#was flat :--) and i pretended not to hear because little old me :---) thought that it was meant to be as a way of teasing like

[lizzieislife94x]

7 Minutes In Heaven (w.m)

WandaxG!P Reader

 Just to keep the book updated If you have a request message me babes.

Y/ns POV:

"Who wants another drink?" I yell as I walk towards the bar hearing a chorus of no thank yous I turn to double check "definitely no one wants a drink I'm not getting back up" I laugh as I grab a beer I scan the group and catch eyes with wanda she's so fucking beautiful I've never had the courage to make a move the rest of our friends know I'm head over heels for her but I just can't find the courage "can I have a beer please" she says a trace of her accent seeping through I smile and grab an extra beer opening both walking back over to sit down "here you go wanda" I say getting a little shy as she smiles "thank you y/n" I smile and look around "ok Tony what ridiculous games have you got planned tonight" Natasha smirks leaning back into the couch beer in hand making me laugh "well since you asked I was actually thinking of 7 minutes in heaven unless yall are scared, simple rules you spin the bottle whoever it lands on you take to the closest minimum is kissing you can't just stand there awkwardly otherwise you have to drink a disgusting alcoholic mixture of my making" he explains as if we're dumb "ok old man we get it" I state making wanda giggle "I'm not going first " Bruce exclaimed no surprise there "I'll go first " Sam yells excitedly, I take a drink as the bottle spins we all watch intensely as it slows and lands on Maria "ohhh shit" we all yell laughing as they walk to the closet and the timer is started I decided to talk to wanda to waste the time

"I know you've been here like 10 months now but how are you settling in" she smiles getting a little closer to me "yeah it's OK I love this weird family we all have it makes me feel safe the people here make me feel safe" she whispers with a blush "times up guys get out" Tony yells as we all look at them fixing their clothes and whistle  "my turn" wanda says looking at me then the bottle as it spins I sit and pray it lands on me because no matter what happens I can blame the game but still get to at least kiss her "Y/N and wanda woo hooo get your asses in the closest " Tony yells snapping me out of my thoughts as I look up shocked "wait what happened" I look around then down at the bottle pointed at me I look at wanda and whisper "if your not comfortable with this it's OK I'll take Tony's poisoned concoction" she smiles and stands up grabbing my hand I guess she's OK with it we make our way to the closet as the door closes behind us. 

"We don't have to do anything ill just pretend we made out" I whisper rubbing her arm "oh believe me I want to do this" she whispers as she leans in locking her lips against mine making me moan at the feeling as butterfly's fill my stomach I slide my hand down to her waist pulling her flat against me deepening the kiss as my tounge explores her mouth after a minute we break away "that was amazing" I whisper leaning my head against hers "yes it was" she grabs my tee and pulls me back in for a kiss as my hands roam down to her ass "is this ok" I mumble against her lips making her giggle "fuck yes " I smirk and squeeze her ass pulling her against me as my bulge starts to grow she looks up at me biting her lip "are you..hard" I blush and hide my face not saying anything "y/n it's OK I like it" I bite my lip and lean in to kiss her again "times up love birds" Tony and Nat yell as the door is pulled open making us turn to look at their smirking faces "wait that was 7 minutes" I groan making wanda giggle we walk out as I try to discreetly fix my bulge, I sit on the couch a little uncomfortable as wanda walks over sitting on my lap smirking she leans into whisper in my ear "the other seats are taken hope this is ok" I bite my lip and nod "its more than ok but might be a little uncomfortable my little friend isn't listening to me" I whisper making her bite her lip "I know I can feel it makes this seat the best in the house" I feel myself getting harder at her words,

we continue to drink and laugh as the night goes on "hey I'm gonna head to bed feeling a little tired" I lie earning a few raised eye brows "oh you know what me to I feel so tired" wanda says with a fake yawn we both get up and walk upstairs towards wandas room "thank god I thought we'd never get to be alone" she whispers as we walk into her room I grab her waist pulling her into me smashing my lips against hers in a bruising kiss making us both moan I pick her up walking towards the bed gently throwing her on the mattress as she giggles looking at me "please just fuck me I've spent the last 2 hours being teased by your dick I could feel everything" she moans as I start to undress wanda following my lead leaving us both in our underwear

"fuck wanda you're so beautiful " I say as I climb over her leaving kisses along her jaw earning quite moans "no you are y/n" she says sitting up as she runs her finger tips down my stomach towards my boxers "look at that bulge you look huge"she whispers as she slowly slides them down making me kick them off she gasps as my cock springs out to action "mmmh fuck" she breaths making me smirk I groan as she wraps her hand around my cock moving her hand slowly her eyes never leaving mine "uh fuck wanda just like that feels so good" I groan as she words her hand faster making me lean my head back at the pleasure I pull away making her look at me confused "I'd rather be inside you right now baby I've been so horny since your lips landed on mine" I lean down kissing her stomach as I pull her panties off slowly my eyes instantly going to her cunt making me groan "fuck" I moan as I run my finger through her wet folds making her moan trying to grind against my finger "mhh such a needy girl" I smirk pulling my finger away "please daddy" I look at her and groan as the words leave her mouth I quickly flip her onto her stomach gripping her hips bringing her ass up I rub my hands over her ass taking in the sight "fuck wanda" I moan as I rub my cock through her dripping folds earning a whimper from the redhead "please daddy don't tease me" I lick my lips and gently start pushing into her groaning at how tight she is "fuck yes" she moans as I sink deep inside her making her gasp "you're doing so well babygirl" I gently rub her back as I stay completely still letting her adjust to the size "you can move now" she breaths out I start to thrust slowly gripping her hips making us both moan she grips the sheets "fuck daddy faster please" I grip her hips thrusting faster and harder the sounds of our skin slapping together filling the room"uhh fuck wanda so fucking good" I moan thrusting harder and faster I grip her hair pulling her up gently so her backs against my chest I wrap my arms around her chest playing with her nipple as I continue my brutal pounding turning her into a moan mess "mmmm mmmmh" is all I hear I pull almost all the way out just to slam back in repeating my actions she opens her mouth as a silent scream leaves her mouth I slide my hand up to her throat and squeeze gently "mhh cum for me babygirl be a good girl for daddy" I feel her walls tighten around my cock as I continue to thrust faster I feel my orgasm approach as I slam deep inside her and cum with a loud moan pulling her closer to me kissing her jaw as we both come down from our highs "holy fuck wanda that was amazing" I say as I slide out of her slowly earning a moan I quickly run to the bathroom getting a damp cloth "y/n what are you doing" she says sleepy "getting a cloth to clean you wanda" she smiles as I clean her gently not to over stimulate her "stay with me please" she whispers as I finish cleaning myself "of course wanda anything for you" I smile climbing into bed as she cuddles into my drawing shapes on my chest "I've wanted to kiss you for the longest time" i confess quietly "me to y/n " she whispers with a yawn I pull her closer to me as we drift off into a peaceful sleep. 

AN: just a little update to keep the book updated If you have any requests message me they are appreciated haha, word count is 1.6k

#elizabeth olsen #lizzie olsen #fanfic #marvel mcu #mcu #mcu fanfiction #oneshot #smut #wattpad #lizzieislife94x #wanda maximoff #mommy wanda #wanda mcu #wanda marvel #wandavision #wanda x reader #wanda x you #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximommy #wanda maxmoff x y/n #wanda smut

[till-you-scream-and-cry]

Third Lesson of Good Manners: Keep Quiet

Pairing: Ethan x Damiano x Fem!Reader

summary: your third encounter with Ethan, this time someone will join, at least at the beginning, but how will this evening end?

word count: 2,7k

contents: SMUT, dirty talk, daddy kink, hair pulling, choking, spanking, rough sex, unptotected sex, humiliation

author’s note: well i hope i at least won’t disappoint after such a long break

Måsterlist | tåglist

PREVIOUS LESSONS:

✨FIRST LESSON ✨SECOND LESSON

*******

Another boring day has passed. After leaving the office, you stood at the bus stop, daydreaming a little, your vision got blurry, and noises mixed into white noise. The vibrating phone in your pocket brought you back to reality.

“Ciao, stronza” The sweet welcome was followed by Vic’s chuckle.

“Hey, to what do I owe the pleasure?” You narrowed your eyes, trying to see the bus, but sadly it was late again.

“You thought you could just go on for two weeks without telling me what happened at that party? I was busy, but now I need to know everything…”

Truth be told, you didn’t want to share with anyone details of what happened between you and Ethan. Vic was your dear friend, but what you had with Ethan seemed a bit too intimate. Especially since she knew him so well, and you weren’t exactly sure if she was aware of what he was capable of.

“Vic, what are you even talking about? I got a bit drunk and had a nice time.” You shamelessly lied.

“Yeah, right. It’s the second time you and Edgar disappear somewhere for a while and get back sweaty and a mess. Who are you trying to fool?”

You sighed.

“Yeah alright, even if, what am I supposed to tell you, hmm?” You asked, biting your lip.

“Preferably all the juicy details,” she said, and you could hear the grin in her voice.” 

“Vic, I’m in public, maybe some other time? I love you but I need to run.” You smiled at the sight of the approaching bus.

“Boo-hoo, you won’t get away with this, I’ll steal you for some serious gossiping on Saturday.”

“And…what’s on Saturday?” You frowned.

“Shit, I forgot to text you, sorry. Just pretend that you knew earlier please, Ethan will kill me.”

Your body tensed up at the sound of his name. 

“Ethan? So what’s tomorrow, will I ever find out?” You sounded a bit too impatient which you realized when the words escaped your mouth.

“Easy tiger, Ethan is making a little party in his flat, he just moved. And since he doesn't have your number, he asked me to let you know.” You haven’t replied right away. “Hello? Have you died from excitement or…” Vic scoffed

“No?! Shut up Vic I swear, you let your imagination run a little too wild. Thanks for the invite, I got to go. Love you.” 

You ended the call before she had a chance to say something else. Your heart was racing, and filling you with shameful thoughts. Or at least ones you shouldn’t necessarily have in public. But you couldn’t help the grin which appeared on your face at the very thought of meeting him again. 

You could barely sleep at night, instead, you went through your closet, trying to find a decent outfit. You knew how he liked you in short skirts, so the choice was simple. Short skirt with easy access to your lacy panties, red this time. Tight-fitting top, with flattering cleavage. And a choker. You couldn't help yourself. 

The next evening you showed up fashionably late, or maybe just late because you once again got stuck in traffic. Ethan opened the door with a smirk and looked you up and down. He was wearing jeans and a black tank top, which only emphasized his muscles.

“Look who decided to finally show up. I started thinking you got tired of me.” He slowly licked his lips. Your cheeks were burning.

“How could I?” You smiled innocently and handed him a wine bottle. He moved aside and let you in. 

His flat was just what you expected. Old building, renovated inside. Vintage furniture, a shelf full of vinyl collection, walls covered in art, and a piano. You weren’t sure how many rooms there were, but it was surely bigger than the flat Vic had. 

He quickly abandoned you and disappeared into the kitchen. You kept walking around until you found Vic and kissed her cheek. Thankfully, before she started interrogation, you felt a firm grip on your arm.

“Here you are. Mind if I steal her for a moment?” Ethan said to Vic in a playful tone.

“Oh, she’s all yours.” Vic winked and walked away to Thomas, who started dancing at the coffee table.

“What do you need me for?” You asked, pretending that you wouldn’t accept literally anything he’d offer you.

“Have a little patience, hmm?” He growled into your ear, which was enough to give you goosebumps.

He led you to the dark corridor where Damiano was leaning against the wall, watching you with a smirk.

“Hey.” You said quietly.

“So polite.” Ethan mocked you. “Alright, here's the deal. In case you thought I forgot about that vase you destroyed last time I saw you, I’m here to remind you that I still remember.”

“It belonged to my Nonna,” Damiano said in a low, husky voice, slowly shaking his head.

“Exactly. So I think you should somehow make it up to my dear friend.” Ethan said and looked at you with a cocky smile.

“Ummm…” You looked at him, and then Damiano, then again at Ethan. 

“Such a silly slut, it’s almost cute.” Ethan patted your head. “Well since you’re only good at one thing, I figured you could be Damia’s toy for the night. Do you agree?” He asked with softness in his eyes. Besides it being all fun and games, you knew he wouldn’t force you to do anything against your will. You looked at Damiano, scanning his body, a bit too openly.

“I agree.” You said with a smirk. Damiano wasn't the type of man you’d refuse to have fun with. He grinned at your words and gently gripped your chin, lifting your face.

“You won’t regret it,” Damiano said in a husky voice.

“Behave,” Ethan whispered into your ear before leaving you two alone.

“So…” you said quietly, staring into Damiano’s eyes with an innocent face. “How may I serve you?” You bit your lip and smiled.

Damiano grinned and moved closer, making you walk backwards and press your back against the wall. He stroked your side and placed his hand on your hip.

“I could take some edge off, it’s been a long week.” He said and grabbed your chin with the other hand. Damiano moved even closer and started pressing his thigh between your legs. You let out a quiet sigh which made him smirk even more.

“I’ll gladly help.” You looked at him with lust, feeling his growing bulge pressing against your hip. 

He grabbed your chin tighter and leaned down to kiss you. He savoured your lips at first, but quickly let the passion win and deepened the kiss. You sighed and cupped his face, nibbling on his lip. Soon later his hands started wandering over your body, squeezing your breast, roaming over your back just to find your ass and give it some attention as well. You were both getting breathless, lost in the kiss, getting more rough and hungry for more every minute. Damiano suddenly moved away and looked deeply into your eyes with his hooded and darkened ones. He smirked and grabbed your hand. you saw a door which he opened and pulled you inside. It was a guest bathroom, he lit a small mirror light and closed the door. 

“How cosy…” you mumbled and looked at him with a grin.

“Shut up…” he said in a breathy voice. His hands were all over you once again. Damiano swiftly picked you up and sat at the edge of the washing machine. As soon as he did so, he pulled your top off you and threw it aside. You gasped as the cool air hit your nipples, already hardening from his touch. he cupped them and leaned to kiss you again. He started playing with your nipples, making you gasp into the kiss. He stood close, so close that you felt his cock hardening against your wet  pussy. You reached to his trousers and started toying with the belt. He moved away and removed them while staring at you with hungry eyes. The wet stain on your panties got even bigger, which he obviously noticed. His cock was pressing on his boxers, which he removed soon after. It bounced and made you hum quietly at his size. He smirked even more and stepped closer. Damiano grabbed your hair in a firm grip.

“I need you to wrap your beautiful lips around my cock and show me how sorry you are,” he whispered against your lips.

You nodded silently and jumped off the washing machine, going immediately down on your knees. He gave himself a few strokes, watching you below him, with your mouth open.

“Such a good slut…” he grumbled and slapped your tongue with his cock a few times, letting you feel how heavy it is. 

Moments later your mouth was wrapped around him, taking him slowly but deeper with every head bob. He tangled his fingers in your hair and started making noises, soft grunts filled the room. You felt that your pussy was dripping from the sounds he was making, which only encouraged you to go faster, deeper and be better for him. Damiano started thrusting his hips and pulling your head down on himself harder. Your eyes watered, and you pinned your claws in his thighs. He finally came hard, pilling himself down your throat, his loud moans made your pussy twitch. Once you sucked him dry, choking on his cum a little, he lifted your chin up and looked at you with hooded eyes and pink cheeks.

“Fuck baby that was good.” He pulled you up from the floor and kissed you deeply, tasting himself on your lips. 

“I’m glad I could make you happy,” you said, trying to catch a breath.

He walked closer and sat you on the washing machine again. He knelt in front of you and reached under your skirt. His finger brushed your underwear.

“You’re so soaked…I can’t let you go like this.” He smirked and kissed your inner thigh. 

He pulled your panties down and threw them on the pile of clothes. Damiano parted your legs and hooked one of them over his shoulder. He moved his face closer and dragged his rough tongue over your pussy. You moaned and arched your back. He chuckled and moved his hands under your ass to keep you in place. He started with slow, long licks, which later turned into him sucking and flicking your clit with the tip of his tongue. You couldn’t keep quiet, your moans got louder and out of control. You kept pulling on his hair, wriggling, trying to get more friction. As you were about to cum, the door opened and made you both stop.

“You just can’t keep quiet, can you?” Ethan looked mad, he stood there with his arms folded on his chest. 

Damiano stood up and wiped his mouth. You sat straight, trying to cover yourself. 

“Oh please, don’t play coy. You’re such a damn slut that you’ll act like an animal, like a fucktoy just for anyone? You were supposed to serve him, not get any pleasure yourself.” He looked at Damiano who acted very guilty.

“I’m sorry, I thought…” You mumbled.

“Stop. You want to scream like a whore so that a whole party could hear you? To let them know what kind of greedy slut you are? You’ll have it.” He said through gritted teeth. 

Ethan grabbed your hand and only let you throw on your top before pulling you towards the corridor. He led you, pantyless, all sweaty and worked up, through the living room full of guests, and pushed you into his bedroom. It wasn’t big, but very tasteful. As you’d expect.

“I’m sorry…” you started.

“No. Too late for that.” Ethan walked closer to you and hooked his finger under your choker to pull you closer. “Now I’ll just have to punish you.” 

You nodded, enchanted by his deep, brown eyes. His hand gripped your throat, pulling you into a deep and passionate kiss. Ethan snuck his hand under your skirt and moaned softly as he brushed his fingers against your soaked cunt.

“Fuck…” he looked at you and moved away. He swiftly pushed you onto the bed and trapped you beneath himself. Your hands were pinned above your hand, his other hand was teasing your folds. You whined and arched your back, wanting much more than this. 

“You’re so damn greedy…want daddy to fuck your stupid brains out? Wanna show my guests who owns you and can only make you scream?” He growled into your ear.

“Yes…yes please.” You mumbled. “Please, Daddy.” 

Ethan smirked and got off you. He got rid of his clothes and started playing with his hardening cock. His eyes didn’t leave your body for a second. He walked closer again, making you breathe more heavily, at the very idea of what he might do to you. He grabbed your legs and in one move turned you around on your stomach. A sharp pain as he smacked your ass made you squeak.

“On all fours, be a good girl.” He rubbed your red skin.

You obediently got in the position he wanted to have you in, and realised that a big mirror was in front of you. You caught his eyes, and he smirked.

“Oh yes, I want you to see how pathetic you are.” 

He moved on the bed behind you and started teasing your folds with his tip. He took his sweet time, making you whine and try to back out on his cock. He smacked you again and gripped your hair, forcing you to look at yourself in the mirror. Ethan forced your legs further apart so that your pussy was all ready and open for him.

“Look, so needy, just dripping all over me to get this cock, hmm?” He looked at your reflection and pushed all the way in, in one push. 

You moaned loudly, for a moment forgetting about the guests in the other room. He kept his hand on your back, the other tightly gripping your hair. Ethan made sure both he and you can see the faces you were making as he kept slamming deep inside you. 

“So whose cock is better, hmm? Who do you belong to, you whore?!” He spat out while speeding up his thrusts. 

His dark hair was moving with his every move, tickling your oversensitive skin, his fingers were digging deep into your hips, leaving bruises for the next day. The wet noises filled the room, mixed with your moans and whines and his low grunts.

“Who do you belong to?!” He asked louder.

“I belong to you, Daddy!” You screamed, failing to keep eye contact. 

It got messy, fast breathy and full of noises. You kept scratching his thighs, trying to pull him deeper, he kept pulling your hair, leaving bites on your back, scratching you, slamming into you and fucking you into oblivion. Ethan was hitting every spot, stretching you so well. He once again pulled your hair to make you watch as he came with a loud moan, filling you with his hot cum. Just from seeing that and hearing how good you made him feel, you came screaming, trembling and collapsing under him. 

You lasted like that for a moment, both of you coming harder than ever. He finally softened and slipped out of you. Ethan rolled you on your back and sat between your legs. You felt his cu slowly dripping out of you. He brushed his hands up your sides and hands, gently pinning them above your head. You expected a round two, but instead, he leaned down and kissed you softly, caressing your cheek. once he broke off the kiss he looked down at you with a blissful smile. 

“You’re in trouble, miss,” he said in a raspy voice.

“What did I do now?” You asked with raised eyebrows. He kissed your nose and kept looking at your face in such a way you’d never seen him look before. Ethan sighed and rest his head on your chest, carefully not to squeeze you. He wrapped his arms around you.

“You got me addicted to yourself. Maybe I’m not mad about that. Maybe I could get used to having you here more often.” 

You silently started playing with his hair and placed a soft kiss on his head. And you could swear you felt his heart beating faster at that same moment.

........................................

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#maneskin #måneskin #maneskin writing #maneskin fiction #ethan torchio #ethan x reader #ethan torchio imagine #ethan torchio smut #damiano david #damiano david imagine #damiano x reader #ethan maneskin #damiano maneskin #smut #my writing #lesson of good manners #ethan torchio x reader #damiano david x reader

[scenetocause]

no one asked for this but i was in the kitchen makin instant ramen and poleaxed by the thought of landoscar puppy play post-melbourne in the style of a fic i thought was gemjam's but now can't find where mark webber gave his then-protegee mitch evans a collar to help with homesickness anyway whatever have some fuckin words

edit: fuck's sake cassian obviously it was a collar and a kiss by zeraparker

mild warning for hopelessly undernegotiated kink

"Don't you ever get homesick?" Oscar could count the number of people he'd less like to be having this conversation with than Lando Norris on one hand and one of them's the bored immigration officer who had to tell him he'd not got his passport stamped right in Doha.

Lando snaps his gum, looking up to the ceiling like he's actually thinking about it. "No? Not really. I was sick of fucking Bali over Christmas, jesus and I don't want to go back to Dubai but like, home is everywhere innit?"

"No." Oscar closes his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose. Obviously Lando doesn't experience this, he could literally drive to his parents' house on half a tank of fuel, straight out of the MTC car park. Straight from Oscar's flat, where for some reason he's letting Lando crash as though him seeing the post-Australia comedown is a good idea.

"Hmm." Hearing Lando think is always disturbing. "Well, what can I do about it?"

Oscar has to open his eyes again in disbelief. 'What do you mean do about it?"

Seeing Lando cocking his head on one side, like a dog, makes something painful sear across Oscar's temples. "You're sad, I want to fix it. Max always-"

"Don't tell me about that." He can't hear about Max Fewtrell right now. The guy haunting the garage all weekend was enough. Oscar doesn't need a reminder he's not Lando's first anything, needs to keep the thoughts about breaking up with his girlfriend so they can properly be a thing to himself.

"Well." Lando is literally sitting on his hands. "Then you have to tell me about it yourself."

Thing is, this is too much. It's not the kind of thing he should share with Lando. Lando who he just got team-ordered for, Lando who he needs to match the tyre management of, Lando who will sit there and smile angelically and get his fucking way on anything they ever diverge on about feedback.

Oscar's clenching his jaw so hard he can almost feel the ache where they took his wisdom teeth, though. Another thing he didn't know he'd really miss this much.

"You can't fucking laugh at me." Why's he said that, for fuck's sake? Lando laughs at everything, would probably do it at a funeral in his weird, stressed-out way when he doesn't know how to socially behave.

"Ok." Lando's eyes are very big and he's looked up from his phone. "I can order TimTams on Uber Eats?"

That's actually quite sweet. But not what Oscar needs right now.

"Just - stay here." Lando's fucking weird, he's probably into some of this shit himself. If not something freakier, lying around his Monaco flat in a gimp mask, suffocating himself or god-knows-what shit.

It doesn't take long to find the box. Oscar's consciously never accumulated too much stuff in this flat, like he might have to move out of it any time. Like everything might have to go in a suitcase because the contract review board said it's over, kiddo, go back down under and pretend you understand your dad's business enough to pay him back.

It's not got very much in. Oscar doesn't like to wear too much, when he's like this. Just a t-shirt and shorts or his boxers. He doesn't think he's ready for Lando to see him shirtless, like this, make his eyes crinkle up in glee at how much of Oscar he can touch.

It'd be better if Lando did it, if someone put it on for him but that's too complicated to ask for, so Oscar does it himself, mostly. Puts the soft shorts on, an old Prema shirt that's a little too tight to wear outdoors but feels comfy, soft, reassuring on his skin.

The ears are easy but the collar. He can't do that, himself. Can't give himself the ball, the well-chewed, if pristinely laundered, beanie toy. Whines, unhappily, about it.

"Osc-" obviously, Lando heard him. The sounds of him chaotically standing up, nearly falling over Oscar's rug and stumbling towards his bedroom door, are already clattering through the flat. "Can I come in?"

He just whines again, an animal thing. Oscar needs permission, like this, doesn't give it.

"Ok you better not be dying because I never finished the first aid-" Lando stops in the doorway. "Oh."

Oscar sinks to the floor, his knees bending beneath him, shoving the box at Lando before he folds down on his knees and elbows, looking up at the guy he's supposed to do anything to beat.

"Good..." Lando moves his mouth around for a moment, licks his lips. "Puppy?"

He doesn't have a tail to wag, although he has thought about one of the plugs, sometimes. Objectively, the bit of Oscar's brain that's still somewhat functioning says wiggling his arse must make him look ridiculous, especially when he paws at the box and whines again.

Lando crouches down, touches the ears. "Do you want to go out?"

Oscar cringes back, shaking his head violently. God, imagine the headlines.

"Ok." Lando does his head-cock thing again, then sticks his hands into the box. "Do you want your collar?"

It's pretty shameful, the way Oscar crawls forward so easily, smushes his face against Lando's knee and maybe he should have asked about this properly but Lando goes easily, scritching behind Oscar's ear. "Oh you're such a good boy, look at you."

Lando fumbles the collar for a second, not getting the buckle right the first time and it's nearly uncomfortable enough Oscar stands up, right back out of it but then it goes and it's snug and tight and good, Lando's hand in his hair.

"Are these your toys?" Lando shifts to kneeling, lets Oscar get his head right in his lap, nuzzling against Lando's stomach through the pouch of his hoodie. He doesn't need to answer that one, it's pretty obvious.

"Well, I don't think Oscar would want you breaking his stuff, so I'm going to leave the ball here." The third person is a jolt, like a nod to camera but it feels right. Oscar is elsewhere, can worry about that later.

"Come on then, good dog." Lando stands up, with the beanie toy in hand. It's a koala, a stupid joke. "Come and play, then."

It's not a comfortable flat to get through on your hands and knees, hard wooden floor jarring him in a way that'll probably bruise a bit, tomorrow. Lando's walking easily, waggling the beanie like he thinks he needs to keep Oscar interested.

Not Oscar. Puppy. It feels good.

Lando pushes the coffee table away, scraping on the floor in a way Oscar's landlord will probably have an opinion about when he comes to pay the deposit back. But puppies don't worry about that kind of thing, so Oscar just crawls over to where Lando's sitting, legs spread and outstretched, on the rug.

"Come on," Lando holds out the beanie, waving it by Oscar's mouth. "You want this, yeah?"

Oscar growls, nips at it. It's not the toy he wants, really, just the -

Ah, perfect. Lando pulls Oscar forward by the toy, right on top of him as he leans back. Oscar can paw him like his, Lando laughing delightedly and twisting away.

It's - he's seen the video, McLaren posted it for some national day or something last year - the same way Lando plays with his family's dog. Silly, rolling around the floor, letting Oscar half-hump him while Lando's shrieking and trying to get out of his grip, only to dive back in, wrestling with Oscar.

The rug scoots across the floor under them and they nearly crash into the telly, Oscar ending up on his back, against the sofa, Lando tickling his tummy but the toy in Oscar's mouth, triumphant.

"Are you submitting? Are you letting me lead the pack?" It's a bit on the nose but yeah, maybe. Oscar kicks out a leg, half-heartedly, to show he isn't always going to be ok with that.

"What a good boy." That, he is always ok with. More than human-Oscar would like to admit.

Lando lies down next to him, face a bit flushed and eyes bright from playing. "Always wanted a dog. You can even come to all the races."

#emptyhalf fic #ramen is cold now bad vibes #but then again it was the indomie chicken flavour so not exactly storming anyway #why does NOWHERE ever have the hot pepper one ffs #clearly the best one #though i do respect that og chicken comes in a giant pack called a hungriman and an even bigger one called beliful

[hannahssimblr]

Chapter Two

It feels cliched, like something from a film about a character working in some business firm, but I’m getting coffee for everyone at Mezzotint, the print studio where I am doing my internship. The studio, located above a little craft shop, opens right out onto a quaint street in Stoneybatter. 

It’s up and coming around here, that’s what they call it when they don’t want to admit to its gentrification, and the café that the staff frequents is one of those hipster places where there isn’t any room to sit. The exotic hanging plants in the window form a lush curtain where you can peer inside and see the moustachioed barista at work underneath a wall of interesting looking coffee paraphernalia.

This café is so close to the Luas line that you can hear the ding ding and swish of the tram as it passes every two minutes or so; Tallaght to The Point, Saggart to Connolly Station, over and over and over again. Each day is accompanied by the music of the city. It seeps in through the windows of this café and of our little studio across the road from it in a way that makes me feel like this little street in North Dublin, and I by extension, are woven inextricably into the fabric of the city. 

Everyone likes to pretend that September is the autumn, and even though the leaves are a little bit rusty and the waters a little choppier, the temperature is still warm enough to walk around without a coat in the afternoons. This is something seasonless that can’t decide what it wants to be yet, caught between one moment and the next. A warm breeze licks across my arms as I cross over to Mezzotint with five complicated coffee orders and a paper bag of pastries, pausing to let a woman with flowers in the basket of her bicycle pass me by. 

I pass through the shop first, where Petra is placing a new batch of little ceramic bud vases on a shelf, and I give her her mocha and pan au chocolat. “I like those.” I tell her, and she nods, subtly rearranging the vases and confesses that she’s already bought one. She spends way too much of the money she earns from working at this shop buying things in it, but I get it. I’d be buying stuff too if they were paying me. I head up the stairs to the studio above.

“Aw, thanks chicken.” Izzy, one of the printmakers, takes a coffee out of the holder marked with the letters FWAL on the top. I have learned it stands for Flat White, Almond Milk. It’s only half nine in the morning, and she’s already stuck into her work, the tips of her fingers blackened like burned matches from the ink. She doesn’t eat anything in the mornings because it makes her feel sick, but she’ll have her slightly softened croissant at eleven, I leave it in the bag for her. 

I bring a vanilla soy latte and a maple pecan twist to Gabriel who peers up at me impishly over his small, round glasses. “You look very nice today.” He says, and I grin. “So do you, but you look nice every day.” 

“Stop.” He grins coquettishly and lifts the lid off his coffee to sniff it. “This is soy, isn’t it?” 

“Yeah of course.”

“Good.” He takes a cautionary sip. “Because I’ll know all about it in about fifteen minutes if it isn’t. You’ll all know about it too.” 

“Yeah we definitely will too.” Izzy groans. “Remember that time they gave you whole cows milk?”

“I will never forget.” He says solemnly. 

“Yeah, no, me neither.”

I go over to the back of the studio to give Simon his flat white with oat milk. He told me he was vegan within an hour of meeting me, and I told him I’d actually never met a real vegan before, so it was an honour. It was supposed to be funny but if he thought it was he didn’t show it. 

He’s sitting hunched over an angled desk with a blade, digging grooves into a block of wood. This is what he does, this old style wood block printing, but it’s always got a contemporary twist to it. Like today, he’s working on a scene in a dark lake, ripples swell behind a woman with long black hair who’s naked, submerged up to her waist and looking up at the full moon. 

“Do you like it?” He asks me as I leave his coffee on the table next to him.

 “Yeah it’s really cool.”

He leans back to look, and quickly blows some of the loose curls of shaven wood out of the carved areas. “I like it as well, I think. It has something.”

“Who is it?”

“My girlfriend. It’s always my girlfriend. She’s my muse.”

He’s a very particular type of artsy-intense like that, like he doesn’t think it’s weird to call someone your ‘muse’ in a non-ironic way. “Oh right.” I say. I start turning away to head towards a pile of paper and tools in Gabriel’s corner of the studio, the same ones I’ve been trying to organise all week, but he calls me back over to him. “Yeah, Simon?”

“I’m thinking we should get a start on Christmas cards for the shop.”

“But it’s September.”

“Yes but it takes ages to get everything sorted and printed. It’s best we start designing in the autumn.”

“Oh, alright.”

“So…” He sits up and twirls the blade around his fingers in way that makes me nervous for his precious hands. He doesn’t look at me that much, including now. He’s still examining his work. “You’re doing a degree in illustration.”

“Yeah, I am.”

“Could you draw up some designs? I don’t have time.”

I start to get flustered. “Oh, well, I wouldn’t really know what kinds of things to do.”

“Well, we don’t usually go for traditional type things in the shop, so if you can think of something that’s Christmassy but also, like, bright and modern and fun, that’d be unreal.”

“Mhm.”

“Do you have a portfolio?”

“Not really, just sketchbooks.”

“You’ve not done any kind of client work or anything?”

“Only a shop window.” I clear my throat awkwardly, unsure if I even want to admit to the work I did in Tullamore. “I did some window typography for a cafe during the summer.”

“You like typography?”

“Yeah it’s cool.” I shrug. “But I’d say I’m not very good at it.”

Simon’s mouth twitches up into as much of a smile as he appears to be capable of. “Why don’t you give something a lash for me, just see if you can come up with some fun Christmas card ideas that might incorporate interesting lettering. I don’t know.” He hunches back over his work so I know we’re finished discussing this. “Anything you want, Evie. I’m giving you full creative control, as long as it has a vibe.”

Full creative control is as terrifying as a blank page. I give him an almost inaudible “Okay” and go over to an empty table with a stack of paper to start trying to figure something out. What does that mean, anyway? A ‘vibe’? I sigh and start scribbling something down. 

I work through the morning and halfway into lunch, only realising it is when I surface from the haze of my creative flow to find everybody else gone. I fish around in my bag for the sad sandwich I prepared that morning and then get right back to work. I like it. I have no idea what I’m doing but I like doing it anyway. Sometimes when I get like this I wish that I didn’t have to eat or sleep or use the bathroom, like, I wish my body was a machine that could keep on drawing infinitely, churning out more and more work without the interruptions of my body’s needs.

Eventually the others come back and the sounds of press cranking and plate carving resume, and I am engrossed in what I’m doing. Gabriel passes behind me at some point and gives a little ‘hm’ of approval. “I like your lettering.” He says. “Thanks.” I say. 

I only realise the whole day has passed me by when a soft voice from the corner of the room pipes up. “Pub?” Simon cranes his neck like a submarine periscope and glances around the room at us. Without looking up, Gabriel says “Pub.”

“Pub.” Izzy agrees. 

I glance at the clock. It’s five already, and I feel like I’ve only just got into the swing of my card design. It kind of pains me that I’ll have to wait until tomorrow to get stuck back into it again. I haven’t even started thinking about colours yet. 

Izzy tosses a balled up piece of scrap paper onto my table. “Hey, Evie.” She says. “Tools down. Pub?”

“Oh.” I say. “I don’t know.”

“Come on. We’re just heading across into Smithfield for a pint or two. Look outside. The sun is absolutely belting down.”

“We won’t get many more evenings like this.” Simon adds. “It’d be a waste not to come.”

“I suppose I’m not doing anything anyway.” I’m never doing anything, ever. “I can come for a while.”

“Unreal.” Izzy says, and I reluctantly relinquish my coloured pencils and then within five minutes the studio is closed down and the lights are off. 

“I’ll join you in a while.” Petra says as we lock up the studio door. “I’ll just do the cash register and then pop down.” We tell her that we’ll see her there and head out onto the street.

Beginning // Prev // Next

#lucky girl part 3

[womaninwinter]

This one little moment has produced So Much fic and meta, there's hardly anything left to say about it (but don't worry that won't stop me from trying!!).

The first thing I'm interested in here is George's motivations – he's made it very clear that he thinks Lucy left because of Holly, so bringing her up is basically him merrily pulling the pin out of a conversational grenade. And the whole "old Luce doesn't mind dirt" thing is just mean tbh, Lucy straight out told him in THB that Holly's "perfect" appearance bothers her (with the implication that it makes her feel insecure), so he's essentially shoving the knife in right into what he knows is a sore spot. Of course, he's still very hurt by Lucy leaving (which I think is particularly understandable given that as far as he knows, Lucy's reasons for going were petty in the extreme), and he's just put that aside quite generously to bandage her up and listen to her story, and accepted her coming back to stay indefinitely on very vague terms. But I think that now that the fear for Lucy's safety has worn off, some of the bitterness has crept back in, and he's not-so-subtly reminding her that he hasn't forgotten everything just because she's in trouble.

The second thing is the famous orange juice moment. Until recently, I read it as Lockwood being slightly petty about remembering Lucy's tastes seeing as she pretended to forget how he took his tea, but I never fully liked that, because it doesn't really gel with how he behaves in the rest of the scene. From the second Lucy appears at his front door – in fact, right from the start of TCS – Lockwood is all about "how can I get her back." He's solicitous of her feelings, he's constantly checking up on her, he offers her a place to stay without hesitation – it just doesn't make sense to me that he would be trying to score points.

And then I read this fic by the ultra-talented @egrets with LW's POV on the whole scene, and in this one, he's just desperately babbling about the orange juice in an effort to distract Lucy from asking about Holly. In fact, I'm just going to quote it bcs it's so good and everyone should see it:

“You fret too much about Holly, George. She’s never complained about staying over,* has she?” He said that last bit quickly, hoping Lucy wouldn’t catch it. “You want some orange juice, Lucy? It’s your favourite: the kind with pulp.” Mind, he knew that she didn’t like pulp, but maybe it’d get them out of this conversation about Holly. Instead, George tsk ed. “Lucy doesn’t like orange juice with pulp. Remember?” Now George was just making him look bad. “Oh, yes, that’s right. It gets caught between your teeth, doesn’t it?” Her stare was heavy, penetrating Lockwood in a way that made him want to sit in the corner for timeout like a child. “I’ll take the juice,” she said finally, then tried to lighten her tone. She wasn’t particularly successful. “So, did Holly stay over last night?” “Personally, I always thought straining it through your teeth is part of the fun. You can pretend you're a blue whale.” His silliness was not an adequate enough distraction, because when he caught Lucy’s eye, she was scowling. “What?”

I love this interpretation because it tracks with how Lockwood behaves about Holly in the run-up to this moment, especially in the scene at Lucy's flat, where he straight up pretends not to hear her when she mentions Holly's name (so so funny to me incidentally). So, clearly, Lockwood thinks that Holly is some part of the reason Lucy left and is desperate to avoid the subject, so yeah, using the orange juice as a very weak attempt at distraction is far more on brand than petty jibes IMO. (Petty jabs are very much a George vibe though tbh).

#TCS reread #the Great OJ Discourse #okay so tbh i didn't really write meta here I just quoted the fic #but w/e

[moronic-validity]

Dungeon

Okay, I've been really good about posting 2 a day, so here's a little somethin somethin I didn't bother editing or having anyone else look at because it's like 1k of the worst side of Winter.

This is a stand-alone fic inspired by the art of the incredible @numericturtle

Anyway, 18+ because this is literally just Winter hurting Simon.

Simon had no idea how long he had been in the dungeon. It could have been hours, it could have been days; time lost all meaning down here.

He didn’t know what he did to anger Winter this time, but it landed him here. 

He had been stripped, then told to sit down against the wall while Winter shackled his arms above his head, they both knew he’d have to dislocate his shoulder out if he wanted to get up without permission.

Winter walked into the larger room and stared at him through the bars of his cell. He looked pathetic.

Old and pathetic.

Just how he wanted him.

“Are you enjoying your new home?” He taunted from outside the cell.

Simon looked over at him and frowned.

“How long are you going to keep me here?”

“I haven’t decided yet.” Winter’s answer was flat.

Simon hung his head. 

“What did I do to deserve this?” 

Winter smiled.

“That is a very good question my dear Simon,” Winter pretended to ponder the answer before gasping, “Oh that’s right! You were planning to leave!” 

Simon looked over to him, puzzled.

“Winter, I never planned to leave you, I don’t know wha-”

He was cut off by a Winter slamming his hand against the bars.

“I know you were planning to leave. Everyone leaves.” 

The entire dungeon grew colder and Simon shivered. 

Winter opened the cell and stepped in, not bothering to close it behind him.

“But this way, you can’t leave.” He crouched on the ground next to Simon. 

It felt like the only light in the room was coming from him. 

“You’ll never be able to leave.”

It was another two days, by Simon’s count, before Winter came back to see him. 

People came and went, he was given food and water, but it didn’t change the fact he hadn’t moved his arms in multiple days. 

Then he came back, smiling and whistling this time.

“Oh Simon, I think I finally figured out how I can get you out!” He sounded so cheery, like he wasn’t the one to put him there in the first place.

Simon didn’t bother responding, just continued staring forward.

Winter tutted before letting himself into the cell yet again. 

“Don’t you want to hear how I found a way?” He sounded almost sad to not be able to share such joyous news.

Simon looked up at him and shivered, not because of the cold, but because of the look in Winter’s eyes.

“How can I get out Winter?” He sounded tired. He was tired. His hands had gone numb after the first few hours, his joints following suit a day later.

Winter clapped and did a little spin. 

“I’m so glad you asked!” He showed Simon what he had originally thought to be a cane, it had an intricately created copper snowflake at the end. Simon looked back into the smiling face of his captor. “I’m going to brand you!” 

Simon pressed himself tighter against the freezing wall.

“I’ll get the copper so cold it’ll burn. It’ll hurt, but only for a moment!” Winter reassured, giddy with excitement, “And then everyone will know who you belong to, where you belong! Isn’t that fantastic!”

Winter was too busy putting together his plan to register the terror Simon was experiencing, or maybe at this point, he didn’t care.

Winter grabbed the chain connected to the shackles around Simon’s wrists and began walking forward, tugging at it to get him to follow. 

His legs had fallen asleep days ago and he struggled to stand, but Winter’s pace didn’t leave room for him to refamiliarise himself with standing. He did his best to stumble to where Winter was leading him.

It was the center of the room.

“I won’t lie to you, this might hurt just a bit.” Winter warned before bringing the chain to the ceiling. 

Simon felt his shoulders slide out of place and he was sure he would be in pain if it wasn’t for the fear. He could only barely touch the ground if he extended his foot, and even then it was only his big toe that made contact. 

Winter circled him, slowly. It was reminiscent of a big cat stalking their prey.

Simon could feel the air get colder behind him, though he couldn’t see what was happening. He could only close his eyes and hope it would be over quickly. 

Winter had the metal hissing from the cold. He couldn’t help but grin, it was going to work better than he had imagined.

Once he was happy with how cold it had gotten, he placed a hand on Simon’s left hip to steady him, then pressed the branding iron firmly against Simon’s right hip.

His screams of agony filled the small room and echoed. It was music to Winter’s ears.

Did he know the agony he had caused him? Did he care? Winter couldn’t help but wonder if Simon knew how it felt to give your heart to someone, only for them to plan to leave you. In the middle of the night no less! It felt like his heart had been torn from his chest and stomped on. 

This was better. 

He could keep Simon like this.

His property, with a permanent reminder of who he belongs to and what happens when his master was tested. 

Winter pulled the copper brand off Simon’s skin and marveled at his handiwork. It was beautiful. His skin was covered in blisters where the design had made contact, with red around the edges, working almost as an outline. It was a sight to behold. 

It was perfect.

Simon hung limply and cried.

The pain in his hip was so intense and there was nothing he could do to ease it. 

Then he fell. 

The chain holding him up had been dissolved and all he could do was lay there, crumpled on the ground. 

Winter scooped him up, careful to not touch the brand and mess up his hard work. 

“What would you do without me…” Winter mused softly before kissing the top of Simon’s head.

#I see a photo of Simon in chains #I imagine what would happen to get him there #Also turns out cold branding is a thing #it's apparently less painful than hot branding and they tend to use copper over iron #just a fun fact #nsft #winterking #the winter king #winter king x simon #simon x winter king #winterkov #simonpetrikov #simoncest #simon petrikov #one shot #blurb #teddy talks #theo's thoughts #idk if this is the first branding fic I've written #but here it is! #Cora I really hope you enjoy this my guy

[fiveapocalypse]

Motherly intuition

Just a little thing I wanted to write ;D you guys can ignore the tags I just thought you’d like em @lookingforhappy @postshrapnelbloodloss @aka-tua-braindump @tinned-beef @space-ghost-with-the-most @rrcenic @rebel-by-default

“You’re tired.”

“Am not.”

Lila frowns. Her head tilts, brows furrowing as she examined the boy in front of her. In contrast, Five is all noodle limbs and prominent scowl while looking like he’s just woken up on the wrong side of the bed. His hair is a mess. The t-shirt he has on is more like a nightgown on him. Bags are under his eyes. The worst of it all had to be the way he swayed, clenching his jaw to avoid any sudden yawns catching him off guard, but Lila had dealt with a fussy baby for one and a half, close to two now, months and an old man in a kid’s body would be like a walk in the ballpark, or however the phrase went. “You sure about that?” She’s just put Grace Clementine to bed, still hopped up on whatever fucking mom energy that moms had when they had their children, and seeing Five curled up on the sofa, watching pure static set off an alarm bell in her head.

This, of course, could be attributed to the fact that she was a new mom who went into ‘mom mode’ as Five and Diego called it whenever anyone that even resembled a child or was in need of assistance (like say, your brother in law who clearly looks like younger than you by a whole decade or two) seemed to be in the vicinity but Lila would also like to think that Five has just…grown on her since the reset happened. Hell, even before that. Though she was loathe to admit, the little shit was becoming part of her circle little by little and now, while both her daughter and her husband Eee sound asleep, it was time to get the second ‘youngest’ of the household to bed as well. The problem with that, however, was the fact that Five Hargreeves was a stubborn, stubborn little shit who refused to be cared for on the pretense that he was creating more problems that he himself could solve by his own.

Like, for example, letting Lila help him to sleep.

“You’ll be tired,” he says when she turns off the TV, “Grace is gonna wake up again and you’re gonna be too tired if you deal with me.” Normally, Lila would agree. Usually, she’d give up and walk back upstairs to get some much needed shuteye before Grace inevitably began screaming to wake her up for a diaper change or to be fed, or to be rocked because she just suddenly woke up out of the blue but the way Five is curled up on the sofa, knees to his chest and shoulders to his ears tells Lila that heading back to her and Diego’s shared room was not an option.

Setting the remote down, she briskly crossed the distance between Five and the coffee table, pressing her palm flat against his forehead. Instantly, he recoils away from her but the split second of touch was all she needed. “You’re sick,” Lila states, blinking at him. The light of the living room, as dim as it is, illuminates Five’s pale complexion that was covered in sweat. How the fuck didn’t she see this before?

“Not sick,” Five says, sniffling as if that will help him prove anything to her, “just…ran a lot. A marathon, yeah.”

“You’re sick,” Lila repeats, the realization dawning on her, “and you thought just staying cooped up here in the living room was going to help because you didn’t want Grace to get sick.”

The kid frowns at her. His brows furrow. “You have two living rooms,” he argues, “this one is mine.”

But, unfortunately for him, Lila is already grabbing the blankets kept within the cabinets and wrapping one around him. “Well, now it’s mine too.” Five looks ready to argue, he wants to argue, but Lila quickly beats him to it. “Unless you want to deal with me crying to Diego about you possibly dying, I suggest you lay down, get comfy, and don’t complain when I feed you chicken soup.” Another frown is given, this time, Five only blinks.

“You can cook?”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.”

Silence surrounds the two of them before Five curls up on the sofa, and sniffs terribly. Now that she’s looking at him, Lila notes the redness in his eyes, the tiredness in his limbs, how he can’t seem to focus. She frowns, reaching out to curl her fingers in his, frankly, messy and curly hair. “Mm…” and, Lo and behold, Five leans into her touch, too out of it to muster a complaint. He does, however, mumble, “If anyone asks, this is because I’m sick, and delirious., and you remind me of mom.”

Lila snorts, pushing his bangs away to kiss his forehead.

“If anyone asks,” she repeated, “this is because I’m tired, and a mom, and you remind me of my nearly two month old child. Hopefully you don’t throw up like she does though.”

“…..about that…”

“Oh for fuck’s sake.”

#the umbrella academy #five hargreeves #five hargreeves centric #five hargreeves the boy #Lila Pitts #can you tell I’m on a uhm #Lila mom and Five kid idea rampage #should I do a Diego one next

[sassy-ahsoka-tano]

DADDY ISSUES - Part Fourteen: Sex, Money, Feelings, Die

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Prompt: You and Jerry are working together to uncover the Colonel's secrets. You think you finally have something but you have to get Elvis to hear you. How do you get him to listen to you when he's barely even there half the time? [ Fem!Reader ]

TW: guns, minor violence (when he shoots the tv, same as in the movie), strong language, elvis is a BASTARD in this chapter, # canceled

Rating: Pg-13 || Word Count: 3926

A/N: i really have nothing to say other than bring pitchforks and also tissues

Song Rec: sex, money, feelings, die - lykke li

This is Part 14 of Daddy Issues. Find the rest of the series here!

[ masterlist | taglist ]

🦋 mila

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

Almost two weeks pass without you having any contact with Elvis at all. You wonder if you did something wrong by pretending to be asleep, if he knew that you were awake and chose to punish you for it instead of talk to you about it. To be honest, you don’t care very much anymore and are even maybe a bit glad that you haven’t had to visit Elvis this week. You’re tired, so tired of taking on his stress. You have so much to deal with as it is and it feels like problems just follow Elvis wherever he goes.

You lay on the couch, depressed and completely drained of all energy, and realize that if you could see yourself now, you would have said no. If you could have had a cheating glimpse into the future to see what’s happened to you, where you’ve wound up, you would have said no and turned Elvis down for good. This isn’t what you signed up for or what you wanted from this arrangement. You’ve completely stopped going to any of his performances, stopped watching his old films, stopped listening to his music.

You just can’t handle it anymore. He’s too different, too unlike the man you thought you knew so long ago. He’s cold, like someone who doesn’t even know whether they’re alive or dead, awake or asleep. Sometimes you wonder if he even remembers who he is. The drugs have messed with his mind so much that he hardly acts like himself these days.

A couple of weeks ago, you went upstairs to check on him and make sure he was okay. Low and behold, you ran into Priscilla for the third time since becoming Elvis’ sugar baby. While you’d been ashamed the first and ambivalent the second, the third time was too much. You have no idea what they were arguing about that time, probably the same things that you wanted to smack Elvis around for. But Priscilla came wilding out of the room and once her eyes locked onto yours, you knew it was going to be ugly.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing with my husband? Who do you think you are, you little bitch! You’re not his wife. I am! I am his wife!” she shouted at you, pointing a finger directly into your face.

“Oh, please! Give me a break,” you shout. “Maybe if you were satisfying him, he wouldn’t need to keep me around! But you’re obviously not pleasing him because, oh look, I’m still here! And I’m not going anywhere anytime soon!”

“Oh, she’s selfish, too! And disrespectful! Reminds me of someone I know!” she yelled, glancing over her shoulder at her husband. “You two are fucking perfect for each other, really! I hope you have a nice life wasting time as you both fall into pits. You fucking disgust me!”

By this point, she was so close to your face that you could smell her perfume. But you didn’t give a shit. You weren’t backing down. At that moment, Elvis was yours and yours only. Priscilla clearly wasn’t enough for him since he was constantly searching for other ways to get pleasure. You folded your arms over your chest and stared her down until her face broke and tears began to leak from her eyes. She turned around and shoved Elvis hard into the doorframe. His face fell into anger and he reached out to grab Priscilla but she was already flying down the hallway, burying her head in her hands. You glanced up at Elvis with a flat expression, unimpressed and uncaring. It’s his fucking fault all three of you are in this situation, anyway. When opened his mouth to speak, you spun on your heel and stalked down the hallway away from him before he got a chance to say anything.

You run a hand over your face and shake your head to dispel the memories. You’re exhausted and you just want to go home. Back to a home you don’t have anymore.

A knock at the door sounds and you stand up, opening it to see Jerry on the other side. You breathe a sigh of relief and open the door so he can come into your room. You and Jerry have grown quite close recently. He’s been sharing information with you and you’ve been conducting your own research to find out what you can, including chatting with Elvis about the Colonel. You were making good progress until…

Anyway, you’re spending a lot more time together. If it weren’t for Jerry’s support, you would have flown out of there a lot sooner. But you couldn’t leave him now, not when you’re both onto something.

“Jerry!” you smile for the first time in what feels like forever. “I’m so glad to see you!”

Although you smile, his face is grave and his lips are turned downward.

“I’m not…in trouble am I? You seem upset…” you say but he shakes his head.

“No, nothing like that. But I do have some information for you. It’s important.”

Your eyebrows shoot up and you nod.

“What’s this about? Did you figure out why he fled Holland?”

You both sit on the couch, your attention pulled directly to him. The last time you talked, you were both trying to uncover why the Colonel left Holland, where he’s apparently really from.

“No, this information is of a much more…personal nature.”

“Oh?”

“I found out where your money’s going. Or not going, that is,” he says.

“That’s great! What did you find out?”

“I was right. The Colonel’s been blocking your payments. Apparently, according to my sources, he doesn’t find your position necessary so he’s been stopping the payments that were supposed to go through to pay off your debts.”

“Why am I not surprised. But I don’t understand; Elvis still gifts me things all the time, expensive things. Besides, he said he’d take care of my debts. He ensured me he'd handle it. Why hasn't he?”

“Not sure. My guess? Elvis brought it up to the Colonel, who lied to him and told him your debts were being taken care of. The Colonel can’t stop him from buying you objects because those come out of his own pocket and once they’re purchased, that money is gone. But from the looks of it, he’s doing everything he can to stop the payments from going through. I took care of it in the meantime, but I’m not sure how much more I can help you with it."

You nod, squinting your eyes in displeasure. Just one more reason for you to despise that humpty-dumpty looking man. He doesn’t approve of you…or your role. You scoff and shake your head.

“He doesn’t approve of my role,” you repeat. “When he’s the one taking fucking 50% of Elvis’ earnings and gambling it all away like a bastard. I wanna get him more than ever, Jerry.”

Jerry smiles mischievously and nods.

“Good. Me too. I have an idea. I’m not sure that it’ll make a difference but maybe we can try it?”

“Sure. Anything to take this motherfucker down. What’d you have in mind?”

“I was thinking that you could just bring it up to Elvis. I have a few documents here,” he pulls out a folder from behind him that you hadn’t even realized he was carrying. He hands it over to you and you flip through the pages. “These are all official, authorized documents of bills, receipts, transactions, everything that I could find to show that the Colonel is a fraud, a liar, and a criminal. I’ve tried to find the time to talk to Elvis, but he’s so busy nowadays and I think the Colonel may have an inkling of what we’re doing. I think he’s trying to keep Elvis away from me and maybe even from you. Not to mention that Elvis hasn’t been himself recently. Even if we were to reach him, I’m not sure that he’d hear us or care.”

“Yeah, I’m…not sure that will work. I haven’t seen Elvis in almost a week and the last time we saw each other, things weren’t going very well. I sort of stormed out on him.”

Your mind plays again through the events of your most recent night with Elvis and you shudder.

“Well, I’ve noticed he has a soft spot for you so maybe you could just try? I know it might not the best or most effective plan but I think it could work. It’s our best shot until we can figure out something else to do. Don’t think I forgot what you did for us all during the ‘68 special with ‘If I Can Dream.’”

Your eyes widen. You’ve completely forgotten about all of that. It all feels so long ago now. You nod, closing the folder and sticking out your palm. Jerry shoots you a confused expression but takes your hand anyway. You shake it vigorously.

“Mission accepted. I’ll go after dinner. He’s usually more amenable at night when he’s tired.”

And so you do just that.

After a small dinner for which you have absolutely no appetite whatsoever, you grab the file folder and press it close to your chest as you make your way upstairs. You don’t bother to change or get dolled up. You have no intention of using your looks or influence on him to persuade him to look at the documents. To be honest, you’re too tired and uninterested. Plus, you’re not even sure it would work. He doesn’t seem to be that impressed with you anymore. Your novelty must have worn off, just as his has for you.

You pause outside the door and take a deep breath, reminding yourself to be patient with him, especially if he seems out of it or incredibly high on whatever drug cocktail he’s taken today. As you pause, you suddenly hear voices inside, Elvis’ and a woman’s. You listen for a moment, not recognizing the voice as Priscilla’s this time. Shaking your head, you twist the nob but find it locked. Huffing, you raise your fingers to knock on the door.

When no one answers after a few minutes, you reach into your pocket and pull out your key. You twist it into the lock and open the door, stepping into the room. Before you even have a chance to call his name, something whizzes past your body and smashes into the glass screen of one of his televisions. You scream and drop the folder, reaching your arms up to cover your head as several more shots are fired.

Silence settles and with shaky breathing and a vibrating body, you remove your hands and glance over to see Elvis stumbling around in his robe with a confused expression on his face, wielding one of his prized pistols. You look back over your shoulder to see that he’s blown out every single one of his televisions. Glass is shattered everywhere on the floor and although you don’t feel any pain, you check your body just to make sure. As far as you can tell, you’re uninjured. You turn back to Elvis, a furious look on your face.

“Oh, hey princess,” he slurs, sticking the gun into the belt of his robe. “Whatcha doin up ‘ere?”

Your eyes flick to the left when they detect movement and your face only grows angrier when you see a tall, skinny woman in her underwear and a bra clutching onto the covers. You at her with unwavering rage.

“Get out,” you say through gritted teeth.

You momentarily feel guilty as you watch the terrified girl grab onto her clothing and scurry out of the room, her eyes wide and face horrified. But when your gaze returns to Elvis, you’re filled with a wrath that you didn’t even know you had.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you hiss. “You could have shot me!”

“Nah, baby I thought you was an intruder that’s all…” he approaches you as if to wrap his arms around you. You swat his arms away and step backward.

“No. Don’t you dare touch me right now. How could you be this reckless? This careless? You could have shot and killed that poor girl, whoever she is. You could have shot and killed yourself! The glass from the TVs could have hurt someone. This isn’t a fucking toy!”

You lunge forward and pull the gun from his belt. After you did it, you realize that you probably shouldn’t have. What little you know about gun safety tells you that was maybe a bad idea but you already feel safer with the gun in your own hands.

“Hey, give that back to me. That’s mine,” he says angrily, pointing at his own chest.

“No. You’re in no state to be wielding a loaded weapon with actual bullets in it. How fucking high are you?” you ask.

You grab onto his chin harshly and tilt his head toward the light so you can see his pupils. He pulls away harshly but not before you get a decent enough glance to see that they’re incredibly dilated. A few moments of silence pass as Elvis stumbles backward and falls onto the bed, his head flopping down uncontrollably. As he sits there, leaning to the side like a dehydrated flower, you feel pity.

“Mr. Presley,” you say more softly now, making your way over to sit next to him. “What’s wrong? Why won’t you talk to me? You used to tell me when things were wrong and I used to help. You’re not well. You need to rest, take a few weeks, get better. You can’t keep going on like this.”

“What the fuck do you know? You don’t know anything bout me. I’m fine,” he lifts his head. His glazed-over eyes look unforgiving and cold in a way that proves to you just how sick he is. They look faded, almost grey.

“No. You’re. Not. People who are fine don’t shoot guns at their television sets. They don’t destroy their own property, do drugs twenty-four seven, cheat on their spouses. You’re sick and you need help.”

You reach out to touch his arm but he jerks away and stands up, stepping away from you and back over to the spot in his bedroom where he keeps all of his guns. His collection.

“Why don’t you just stay outta my fuckin business. I don’t pay ya to ask me how I’m doin. I pay ya to suck my dick and shut up.”

It takes everything in you not to slap the shit out of him right there. Your body is filled with rage. Your teeth clench and your fingers curl into fists.

“Fine. If this is how you wanna be, then I’ll go.”

Elvis laughs, almost sadistically, as you get up from your seat and start toward the door.

“Don’t be so fuckin dramatic, princess. Why can’t you stay? What the hell’s wrong with what I given you? Don’t act like you don’t like it. I know it gets you off to give me pleasure.”

“Don’t you dare! Don’t you act like I’m being ungrateful! Do you even know what I’ve done for you, what I’ve given up, what I’ve sacrificed? I have no friends and no social life. You drove them all away. Did you know that I was seeing someone? Max, the stagehand. You remember him, don’t you? I liked him, Elvis. Really liked him and now I never get to know what could have been between us because you scared him shitless. Because you’re so fucking possessive, I-”

“Possessive? I’m possessive! You’re the one who got into it with my wife. More than once, I might add. But, no, I’m the possessive one.”

“You gave me a fucking collar! I’m not a dog!”

“Nah, but y’are a bitch,” he replies without missing a beat.

You respond, too, without missing a second. But your reply doesn’t involve words. Instead, it’s your open palm flying through the air and connecting with his cheek. The air is silent after the loud and harsh clap that sounds when you’ve slapped his face. Your chest is heaving and you’re breathing with so much rage that you can hear your breath when it leaves your body. His face remains frozen in the place where you’ve slapped him, his eyes closed tightly together and his chest heaving angrily.

“Fuck. You. I sold that necklace,” you hiss at him. “You wanna know why? I sold it to pay my bills, my debts. The ones you promised you’d pay. Remember when you told me you’d take care of it? When you told me not to worry about anything? When you pursued me without my consent and continued to do so even after I’d rejected your proposal? When you humiliated me in front of everyone, on multiple occasions? People I didn’t even know. On days when I didn’t want to suck your dick, when I didn’t want to be violated by you but I put that aside for your benefit? When I dropped everything, my entire life, to move out here to make you happy?”

“You lucky I paid you anything, specially considerin your attitude lately. Ungrateful brat.”

You scoff and shake your head. He says nothing but lifts his gaze, tilting his chin so that he’s looking down his nose at you. His face is scrunched up in an expression of disgust. You nod at his silence. As you step backward, your heel catches on one of the pieces of paper that you dropped. You laugh angrily and lean down to pick up the scattered contents. Most of the paper is still inside the flaps but several have fallen out. You hold it up and shake it.

“I used to think if I only had more money, all my problems would be solved. Money can’t fix everything, apparently. They’re right what they say, that money doesn’t buy happiness. Because I’ve never been more unhappy in my life.”

He shakes his head dismissively and clenches his jaw as he stares down at you.

“I was coming up here to help you. To tell you that the Colonel is bad news. That Jerry and I have been working on uncovering exactly what he does, how he does it, and how it’s hurting you. And the fact that my bills aren’t being paid because the Colonel’s making sure the payments don’t go through. And the fact that the Colonel takes 50% of your earnings,” his head snaps up when you say it, confusion flooding his face. “Yeah, that’s right. I’ve seen the receipts; I know about that.”

“And what the hell do you expect me to do bout it?” Elvis asks, throwing his hands up.

You clench your jaw and then throw the folder at him. It smacks into his chest and he stumbles back as the remaining papers go flying out of it. You tangle your fingers into your scalp and scream angrily before turning back to him.

“Fire him! Get rid of him! Why are you so indebted to this man? All he’s done is betray you and use you and abuse you? God, everything about you is backward. You’re an heartless bastard to the people who care about you and an absolute angel, a slave, to people who’ve done you nothing but wrong!”

“God damnit! Why do you even care so much bout me? We barely know each other! You ain’t got no obligation to care about me! You’re usin me just like everybody else does! I’m just a way for you to pay your bills, ain’t that right?”

“No!” you scream.

“No? Then what the hell am I to you? Why do ya care so much?”

“Because I love you, Elvis!” you shout and immediately falter.

You feel like your entire body is about to drop to the ground, your legs turning into noodles. Your heart slams against your chest and you drop your gaze, shame and embarrassment flooding through you. You wait, agonizing through the silence that follows your confession. When he doesn’t respond, you glimpse up at him. Although his sea-blue eyes are still glazed over, you can see that he’s finally focused on you, aware enough to recognize you. You guess your confession snapped him out of his drug-induced coma.

“I don’t…”

“Of course not. I don’t expect you to say it back,” you finally whisper. “I’m sure a million women say that exact thing to you every single day. Why should you care? You get your happily ever after anyway. You’re already married with a wife who still loves you, despite everything that you’ve put her through, all that you’ve done to her. You have a beautiful, wonderful daughter who’s gonna grow up to be such a lovely person. You’re not in this relationship for love, you have plenty of that. You don’t need it. You were only here for sex. The whole time I was just something to fuck, an object. I knew that when I agreed to this. I should have remembered it better.”

Your voice cracks as the reality of your unhappiness begins to settle.

You used to feel like the trap you were caught in was a privilege, a lust-filled dream that would only tease you and then indulge you eventually when it was ready. Now, you realize it was a prison. And you were being tortured every step of the way. You give him one chance to say something to make you stay, mostly deluding yourself into an extra moment of longing and hoping that he will. Not unsurprisingly, he doesn’t and silence envelops you in her wings, shutting you off from him forever. You nod resolutely and turn to leave.

“Y/N,” he says, lunging to grab onto your wrist.

Your heart shakes in your chest. He never uses your name, always calls you princess or doll or sugar. But never by your name. It feels too intimate, too personal now. It makes you think for one moment that he might actually love you in some small way. But you’re smarter than that. You shake yourself away from him and glance over your shoulder. You feel emotion rising in your chest, the tips of your fingers aching with sadness. You are powerless to stop the tears that quickly rise into your eyes.

“I can’t keep waiting for you to get better,” you say through the tears that are streaming down your face. You feel your face screw up and look away from him. “I can’t.”

You want nothing more than to run to him and touch his warm skin, kiss him all over, pull him close to you. But when you glance over your shoulder and meet his glassy eyes for the last time, you realize that this isn’t the man you want. You want the one who makes you laugh, whose eyes twinkle, whose humor is off the rails and unhinged. You want the man who bought you the most obscure record that you passingly mentioned one time. You want Elvis, not ELVIS. But you’re not even sure who either of those men are anymore.

You take a deep breath and turn, walking away from the man you love with all your heart.

When you step back into your room, you immediately go to the phone and dial in the very familiar number. After waiting for the ring, you hear the most beautiful voice you’ve ever heard in your life.

“Hello?”

“Hi Trixie.”

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

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#elvis #elvis 2022 #austin butler #milasfics #milaselvisfics #milasthings #milaselviscontent #sugar daddy elvis #daddy issues

[ladditt]

V9 Ep1

okay! Chores are one so its RWBY time lessgo

1) okay right off the bat the first person perspective, music and editing are top fucking notch for this opening. The rising panic is palpable and it gets across how it must have felt to be trapped in a situation that’s getting worse by the second without having time to process the last horrific life changing event before a new one happens. I haven't seen something that well made from this show in a WHILE full props to the creative team for this one.

However, I do really want to see a behind- the-scenes clip of how this was animated from a third person perspective. Hysterically, shots like this are either animated by having two disembodied arm models fixed just behind the camera, or by using the actual character model but either distorting the neck or removing the head entirely so you don’t get any clipping. Either way it’ll be fucking hilarious.

2) that water is fucking beautiful, we sure have come a ways from the flat blue plane of V1

3) two suns? Is that a metaphor?

4) I’m not gonna point out every well crafted shot because from what I’ve seen so far I might be here a while, this episode in particular seems to be going out of it’s way to have varied, intentional shot composition but this shot?

Rubes tiny and isolated in a strange world? Physically surrounded by a dark unknown forest? That some good shit right there.

5) oh god the plant models. They’re excellent and the set design for this forest is perfect but I really hope that the staff were given adequate time to design and model them all….

6) aye, rubes. I don’t think that “keep moving forward” is the best way to deal with this one.

7) I will withhold my judgement until they’ve had more screen-time but, yeah little is really annoying.

8) “what happened after we fell?” nothing good blake, nothing good.

9) again, top notch animation, and the gang is back together way sooner that I was expecting. I’m gonna say that’s a good thing. Following four different plot-lines probably wouldn’t have worked.

10) don’t dodge the question weiss. I know you’re trying to be kind but you’re not gonna be able to put this off forever, and the longer you wait the worse it’s gonna be.

11) is that the jabberwocky? It’s… fine. The muscle texture looks cool but beyond that I’m not getting the “nightmare fuel”. according to the op it looks like it’s going to be more of a consistent antagonist though so there's still time for it to grow on me.

12) “if you thought we wouldn’t come for you, you must have forgotten who raised me” my HEART

13) also shout out to barbra for the line delivery on that “damn it” that was excellent.

14) if it were 2015 and I were still a 14 year old bee shipper I would have lost my mind at that hug. So for now I’ll just be happy for the people who ARE losing their minds.

15) “it must have gone pretty bad, huh?” Oh they’re addressing this NOW? I was expecting at least another episode of weiss tiptoeing around the topic before we got the reveal

16) oh shit ruby just went out like a lightswitch. Yeah that’s a pretty realistic reaction to hearing something like that, on top of the fact that volume 8 took place over like, what, four hours? No one here has had a chance to stop since salem showed up, they're all exhausted.

Considering this place is mindfuck central and we’re got a murderous shapeshifter milling around down here as well it’s really not going to take much for people to start losing their minds. And I mean, If this is wonderland “everyone’s mad down here” might end up being relevant.

17) blake stepping up as leader while ruby is out of action? Love to see it

18) ruby passing out from stress and then instantly pretending that nothing happened and refusing to let herself feel a human emotion? that’s my girl.

19) oh good fucking god. Yeah I understand completely why this took an extra year to make. I though the new assets for the forest were going to be it, but no it looks like we have five or six completely unique zones to this place. again, i REALLY hope that this wasn’t as hard on the animators as we’re all assuming it was.

20) i’m not gonna analyze the op because as a rule, i’m not a fan of them. but yeah, it looks like this is the beginning of the “ruby has a nervous breakdown” arc

aye, consider my thoroughly impressed. the filmaking for this episode was above an beyond what i was expecting. i can’t say i’m completely sold on the talking mice but i’m also not sure how literally we’re supposed to be taking what we’re seeing. from a lore perspective wonderland is... interesting to day the least. is this a separate world or a lower layer of reminant? was this created by the brothers or does this world have a different set of creators? humans and grimm don’t seem to exist here but the emotions of the characters do seem to have a physical affect on the environment, on top of that, the relics were explicitly created by the brothers to help humanity and atlas is the one that created those portals that brought us here in the first place. and atlas at least seemed to have some knowledge that wonderland was here considering he mentioned that falling would be bad. so, does this place have a connection to the power of the relics or was taking a detour through an alternate dimension just the quickest way to connect two portals?

my current theory as of episode one is that wonderland is the brother’s “WIP folder” so to speak, weird ideas and not quite finished creations that the brothers are keeping stored for a rainy day. like, the jabberwocky looks a lot like a first draft of what the grimm ended up being.

#RWBY #RWBY9 #RWBY Spoilers #Ladd watches V9

[letstalktea]

Parasite

Content: Tav x The Emperor, endgame spoilers, mild angst, smut referenced but not shown

Word Count: 1.4k

Where did they end and the parasite wriggling just behind their eye begin? They had been asking themselves that question a lot lately, especially after the worm had stopped moving and the only thing left to remember their adventure by was some deeply seeded trauma that had fundamentally changed who they were. Their companions had been freed from both the parasite and their own past – as much as they could be, anyway – but Tav was still left staring straight into the endless sky, at the glittering star dust of the Astral plane through the empty eye sockets of a long decayed skull. Even knowing the Netherbrain was gone, this was the only place they felt completely safe anymore.

"You've come again."

Tav turned their head to stare at the grand illithid floating beside them, seemingly appearing from nowhere but knowing he must have sensed them coming.

"You did too."

The Emperor wasn't a prisoner of the prism anymore now that the brain that tried to control him was no longer around, so being here was a choice rather than a strategy. Or maybe there was still some strategic element to his presence. 

"I find myself curious as to why you keep coming back here. Did I not make myself clear that we have no further reason to associate in this capacity?" 

"You did." They sat up and leaned back on their palms. "And yet, here you are. Curiouser and curiouser. If I didn't know better, I'd think you missed me."

"You are allowed to think whatever you want, as illogical and irrational as it is."

"I would appreciate it if you at least pretended. I miss when you tried to play on my mortal emotions. It was nice to live the lie that you cared about me as more than just a tool."

"I have no reason to cater to that charade anymore." 

"Please? For old time's sake?" They patted the space beside them as they stared up at him.

He didn't move.

They shrugged. "I tried."

Then they burst into laughter. "I can't believe I used to think you actually cared about me. A mind flayer caring about some random mortal? Preposterous! You probably thought I was a joke. Was I at least a funny joke? Tell me you were at least laughing while I played your fool."

"I don't find your bouts of mania amusing." 

They stood up with a deranged look in their eyes, practically shouting as they approached him. "Then was it at least entertaining to play with me as I fell for you? Is that why you offered to spend the night with me? Was it your grand finale to make me trust you and ensure I would do whatever you wanted when the time came? Was I the only one who cared?"

"You already know the answer." He said with a flat affect.

"Right," they muttered. "I wish I didn't. It's unnerving how easily I can hear your thoughts these days."

"You made that choice when you accepted the tadpole."

"Nah. What I did was less like choosing and more like picking the only option that made sense." They clumsily held up three fingers and counted their list of grievances. "I couldn't trust you, wouldn't betray you, and wanted to save my home. I made the only logical decision."

"Because even after I attempted to manipulate you and opened my mind, you did not trust me."

"You were always a liar, especially in your own head. That's what the worm in my head was saying and it turns out it was right. Even now I suspect you are trying to lie in whatever way lets you win this little tête-à-tête because you don't like me picking at your presumably perfect plan, even after it's long since unneeded."

"You misunderstand." He finally floated downward and allowed his feet to touch the ground so he was standing in front of them. "I am pleased by your decision not to trust whatever honeyed words others may speak to you. I am frustrated that you suspect me of such things however. Have I not proven myself your ally even now?"

"You've proven that you still find me useful and are willing to work in our common interests. Although, I wouldn't mind if you wanted to prove that your continued presence in my life has a deeper meaning." 

They reached out their hand to wrap around one of the tentacles hanging from his face, recalling how they'd done it the night they'd spent together; the moans they didn't know he could make as they kissed their way up each one, the frantic heat as they tore at his clothing even knowing he didn't have human anatomy because they wanted to know his body, their giddy joy and laughter as their body lifted into the air for the first time and the giggles as they tried to figure out how hovering was supposed to work, the way they leaned against him and let him use his own mortal memories to pleasure them until they came on his fingers– Then they saw how their fingers looked wrapped around his tentacle and quickly withdrew.

His gaze was unwavering, but there was an understanding – real or fabricated they couldn't tell, but they chose to believe it was genuine. "You'll find such desires dissipate over time."

"I know." They had already reached that point. They simply liked to pretend there was still more of their original personality left than really was. It was distressing how quickly the person they were fell away.

It was disconcerting how easily they understood his motivation for playing on their fickle mortal emotions and even more so how they could imagine doing the same thing, if need be. Now, however, their emotions and reasoning weren't so malleable by pleasantries. Now they could hear his genuine thoughts and have an inkling as to what machinations ran through his head. Their favorite was the small corner of his mind that called them such pretty things like divine or exquisite before those stray thoughts were buried beneath every other logical one. It was nice to hear someone think they were still beautiful when every other voice usually screamed at their mere existence.

"Are you finished with your delusions?" The Emperor asked.

They waved him off with a thought as the illusionary world – the one they'd conjured in their head so many times lately as their mortality began to slip further and further away – began to dissolve around them and give way to the reality of the cellar they made a serviceable home in. 

"I would appreciate some understanding and sympathy for my current situation."

"I understand that you have become a greater existence than you previously were, so sympathy is unneeded."

If they could have, Tav would have rolled their eyes. Instead they simply rose into the air so they were hovering just barely above their fellow illithid. "How anyone believed you to be a human man with that dismissive attitude, I will never understand." 

The Emperor followed their lead, rising into the air so his gaze was level with theirs.

They turned away from him, choosing not to delve into his thoughts or accusations about the hypocrisy in thinking others foolish for believing his deception when they themselves had fallen for his ruse until they saw the tentacles on his face and him pleading for aid.

"I'm hungry," Tav said, trying to ignore how that comment and its implications weren't unnerving in the least to them, not like it had been when they had first transformed and devoured the brain straight out of an exiled prince's skull.

No. Instead the most disturbing thought in their head, the one they tried to push aside using what little of their mortal morality remained intact, was the creeping desire to have a tadpole or two of their own. It felt natural as an illithid to want an entire colony at their disposal. Nevermind that they were not an Elder Brain with that kind of power nor did they have a desire to become the very thing they defeated, but they did have an itching for power and control that surpassed their conscious mind.

If that desire was loud enough to slip through their carefully maintained demeanor for The Emperor to hear, he at least had the decency not to say anything. That, or he was formulating a new plan to either support their twisted desire or find his next ponzi to be their undoing once the last of their mortality finally gave way to illithid motivations.

#h2ho #a cool drink of water #collab'oween #balders gate 3

[elenarodriiguez]

popular (i know about popular) | i.h.

summary: how imogen learns to be something more than one of the popular girls

pairing: imogen heaney character study

warnings: implied homophobia & minor violence/injury

word count: 1601

read it on ao3

For as long as she can remember, Imogen has always been one of the popular kids. Even when she was in primary school, she’d always been one of the ones to dictate how break time games would go, and she would always get first pick in Mums and Dads. And when she moved up to Higgs, well, very little changed.

Sure it was strange not going to school with Nick and Harry and Sai everyday, but she still had Poppy and Emily at her side, and if she got off the bus a stop early she could hang outside Truham with them for half an hour. By the end of year seven it’s part of her morning routine, hanging out with them before heading to Higgs and carrying on with her day. By year eleven it’s a routine as old as time itself.

She’d always thought they were all close mates, after all there aren’t many people in the world she’d risk late DTs and watch rugby matches for, but as year eleven draws to a close, it seems like that isn’t the case. Only, Nick and Harry can barely say two nice words to one another, all of Nick’s attention is with his new friend Charlie Spring, and all Imogen can make of the situation is that she doesn’t know how they all drifted apart so much.

Not that she begrudges Nick for making friends, the opposite actually, but he always seems just that little bit out of reach, and when she finds out the reason as to why he’s at odds with his best friend, she kind of gets it. Actually that’s a lie, she does get it. She really gets it. 

She hadn’t been lying when she’d told Darcy and Tara that she wasn’t homophobic, but her unintentionally performative proclamation of allyship had fallen flat, even to her own ears. It wasn’t supposed to come across that way, but with her Nick tinted glasses on it was hard for it to come across as anything but an afterthought.

Anyway, all that is to say is that when she hears from Otis the truth about the fight, she’s ready and willing to give Harry a shiner and a broken nose. This is what Nick meant when he said he’d squashed his real personality down inside of him, bearing the brunt of banter that would make the speaker (usually Harry) appear like a proper cunt if no one laughed along. But they all did, because it was normal, wasn’t it?

She brings it up with her friends later, how she hadn’t really noticed it before now, always being able to trust her girls to tell her the honest truth. And the honest truth she gets. She can’t say she’s very appreciative of the phrase ‘pick me’ being thrown in her direction, but thinking about it, they aren’t really wrong.

How many times has she laughed at one of the guys making a sexist joke that rubbed her the wrong way because she didn’t want to hear some variation of “it’s only banter”? How many times had she taken part in picking apart some other girl for no reason whatsoever? How many times did she pretend she had no makeup on and was either totally clueless or completely knowledgeable about sports just so they would continue hanging out with her?

God, Nick really was onto something there. It’s there that Imogen decides to be better, to try and become a person instead of a vapid caricature of her actual personality, but it’s by no means easy. At this point it’s second nature for her to laugh with the guys even if they say the most offensive shit, to pretend she’s not intelligent and genuinely interested in things like politics, feminism and international relations.

But slow going is better than nothing at all. And when the inter-school sports day rolls around, she gets to see just how far she’s come. As Nick and Charlie run off into the art block, Nick abandoning the rugby game without a care in the world, the smile that tugs at the corner of her lips is genuine. They seem much better suited for one another than her and the idealised version of Nick who resided in her head.

However the true test is when Harry starts mouthing off later on, Nick and Charlie still nowhere to be seen, when his usual bullying rant takes a bigoted turn. She watches Elle tug Tao back, the Truham student physically shaking in anger, and Darcy and Tara shrink into one another in fear of it being turned onto them, meanwhile Isaac glares at Harry, his book no longer keeping his attention.

The laughter that follows his commentary is sparse at best, guys like Sai and Otis and Christian who were always closer to Nick than Harry shyly trying to distance themselves, but Harry doesn’t stop. That is, until Imogen storms over to him, pushing through the hoard of guys making them part like the red sea as she gets nearer and nearer to him. 

Without thinking about it, she curls her hand into a fist (thumb wrapped around her fingers just like her cousin had taught her) and lands a punch on his nose, a satisfying cracking sound ensuing. She shakes her hand out as he cups his nose, blood slowly trickling down his arms, staining his pale skin bright red.

“For once in your life Harry just shut the fuck up and leave everyone alone! You’re not funny, you’re just a prick, it’s no wonder no one at Higgs wants to get with you!”

She can practically feel the group surrounding them’s urge to start ooh-ing at them, but fixing her glare on them stops that in a heartbeat.

“If you say anything like that again, it won’t just be your nose I break, got it?” Imogen asks, her voice going from red hot anger to the sweet bubbly sounds of her usual tone in a split second.

He nods, still cradling his nose, and she lets out a little huff before flouncing away, all eyes on her as she heads towards the gender neutral toilets in the maths block. She hears Darcy ask Tara if she was hallucinating, which ouch, she wasn’t that much of a bitch before was she? but she doesn’t make out much of anything from the other girl’s response, too far away to hear her properly. Hopefully no one who is actually decent hates her for getting involved without checking to see if it was okay first.

However when Monday comes around, and she still gets off the bus a stop too early, walking over to the usual bench to find it void of Harry and his cronies, she doesn’t seem to need to worry about it. Because replacing them are her closest friends from Higgs, who in hindsight had avoided the table like the plague for years now, Nick, Charlie, and all of their friends. Awkwardly waving at them, she doesn’t expect to be dragged into a group hug, where she’s stuck slap bang in the centre of it.

When they all pull away (far too soon for her liking) they absorb her, Poppy and Emily into their group as if they’d all been best mates for years. The conversation washes over her completely, Imogen still slightly overwhelmed at all of the attention, but Nick pulls away from Charlie’s orbit to come and sit next to her, his puppy dog grin positively infectious.

“They wouldn’t stop talking about what you did on Friday all weekend. It meant a lot to them, and me. Especially me.”

“Yeah well, I couldn’t keep letting him get away with it. Besides, he wouldn’t ever tell on me, it’d hurt his ego, but I don’t think Ms Xu would appreciate Tao getting suspended for fighting. Lesser of two evils.” Imogen shrugs, smiling at one of her closest friends.

“Hey, don’t downplay what you did. You did what most of my so-called best mates wouldn’t. Besides, now you can join the official Puncher of Harry Greene club. It’s very exclusive, you’re our third member.”

“Wow, that is an honour. You know, I didn’t get what you said that day in the park, not until recently. About hiding your true self from everyone. So thank you, for kickstarting me figuring out who I am when the mask isn’t there.”

“Anytime Imogen. Just not right now, because I’m fairly certain if we keep talking you’re all going to be late and I think Emily might kill me if that happens.”

She giggles at him, her laughter increasing tenfold when she witnesses the dirty look that Emily is sending Nick’s way. Giving him a brief but tight squeeze, she jumps off the bench and jogs over to her friends impatiently waiting for her to hurry up. Waving goodbye to the guys, Nick and Charlie already in a world of their own, she settles into the conversation, unable to wipe the smile off her face when Darcy asks if they’d like to join them in the canteen at lunch.

Her popularity might not necessarily be guaranteed from this day forward, although with the number of girls that Harry Greene had pissed off her punching him might have cemented her status further, but she no longer needs it. Not when the possibility of having real friendships were so much closer for her to reach. And the weight which had been sitting rather firmly on her chest all of these years, so long she’d forgotten life without it, is finally lifted off of her.

#heartstopper #imogen heaney #heartstopper fic #heartstopper fanfic #daisy writes

[curiosity-killed]

Would love to hear your thoughts on atfots… the plot really surprised me given how the last book ended but overall it felt like a mixed bag to me

*cradles ur face tenderly in my hands* babycakes u have opened a can of worms

I'm not even going to pretend that this will be short or coherent so tl;dr: if I'm looking for a fun AU, I turn to ATFOTS; if I'm looking for canon compliant, meaningful sequels to HOTE, I turn to fanfiction.

General disclaimer that here be spoilers for ATFOTS and that while I don't intend this to be lambasting ATFOTS by any means, it's not the most positive review. So like, don't read below if you a) want to avoid spoilers or b) enjoyed the book, probably?

I think there are roughly 2 main categories of critique I have for ATFOTS, with a third just being the catchall for anything I miss and/or me yelling about the things that matter most to me lol so:

I. Sequel Sins

I am generally not a fan of sequels primarily because I think they tend to fall into a lot of similar traps such as overexplaining, inconsistent characterization, and undermining their own themes. This may be a product of growing up in love with sprawling series that all wound up basically having the same formula. ANYWAY.

Overexplaining: ATFOTS starts off by reintroducing Cliopher Mdang. My good sir. The POV character for the other doorstopper novel that came before (& which I love). I get the desire to make a sequel accessible to people who haven't read the first book but ATFOTS feels consistently like it's holding your hand very gently and bending down to make sure you're getting its full sincere eye contact and talking very slowly. I don't have a copy of the book on me to pull quotes, but it's especially flagrant in the first couple chapters.

Inconsistent characterization: WHOO BOY. Cliopher is so old! No he's young again! Now he's middle-aged! I have mixed feelings on the characterization overall—Rodin, for instance, came a bit out of left field—and most of it comes down to the way I loved the characters in HOTE and then in ATFOTS they all felt...a bit flatter and a bit caricaturized and a bit less true.

Undermining themes: The character thing comes in hard here IMO. One of the major threads of HOTE is Kip shaping his own path of success and receiving acknowledgment from his loved ones for his unique, uncommon route. And then ATFOTS comes in and is like ACTUALLY we're going to overwrite that with this GRAND and MYTHOLOGICAL story that also conveniently follows closely the story that will be familiar to your family. This isn't to say there isn't value in that type of story, but it definitely cheapens (imo) the thematic value of HOTE. And this is true for...kind of a lot of the stories' themes. ATFOTS seems to want to be "HOTE themes but bigger and better" and in doing so, kind of falls flat in delivery imo.

II. ATFOTS-Specific Pro/Con

Alright now onto a little more specific issues. This will be brief bc I think they're pretty self-explanatory lol

Con: Overall, I think ATFOTS tries to do too many things. I love a good book with many plotlines (see: erha my beloved) but ATFOTS' structure felt borderline episodic rather than building together into a satisfying reveal/culmination.

Pro: I'll get into Kip's sexuality below but do love the concept of fanoa

Con: It felt like a lot of tidbits of "oh ACTUALLY this was happening all along in HOTE I just didn't mention it"—see the comment that started this all around humming Aurora—in a way that felt less like a delightful little revelation and more like VG retroactively trying to incorporate things she hadn't decided on till that moment. Also feel this way about Ludvic's fam reveal but I'll get into that below.

Pro/Con: While I think the writing structure was a little tighter than HOTE (I'm sorry, I love Kip and I love HOTE but there were like 200 pages of having the same conversation over again) (maybe not actually 200. possibly 20. still.), girlie REALLY needed a copy edit. Like. I will copy edit ur book Ms. Goddard for u (I am cheap) but please let me fix the errors.

III. Getting My Grubby Little Gay Hands All Over this Book

aka personal preference shit that is entirely my opinion without critique for the writing quality but nonetheless are part of my critique

I love HOTE and I love HOTE principally for three four main categories: The Household (and Them), civil service, being The One Who Left, and ASEXUALITY BABEY. There are other aspects I love, of course, but these are kind of the big non-negotiables for me and four that ATFOTS kinda...did dirty imo.

In terms of the Household, HOTE gave us these middle-aged dudes who are pretty much defined and fulfilled by their dedication to their job to the exclusion of most other things. Kip has family but it's not family that really understands him most of the time and it's family that is very far away (*this will come up again). The rest of them don't have family outside of the household. They are very sincerely found/forced thru work family in a way that feels both very natural and blessedly free of nuclearization. They love each other and understand each other** in a way that none of them really have access to outside of this group.

And then ATFOTS (and admittedly RPA) comes along and is like "Ludvic has a dad! Conju's sister and boytoy are alive! Rodin has a devoted penpal!" in a way that feels a BIT like pairing off everyone so that the main couple can be together. Which like. I love Kip/Fitzroy, don't get me wrong, but I love the household and their weirdly intimate and formal and seemingly smooth as clockwork but internally messy vibe. I was so looking forward to reading about the retirement house and how that unspools (or at least thinking a lot about it in the way of the blorbo in the microwave) before ATFOTS.

So much of the heart of HOTE is the idea of community and connection (or isolation) and ATFOTS mostly veers away from that both thru the pairing off and through the things like Kip's solo adventures. It also, in some ways, sort of undermines some of the characters' core traits, such as Ludvic's devotion. Ludvic being a stout, unflinching companion for HR because he believes in him and sees the true man behind the Serenity is imo very different from Ludvic being an unflagging companion because he views HR as his uncle. Idk about y'all but family duty and personal devotion from choice are two different things in my experience.

On their own, they aren't bad but they are disappointing when compared to the aspects of HOTE I loved and would have hoped to see expanded upon in the sequel.

Kip's experience in civil service is also really important to me (literally made me more patient and cheerful at work when I was actively envisioning setting a plague of frogs loose upon my supervisor's house so like. Significant Importance to Me.)! This will not be articulate (I've legit been starting and deleting this sentence for like 5 min) bc it's very near and dear to my heart but the ideas of a) choosing to take a harder path, that is outside your community/family's conception of "normal" because you believe it is good and worthy, b) trying to improve a shitty system because you believe it can be made to better serve the people, and c) learning from both systems—are! just! very important to me okay. And not something I see a lot in fiction, but especially not in my most beloved of monstrously large fantasy novels.

And then ATFOTS is just JK time for an epic fantasy romp! and that's cool but that's not why I loved the first book! that's not the right tone at all!!! if i wanted an epic fantasy romp I would pick up Iron Widow but I wanted the bureaucracy D: (shoutout to ao3 user alfgifu for giving me the bureaucracy and also sorry for all the nonsense comments)

This is also super closely tied to Being the One Who Left tbh because well. Me. But one of the core elements of HOTE—the part that actually first snagged me and pulled my attention in—is that Kip is the one who left his community behind for no good reason to chase a weird dream instead of settling down and following the normal path to success.

*eyeing my high school classmates who are all settled down with 2.5 kids and starting photography businesses on the side while living within 20 minutes of where they grew up* Huh I Wonder Why This is Relatable

At the heart of being the one who left is this tug between guilt and desire/love/duty/curiosity/whatever pull factor. In HOTE, Kip is pushed to stay home by his duty to his community, his love of his family, and his family's own pressure. He's pulled to stay in the service by his duty to the world/government, his love of his found family, and by the urge to do more, to make things better as much as he can. In both places, he's not fully understood and when he's in either location, he misses the other. The importance is the tug, the dual identity, the sense of always being partially understood and partially misunderstood in different ways depending on the ground you're standing on. I could...very literally, write essays on each of these last items but I am trying to wrap it up bc I should actually be coding rn whoops

ATFOTS blots this out by transforming his Solaara experience into, basically, Just A Job. A job he cares about and can be proud of, sure, but just the job. It really...kind of aggressively, ignores the relationships and life Kip has made there in favor of focusing solely on this glorious return to home while conveniently giving everyone else people to be with instead of the household. which I'm sure my mom would like but ANYWAY

and now, last but decidedly not least OR clearest *drum roll pls* ASEXUALITY BABEY

okay so I will caveat this by saying different rep serves different people, there are infinitely many ways to be asexual, etc etc that all being said ATFOTS' handling of Kip's sexuality just left me a little...dissatisfied? And tbh I struggle to articulate it because I feel like it probably comes down to "this isn't the rep I would like but I can see where it's meaningful to others."

Like I can justify it—a lifelong commitment as fanoa is described is different than a romantic or sexual relationship, it's entirely fair to have a character want that commitment without risking it by mixing in romance/etc., it's good to have a devoted and platonic relationship at the core where normally a (straight) romantic/sexual relationship would be

and yet. I caught myself making faces at the book half the time when dealing with their relationship. Some of it feels a little like trying to Do All The Rep in one go—Kip's tingly fuzzy feelings and (mostly) lack of romantic attraction, neutrality around sex and aversion to sex in this relationship—in a way that almost definitely describes actual humans out in the world but feels a little...off in a fictional character? My general wish for asexual characters is getting to be in devoted relationships where the allosexual partner(s) is willing to not have sex and still be committed but I caught myself being like "y'all just fuck already" in ATFOTS which is uhhhh not the norm

tbf my ideal Kip/Fitzroy retirement relationship is basically just them (and the household) all living together and everyone on the outside kind of being ???? is it a sex thing???? while they contentedly carve out their own life yet again but this time with more touch and laughter and song.

Actually having gotten to this point, I feel like my main sticking point with ATFOTS sexuality is that Sex Is A Big Thing in the book while never being super effectively resolved imo and also not actually being a big thing to the characters in HOTE. Like one of these dudes has been celibate for 1000 years or so and another one has had like 3 brief lovers across the same amount of time. I think there are some other things we could focus on here

#admittedly this is also my bias against reading like #THE ASEXUAL EXPERIENCE type memoirs that my sister always tries to recommend #like bro i know what it's like to be ace. been there. been told i'm going to die alone forever. been told that sex isn't what matters and #that i've got a bestie for life. i am Aware of the Experience. #idk i think my issues with the ace rep do mostly just come down to like differing rep needs/desires but it's a substantial enough ick #that i think about it every time i think of the book #ANYWAY #sorry this is so long #i literally fell asleep plotting out the structure and then just #spewed words #asked & answered #anonymice #this should go under ellie watches shit and freaks out about it #but it's more #someone asks about a book and i respond with a book

[josiebelladonna]

I’ve talked about my life in weight, losing and gaining, but I never really went into the full extent of it. Yes, this is all me above here.

Consider this a memoir of sorts. It’s a “fat memoir”, plus a weight gain journey.

To put in simplest terms, I’ve wanted to be fat since I was a little girl: I remember being five years old and eating dinner in a warm trailer on a frigid snowy night in northern Nevada, and loving the feeling. I’d tell my mom I was hungry even after I ate within the hour. I’d take off my shirt and run my hand down my chest and my belly in front of the mirror and pretend I would have a fat belly instead. 5-year-old me even thought about being 300 pounds because it was unknown and exciting to me.

I think I was 6 when I got fat-shamed the first time. I don’t remember where it came from but I remember it clear as day, though: the message that to be fat is to be bad, like it’s a bad thing. When you’re a young kid like that, you see everything in black and white, so naturally I took it to heart.

So what did I do? I started sneaking extra food, next to eating healthily. I had a balanced diet from a young age, and it would always make me full. I kept it up as we moved from Carson City to the California desert, and I transitioned from elementary to middle school.

I was 11 when I really got hit with the shame: my uncle told me that I’m solidly built and therefore prone to weight gain, and the way he said it he made it sound like it was the worst thing ever. Add to this, I had family telling me to “lay off on the chips”, even though I was still still pretty thin by the time puberty hit me. And I was in health class in sixth grade, and I was introduced to the body mass index.

I was shocked to find that I had a BMI of 25, which is just at the “overweight” mark. 12 years old, 115 pounds and 5’4”—and I was thin, too, I had a slim belly and very slight hips. Imagine hearing that you’re overweight at 12 years old when you’ve been pretty much scrawny your entire childhood because your family was poor and you were told “fat is bad” for half of your life.

Needless to say, I developed anorexia. I would go for hours, sometimes whole days, without eating. I would turn down food. I would work out hard. I would play field hockey after having eaten only a sandwich and some apple juice, do all that running around… anything i could think of that would help keep my weight down. I still gained because I was in puberty: my hips got fuller, my breasts got bigger, and I got that little curve on the waist that just happens naturally with women, but I hated it. I didn’t want that curve—I think it was here I really started crossdressing more because it happened to me naturally.

But I hated my body. I wanted to be thin, without curves, but I still wanted to be a girl, though.

Understand I still love field hockey—it’s fun! I played that and softball. But it always left me so exhausted, because I was barely eating.

I remember laying in bed, in my hockey clothes, and feeling my poor belly, in all its flatness and tenderness.

I didn’t want to suffer. It felt as though it had been forced upon me. I was forced to destroy my own body all because of some arbitrary measurement system that is known to be eugenics and yet healthcare systems continue to use it: it’s honestly astounding to me, and it makes me wonder how many more kids are out there right now who feel at odds with it, like they don’t think their bodies are beautiful no matter what shape and size they are, and they have to force themselves into this complete bullshit out of worry that they’ll develop diseases that literally anyone can get regardless of weight.

Some days I would binge on anything and everything, and of course, I would feel guilty about it afterwards, and I would start the cycle all over again. I knew something was wrong when my hair started falling out and my acne was getting worse, too.

Everyone told me I looked good, especially when I was in the bridesmaid dress at my brother’s wedding at 16 years old.

I certainly didn’t feel good, though. In fact, whenever I lost weight, it never felt good.

When my parents split, I took a turn for the worse, mainly because my dad and I got evicted and whatever food came our way, we had to ration it of sorts. When I moved into my dorm, because my campus was on a hillside, I went up and down stairs and hills all the time. I bypassed the “freshman 15” and lost fifteen pounds when I lived on campus: once again, it was the whole “look good but I don’t feel good, though”. It didn’t help that they didn’t let me keep my food money once the school year ended. I moved off campus for my senior year to an apartment complex about half a mile away, and then to the house across the street, and then a house about a block away from the school. All that moving, and I took a turn for the worse. School was getting harder and I kept losing weight all the while.

I remember feeling cold all the time: it didn’t help that I lived in the mountains of Oregon at the time, and it was quite the cold winter that year (so many days it dropped down below zero—i often thought of going outside naked and laying down in the snow, just to feel something before I “went”). 

Anorexics, notably Karen Carpenter, have heart problems, and most of them do die of heart failure at some point: it was starting to go that way for me, now that i think about it in hindsight. My blood pressure has always been low, even now at my heaviest which I’ll explain soon enough, but during that low point, it was quite low. There were a few mornings I woke up and I couldn’t believe that I did, like I hadn’t died in my sleep. If anything, I was expecting it.

Anorexia also does very strange things to a person, not just physiologically and internally, but mentally, too: you get in denial and you also believe that you can’t do anything right, and you also think that everyone is out to get you. I wanted to change but I didn’t know who to turn to, and everyone seemed too busy as well.

I was stuck, and in the worst way possible. And I was shedding pounds, too.

What made me change course, you ask? Well, there are a couple of things: the first was that camping trip over thanksgiving weekend to the coast, where I ate that whole grasshopper pie by myself (no one was eating it and I didn’t want it to go to waste) plus a change in career course. I was not only another cog in the BMI machine but in the collegiate machine as well: high school left me horrifically unprepared for college life, and I felt like such a fish out of water in the engineering department. I was too weird and the curricula either bored me to tears or went right over my head. I tried talking to people, my counselor, my professors, and even my mother because she was going to the same school as me, and I was always—always—turned away. My mom was often in a bad mood back then because of the workload she had, too. It often felt like nobody was listening… until I made them listen by not signing up for spring term classes. When my parents and eventually the rest of the family found out, with this rumor that I was dropping out and throwing everything away, they all lost their shit and that was when I couldn’t take it anymore and I cried harder than I ever did in my life.

I actually remember having a makeshift noose around my neck that day. I was going to do it. I felt like I let everyone down, and throw in my malnourished, emaciated body, I had completely lost my will to live a second longer. If this was how the world saw me, a complete fuck-up and a waste of space, then I would do the honor of relieving everyone the misery of knowing me.

My father and brother would later use this against me in late 2015, well after I had begun my recovery no less, but there was no way around it, though. 

It was my stepdad who talked me down from it, and I was able to brush back my tears and say it out loud that I wanted to be an artist, and he actually talked me into it, like he said that it would be the best thing for me. Honestly, that was the best thing he ever did for me… god bless his soul.

I didn’t start healing my relationship with my body until 2014, however. I had gained a little bit of weight over the course of 2013, not a lot, but it was enough to make me stop feeling cold all the time and give me some more energy to go on walks again. That was another hard winter, though, one filled with anxiety and paranoia and… not really making any sense? And what’s worse is I had no idea where it was coming from until well after the fact: it was leftover from anorexia as well as feeling like I couldn’t do anything with myself. I had transferred to a community college for my two-year degree in general art studies and everyone was looking at me funny. I had a crush on a guy who felt out of reach and I didn’t know what to tell him if I ever had the chance.

I literally felt as though I was losing my mind, all the way to the point of my finding the way to write my letter to Ben shepherd, courtesy of my mom’s willingness and keen eye. At that point, I had to take my sabbatical from school for six months and try out something to ease my mind.

I got a job at the Dutch Bros about a mile away, so I could ride my bike or walk there—I also got free coffee. I think it was here I got into the habit of getting a slice of pie at the café up the street, too: cheap-o pie, too, it was only a buck seventy-five and delicious. I had to quit because my anxiety still wasn’t getting any better, but I actually enjoyed it because of the coffee and the pie. I knew I gained weight because when I went out for a ride, I noticed I was having to pump my legs a little harder.

I kept it steady throughout 2014, through betrayals and bullies on the internet, through Chris sharing my art on Twitter, through seeing Soundgarden three times and starting up school again. But the anxiety persisted, and I could feel my body image slipping again, and I suffered a full mental breakdown to the point I nearly checked myself into the hospital.

But through my broken mind, I noticed that I was getting a little belly, a little roll of fat around my waist. And when I had to move back home as my mom and my stepdad were moving back as well to care for the house his mother left behind, the thing that kept me out of the hospital, I could see the light again.

When I got to the house, I found a scale.

199 pounds. Whoa. How did that happen?

Indeed, I looked at my body and while I had thickened a bit in the hips, I still looked very thin.

I was in the mountains: I was either walking up stairs or a hill. I could have that weight but I could exercise more, and more rigorously, too.

I dropped down to 180 by Christmas: I look at pix of myself from then, when I met Chris and when my family were being assholes for literally no reason—I’m seriously not exaggerating when I say that, either: I said I wanted to be alone with my thoughts for a bit and my dad took it the complete wrong way—and I was quite spry then. 

But I felt like something was missing, though. I felt good with a belly because it gave me comfort when my mind was broken: I had always associated thinness with pain and bad periods of my life and chubbiness with joy and pleasure.

So, what did I do? I started eating more. I started relaxing more. Eating and relaxing, relaxing and eating. I gained almost 30 pounds by the springtime: I actually felt pretty good in an otherwise abysmal year.

Then my grandma passed in June and my brother and sister-in-law were giving me dirty looks at the funeral, again, for no reason. The next month my sister-in-law was killed in a freak rollover accident.

The funeral there took place in Vegas (in the middle of July, too: I remember it was 117° the day of, and everyone was wearing tuxes and heavy dresses: I was in a sundress and sweating like crazy), and during the reception, where they had a big buffet for everyone and then some, I helped myself to two plates of food, two plates full of dessert, plus a few more cookies, another cupcake, more veggies, and a couple more things. Middle of summer in Vegas at a funeral and yet I had just eaten as if it was Thanksgiving back home in Oregon on a snowy night.

It was so twisted when you think about it (and to be fair, she never liked me) but there’s something very subversive about pleasure in my eyes, though. You have to cross some lines to do right by someone, that someone being myself. And let me tell you, it felt good.

And yet, I kept my weight steady at around the 210 - 220 pound range for a few years, even through 2017, one of the worst years of my life, and when I went dark in late 2016 into late 2018. It was around here I started digging more into my sexuality and my writing: I was able to examine my thoughts more closely being away from the world for the most part. In 2019, I wrote Have Your Cake and Eat It, my ode to Lars and the fact he’s always hungry, and my first fanfic in 6 years at that point. I never really examined the kink through extensive writing before so it was an interesting endeavor.

I was around 200 by the time the lockdowns came: my eating habits went sideways all through 2019. Life didn’t really change much for me, aside from realizing everything was closed and I couldn’t do anything without a mask on. I gained a little bit of weight, but I kept exercising and the incident between me and the art thief, and the plagiarism incident between me and you-know-who, and I lost some and then I thought it had plateaued again by the time Alex entered my life.

My stepdad passed. It was a long time coming, though: the man had congestive heart failure, he was an alcoholic, and according to my mom, he was jaundiced for at least a decade. Though 2019 was a very fun year in retrospect, he began drinking more and getting drunk more often, and it wound up biting him in the ass in early 2021. Easter weekend, his liver started failing and he turned blue. The very moment he entered the hospital, he was septic and his kidneys failed.

Now it’s just my mom and me, plus our dog, our cat, his stepson and his girlfriend and their daughter.

But the next thing I know, there’s a bunch of food in the house. He’s also not around to give me shit for it, either.

I went from 212 pounds to 245 that year. Moreover, I really liked the way I looked with those 30 pounds, and I started thinking about how when I was little, I thought of gaining weight and getting very fat, how hungry I would often feel and yet I couldn’t eat because we were poor and I live in a fatphobic world.

And I haven’t looked back.

Now, here I am, at my absolute heaviest weight, 267 pounds, what you call a “big beautiful woman” or “bbw”, by definition and I love it. I love looking down and seeing my belly obscuring the view of toes (if anything, I feel relieved by it), i love how soft it feels, especially around the lower part, and I feel very sexy now. Whenever I take a pic of my body and I angle it down to my belly, I get so aroused, like I genuinely feel sexy for once. 

I have a big sexy belly now.

(And you know what they say, if you feel sexy, you look sexy)

I love my double chin, too: I remember being thin and wishing I had a fat double under my chin—I’ve always found them distinguished more than anything. I love the “belt” of stretch marks on my waist: I really love stretch marks, tbh, they’re interesting.

And my body feels so strong, too: I am living proof that you can be fat and healthy. My gains have been staggered and gradual, and very healthy up to this point. It’s probably why I weigh as much as i do, and yet, the only thing about me that’s actually fat is my belly: the rest of my body is just rather full if anything. Everything is right where it should be and I’ve never felt healthier: probably the only drawbacks of being heavy are getting winded more easily and finding clothes that aren’t hideous. I’m actually getting looks now, like actual passes from strangers: I used to never get looks, either. It’s like, yeah, I’m a hot chubby chick, look at these stout curves and well-fed potbelly, babe: I can’t stop looking, too 😋🥵

Because of this, I actually want to be heavier, at least 280 pounds—5-year-old me dreamed of being 300+ and I think it’s definitely in the cards. I don’t want to be more than 375 pounds, though, I think that’d be too much.

But I like walking around and letting everything hang forth, I love eating a lot, and I love how I hold onto this weight so well: you would think that I would have been morbidly obese at this weight, but aside from the belly, I don’t really look it: I can still feel my hipbones and my ribs, and my double chin only just recently started showing itself, too. I’m chubby, but I know I can be fuller, heavier, much chubbier and rounder. I’m not big enough yet. I’m very aroused by the thought of being 298 pounds and having this lusciously fat belly on me, with tight skinny jeans to accentuate its full, round shape and nothing more than a black lace bra to show it off.

I have no doubt in my mind that my precarious formative years and teenage dysphoria has come from not being heavy and not being able to gain a lot of weight like I have the last decade. Add in my weight gain/fat kink, and it should come as no surprise that I still deal with residual shame.

But it is pleasurable, though: when my mom and I finally move away from this house, and we go back to civilization, I’ll get back into the creamy coffee and piece of pie habit, but I think I’ll mix it up. I’ll have a milkshake and a big reuben sandwich or a burger and fries or a gyro. I’ll have a full meal plus dessert, because I’ve always wanted dessert in a restaurant. I’ll go to more than one place, too. I love wearing clothes that are a bit too tight because they flatter my belly. I love fatty foods like donuts and funnel cake, and I’ll happily eat big helpings of both because they’re delicious and sexy food.

Sometimes I’ll think about disappearing into a city or an island nation like Iceland or Fiji, or a country where they love to eat like Lithuania and getting up to 300 pounds easily no questions asked, and that inexplicably feels to be in the cards, too: the only family who care about me are my parents and my aunt Chris; my mom is very supportive of me (I’m kind of the only person she cares about as she and my brother don’t talk) and since my stepdad passed, she’s been in a better place; my dad’s happy now, and my aunt Chris has always been very understanding. When my cousin Harmony came out as lesbian at age 14 and identified as male (I was a baby, so I have no memory of it), the three of them were the only ones in the whole family who understood. But my mom and I could move to Reno or at least a place where it doesn’t take a whole day to go into town, and I could get very fat so easy. I’ll flirt with 350 all because literally no one else will recognize me.

Yeah, it’s definitely bad… in a “I’m a total bad girl who gives the finger to what society wants me to be.”

My weight and the associated kink I have with it has always been a very touchy subject for me, both from the anorexia, but also from the stigma surrounding weight gain. 

I remember how happy people were when I said I lost twenty pounds in 2014: I was added to a group called “breaking slim” because of it, too, started by a woman who used to be well over 300 pounds and then she lost about half of it—looking back on it, she looked better heavy; when I looked at her after the weight loss, she looked gaunt and sickly. I remember people looking at this pic of me in my old nirvana shirt and telling me I looked pretty (I sure didn’t feel it, though).

I have had friends who have gotten really fat, fatter than me, and then they lose the weight and they get so much applause and shit: I mentioned the fact that I gained weight on purpose and I’m met with shock and horror.

It’s not just me, either: there’s that one friend that I have, he was in an abusive relationship and he got out of it a few years back and he started drinking and using drugs to cope and it just about killed him (young guy, too, only a few years older than me). I saw him before I signed off facebook for another hiatus and he was in a much better place, and he got heavier as a result of his cleaning up… and naturally, there were a few comments on that thread that struck me as somewhat fatphobic. I have a couple of female friends with depression and they’re taking pills for it (that’s last thing you want to do for any mental illness, imo, but that’s just me), and the last time I saw them, they were both talking about how the medicine makes them “fat as fuck”, and I look and they’re like me about 15 pounds ago, barely chubby. I see it in Alex and the subtle self-deprecating comments he makes at himself and his body: that poor man, I swear—I want to protect him so badly, like I wish I lived closer to him and be a comfort to him. I want to be his safe place, his escape.

I hope my story helps someone somewhere, especially now with diet ads being every other commercial now with New Year’s upon us.

You are more than your weight. Diet culture is deadly, as it nearly killed me—and go down the rabbit hole with that, too, diets are not good, trust me. If anything, you should eat more: we are a country that has a huge issue with food waste, eat. Some of you look good and healthy being a little stout: in fact, you can be very healthy being a little round. If you do what my best friend Elizabeth and I used to do (and what I used to do as soon as 2016) and tuck a pillow under your shirt, and you aren’t envisioning a fetus in there, look into that: your body might be telling you something. Listen to your body and your heart, not what the world wants you to be.

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