone was still holding him accountable.

He tried his best to avoid Vee as well. She clearly didn’t want to be near him, so he wouldn’t force her to be. The house was big enough to give her space.

After the first night, and Vee saw his sigil, he knew he would have to walk on eggshells. He also remembered the first and only time they were alone in a room. Saying it was a disaster was probably an understatement.

~~~~~

Flapjack had been relentlessly chirping in his ears. The little bird insisted he should tell someone about the pain in his stomach. There was nothing wrong he just... always seemed hungrier than the rest.

“Miss- I mean Camila, could I maybe have something to eat?” Hunter asked sheepishly, his voice barely loud enough for the woman to hear. He didn’t like asking for things, especially from their host. He didn't want to be a burden to her. Anymore than he already was.

But Camila had just smiled and sweetly told him: “Of course! Don’t worry about it dear, you’re a growing teen after all. There should be a bag of chips in the pantry.“

“Thank you.” Hunter had said, quickly standing up and resisting the urge to bow. Camila wasn’t Belos, he had to get through his head already! He walked towards the kitchen, but stood still at the entrance.

Vee had been standing at the counter with her back towards him. She must have heard him, because she looked over her shoulder. Hunter was already used to her looking at him annoyed or suspiscous. But this time, she looked scared. She turned around completely, eyes wide and shoulders tense. Her back now pressed into the counter, like she was trying to move away and stand completely still at the same time. She was scared of him.

It was like something clicked in his brain. Hunter slowly backed away and walked back to the living room.

Luz had looked at him puzzled. “Could you not find it?” Hunter didn't want to lie, but the others didn’t know about the issues between him and Vee. And they wouldn’t understand, or at least, they wouldn’t just leave it alone. “Umm, I’m not hungry anymore.”

~~~~~

So now he avoided Vee like the plague. He was determined to never invade her space again.

Camila wasn’t stupid either. She noticed the strange behaviours on both sides. But she didn’t understand it.

She'd been alone with Hunter plenty of times. He was a sweetheart! Clearly he was still recovering from whatever this Emperors coven thing was, but there was nothing but compassion in his heart. Camila saw how he treated everyone, especially Gus. Even just a week after their arrival, she felt like she knew this kid.

Camila also knew Vee. Sometimes it felt like she knew her better than Luz! The little demon had been impersonating her daughter of course, but after the truth came out, Camila got to know Vee better. She opened up a little. She was calm, kind and always willing to help. So, why was she being so cold towards Hunter?

“Do you know why Vee and Hunter don’t get along, Mija?” Camila asked as she entered the kitchen. It was just them, so she felt it was okay to ask.

Luz looked up from her phone. She had not expected this question. She thought back to her first night back home. Their crash landing in the Human realm, the long dinner-table-explanation and the 'fight' between Hunter and Vee. The little basilisk had noticed his sigil, Luz had seen that she noticed, Hunter had seen both of them noticed, but nothing really happened in the moment. At night, when everyone else was asleep they had a very awkward and very difficult conversation.

They had both promised to keep things civil for the sake of not stressing out their friends more than they already were, but maybe that ship had sailed.

“Oh umm, I think it’s because Hunter was the Golden Guard. Vee just doesn’t trust him.”

“Mmmm” Camila had to think for a second. What was a golden guard again? Luz had called him a ‘child soldier’ and ‘ridiculously brainwashed’. Whatever Hunter had done in that Coven wasn’t his fault, right?

“We should probably leave them alone Mami."

What? That didn’t sound like her daughter. Luz always wanted everyone to be friends, ever since she was a little kid. This wasn’t the first time she looked so hopeless after coming home either. Perhaps Camila could kill two birds with one stone. Making Vee and Hunter become friends could also cheer up Luz. Yup! She’d made up her mind.

“Vee, Hunter! Could you come here for a second?” Camila shouted in the general direction of the living room.

“Mamiiiii!” Luz looked betrayed.

Hunter and Vee arrived in the kitchen at the same time. They looked worried, as if they knew what was about to happen.

“I have a list of groceries here, could you two run to the store and get them for me? Here, I’ll give you some money.”

Hunter and vee looked at each other. Both of their faces showed extreme discomfort. Here come the excuses…

“I actually don’t feel so good. Can I stay home?” Vee gripped her stomach. But her face revealed her lie.

“Vee, I know going outside isn't your favourite. But I need these groceries and you know your way around.” She changed into her human disguise, a sign of acceptance.

“Ummm I’m not very good at those grocerie thingies. But Willow is! She could go instead.” Hunter smiled hopefully.

“Nonsense Hunter! You’re great at running errands for me.” He nodded, a sign of defeat.

No mercy! Camila put the list in Vee’s hands and 60 dollars in Hunter’s. Then she practically pushed them towards the door.

“Alright good luck, have fun, buy yourselves some snacks and be back before dinner!”

The grocery trip was awkward, but uneventful. Vee and Hunter hadn’t said anything to each other on the way there. She still refused to walk next to him, being blatantly clear about that now. At times Hunter wasn’t even sure she was still behind him. He decided to leave Flapjack home. Maybe if he was powerless, Vee wouldn’t feel so threatened.

At the store they talked as little as possible. Vee told him the next item on their list and then they would debate which brand to buy. But this ‘debate’ would consist of: “This one?”, “No, this one.” or “Sure.” and “Let’s take the cheaper one instead.”

Hunter was pretty sure that last one was a new record. 6 words.

At the checkout they were quiet again. Vee was loading in the groceries while Hunter paid the cashier.

“Have a nice day.” The lady said while handing him the receipt. Hunter ignored the weird look she shot at his scar.

“Thank you.”

Vee was done gathering everything, but she was clearly struggling with the bag.

“Do you want me to carry that for you?”

The moment the words left his mouth, Hunter knew he fucked up.

“No. I can do it myself.”

Her voice was like venom. Hunter couldn’t help but shrink. He knew his feelings would show clearly on his face. Did he really forget who he was dealing with that easily?

On the way back Vee was in front, the heavy bag was causing her to walk weird. And slow. But Hunter refused to say another thing about it.

Vee was getting extremely fed up. This bag was killing her shoulder! Even worse, she felt Hunters eyes on her like heat rays.

The look on his face when she snapped at him earlier was still on her mind. She didn’t mean to be that harsh. But excepting his help, would be admitting defeat! He didn’t think one little trip to the store would make her trust him, right?

She could still feel those eyes. It felt exactly like the look of a Scout. Watching her carefully. Making sure she was only doing what she was told. She felt herself getting angrier. Even worse, she felt like she needed to explain herself, tell him exactly why she had been so mean. She stopped dead in her tracks, dropped the bag and turned around.

“Look! I’m sure you’ve noticed I don’t like you.” Before Vee could defend herself though, he said something.

“You have every right not to."

He didn’t even look surprised at her sudden 180. How could he say something like that so calmly?

“I understand”

What? Is he serious?!

“No, you don’t understand. You don’t know what I’ve been through!” Wait, why did she want to tell him anyways? She didn’t need explain shit!

“No I- I don’t. But I know the Emperor’s Coven was horrible to you and … I can relate? … I guess."

Vee was too stunned to speak. What? WHAT?!

Hunter continued, “I’m just trying to say-.”

“You think you can relate?!”

She shut her eyes. Painful memories flooded her mind.

“You were the golden guard! I was a prisoner! You’re a witch! I’m a Basilisk!“ She didn’t want to tell him. Why was she telling him?

“ I- “

“You don’t know what’s it’s like to be made, just to be used as a tool! A throwaway! A pawn!!”

“Actually I do know what that’s like!”

Vee’s eyes flew open.

Hunter was angry. She’s never seen him angry before. She’s never even heard him raise his voice. But it didn’t scare her like she thought it would. His expressions changed very quickly. He seemed shocked by his own words.

And scared.

“You really do… don’t you?”

She knew he was telling the truth. He had the same hurt in his voice. The same look in his eye.

Those magenta eyes.

“What are you?”

Hunter sighed, he couldn't not tell her now. Maybe out of everyone, Vee would understand. Besides, he wasn't worried that she would come to hate him, she already did. What did he have to lose?

“I’m a Grimwalker and technically I shouldn’t exist.”

A long silence fell between them.

This time when Vee looked at Hunter, she didn’t see her past. She didn’t see the coven or the scouts. She saw herself.

Alright fine, she was admitting defeat.

Vee picked up the bag and held it out in front of her. Hunter was confused, but he took it quickly. In case she would change her mind. Did this mean she trusted him? It couldn’t be that easy, right?

“Let’s go home”

“Right.” He waited for her to move first. So she could walk ahead of him. But she didn’t move.

“Come walk next to me.”

“Oh okay.” It was that easy.

“I won’t tell anyone.”

“Thank you.”

…

“Sooooo… what’s a grimwalker?” Hunter couldn't hear any animosity in her voice, which was... new.

“Uuuuuuhhhh”

“Legally, you have to tell me.” He couldn't tell if her tone was playful or not. She was probably right though. He should just tell her everything.

“I don’t actually know. I think I’m like a clone? Belos made me, but I don’t know how... or why.”

….

“So I guess we were both made in Belos’s basement.”

Hunter had not expected that. He couldn’t help but laugh at it. Just a little bit.

“That’s horrible!”

“Yeah… but true tho. Just two test tube babies walking down the street.”

Hunter couldn’t hold it anymore. Vee was giving him that mischievous look. He’s only ever seen her look at Luz that way. Alright, he could try to ‘pile on the funny’.

“Look at us, two runaway pet projects”

Now Vee burst out laughing. Had he ever heard that before?

They kept going for a while. Trying to one-up each other in the most absurd ways.

Hunter couldn't believe it. Telling her he was a Grimwalker, out of all things, was what made them friends? That couldn't be right. But she was being so nice. He didn't want to push it, but a part if him wanted to test the limits. They were almost at the house. He need to know, one final test: sass.

“Ya know, this bag really isn’t that heavy.” He smirked.

“How dare you.” Vee said dramatically. It was fake offence. Something Hunter has seen her do many times, but never with him. He smile was wide and genuine and it didn't fade when they walked through the door.

Yup! They were friends now. It really was that easy.

Epilogue:

Camila and four out of six children were sitting on the couch, watching old cartoons. They heard the front door open. Luz and Camila immediately looked at each other, this was the moment of truth.

But to Luz's surprise and her mom's delight, they heard Vee and Hunter talking. As they passed the doorway to the livingroom, she realised it was goodhearted banter.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Hunter chuckled.

"I'm just saying- Oh hey!" Vee noticed everyone on the couch and waved. "We're back!"

They were met with a lot of greetings. Only Luz reacted a little confused to her enthusiasm.

"Did you find everything?" Camila asked.

"Yes. We found everything on the list." Hunter reported to her. Vee pushed her elbow into his side. "Give her the change."

"Oh right!" He smiled and put the bag down, then proudly presented the leftover 7 bucks and the receipt.

"Thanks dear."

"We'll go put these away."

Vee picked up the bag with determination, or tried to at least. Her shoulder dropped under its pressure, making her entire top half slanted. She took slow and careful steps towards the hallway. Hunter laughed and took the bag from her shoulder.

"Try not to break your spine." He teased. Vee puffed her cheeks and poked him in the side. "I'll break your spine." She mumbled. As they disappeared around the corner, Vee giggled.

Camila looked on proud. She saw Luz looking dumbfounded, before a sparkle came into her eyes. She jumped up and ran after the two.

"I'll help!"

Camila smirked. Victory.

#the owl house #toh #hunter noceda #hunter the owl house #vee noceda #vee owl house #hunter and vee are siblings #you cant convince me otherwise #noceda siblings #luz noceda #camila noceda #best mom

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red-poppies-growing-in-black-ink · 2 months

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"Alright, this probably won't hold them for long, especially with the grabpack. But it's better than nothing..." You recognize the toy's voice as an exact match for Dogday while he mutters to himself while looking over his handiwork.

Upon noticing you, the off-model dogday lets out a deep, annoyed sigh.

"Great, I thought the tape was longer given all the weird add-on hands..."

Formally Introducing: The persuasion mechanic.

When one world bleeds into another, the resulting ecosystem results in a lot of meshes between the dominant creatures.

As trying to presaude an entity that is incapable of doing so is just wasting time, it's important to learn that each group has it's own levels of sapience, sentience, and willingness to reason with a strange non-toy and non-ink creature that comes from outside the ecosystem like yourself.

Toys: All living toys are made out of human beings and posses human level sapience and sentience. There is exactly one entity inside the toy that you have to persuade and that is the toy itself. But while all toys are *human* that doesn't mean that all of them are easy to persuade. Most of them are children who are both afraid of human adults and untrusting of them, some of them are babies who are incapable of understanding what you are saying to them, and the very few adults and or teens you do find in the fully toy category do have their own things to worry about.

Toons: While toons' sapience and sentience comes from humans, toons are entities made out of Ink and unless the toon in question was made with one specific person in its mix, the Ink used to make toons is a slurry of people molded into a convenient humanoid shape with one toony personality slapped on to be in charge. All humans used to make toons are adults (with a few older teenage exceptions), but convincing Little Sally stuck inside the Candy Cat that you're not going to hurt her could be much easier than convincing the Boris made out of 32 frontal lobes that letting you leave is a good idea.

Tooned Toy: Uh oh! Someone killed a toon and stuffed a toy with it! Luckily for both parties, the resulting hybrid seems to be adjusting well as we can tell by the fact that the toon's features bled out into the toy instead of becoming an inky mess oozing out of the stuffing. But unluckily for you, persuading this creature means that you'll have to persuade *at least* two people.

Toy of a Toon: While there might not be any difference between a toy and a toy of a toon, it's easy to mistake them for toons so you need to be aware they exist so you don't get caught off guard.

Toon of a Toy (Specifically, why they're NOT here): Just because [REDACTED FOR SPOILERS] got the Ink Machine to work as intended doesn't mean that [REDACTED PRONOUN] would want to make toons of toys willy nilly. Plus, when you already have living toy versions of the characters, wouldn't making living cartoon versions be redundant?

Inked Toy: Watch out for ink leaking out of a toy's seams or dripping out of eye sockets. A toy can be reasoned with, an inked toy is basically a hollow shell with an inky parasite inside it. Before you dismiss this group as impossible to persuade on the grounds of not having human intelligence, remember that a human can count as a parasite.

Corrupt Toon: A toon that has been opened up, had important parts taken out (and possibly replaced with Junk), and sent back out. You are completely unable to verbally persuade a corrupt toon as most of the time their lobotomies involve the removal of the language processing center of the brain. However, even the most fucked up of corrupt toons understand fire, food, and violence.

Ink Creature: Just like toons, ink creatures are slurries of a bunch of different people in inky bodies. Unlike a toon that is molded into shape and has a personality slapped on, an ink creature is just the raw stuff and most of the time it wears its level of sapience and sentience on its sleeves.

#bendy and the dark revival #bendy and the ink machine #ppt #poppy playtime #ppt 3 #y/n #ppt2 #pixel art #dogday #thomas connor

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thedawningofthehour · 5 months

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You remember a few days ago you responded to that post about Donnie being a separate entity from Galois.

Well, you know about OK K.O? that cartoon created by Rebecca Sugar's husband that was unfairly cancelled because CN executives neglect almost everything but TTG? Well (SPOILERS) One of the most important plot points of the series is that the protagonist develops an alternate personality which embodies all the characteristics he doesn't like about himself, but which at the same time is, like, way more powerful than he is. Anyway, at one point the alternate personality takes over and the protagonist becomes a prisoner in his own body, TL:DR at the end the two personalities make peace and merge in a nice metaphor of self-acceptance.

I swear as I was reading I was imagining Galois and Donnie in a similar situation, K.O and T.K.O are the same person, as are Donnie and Galois, except the last ones have different memories. I don't think Donnie would hate Galois, at least not genuinely, but he couldn't help but have negative feelings towards him either, Donnie knows it's not Gale's fault, but the frustration combined with the helplessness, as this version of himself take control of his life and swallow all those lies... I wouldn't put it past Donnie to get to a point where he might hurt Galois just to get to Draxum.

(As I was writing this I realized that the person who helps create the alternate personality of the protagonist in Ok ko is also his father, who also happens to be a scientist specializing in biology, WHO ALSO happens to be Gay, well, bisexual).

Cartoon must have a deal with DC or something to constantly shove TTG down everyone's throat because I have never met anyone who actually thought it was a good show. Even kids in its target age range are at most 'meh' about it. It's just bizarre otherwise.

And you know, I find it real ballsy of them to try and recapture the success and acclaim of the original Teen Titans when they fucking cancelled the first series over a toy deal. It would be like Nick trying to put out a shitty chibi version of Rise in 2030 and whining because no one wanted to watch it. Let people make good shows, coward.

Ah, I haven't actually seen it, but that description does remind me of another character. But mine's kind of like

...Yeah. This is Dog or God, depending on which personality is in charge. He's not a zombie, he's a super mutant (a nightkin, but explaining the difference would involve explaining the plot of Fallout 1) and he's not supposed to look like that.

Dog is the slave of this asshole named Elijah, small-minded and suffers from violent outbursts and ravenous hunger. God is his voice of reason and restraint. Which doesn't mean he's on your side-if anything, God is much more difficult to work with because he actively antagonizes you. He sees Dog as a little brother he needs to protect, while Dog thinks of God as an intrusive voice in his head. All those scars are from Dog mutilating himself, even going so far as to shove his arm into a bear trap to keep the voice at bay.

It's never stated which identity was the original. Elijah thinks Dog is a second gen super mutant, who are intentionally made stupid (for lack of a better word) during the mutation process to make them more obedient soldiers, but God proves himself to be first generation, who generally have human intelligence. Yet nightkin are almost universally mentally disturbed as a result of their mutation and stealth radiation exposure, and super mutants are often shown to have voracious appetites and eat humans. His big finale takes place with Dog trying to kill himself and God frantically trying to save him, and you can either kill him, bury one of the consciousnesses, or reunite them and let him figure out for himself who he is.

...Looking at all that, it looks more like Tigerclaw if Tigerclaw had a split personality disorder.

But in general, Galois is not a split personality nor a separate consciousness from Donnie. He's just Donnie. He remembers things different and yes that's changed him a little, but Leo and all the other characters aren't the same people they were at the beginning either. It would be a lot easier if Galois was just some other guy living inside his head, but nope. It's all been Donnie.

#this is long and most of it had nothing to do with what you're talking about #apologies i'm writing a fight scene and they're very difficult for me #doth asks

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oneinathousand · 5 months

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I'm halfway through Gravedale High and I think I get the gist of it, so here are my random thoughts about it:

Of all the celebrity cartoons, this is one of them. Joking aside, this probably is legitimately one of the better ones from this time period. I am not distracted by Rick Moranis's presence, and I'm glad he's not going full nerd as in his usual typecasting. I keep expecting to see a Ghostbusters or Little Shop of Horrors reference, since this show sure does love its pop culture references, but so far, they've had the restraint not to do it in a direct way except for one of the background characters in one episode looking like a terror dog, but that could be a coincidence. I guess I'll find out eventually if they actually do make a reference.

I can't watch a lot of it in one sitting because if I try, I know I'll be filled with homicidal rage at all the constant catchphrases and verbal tics and schticks that every character has.

Gotta love how the creativity of the main cast ranges from "Personifying the trope of zombies as commentaries for consumerism with a wealth-obsessed, literal mall zombie" to "what if creature from the black lagoon but surfer".

J.P. doesn't seem to be any kind of monster in particular, Peter Lorre parodies are just their own Halloween species lol

Vinnie may be the Fonz as a teenage vampire, but it was very big-brained of whoever the character designer was to give him black nail polish in 1989-90. For all this show's problems, the character design for the most part is not one of them, even with how dated many of them are fashion-wise they're still very charming.

Sure, I ship Vinnie and Reggie. Before I watched this show, I assumed it was just typical shipping of best friend characters, but when I got to the famous ear-scratching scene from episode four, I was like "yeah okay I can see where they're coming from".

Of the main cast, Sid is probably my favorite because everything about him is so hilariously dated above all the rest, which is saying something: The rapping, the baseball cap, the pattern on his shirt, the random impressions... he's so lame that he circles back around to being funny. And apart from the irony, an invisible kid becoming a class clown so people won't ignore him anymore is one of the more genuinely creative concepts here.

Oh, but speaking of Sid, who's voiced by Maurice LaMarche... It was pretty awkward to watch Sid whenever he talked about his dreams to become a stand-up comedian, knowing what I know about what happened with LaMarche's own desire to rise up in the stand-up world on the same month that Gravedale High coincidentally premiered in. I don't know if this is common knowledge, but I won't go into it here because this post is supposed to be about a silly cartoon. If you're curious and can handle emotional matters, go read about it on his Wikipedia page under the Career section and see the events leading up to him becoming a full-time voice actor after September 1990.

Anyway, this is one of those cartoons where you can see a lot of potential, but since this came before or at the same time as other more ground-breaking cartoons like Ren and Stimpy or Tiny Toons, you get the feeling Gravedale is still shackled by 80's cartoon trappings despite its occasional dark jokes and pop culture references. If I were to make a new version, with or without Moranis, I would go for something a little edgy to make it stand out from Monster High and other shows of its ilk, do for horror what Clone High does for teen shows, either in a PG or TV-14 way.

#gravedale high #90's cartoons #rick moranis

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sometimes-they-come-back-237 · 25 days

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Here’s chapter two from my DuckTales fic.

CHAPTER 2: “Nightmare”

•

“Whatever it is, take care of it yourself. I’m done.”

“Come now, is that any way to speak to your family? To your caring and devoted aunt, no less?”, Magica mocked. Her sardonic tone rang quite clear as it echoed in her niece’s ears.

Lena rolled her eyes as she glared upwards into the never ending darkness that was the void; the cold, isolating, imprisonment she currently resided in until Magica needed her for her own bidding.

“We’re anything but family”, said Lena through gritted teeth. “Leave me alone”, she spat as she proceeded to blindly tread her way in no particular direction. Every step she took felt like she was stepping into a puddle of shallow water.

“Don’t you want to see your perky, little playmate again? Or did she finally tire of you?”

Lena froze.

She knew Webby. Webby cared for her, more than anyone else. Even when she found out the truth about why Lena was seeking the dime…

Webby never gave up on her.

“I said leave me alone!”

Suddenly, a dim orb shot past Lena, circling above her, just enough for her to see it take the silhouette of some type of bird.

It opened its beak. “Evermore…”

It was a voice Lena had never heard before.

“What?”, she asked, straining her eyes. She could see a streak of purple forming on top of the bird’s head.

The bird shrieked, “Evermore!”, before darting towards Lena, colliding into her, yet she felt nothing. She turned around in time to see the bird vanish as gray wisps of smoke evaporated into the void.

She gasped as she instinctively examined herself, worrying that she too would disappear into a cloud of smoke. She sighed, as she felt the sleeves of her sweater. The sweet relief filled her knowing what remained of her body was still intact-

“Help!”

That voice.

Lena’s heart sank as she turned around, her eyes widening as she saw that just a few feet from her, was Webby, who seemed to be frantically trying to keep herself afloat in a small body of water that she was desperately trying to get out of.

She was drowning.

Every rapid motion she made with her flailing arms to try and stay above the surface caused more splashes of water to fling every which way.

“Webby?”, asked Lena, momentarily stunned. How did she get here? She snapped out of it almost immediately. Her best friend needed her. “Webby!”, she yelled, running as fast as she could.

“Help!”, yelled Webby, as soon as she emerged from below the water, only to be forced under yet again.

“Webby!”, shouted Lena as she finally reached the edge of the puddle, dropping to her knees, she tried to plunge her arms into the freezing water, to grab onto Webby. However, once her hands made contact with the few inches of water, they hit what felt like glass. “No!”, she exclaimed, pounding on the unbreakable barrier. “Webby!”

“Lena!”, yelled Webby, her muffled voice barely audible to the teen.

Their eyes met for a split second before Webby was being pulled farther down into the dark until she was completely gone from sight.

Lena’s heart stopped. She screamed at the top of her lungs, an ear piercing scream. Seeing her best friend being ripped away from her, was torture. Pure torture.

“NO! WEBBY! NO!”. She went back to slamming her fists against the blockade to no avail. “Webby!”

Just then two pairs of hands made contact with Lena’s arms.

Magica.

“No! Stop it! LET ME GO!”, yelled Lena.

The pairs of hands felt familiar to her. They resisted her attempts at being shaken off. They gripped tighter onto her, not in the sense that they were trying to hurt her but guide her.

They were gentle, in fact, so gentle that they couldn’t possibly be Magica’s.

It didn’t matter. They were preventing her from gettting to Webby.

“I said stop, you witch!”, she yelled, her heavy breathing nearly made it impossible for her to get the words out. Her eye color shifting from clear to a neon blue.

The grips of the invisible hands intensified. Seizing her arms until they forced them to her sides. Just as their hold on her got stronger, the heavier her breathing intensified.

She could hear numerous disembodied voices calling to her.

Lena… Lena… Lena…

There was a fire burning inside her. Her magic growing inside of her, ready to burst…

“STOP!”

The pounding in her head eased, as did whatever was holding onto her.

Lena gasped as she immediately sat up in bed, trying to steady her breathing, looking around her and Vi’s shared bedroom. Everything except for the bed and the bookshelf had levitated from their usual place and were now floating around on the ceiling.

All of Vi’s books, the nightstand, the lamp, the ceramic skull Lena used as a candle, and all of the girls’ other trinkets were suspended in midair surrounded by a mystical blue light.

To Lena’s horror, Tyrian and Violet were also on the ceiling, spread eagle, unable to move. Tyrian looked anxious, while Violet seemed impressed.

“I see you’ve been improving your telekinesis. Quite the feat that you’ve now managed to utilize your skills on people as well as our possessions”, said Violet.

Lena waved her arm in the air, side to side, as her hand radiated a blue aura around it. “Sorry, guys”, she said, as her father and sister were gently set back on the floor, as well as the rest of their belongings.

Tyrian let out a sigh of relief. “No pasa nada, miel”, he said, kneeling down next to Lena. “Violet came to get me as soon as you started having a fit in your sleep. We did our best to wake you before you-“

“Tossed you on the ceiling like a ragdoll?”, said Lena guiltily.

Tyrian offered a reassuring smile as he rustled her hair. “We’re alright, sweetheart”, he said, looking next to Lena. “Violet?”

“Indeed”, said Violet, who had made her way onto the bed, sitting next to her sister, grasping her hand. “I thought we had resolved what’s been upsetting you so you’d never have nightmares again.”

“Not unless you know some incantation that’ll make me stay awake forever”, Lena teased.

Violet furrowed her eyebrows. “I haven’t come across one yet, but I shall bookmark it once I do.” She positioned herself on the bed, entwining her and Lena’s arms together, as she rested her head on the teen’s shoulder.

Lena smirked, she too resting her head on Violet’s.

Tyrian smiled, getting to his feet. “I think this is the perfect time for hot chocolate. How many marshmallows do you girls want?”

“Three.”

“Five.”

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bogkeep · 7 months

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How would you describe your experience with being half Czech and half Norwegian? Really curious cus I never see alot of osmosis between nordic and slavic countries.

oh boy that's a really big question that's pretty difficult to answer! this is kind of a major part of my life and identity and not really possible to crystallize into a concise point, since it's just... my whole life :')

one part of this is just the experience of not fully belonging to one place and culture, of being caught inbetween, which is something a lot of people all over the world understand and relate to, i think. this might sound niche but i have a fondness for graphic novels about coming of age where the protagonist is is the child of immigrants and has to navigate their way through honoring their heritage and fitting in with the culture they live in at the same time. maybe this sounds dramatic for someone who belongs to two european countries that are only 2-3 days of driving apart, but that's my truth haha.

another part is the more specific differences between czechia and norway as countries and cultures with different language families, which is something i can talk about at length, for sure, but like... every place has its differences, even two towns in the same country. sometimes it's difficult to know what's a real difference between two places and what's just differing personal experiences.

some things:

- one of the most iconic christmas movie that plays in norway is Three Wishes for Cinderella, a czech made cinderella adaptation (tři oříšky pro popelku). the version that plays in norway has been dubbed over by the same voice, a method referred to as russian dubbing. this movie is so iconic and beloved they have done a remaster of it, making it crisper and more colorful, but they cannot make a better dub or the people of norway would revolt. for a while i had no idea this was such a big deal, because i would spend every christmas on czech, and for me, cinderella was just one of many fairytale movies. my grandfather would always tape the fairytale adaptations on VHS and would get me to watch them when i visited for the summer. it took me a while to get into any of them, since i vastly preferred cartoons over live action TV (i have many fond memories of czech cartoons. víla amálka, rumcajs, rákosníček, krteček, lots of classics), but i enjoyed a lot of them eventually. i think the first one i liked was one called Nebojsa, about a guy who feels no fear. my eventual favourites would become Král Sokolů (the king of falcons) and S Čerti Nejsou Žerty (give the devil his due) - the latter becoming a christmas movie For Me.

- a big difference between norway and czech, culturally, is politeness conventions. norway is very informal and introverted, more first name basis than last names - in fact, i don't know the last names of any teachers i had at school except for ones i've found on facebook. i used to spend a couple months every year of grades 1 - 5 in czechia, to go to school there and practice the language. not only was school more advanced and stricter, but i'm pretty sure i was supposed to refer to teachers as Mr or Ms Last Name and i did not know this. i apparently caused quite a ruckus in first grade, but i only have my family's word for it. i remember almost nothing of my time in czech first grade except crying on my first day because i was so overwhelmed. another thing i did not realise until i was a teen was that when talking to strangers or people Of Respect, you refer to them with a Plural You until you've reached enough familiarity to switch to Singular You. it's accepted for kids to refer to everyone with the singular - same vibe as referring to every familiar adult woman as your auntie - but i've made quite a fool of myself multiple times calling cashiers and waitresses by singular you when outside of the Acceptable Age Slot. if it sounds like an autism nightmare that's because it is :'D

- i think every person in europe has been to prague at some point. every person i tell i'm half czech to tells me they've been to prague. it's a pretty city though! check out the astronomical clock

- there is a small community of czech and slovakian immigrants in my norwegian hometown. obviously it's not Every Czech Person in town, i've run into a lot of czech speaking people at random every now and then, but yeah! i think the biggest community event that gets arranged every year is Mikuláš in december. it's very reminiscent of Krampus celebrations. essentially kids are expected to perform a song or poem in front of st. Nicholas, an angel and a devil (that's the krampus in this instance), and then they get evaluated and told if they've been Good or Bad this year before being given candy (with a piece of coal or potato in it because everyone is a Little naughty sometimes). after growing out of being one of the children, i've contributed by playing the devil or the angel a couple times each.

for some reason there's a lot of people from the czech community in the historical archery club my mom and i are both part of. we actually have a lot of immigrant members, so for something so viking aesthetically coded it ends up being a fairly multicultural experience!

#whew #i dont know if any of this touches any of what you were curious about #but have it anyway

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julik0vatay · 1 month

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New Beetlejuice teaser got me HYPED!!

Me: woohooo Lyds get his ass! Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight! Also me: if they won't acknowledge their friendship I will cry

While I love cartoon's portrayal of Lydia and Beetlejuice characters there's less conflict between them, almost like they resolved most of their grievances with each other off-screen. But movieverse is a perfect setup for frenemies dynamic and I freaking love that trope! Let them bicker, let them fight, force them into reluctant alliance and I will be cheering and hollering the whole time >.> So much angst potential to explore on both sides of their conflict..

I don't even care if new movie is trashy, I'm just excited to see my faves again tbh

In fact I got so excited I ended up writing 1.5k words of them bickering <.<

And I am throwing it into the void to sandworms and closing the door

So… Hypothetical reunion talk, movieverse sequel speculations, ambiguous and complicated relationship, with nods to cartoon and scrapped script

Slight warning for strong language and alcohol mention, and half-hearted death threats i guess? But otherwise pretty chill

Comeback of the century

He is pacing and fuming, muttering to himself, when she enters the room. Air feels cold and full of static, making his hair stand up even higher than she remembers. She stops at the doorframe, taking in sight of him looking like angry puffed up cat. She hesitates to interrupt his monologue that was definitely not for her ears.

– … and it's not like I was expecting a warm welcome, but a grown-up kid? When did that happen?! I almost mistook her for Lydia herself!! With that black hair and attitude, I thought my eyes are playing tricks on me! Wouldn't be the first time…

He trails off, finally noticing company. He snarls in her direction but doesn't stop pacing and doesn't try to get closer.

Lydia clears her throat, searching for words that wouldn't set off an explosion. It's not like she has to advocate for herself living her life as she did. And yet…

– I was not expecting to actually see you in my life ever again. Dreading it? Yes, sure. At 20 waiting for it at every corner. At 30 it got old. At 40 this whole thing felt more like a fever dream. And now you're here.

– And now I'm here, babe! Deal with it! Why aren't you running yet?!

She looks away, uncomfortable. Why indeed.

– Playing cat and mouse with you? Thanks, but no thanks. I'm not a teen to run around anymore.

That out of all seems like wrong thing to say because next moment he's in front of her, irrirated grin and barely held back anger in his voice.

– So am I not worth your time and money, honey? Not even batting an eye for good-ol-me? I can turn this into a literal nightmare, would that be worthy of your attention?!

She looks at him, stubbornly not moving an inch, deciding how much to say. All options are wrong ones so she goes with honest, because how much she has to loose at this point? She lived her life well enough, and her kid is all grown-up and ready to leave the nest…

She takes a shaky breath bracing herself and looks danger right in the eyes.

– …You're my worst nightmare not because of what you did. I've been haunted by what-ifs my whole life… You're a mystery that slipped out of my hands. What if, what if… ...What if we could have been friends?

He visibly deflates under her searching gaze like someone dropped a bucket of cold water over his head. There's a conflicted look on his face for a moment but then it passes leaving behind resignation and defeat. (He fucked up. She was the one, the perfect chance for everything he wanted and HE FUCKED IT UP!!)

– Lyds…

He stills as if thinking it over before opening his arms. (He can work with fucked up. She's right here after all. Maybe its not too late to fix a rush job)

– How about a bit of death's embrace?

There's a faint surprise in her eyes. She considers the risk, her eyes tracing his hands, his posture, his face. He doesn't look threatening, just weary and rough. She reluctantly steps closer.

She's caged in his arms immediately and its the most familiar feeling in the world. Faint smell of decay and ozone, chill running down her spine, just like her dead-parents hugs. His embrace is firm and maybe a little bit desperate. She raises her hands and returns the hug, hiding face in his shoulder.

This is a tightest hug she had in a long while. This is the tightest hug he had in a lifetime deathtime.

A long moment passes before he breaks the silence:

– I could snap your pretty little neck right now and you wouldn't be able to stop me.

– Yes, you could, – she sniffs. – Would you? If you do make it quick.

She's shoved back, his eyes locking with hers. Then he raises hand and bonks their foreheads together never breaking eye contact.

– I was thinking about this. Don't tempt me, Lydia.

She lets out a snort.

– Of course you did. Beetle… – she's interrupted with finger over her lips.

– Shhh-sh-shh! Careful with the B-word, babe!

– I've been thinking about you for past 30 years.

That brings smile back on his face and he's back to looking manic instead of just dead.

– Way to stroke a guy's ego! But then why didn't you just call me??

– While dreading what you'd do to my family if I ever dared?? I bet you had some petty revenge planned for all of us, – She deadpans before muttering under her nose, – …Or if I called… and you didn't show up… And I don't know which is worse…

He's staring at her again. Then he's laughing quietly, then at full volume, his whole body shaking and electric like she just cracked funniest joke in his life death.

– ..Hahaha.. I honestly dunno what I expected, of course you of all people!.. Oh, I sure did plan a revenge, do you wanna hear the deets, Deetz?

She rolls her eyes, wary but amused.

– I'm trying to be vulnerable here but sure, hit me with what you've got.

– I was thinking a merry-go-round, you know, classic! Filled with worms. You know, URGH, sandworms!! Make you all taste your own medicine!!! That was awful by the way, you owe me for that one!

– Hmm. Sounds unpleasant. Not as exciting as I hoped from you.

– Oh now she's judging me, huh?? Try getting slimy feeling off your skin for a decade then we'll talk!

– I think I already went through that. You know, feeling haunted, with a mix of dread and regrets hanging over my shoulders. Does that mean we're even?

That makes him pause. Breaking eye contact his eyes search for something to focus on that isn't her face. The room is bare (but not exactly quiet, there's at least two more voices screaming at him that he's walking on eggshells, that he can't let her go, that he can't let her close, YOU KNOW HOW THAT WORKED OUT FOR YOU LAST TIME!!) except for ugly sofa that seen better days.

– Lemme think about it… Yeah, sure, alright, whatever, babes, water under the bridge! How about we start on a clean page instead? Just you and me, no interrupting family, some alcohol…

– Hold your horses, cowboy, I already feel insane just talking with you. I'm not adding alcohol to the mix.

– That's the best part, we're already mad! Your loss! Personally I wanna get wasted. And I'm not asking by the way but you're free to join me aaanytime!

With that he makes a 180 turn and beelines towards beaten sofa fishing a fancy-looking bottle out of thin air. Familiar looking bottle.

– Yeah, right. Wait, is this from my parents' stash?? Give it back!

He crashes on the sofa making it squeak under dead weight and flashes her a crooked smile full of teeth.

– Nooo way, doll, I think I deserve a vacation and a drink!

– Vacation?? Your last job was 30 years ago?!

– And I spend them in bureaucracy hell! Give me a break! You don't know what it's like!

– Actually I do.

That paints his face with genuine surprise like it's something he hasn't considered.

– Huh?

– Barbara and Adam.

– Hmmm? What did you dooo? :)

He leans forward, all smiles and all ears, like she's about to share latest gossip he missed out on.

– Found a loophole. Helped them move on.

– Ohohoo that's my girl! Do tell, do tell?

– There's not much to tell. They wanted a family. They raised me. And then I moved out. And then they moved on. But there was plenty of paperwork leading to that last part.

His smile falters but doesn't leave. Been there, seen that.

– Ah, boring happy ending for everyone but you, huh?

– Yeah, pretty much.

– …So do you want a drink or not?

– …Okay, fine.

That gets him excited all over again and he materializes a couple of glasses out of nowhere with fanfare like some sort of street magician. Both are filled with liquor (that was carefully saved for special occasions which happened never so now dead man is the one who gets to drink it all) and one is presented to her.

She accepts the drink but hesitates to try it. Looks back at her drinking partner, waiting.

– Right, we need a toast!

He rises his glass almost spilling its content over already sad looking sofa but catches it mid air last second. That makes Lydia laugh and she rises her own as well. Sound of her laughter makes him grin and he puffs out his chest for audience of one.

– For the living!

– And the dead.

– Cheers!

#beetlejuice #beetlejuice 2 #beetlejuice beetlejuice #Julik writes stuff #2024 #this man has so many party tricks up his sleeves but everyone around finds him obnoxious or repulsive #except Lyds #imho thats main reason he's fixating on Lydia so much #birds of a feather flock together and all that #metaphor for mental illness alienation? In old and “problematic” media? Its more likely than you think #those are my blorbos and I decide what I project on them

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adultswim2021 · 3 months

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Robot Chicken #73: “Maurice Was Caught” | August 2, 2009 - 11:30PM | S04E12

Sometimes I feel like my hatred of this show is thawing over time, but this episode really wore on me. The highlight of the episode was still a D+ at best. That was the Simon Belmont one, where the realities of using a whip as a weapon are highlighted. A fairly funny premise that didn’t overstay its welcome? Okay, fine. I’ll write about it semi-positively on my bad blog about cartoons. You win, Robot Chicken. You win.

As for the rest: There’s an Annie (of old-ass comic strip fame) sketch where it’s like that MTV Program Super Sweet 16. I applaud Robot Chicken for not having the voice just be Seth Green doing his patented “stupid bitch” voice; they actually hired an actress for it. The writing isn’t much better than those other sketches where they make fun of teen celebrities. Could have been worse, I guess.

There’s a sketch that’s like War Games, but it’s the Nerd playing a Lord of the Rings game. He nukes Canada trying to find a cheat code online. The government waterboards him until he finally implicates the middle east as a potential target. This technically qualifies as satire. It predictably ends with a prison rape joke, which technically qualifies as lame writing.

A lot of these sketches are fairly short, running around a minute each. Usually it’s easy to single out three “longish” sketches, and I guess I already have. There’s one where Sesame Street and Wall Street collide when Kermit the Frog’s cousin Gordon the Gecko shows up. There’s one where a scientist shows off a bunch of failed jetpack tests. There’s one where Petroleum Pete sings a song about the virtues of using fossil fuels. That last guy is sorta meant to resemble the Sinclair logo, I’m guessing. I thought maybe he was a real guy. That one hurts because it’s also musically bad. That was this one, goodnight!

EPHEMERA CORNER:

Tim and Eric Awesome Show, Great Job! - Season Three DVD (August 4, 2009)

The worst season of Tim and Eric Awesome Show, Great Job nevertheless receives as good of a release as any other season, with deleted scenes and extended sketches. The best bits on here are the half-hour version of the Muscles for Bones episode, and the complete Gettin’ It Dunn full-length ‘sode.

I read a review of this to remind me what was on it and was reminded that C.O.R.B.S. received a video commentary on adultswim.com. I also remember Jim and Derrick getting the same treatment, which I touched on in that episode’s write-up. It’s a shame those commentaries are lost to time. Dino’s Moral Orel commentaries made it to the Australian DVD for Moral Orel, but the rest are fucking toast.

MAIL BAG

Hey leave Wil alone! If you play nice with him he might send you a free case of Stone Farking Wheaton W00tStout.

Jesus fucking Christ, man. You made me look this up to see if it was real and I was very disappointed at what I found. Everything that turd does makes me want to you-know-what (TOILETFLUSH.ogg)

#adult swim #adultswim2021 #robot chicken

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rebelrayne · 2 years

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Summary Seb isn't overly emotional. He's not a sticky sweet guy who loves a big romantic gesture, or someone who would pick up a bouquet of roses on the way home. But lately... There's something about Valerie. Rated Teen

Under the cut or on AO3

@litgwritersroom Not Gary or Tim, but I gave everyone's favorite non-LI, Seb some love.

also thank you to @mergrl, @csmicletters and @longbobmckenzie for beta reading this 🤍

Seb’s stomach churned just thinking about the cutesy sandcastles everyone built the day before. They made a swing for their kids, they counted the number of bedrooms they’d need. Hell, they even dug little holes and stated that’s where their pool would go. What was next? Naming their children? He’d never been overly sentimental, he wasn’t sappy and sweet. He watched as Bill and Valerie celebrated their win. He liked Viv well enough, he thought she was cute and she was kind-hearted but lately…

“Have you ever wondered why they call it shipping if it comes by truck?” Valerie held a cereal box in front of her and studied the back. It had cartoon characters sprawled all over it with a maze for kids to use. She had her elbows resting on the table as she used an index finger to move through the printed maze. “Seb? What do you think?”

She was quirky as hell, that’s what he thought. “How do you even think of these things, Val?” She never told him that he could call her ‘Val’, but he started to anyway. He noticed that she didn’t let anyone else shorten her beautiful name, it was as if it was a special privilege only for him. “You say the most random things.”

Her chocolate brown hair bounced along with her shoulders while she giggled. “I’m just individualistic,” she explained, “you understand that more than anyone else here, don’t you?” She nudged him playfully with her shoulder. He hated that he felt the way he did. Every time she touched him, even an accidental graze, it gave him a shock. It was too late now, he thought. He knew she was happy with Bill.

“Hey guys!” Speak of the devil. “Valerie, are you eating that stuff? Come on, that’s no good. There’s tons more cereal to pick from in there,” Bill said. Every time that bloke opened his mouth, Seb could feel his eye twitching. He could feel his fists balling, he would start to grind his teeth together tightly. He knew Val was happy with Bill… But dammit, how was she happy with him?

He watched Valerie force a laugh. Didn’t she ever get tired of that? “You and your opinions, babe.” She said it as if it was no big deal, like he was a baby that learned how to clap its hands for the first time. Like it was… cute? Either that, or she was a damn good actress. “How are you feeling about everything, Seb?”

Seb didn’t expect for her to turn the attention back to him. He’d never had the heart to tell her that he couldn’t stand Bill. Everyone in the Villa was a bit too… Positive? Happy? Energetic? Ah, wait… Vanilla, that was the word. “I’m feeling good! I’m well excited to get back home and see Doom and the kittens though.”

“I can adopt one of the kittens, right?” she asked with those big, innocent looking doe eyes. He could never say no to that face. No, never. “Please?” She forced her voice to sound whiny, probably for effect and she knew it would drink him crazy.

Seb laughed and covered his ears as a joke. “Okay, okay,” he said. “Just have mercy on my poor ears.”

“Oh! Hey! I got a text!” Val let her syllables linger as she yelled. She chuckled to herself as she watched Seb shake his head like a wet dog.

“What happened to mercy on my poor ears?”

Val rolled her eyes as she stood up and flipped her hair back. “There’s no time for mercy, Sebastian!” She rolled her hand into a fist and placed it to her mouth as she cleared her throat dramatically. He felt a smile creep onto his face as he watched her prepare herself as if she was about to give a speech at the Oscars. Islanders, today you’ll be participating in the Lie Detector challenge! Each Islander will choose three questions they want to ask their partner while hooked to a lie detector. Boys, please head to the fire pit. Girls, please move to the roof terrace. #TruthsRevealed #HonestyIsTheBestPolicy

Seb looked over at Viv, who seemed calm yet excited at the same time. He liked her, he did. What was there not to like? But lately…

“You’re getting ready to think of some grilling questions, huh, Seb?” Val elbowed his side playfully. Her coffee-colored eyes sparkled as she giggled at her own joke. She clutched her sides then carefully pretended to wipe under her eye as if she’d laughed so hard, she cried. She waved him off. “Go easy on us, boys!”

Seb decided to go easy on Viv. He knew she wouldn’t dream of asking him anything too difficult, she just wasn’t that way. Viv was so selfless, so sweet. Seb swallowed hard and sunk deeper into the cushions of the sofa, which reeked of coconut sunscreen. He placed his hands in his lap and started to pick at his fingers. What if Viv didn’t go easy on him? He would almost deserve it with his back and forth…

“Are you alright?” Viv asked as she slid up next to him. She was so nice, he thought. Why wasn’t he still excited about her? He met her eyes, which were full of concern. It looked as if she was trying not to pout out her bottom lip, but was failing miserably at the task. “You seem distracted today.”

He shook his head and placed a faux smile on his face. “Sure, I’m great, Viv.” He draped an arm around her and sighed. “I’m nervous about the challenge, you know? This might cause some drama in the Villa and I’m not about that.” Why was he lying to her? He didn’t even know what was going on in his mind exactly… He just knew that his mind wasn’t always on her…

“Drama?!” Val exclaimed as she stood up from her seat. She placed the back of her hand to her forehead and leaned back. “I love the drama!” He couldn’t help but smile, she could turn any day around. She placed her hands on her hips as she giggled. The red fringe on her bathing suit top swayed as she flopped back down onto the couch. Bill went to put an arm around her, but she wiggled away as she continued to giggle. She looked directly at Seb. It couldn’t be, could it? No.

“Classic Val,” Seb said. “You do have quite the flair for the dramatic.” His stomach fluttered when she winked at him. What was this feeling? Was it really that he just wanted her? No. She was happy with Bill and he was… content. “Who do you think is going to go first?”

“Got a text!” Elladine exclaimed as she stood up and waved her phone around. “Looks like Viv is up first and Bill is asking the questions.”

Bill jumped to his feet quickly while Viv followed behind him. He looked so immature, so stupid as he ran off cackling to himself. Seb sent a look over to Val. She quickly looked away. Had she been staring at him? No. That was all in his head, maybe she was just watching Viv and got caught in a daze.

The Islanders watched in silence as Viv was hooked to the machine. Wires stuck all over her body but her eyes were cast down at the floor. “Okay, Viv! Just checking to see if it’s working. Your name is Genevieve, right?”

“That’s right,” she answered. The screen showed the machine glowing with a green light, a loud ding as she sighed in relief.

“Alright, let’s try this one: Do you enjoy sharing a bed with Seb?” Bill read from the notecard like a 6-year-old who couldn’t read yet. He sounded like a robot. Why was Seb picking everything the guy did apart now?

Viv nodded with a bright smile. “Yes.” The machine gave another joyous response.

“Do you think you might want to see where things go after the Villa?”

“Yes.” Ding.

“Okay, Viv, last one: Are you happy to be partnered with Seb?”

“Yes.” Ding.

Why did he feel like such a jerk? Was it because he would have had to answer ‘no’ to all of those questions in order for the machine to give the same response? Oh God, he would have to answer ‘no’ to get that damn machine to light up green like Christmas morning.

His knee started to bounce, a ball formed in his throat. He could only hope he would go last so other Islanders were too involved in their own drama from their own questions… That was wishful thinking, wasn’t it? None of these people would have drama in their couples. He was going to be the only one to lie all day, wasn’t he?

Couple after couple, Islander after Islander… His theory proved to be true: no one was lying and there was no drama. How could a group so honestly boring even exist? How had they found these Jiminy Cricket type people? He groaned to himself, muttering very quietly under his breath as Nicky’s final question prompted a collective ‘Aw’ from the others. It made him sick, all this love talk, all this cutesy shit.

He picked up his phone and felt the color drain from his face. Of course he would have to ask Val her questions. Would she notice him wince when she gave a satisfied response for Bill? Would she catch onto him if he frowned and looked away when she said she liked Bill?

They headed towards the room and for the first time all summer, there was absolute silence between them. “You alright, Val?” He asked as he slipped into his lab coat. He scrunched up his nose upon noticing the pair of glasses laid on the bed for him. Did he really have to put those fake readers on? He rolled his eyes as he snatched them from the bed.

“Yeah, I’m just a tad nervous about the questions,” she said, avoiding his eyes. “Bill is pretty, uh, opinionated.”

“That’s one word for it.” Seb sat down at the computer and ran his hand across the keyboard, feeling the bumps of the letters as he moved his fingers back and forth. “You’ll be great, Val. You always are.”

Val cleared her throat. “Thanks, Seb.” Her voice sounded shaky, unsure of the way to respond. She had every right to be upset, he thought. It wasn’t like Bill was known to be calm and level-headed. “Let’s get this over with, I guess.” That didn’t sound like her at all.

He was almost too angry to read off the questions. This challenge was making her so nervous, her gorgeous smile was no longer an accessory to her outfit. “Alright, don’t be nervous. Let’s start off easy. Is Seb your best friend in the Villa?” He looked over at her and grinned.

Her smile melted him, the laugh she gave made his heart flip and flop inside his chest. “Yes, he is.” Ding.

“Alright. It looks like everything is in order.” He grabbed the small set of notecards and tapped them on the table. “Let’s see, first question: Do you think you and Bill have compatible personalities?” Wow, Bill wasn’t messing around, Seb thought.

“Hm,” she paused, shifting her attention to Seb, “yes.” The machine sent out an ear-deafening scream as it alerted the others of the lie. And here he was thinking there would be no drama.

“Wow,” he said. “Okay.” He took the first notecard and placed it face down on the keyboard. “Let’s, uh, try another. Don’t worry, Val.” He looked down at the card and rolled his eyes. For fuck’s sake. “Next question: If Bill asked you to be his girlfriend, would you say yes?” Well, the first question probably answered that.

Val chewed on her bottom lip for a moment. She shifted in her seat, squirming uncomfortably. “Uh, well…” She looked towards the headboard of the bed, the opposite direction of the camera. She had her hands in her lap as she tapped her fingers together. “No.” Ding.

“It’s alright, Val.” He put the notecard on top of the other on the keyboard. “We only have one more. Are you ready?” She nodded, but still has her gaze fixated on the bed of the hideaway. “Okay, I’m right here, just remember that.” He hadn’t even looked at the last question, but when he did? “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he mumbled. He wanted to just rip it up. Could he do that? Would it be permitted? His heart pounded in anger, but only because the first two questions had revealed so much. “The last question is: Is there someone else in the Villa you’d rather be with?”

Val’s eyes widened, her lips parted as she looked at Seb. Her eyes flickered down as she started at his lips then she cleared her throat. “Yes.” The two of them sat in an eerie quiet until the machine replied happily. Ding.

“What the heck, Valerie?” Bill’s face was a mixture of so many emotions. He looked pissed, but then he looked upset, but then he looked like he wanted to murder someone? Had it not been caused by something that Val had said, he would have been happy to see someone show some damn emotion in this Villa. “Who is it that you’d rather be coupled with?”

Val walked right past him. She always had her shoulders back, her step always had a bounce to it… But not now. No, now, her head was hung in defeat, she shuffled her feet to the couch and sat down at the very end. She shifted her body away from the other Islanders, leaning herself on the arm of the chair.

Seb went to go after her but Elladine grabbed his arm. “Didn’t you hear me? You’re up.” Damn it.

He followed her back, he hadn’t even gotten a moment to himself. At least he got his wish, he was last… But at what cost? He so badly wanted to tell Elladine he refused to take the test, he should have just said to hell with it and sat down with Val anyway. He knew he couldn’t though… It wasn’t his place, was it? To comfort her that way. But lately…

“Are you ready?” Elladine said as clapped her hands together. “Is your full name Sebastian?”

Seb nodded his head slowly. “It is.” Ding.

“Great!” Elladine snatched the cards from the table and crossed her legs. “First question: Are you happy to be coupled with Viv?”

Technically, he was. Was it lying if he said yes on a technicality? Why was he so nervous to give his answer? “Yes, I am.” He shut his eyes tightly but the machine agreed. Ding. He sighed a breath of relief and let his body relax. Maybe all of the questions would be this simple, maybe she really had gone easy on him.

“Aw!” Elladine’s voice was whiny as she giggled. “Okay, next question is: Is Viv a good kisser?”

Okay, maybe these would be easy. He smiled, confidence oozing. “Yes, she is.” Ding. Too easy.

Elladine nodded and tossed the card to the back of the pile as she shuffled to the final card. Her smile faded. Oh no. Oh no, no, no, no. That did not look good. “Uh,” she said, “well, I guess this is the final question…” She looked at Seb with an apologetic look, the glass of her readers had a glare that made it impossible to see her eyes. “Would you rather be coupled with… with Valerie?”

He wasn’t even in the room but he could practically hear the whispers, the muttering and the shifting of bodies on the couch as they moved to the edge of their seat. “Uh, um.” What was he supposed to say? “I don’t know how to answer that without hurting Viv.” He looked down at his lap again, which was something he had become very accustomed to ever since he started to realize his feelings for Val. How could he not want to be with her?

“I don’t think you can–” Ding. Elladine sighed. “Oh.”

“Yeah…” Seb took a long deep breath. “Oh.”

Viv intercepted him before he got back to the living room, which he was almost thankful for. At least he didn’t need to face everyone after that spectacle. He could only imagine the pained expression that Bill wore… “I had my suspicions,” Viv said as she leaned her shoulder onto the wall in the hallway. “I’m sorry it had to come out this way, I guess.”

“You shouldn’t be apologizing, Viv. It was all me. I should have said something sooner, maybe you wouldn’t have felt like you needed to say it that way.” Maybe the other Islanders and their peaceful ways were rubbing off on him. “Don’t be sorry.”

“I still am,” she answered with the curves of her mouth downturned slightly. “Partially because had I just not asked that question…” She stopped mid-sentence and blinked rapidly, tearing her eyes away from him. “Why didn’t you just say something?”

He was the worst human being on earth. Why wasn’t he happy with what he had? “I don’t know. I like you, Viv, I do, but lately…”

“Stop.” She stood up straight, her hair flopped along with her head as she moved it from side to side. “I need some space from you.” She turned around and trudged away. Even though she said it was okay, even though she told him it wasn’t a surprise… He felt like he should pack his bags and leave for hurting her the way he did.

He took a deep breath and walked towards the roof terrace. There was no way that he was going out there. He wasn’t ready for the bloodbath. Well, more like he just wasn’t ready to face Val. She didn’t think of him the same way, he was sure of it. He’d always just be her best friend in the Villa, nothing more. He pushed the door to the terrace open, a little too violently. He just had to take his frustrations out on something, he couldn’t help it.

He fell onto the bench and grabbed a pillow, putting his face to it and screaming into it. He fell back onto the bench, putting one leg up and allowing the other to stay firmly on the ground. “That’s quite a show you’re putting on there.” He lifted his head to find Val standing at the door. “Can we talk?” She shuffled her feet, kicking at an imaginary pebble on the ground.

He sat up and nodded. “Of course we can, Val.” He held the pillow in his lap and watched her sit down next to him, at least an arms length away. His heart sank at the sight. Your heart can’t really sink, he thought, but that’s how it felt. Not only had he ruined the couple he was in, he ruined his friendship with Val. He couldn’t help it though, not really. It wasn’t like he could get out of asking the question… “I’m sorry about what happened.”

“But what you said,” she paused, “would you rather be coupled with me, Seb?”

He gulped. He couldn’t get out of answering this question either. “At first, I was happy to be friends. You became the person that I wanted to talk to about everything. You were the person I ran to first when something happened, you were the person I wanted to learn everything about. But lately…” He sighed and placed the pillow on the other side of himself. He maneuvered his body to face her. “But lately, I see you and I get excited. I’m not a grand gestures kind of guy. I don’t do flowers, I’ve never kissed anyone in the pouring rain. I’ll never tell you that my heart skips a beat while I serenade you outside your window… But I can tell you that over the past month, there’s no one I’m more excited to talk to. There’s no one else I’d rather spend my lazy days with. I’d swim the ocean to just get one look at you…”

She blinked a few times, seemingly at a loss for words. “You don’t have to feel the same. Heck, you don’t even need to say anything to this. I’m sorry it had to come out this way, Val.” He placed his hands on his thighs to stand up. “I’ll give you some space, okay? I don’t want things to be awkward.”

“Wait!” She placed her hand on one of his. He met her eyes with a look of bewilderment. “At first, I was happy to be friends. I was more than thrilled to just know everything there was to know about you, but lately…” she smiled, “but lately, it’s you I want to see when I wake up in bed in the morning. It’s you I want to kiss goodnight. Seb, it’s you I want to be coupled with. It’s you that I want.”

He didn’t even waste a moment. He cupped her face and pulled her in. He didn’t want to stop and ask himself if this was a dream. He felt her catch her breath as he moved his hand to the back of her head, running his fingers through her hair. Sure, they had complicated things, they had made some waves in the Villa. Seb wasn’t overly sentimental, he wasn’t sappy and sweet. But lately…

#litg #litg season 3 #litg seb #litg ff #litg fanfic

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