#written by fandoms galore

[lokh]

unfortunately i still write the exact same way i did at approximately age 13

#also holy SHIT TIGER AND BUNNY IS OVER A DECADE OLD... #anyways just reread one and its indistinguishable from stuff id have written now. truly terrible #ok removed the post becos i dont wanna like. fearmonger lmao its fine the site is up #prevailing suggestion is that someone has spoofed ff.net #the site is still up. which means my old stuff is still up unfortunately. #ok wait im exaggerating going back a bit further and going well im glad i dont write like that anymore #what im MOST glad for is that i am not into a//ph anymore lmao. #horrified still that the longest thing ive written was a//ph and its over 40k. i want that back but for a better fandom #my god its run on sentences galore. you can tell this kid read philosophy

[amethystfairy1]

✨Hello hello!✨

I'm Amethyst (she/her), and I'm your local fanfic gremlin. I've written a lot for a lot of fandoms, right now I am caught in the Hermit/Traffic/Empires brainrot, and if that's how you've ended up here, welcome welcome!

Right now, I have two WIP AUs!

Through the Sky-Blue Cracks 🌤️

My Hot Guy/Cute Guy, Over-City/Under-City AU that has a lot more going on in it now, it's grown pretty big and is organized in chronological order, not by publishing order, so I write up and down on the timeline filling in parts and pieces as I go!

TTSBC takes place in a modern/slightly sci-fi AU with superheroes, biotech, secrets to hide, trauma to unpack, and as much humor as I can attempt to fit in as well!

Features the local superheroes crushing on each other, anxious writer meets intrepid reporter, the drama professors who can't keep their hands to themselves, penpals gone wild, resident middle-aged married couple who happen to be a mobster and a mad genius, the local cottagecore lesbians, bad boy butterfly and cat lady, protective big sister, Zom-Mom and Sentient Glowstick, a very tired Guy-in-the-Chair with a permanent headache, and more yet to be added! I've got lots of plans left for this AU, so if you're interested, please come check it out!

Tags for the AU are:

#through the sky blue cracks

#ttsbc au

#ttsbc ficlets

Traveling Thieves 🪽

My dark fantasy AU! This one has some heavy themes going on, so I'd encourage reading the tags carefully before jumping in! I'm very proud of how it is turning out, dealing with breaking out conditioned headspaces, survival in a sick system, negotiating power imbalance, the power of friendship (no, really), and of course we've got elves, mercenaries, magic, swords, sorcery, rogues, redstone, and lots more fun stuff like that! Also lots of adorable birbs, one traumatized fiery boy, a mer with an attitude, a good doggo, and hurt/comfort galore! Giving everyone a chance to believe that they've all got a shot at getting lucky.

Tags for the AU are:

#traveling thieves au

#traveling thieves ficlets

Amethysts Scribbling Corner 📝

A little side project of mine to try and stretch my writing style!

Once in awhile, I will be running a poll with prompts that have been sent in via reblogs, replies, asks, and messages! Please send some in if you have any ideas!

Whatever prompt wins the poll, I will write and add to the series!

They can be as broad as a simple one-word prompt, or you can even give a brief description of a couple of sentences! Last thing: Feel free to request where you want the fic to take place! Especially when we're talking Hermit/Traffic/Empires stuff, if you want it to be within the Minecraft server world of that specific series, within a certain one of the Life Series, a modern AU, a fantasy AU, or even TTSBC or Traveling Thieves if you have ideas for them! Just know that if anything requested for TTSBC or Traveling Thieves contradicts or maybe overlaps with any future plans for those AUs, I might not be able to accept them 😓

As far as rules go...I do not write NSFW. I am happy to write romance and let things get a little spicy 🔥 but keep in mind I'll always end up fading to black...also no heavy gore, violence, body horror, things of that nature. I am very much a fan of writing whump and hurt/comfort though, so please send those ideas my way!

Tags for the series are:

#amethysts scribbling corner

I think that's all that going on with me right now...so yeah! I use this blog for my scribbling corner prompts as well as asks about any of my AUs or writing projects! I love getting the chance to ramble about my worldbuilding, so by all means, give me an excuse and I will make entire posts about that sort of thing!

Thanks for coming by! 💖

#intro post #fanfic #ao3 fanfic #hermitcraft #traffic smp #through the sky blue cracks #hermitshipping #worldbuilding #trafficshipping #life series #empires smp #traveling thieves au #amethysts scribbling corner

[xanthippe74]

Masterlist of my “12 Days of Fandom” recs, inspired by this post. As always, please check the tags and author's notes before reading. Enjoy!

🔸 Terminal Lucidity by @romaine2424 (Drarry, HD Career Fair, rated G, 3K) This bittersweet fic has Harry putting his abilities as Master of Death to good use by comforting those close to death themselves. We see him at work here, adeptly easing the way for someone dear to him with compassion and care. I found this story incredibly moving and a beautiful portrait of family ties in the face of an impending loss. Featuring older, established Drarry and the Black-Malfoy family.

🔹 Our Objective Remains Unchanged by @citrusses (Drarry, rated E, 46K) Gorgeously and vividly written, this university rowing AU drew me in right from the get-go, despite the fact that Muggle AUs are not my typical cuppa. The enemies-to-lovers tension is perfectly paced as Harry and Draco fight for the same spot on the Oxford team. Citrusses did a fantastic job translating their backgrounds and personalities (as well as those of other familiar characters from the books) into this world. Class divisions and the pressure of a highly-public sporting event stand in very effectively for Harry’s canon experiences. All in all, the story has the poignancy and drama of a lush coming of age film, and I can’t recommend it highly enough!

🔸 The Pile by @b-vul (Drarry, not rated, about 1.5K) This hilarious ficlet was born out of littlewinnow’s tumblr post about Veela!Harry performing an intricate mating dance to impress Draco. Delightfully, it’s from Harry’s POV as he blindly “trusts his instincts” to guide him into increasingly bizarre actions. And the evolution of Draco’s reaction is pure comedy gold. I’ve come back to reread this one a couple of times, and it never fails to have me in stitches. (The tumblr thread also contains adorable art by regretfulcorrine!)

🔹 Shine on, You Crazy Diamond by @lagerloutfic (Drarry, HD Mpreg Fest, rated E, 42K) This is one of those fics that you can’t stop reading once you start (something I confirmed this morning when I went to skim through it for this rec and wound up spending a few happy hours devouring the entire thing again). It’s laugh-out-loud funny and deliciously smutty, with a full cast of delightful side characters and just the right amount of feelings. The story begins with the discovery of Draco’s surprise pregnancy, then switches to a long flashback of Harry’s gay awakening and his fast sexual/slow emotional burn relationship with Draco. The entire fic has a joyful feel—banter-filled pub nights, chaotic family dinners, audacious curse breaking—culminating in the baby’s arrival, which left me in happy tears and wishing for another 40K of this fabulous story. Featuring confident Harry, supportive friends & family, hot Charlie, and some shamelessly kinky Unspeakables.

🔸 Silhouettes by @sweet-s0rr0w (Draco/Ron/Harry, Dronarry Fest, rated E, 16K) Draco/Ron/Harry is not a ship I’d ventured into before I read this fic, but I’m so glad I did! Sweet’s writing always hits the right spot in my brain, and her alternating POVs and spot-on characterizations of all three boys are delightful. I especially loved Ron’s sexy self-assurance here. The unique magical theory around sentient houses is fascinating and ultimately poignant, once Draco gets to the root cause of the Burrow’s behavior. Sweet-sorrow surely lived up to her username with this one, weaving grief with humor and a heartwarming resolution.

🔹 Harry Potter Gets a Job (A 106-Page Comic) by dustmouth (Drarry, HD Career Fair, rated M) Dustmouth’s comics never miss, I swear! In this one, we find Harry overcoming his distrust of Draco with the help of the Weasleys, especially Ron (who is definitely up to something himself). All of my favorite Dustmouth elements are here: the expressive characters, Draco’s wild wardrobe choices, and punchy dialogue galore. Also featuring drunken shenanigans at the Burrow, adorable Teddy, and some first-class Slytherin-ing by Draco to win his man (and find Harry that job). What a treat!

🔸 the earth from a distance by spqr (Drarry, rated E, 15K) A whirlwind time-travel fic with breezy humor, bedsharing, and spqr’s unmatched smut with feelings… What more could you ask for in a fic? Oh, yeah: fantastic worldbuilding for Hogwarts in 1599, brilliantly clever Draco, and a dash of enemies to lovers. I can never get enough of this author!

🔹 A Year In The Life by @ladderofyears (Drarry, HD Career Fair, rated M, 19K) I swear, the author conjured a little bit of magic to write this story. It’s told entirely with 50-word microfics, one journal entry for each day of 2006 (an impressive feat, by itself!), and yet it reads just as smoothly as any traditional fic. Draco’s voice is perfect here, full of wit and subtle emotion, as his and Harry’s developing romance takes a sharp turn with an unexpected pregnancy.  Draco’s anticipation, worry, and joy are mixed with deftly-chosen details of his daily life, all captured with Emma’s trademark tenderness and warmth. This fic is a perfect comfort read for family feels and gentle romance.

🔸 try to fix you by @maesterchill (Harry/Ron/Hermione, HP Snooze Fest, rated M, 2K) A beautifully and tenderly written hurt/comfort fic set in the aftermath of the Battle of Hogwarts. Ron is the glue that holds the trio together here, caring for Harry and Hermione with gentle devotion. There’s no dialogue needed to tell this story, just Ron’s perceptive POV that captures the grief and love that compel him. I have a soft spot for this triad forming immediately after the war, as a way of holding onto each other and holding themselves together. Maester’s fic makes their transition from friends to lovers feel like the first step towards healing.

🔹 The Scent of Soft Rains by @dodgerkedavra (Drarry, HD Career Fair, rated E, 20K) When Harry is left housebound and isolated by a traumatic injury, magical prosthetist Draco gets called into help. But Harry’s struggles go far beyond the physical ones. This recovery fic combines magical and non-magical therapeutic treatments in a way I can’t remember reading before. The hurt/comfort is just as it should be—both heart-wrenching and soothing—but there are enough surprising revelations to keep the story from feeling predictable. Draco is wonderfully unflinching and patient, and the ending left me crying happy tears. With lovely, restrained prose and vivid magical imagery, this one’s an absolute stunner.

🔸 Connecting Lines, Connecting Crimes by @sleepstxtic (Drarry, H/D Career Fair, rated M, 15K) With its intriguing careers, fascinating magical theory, and well-researched worldbuilding, this story captured my attention immediately, and the mystery at the heart of it kept me engrossed. This was one of the more thought-provoking fics I’ve had the pleasure of reading, exploring the intersection of magic, the environment, and colonialism. Harry’s first-person POV is lovely, and it feels like we’re learning to love India and the people he meets along with him. The getting-back-together romance is gentle but satisfying, propelled by pent-up yearning that’s palpable. There’s so much to enjoy here, all in only 15K words!

🔹 Waking Up Slow by @sweet-s0rr0w and @ihopeyoubothstaysafefromharm (Drarry, H/D Wireless Fest, rated E, 22K) The first word that comes to mind while reading this fic is charming. First there’s the novel setting: a Christmas shop in the tourist destination of Cheddar Gorge, in the middle of a July heatwave. Next, there’s the shop itself, so imaginatively described and full to the brim with clever Muggle and magical details. Then there are the delightful OCs, Draco’s seemingly unhinged enthusiasm for all things Christmas (including ridiculous jumpers), and Harry’s complete disregard for professional behavior. But underneath the playful banter and humor, there’s also a layer of poignancy to tug at the heartstrings, especially when we find out the backstories behind Harry’s and Draco’s unlikely careers. And to top it all off, like the glowing star on the tree, are Joy’s exuberant, colorful illustrations. This is a Christmas-y fic I’d reread any time of the year.

Thanks to all these brilliant creators for sharing their work with us!

Happy New Year!

#12 days of fandom #2023 favorites #drarry #dronarry #harry/ron/hermione #fic recs

[crash-and-cure]

Would it be a Sin? (Yandere! Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Gif credit to @troubleinapinksuit​

Summary: Your Husband will forever keep you safe, no matter the cost.

A/N: Full disclosure, I am a Latina, specifically my family is from Mexico. When I first got this request from @ilovehobi101​ I worried as to how I could frame the conflict that some members felt comfortable bullying reader (y’know aside from casual 60’s misogyny) but also why reader wouldn’t really speak up about it. And then I saw my profile picture and was reminded of the serious lack of Latin!reader fics in this fandom, and voila. Also I understand the utter swaglessness of having a latin!reader that starts off as a maid, but trust me the occupation has relevance to the plot. Reader does speak spanish and I will acknowledge that some of the spanish spoken is very specific to the Mexican dialect. Also I love how I was asked for soft!yandere and my thoughts immeadiately went to murder. I got in right under the wire to was able to post this on Elvis’ birthday.

Warnings: Smut, though more towards the end, and not while reader is pregnant (but does include depictions of Hand kink, cockwarming, vaginal fingering. Pregnant!reader. Implied murder, hiding and burying of a body featured. Period-typical xenophobia, racism, and microagressions galore toward a poc!reader as well as the use of some racial slurs. Sexual harassment depicted, though not from Elvis. Yandere!Elvis themes of obsessive, manipulative, and gaslighting behavior, as well as some controlling and isolating tendencies as well, though, softer and not as overt as I have written before. Traumatic birth is described and as well as descriptions of a pre-mature baby. ANGST galore here. Blood and Injuries from a fall depicted. Symptoms of PTSD.

Word Count: 14.5k

My Masterlist

You love Elvis Presley. And you were lucky enough to be the woman that he loves back.

There was no doubt in your mind. 

It almost plays out like a fairy tale. The King that fell for the maid. 

When you were just a maid that cleaned up after him and his friends in Beverly Hills, you didn’t expect this house to be much different from the other houses you’d worked at. You’d been working working as a maid for a few years now, so you knew the deal. Rich people liked their big houses to be clean, but didn’t want to actually think about it being clean, so you were to be seen not heard. They rarely ever spoke to you, mostly they handed a list to one of the girls, and left the house for the day, and you would leave before they returned. When you did on occasion actually see them it would mostly be them calling for you, usually by the wrong name, and pointing to a mess, before leaving the room, truly thinking you were stupid and could only take the simplest of commands (you would on occasion meet these people again after you and Elvis became official, and they never remembered you).

Elvis at the very beginning proved to be no different. You were in his house constantly and yet you didn’t even see him in person until maybe a month or two after you started. As you understood it he was a busy man, especially as he was trying to make a movie career happen, after being gone for so long. 

You wouldn’t exactly call the first time you met him magical, or even anything really special for you. You and a few other girls had entered the house and immediately you saw evidence of a party from last night and you could also hear some pretty explicit sounds coming from where you knew the master bedroom to be, one voice pretty distinct even if you had never heard it in person, the other a mystery to you. You and some of the girls got a little giggly, while the others seemed pretty annoyed by this whole thing.

Your tía was on the annoyed side of this situation, which grew even more when one of the tasks was cleaning the stairs and polishing the railing. You're the one that ends up volunteering to do it seeing everyone else was too embarrassed to even try to get near there. 

“Suena como si estuviera puliendo la baranda también,” your friend Linda would snicker.

You smacked her arm, and said “pinche puta,” between laughs. Though you can’t say you were any better because you couldn’t help but be very curious as to whether or not the girl upstairs is someone famous or not. Not because you plan on sharing that information with the others, you’re just very curious by nature and always have been. It’s gotten you in trouble in a few places, but you’ve been able to pull the “no hablo ingles” card and it’s usually enough. 

And that’s how you met your future husband, crouched down to get to a hard to reach place on the bannister pretending you’re not interested in what’s going on in the other room, as he walked out of his bedroom in only his boxers, hair a mess, scratching his ass while yawning. It throws you a little how handsome you still think he is in person, even in this less than glamorous situation you find yourself in.

“Hola señor,” you said, trying to hide your embarrassment as you got right back to work to get a particularly stubborn spot. You’re also praying he’s not so uptight as to have you fired for seeing him like this, and your hope is that if you act like nothing's wrong he’ll barely even notice you.

“Um… uh… I-I,” you hear him stutter out. You turn around, prepared to either be given a task or be fired on the spot, but to your surprise you find one of the most desired men in the world stuttering over his words while his ears turn a bright red. That color transfers almost entirely to his whole face when you both hear a feminine yawn coming from his room. That manages to shake him out of his stupor as he scrambles back toward his bedroom and closes the door.

Well… I’m fired, which you’re actually sad about, because of all the houses you work he definitely gives the best tips. You know that girls have been let go at other houses for less than this, so you quietly make your way closer to the door, still near the bannister, hoping at the least your curiosity won’t be in vain and you’ll be able to see if it's someone famous.

“...you said I could stay awhile longer,” the girl says. Her voice isn’t so breathy, so you doubt it’s Marilyn or Jayne, but not so posh sounding that you think it’s a Debbie or Audrey. 

“I-I know darlin’, but somethin’ came up,” you hear him say. He sounds guilty, as though he was just caught doing something he wasn't supposed to be doing. 

“Are we still going to that place you were telling me about later?”

“Mmm…” is all you hear from him in response. English may have been your second language, but even you recognize a non-answer when you hear one. You can’t help but cringe at that and for her sake, you hope, for her sake, she drove herself here. 

Down below you hear Linda calling and asking you to bring down the duster, but as you grab it intending to make a quick exit from the situation, you realize you neglected to finish the job you were sent to do and you lose your balance at the very top of the stairs when your grip fails you from all of the polish. 

There isn’t really anytime for your life to flash before your eyes as someone snatches your wrist and brings you upright again. “You alright there darlin’?” Elvis would ask as he guides you away from the stairs sounding genuinely worried for you while you try to catch your breath. Your heart skips a beat when you see how blue his eyes are, and you quickly try to gather yourself.

“Thank you,” you say. You notice he’s wearing a robe now and also how he’s gazing at you, not saying anything. “You want me to clean in there?” you say to break the tension a bit, which works as you see his cheeks redden a bit as he looks back at his bedroom.

“No, no, I-I uh…” he stutters, before clearing his throat. “If you don’t mind, my uh gir-lady… friend, needs to leave and she uhh…” 

“You want me to distract the others while she leaves?” 

“Y-you don’t mind?” 

“Well you just saved my life so I think I owe you.” you say to him as you lean over the bannister and confirm that they were all in the living room. You go to grab the railing, but quickly snatch your hand back. “Not falling for that one again.” you say looking back at him, and you see that gets a half smile out of him.

“Wait,” he says as you’re halfway down the stairs. “What’s your name sweetheart?”

It’s rare that you’re ever asked that on the job, so for perhaps the first time on the job, your smile is genuine as you tell him.

“Y/N” he repeats, apparently liking the way it rolls off his tongue. And surprisingly enough so do you.

So you make your way down to the room you know they’re cleaning and let them know that the boss wants all of you to clean the kitchen right now. They’re annoyed but nonetheless comply and once you make sure they’re all out you look back up the stairs and give him the thumbs up. He gives you a dopey smile as he gives one back.

Rather than being fired over the incident, he surprises you by actually giving you and the others even more hours. And the hours you worked for him, he so happens to be home. Your tía warns you to be on your best behavior, because typically this means that they think that one of you stole something so they’re keeping an eye on you. With the way one of his friends kept looking at you when you were in the same room as him you figured she was right. But the way Elvis was acting around you, was what threw away this notion.

He was always going out of his way to talk to you, always finding excuses to be in the same room as you, even offering little gifts in the form of sweets. Mix in the fact that you also became the only one who was allowed within places that not even his friends could go into like his bedroom, this all told you that he liked you, but you didn’t want to jump to conclusions as to what way.

After he finished shooting his movie he would ask you to house sit for him while he was back in Memphis, stating he felt he could trust you to keep the house clean and to be responsible with it unlike his other friends. Even after you saw what he was willing to pay you for essentially living alone in his mansion for a month, you hesitated because who just offers that to someone they just met and your tía’s warnings about men like him didn’t help either. You eventually caved when he promised to consider you for a full-time/live-in maid if you did a good job. 

Then two days after he left, you got a late night call from him. You were honestly happy for it, because the house felt too big and too empty with just you there. It didn’t help that the room he left for you was far too nice, and you missed sharing your bed with your little sisters. Suffice to say, being all alone was unsettling for you

“Sorry if I woke ya’ Y/N, I-I just…” he said, nervousness clear in his voice. “I-I just been lookin’ for somethin’ and I think I forgot to pack it.”

“You want me to look for it?”

“If you could be a doll,” he says, relieved. “Ju-just take a look in my room, and see if you can find it there. It’s a black cowboy hat, and I think it was in a white box in the closet.”

You set the phone aside and made your way up there. When you do find it you let him know as much, but decide to have a little fun with it now that you’re up. “I found it Mr. Presley. But there is a problem.”

“What’s wrong?”

“It looks better on me,” you say as you look at yourself wearing it in the mirror. 

“I bet it does,'' he says between laughs. This does create a bit of a pause between you two as you recognize that you’re essentially flirting with your boss, and to your horror he’s flirting right back. 

“So is this for a movie or are you just going to run away to become a cowboy?” You say in an effort to change the subject. 

You hear the smile in his voice as he says, “Much as I wish it was the last one, it’s for my next movie. Dolores del Rio’s gon’ be in it.” 

You’re floored at that. “¡No manches! She’s my favorite actress. I thought she wasn’t ever coming back to Hollywood.”

That gets the two of you talking about movies for hours. It was easy to forget that you’re talking to one of the most sought after stars in Hollywood right now as he gushes about his favorite actors the same way you do. What surprises you most is when he asks you who you’ve met while working in LA. 

“I’ll never tell,” you tease. 

“What, you hate ‘em that much Darlin”?” he laughs.

“Yes,” you jokingly agree, ignoring the way your heart skipped at that nickname.

“I ain’t surprised though,” he says. “There’s some crazies livin’ out there. Ones that’ll ya’ call in the middle of the night ‘bout a cowboy hat, and have you on the phone ‘til… wow 3 in the morning.”

“And some maids are crazy enough to lay in their bed and let them,” you counter, only to clamp up and realize how bad that sounded from the strangled noise he makes on the other side of the phone. You quickly try to backtrack and promise you didn’t mean it that way. 

He reassures you that he takes no offense from that, but he does sound like he’s breathing heavier now, and you worry that you accidentally took the harmless flirting with him too far. You quickly give an excuse to leave, “I have a busy day of sitting on your house tomorrow.” You're glad he laughs at that but it does sound a little stiffer than the other one he’s so freely given. After you hang up you tidy up what you can, and make your way back to your room, hoping to pray some dangerous thoughts away.

The next day you try to act like nothing happened, but that’s all thrown out the window that night as Elvis calls again with a similar request to find a pair of his boots that he couldn’t find, and it proceeds much like the previous call. Eventually after the second week of nightly calls he drops the act entirely and calls just so he can talk to you. And you welcome them, because it made the house feel less empty when he did.

When he got back to LA you didn’t know what to expect from him anymore as the late night calls turned into late night talks in the kitchen. That turned into daylight jokes and conversations between the two of you. And honestly even more open flirting between the two of you, but it all came to a head one day as the two of you were walking down the stairs. 

“So wait? Your character hears a song on the radio that you, Elvis, sang, and he doesn’t talk about the fact that you look exactly like him.” 

“It ain’t Shakespeare, but it’s gettin’ me back out there,” he says sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. 

“That’s too bad,” you say as you reach the bottom of the stairs. “I think you would make a great Romeo.”

“Oh…” he says, his voice going low for a moment, as in the next moment you find yourself trapped between him and the railing. “Tell me Satnin, what ‘bout me reminds you a Romeo.” 

Your heart is pounding in your chest and your breathing is a little heavier than it was before. The smirk on his stupidly plush lips tell you he no doubt wanted this reaction, so you decide to show him what it was that reminded you of Romeo, and kiss him fully on the mouth. It was a quick peck on the lips but you could still see the faint traces of your lipstick on him. “Those are what remind me of Romeo.” 

He’s stunned at your boldness but no less welcoming as he brings a hand to your face to bring you back, but you use that opportunity to step on to the bottom step and away from him. You leave him on that staircase, your face warm at what you just did, biting your lip to keep from fully laughing at Elvis’ frozen state on the steps. 

Later that same day, he would tell you how his upcoming movie was going to be shot in Hawaii, and how coincidentally, he felt that you were in desperate need of a vacation. The rest was history for the two of you. 

You love Elvis Presley.

You love everything about Elvis Presley, save for one thing. 

His friends.

You will admit you like a few of them. Most of the others are fine, but indifferent towards you. Some of them get on your nerves but otherwise you can live with them, like when they tease you over your accent or snicker under their breath when you forget words. You don’t like it, but you put up with it. 

One of them you absolutely hated, with all of your being: Eric. 

He’s the one that has been around the longest with Elvis. He went on tour with him in the early days, went to Germany with him, and now he’s here in Hollywood with him. He even brags he was the one to give Elvis the final push he needed to get on stage. Yes he was more partial to the party lifestyle than the others, and had a tendency to speak without much thought, but Elvis reassured you that he was deep down a good guy.

You find that hard to believe, because you don’t know what it is about you that Eric finds so offensive, but whatever it is, it’s apparently unforgivable in his mind. 

Even though you spoke it just as well as Spanish, most people assumed you didn’t speak English at all. You let this slide mostly because you’re nosy and people are a lot freer with their words around you when they think you can’t understand them. You begin to regret that decision when Eric got comfortable enough to tell you how badly he wanted to fuck you and what he would do when he did. Usually your go to tactic was to start speaking rapid Spanish, which like most white people, made him confused and very uncomfortable, pick up a cleaning tool and walk into a different room, usually one where you knew Elvis was.

“You’re a lil’ fuckin’ whore you know that?” he would seethe while you cleaned the kitchen the night you were all set to leave for Hawaii. “Just like the rest of ‘em. He’s only taking you because he wants to fuck you.” The foul smell coming from him tells you that he’s been drinking, so you’re on edge right now. Everything about this is setting you off right now, and you know you have to get out of here right now. 

…But not before you got the last word in.

You look him right in the eyes, and as he sees the understanding in your eyes, you can also see him realize before you speak your first word to him, that you knew this whole time what he had been saying to you.

“Probably,” you say, and then you turn right around and make you way to Elvis that night.

You don’t if it’s embarrassment for what you heard him say to you, shame that you heard what he said or fear that you could and would tell Elvis at any moment what he’s like to you when no one was around. Whatever the case may be he would spend the next few years making comments under his breath about you, passive aggressively handing you plates to and glasses to clean, so on and so forth.

As did a lot of his friends, as they didn’t take you seriously at first, thinking you were going to eventually be replaced, that was until the argument that had his former manager walk away. When the press had learned about you, they had called you Elvis’ “Hot Tamale,” which you didn’t love, but what you loved even less was the threat that this story posed to his career.

But that’s also when you know you fell for him completely. Even you had fully expected him to drop you the moment the press got wind of you, because celebrities as big as him simply don’t end up with the maid, let alone a maid that looks and sounds like you. But he didn’t. He didn’t flinch at any of the things they threw at him: Not when his manager walked, not when the studio threatened to pull his contract, not even when a veritable mob stood outside the gates of his home demanding he be arrested for “indecency.” He took all of it, all so that you two could be together. 

Colonel Tom Parker wanted you gone, and forgotten. The last time you ever saw him he was saying shit like how he didn’t want Elvis to be so “controversial,” and how he would ruin his image as a “good American boy,” over quote “some little wetback.” You got the pleasure of seeing his face turn from angry to murderous as those words left that man's vile mouth, and the way every other face in that room drained of color as he went off on him had you breathing a little heavier by the end of it.

Though it all worked out for the better in the end as Elvis had ten new offers from people who worked with Brando and Dean before he was even out of the gate (all asking for a lot less than what he was paying the Colonel). None of them were afraid to take such a “scandalous” client, and were even able to work it in his favor to get more serious roles he had always been after.

Eventually most people seemed to get over it, and you became the new “it” girl, as magazines went from criticizing you for every little thing that was “unamerican” about you to praising how “exotic” and “spicy” you were. It doesn’t matter what they think, so long as you were with Elvis, you were untouchable, you believed. 

That is why you put up with his friends, it felt like after all that he does for you, the least you could do was fight your own battles. 

You had woken up today well-rested and your baby moving beneath your heart. You would have labeled it a perfect morning if it weren’t for the fact that your husband was absent, as he was currently doing reshoots for his movie half a world away right now. 

He had been furious at the studio for this, and tried everything he could to delay shooting because he wanted to be with you as much as he could right now. He had made it no secret how he wanted a big family, and having grown up in one you couldn’t help but agree eagerly. You were engaged for about a month in total, he was so impatient to start trying for a baby, but you were no better in all honesty.

It eventually took when you were with him in Hawaii for the original shoot of the movie. As appealing as being with him there right before your baby is due sounds, you can’t think of anything worse than a more than ten hour flight. You barely survived the flight back home when you were just barely into your pregnancy, you doubt you would be able to make it this late. Besides, you're saving your patience for flying for your upcoming stay in LA, as you had made plans to have your baby there. 

Graceland has become home to you, but Memphis has not. You’ve known since the moment that Elvis decided you were it, that the two of you would be toeing the line. Because being latin, the law here didn’t technically make it illegal for you two to be married, but certain people here made it very clear that they take your marriage as some cardinal sin. As a result, when you are here, you never leave Graceland without him. 

Usually you loved being here. When the house is filled with friends and family it actually does feel like a home, and even when it’s just the two of you, neither of you ever feel lonely. But without him, you now feel the way you did when you were just house sitting for him.

This is why, when you learned about the reshoots, you insisted on being in LA, so you at least wouldn’t be as cooped up there as you were in Graceland and you would have your family nearby. That was one of the biggest fights you’ve had in all the years you’ve been together, as you hated the idea of being in Graceland without him, and he hated the idea of you being in LA without him.

You didn’t relent until you found out why he was so reluctant to have you there. He didn’t want to scare you, but he had learned a while ago that someone had broken into the Hillcrest house. Nothing was taken, but it scared him nonetheless, and he wanted you to stay in Graceland just so he could have the peace of mind. And for all that it made you feel restrained, you can’t help but agree that Graceland is safe so long as you stay within. Red and Pat as Elvis didn’t want you without protection and Pat was pregnant too, so you didn’t have to feel so alone in the house. But Pat, unlike you, was free to leave at any time she pleased and you can’t begrudge her for doing so.

Of course Elvis has been trying to make your confinement easier by calling you every night. He missed you just as much as you did, and didn’t want to go a day without at least hearing your voice. Some calls are sweet, where he asks you to hold the phone to your belly so that he can talk to the baby, and funnily enough you notice that when he does the baby kicks like crazy. There are of course less than sweet calls, the ones that have you be as vocal as possible as you grind down onto his pillow.

Last night's call was different though, just from how much of a mood he had been in already. He had called to tell you that Eric and Joe were on their way back early, and with the venom dripping from his voice, you knew it had to be bad. He didn’t go into detail, but from what you understood is that Eric had been “fucking around” and now Elvis wants nothing to do with him. So much so that he was sent back to Memphis a week earlier than the rest of them, all so that he can get all of his things from Graceland before Elvis’ return. Joe’s only coming to keep an eye on him and make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid. With Red already here you figure that the two of them should be able to take him, but you doubt he’ll try anything now of all times when Elvis is so mad at him already. 

Eric had been like a looming black cloud over this whole experience, making jabs that he now understood the rush to get married so quickly and how Elvis is now trapped. Elvis was able to deflect these comments by joking how if anything he trapped you. Though in the few times he’s gotten you alone, the comments turned into how Elvis should best make sure you’re having a baby, to how he better make sure it’s his baby. You didn’t like what he was implying but you also knew that he was just saying shit to see what stuck, and you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of a response.

Most of the other men had taken the hint when you and Elvis were gushing about how big of a family you wanted and had quietly moved their things out of their designated rooms, and into their own houses, while Eric seemed to dig himself in like a tick. You know Elvis is never about to ask someone to leave, and much as you would like to see this man off for the last time you decided it would be best not to counter him and to just stay upstairs for the time being.

The uppermost floor was your and Elvis’ own little world, where you two were just a young married couple awaiting the arrival of the first addition to your family. This is where the two of you could retreat away from everyone and just be. But with one of you gone it felt wrong, and you find yourself restlessly cleaning and organizing the floor above trying to make everything absolutely perfect for his return.

Though being roughly a little over seven months, you’re almost immediately exhausted and you find yourself resting your feet in what will become the baby’s room. It’s quickly become your favorite room in all of Graceland, with the little stuffed animals everywhere and the music notes painting the wall. You have no idea if the baby is going to be a boy or girl, but Elvis swears that he’s ready to pull the trigger on a theme the moment you figure it out. 

“¿Qué piensas?” you say to your bump, enjoying the breeze from the open balcony door. “Una patada para los vaqueros o dos para las princesas.” The baby kicks three times, and you laugh while rubbing your belly. Later on you would recognize this to truly be your last moment of peace. 

“How precious,” a vile voice sneers at you. 

Your smile instantly drops and rather than acknowledge him, you look out the window with your hand protectively over your baby. They're kicking up a storm, almost beat for beat matching your heart rate. “Elvis says, you’re not allowed to be up here,” you say curtly.

"He also says to keep the dogs outside, but I see a little bitch right in front a me." 

"I think big bitch would be more appropriate," you say, all the while rubbing your belly. He's always hated not being able to get a reaction out of you, or how you've never gone to Elvis about what he does as though he's not worth the air it would take to do so. Counter to what people believe about people like you, you’re very capable of keeping your cool and you save your passion for your love not your hatred. And you have no love for Eric.

“You must be so goddamn proud a yourself, being able to get your claws in him like you did,” he spits out. “Struttin’ around here with that little bastard in your belly like the cat that ate the canary.”

“Wait, I thought I was a dog?”

“...What?” 

“I’m confused because you said I was a dog and now you’re saying I’m a cat.” you say coyle while sarcastically throwing your hands in the air. “Tell me Eric, what am I?”

“You’re a little fuckin’ whore is what you are!” he shouts. “You know damn well that there wasn’t no break-in at Hillcrest. He just doesn’t want you in LA because he don’t want you fuckin’ around behind his back! I tried tellin’ him as much, but he didn’t want to hear none of it.”

You stand up and walk out of the room, not willing to hear anymore lies of a sad miserable man that has been digging his own grave for years. You weren’t even there, so he cannot seriously blame you for whatever he did to get himself fired. You know better than most how hot Elvis can run, but you also know how quick he is to forgive, so whatever he said or did to get Elvis this way, must have truly been something. 

You make your way to the office, hoping to lock yourself in there and that his outburst caused enough of a commotion to get the other men’s attention. He’s still spewing vile at you, but you’re simply blocking it out until you feel a hand yank your head back hard. 

Everything happens quick after that, as you feel the back of your being yanked away from your intended destination and being led to a different direction. You try your best to scratch at the hand that holds your hair, but his grip is too tight and suddenly you’re flying. 

And then you’re not.

You’re frozen at the landing, not wanting to believe what had just happened. Your heart is pounding in your ears, you feel your face get wet, and most horrifyingly, your baby is not moving. The carpet on the floor begins to be dotted with red but you don’t understand where it’s coming from until a little blood makes its way into your eye. As you hear the heavy footfalls coming down the stairs you start hyperventilating, trying to get a hold of the bannister and praying that he’ll stop. 

Getting to the railing you hear someone shouting what was that!?!? And someone else shouting where’d he go!?!? You see the others finally at the bottom of the stairs and for a moment the nightmare is over and you think he wouldn’t be so stupid as to continue now, but then you feel a foot firmly place itself on your back. You’re thrown off balance and you’re plummeting down once again. You’re abruptly put to a stop as Red and Joe meet you halfway up the stairs, and they share a worried look at you. You feel fine now, but you will admit that the slick feeling coming from between your legs is uncomfortable. 

You’re confused as to what’s going on, Red rushes his way up the stairs to your tormentor who only gives you a cold look as he’s being restrained. Joe is helping you to your feet and rushing you out the front door while Pat grabs your purse and yells at Mary to call Elvis. 

They’re taking you to the cars and you’re not sure why, you just need to clean the blood off of yourself and you’ll be fine. It isn’t until you look down and see the dark red that stains your blue dress do you realize what’s happening. 

Joe was able to get you to the hospital without issue, but your journey didn’t get any easier from there. The whole experience was nothing but a nightmare for you. Your accented English and skin tone has the nurses trying to direct you to, quote, a more “appropriate,” hospital for you. Even the blood staining the front of your dress and the clear pain you’re in doesn’t seem to sway them. You’re ignored by the staff, as you beg to be seen by a doctor and it’s not until you slap your driver's license on the counter and they see your married name do they suddenly care very much about you and your baby. Or at the least they don’t want to be known as the hospital that turned away Elvis Presley’s wife.

They get you in a wheelchair, and as they take you to the maternity ward, they repeatedly ask you questions and you’re positive you’re speaking English, but none of them seem to understand you. Not even three hours ago you were complaining to Mary how the baby was giving you heartburn, and now you’re in a hospital, with not a single familiar face in sight, begging incoherently for someone to save your baby. 

This is why you had wanted to be in California, where you would have a better chance of having a doctor that spoke Spanish with you. But now here in Memphis, you’re more likely to get a unicorn to deliver your baby, than a doctor that can speak your first language. 

Your legs are held apart by nurses, who don’t care to be gentle with you, as you desperately cling to the rails of your hospital bed, feeling like you’re going to crack your teeth as you desperately push the baby out of you. The pain you feel from the rest of your injuries is nothing compared to this, but you feel like you're seconds away from passing out after each push. But you know you have to keep going because every second that the baby is still in there, the less likely they are to make it. 

And with one final push it’s all over. Amá told you how long the whole thing could be, but your baby came into the world quick and so quiet. You can feel yourself bleeding out more and more, but you still want to see your baby and you ask as much before you pass out. 

When you come to, you don’t know where you are, you don’t know how long you’ve been there, and all the staff is willing to tell you is that you're restricted to bed rest due to the fact that you nearly died from a hemorrhage, and that your baby girl is alive. That’s how you find out you have a daughter, and all you know about her is that she’s alive and you can’t see her. 

You allow for visitors, and the only ones who do come to see you are Pat and Joan, Joe’s wife. Despite your wish to not be alone, seeing Pat’s baby bump only gave you an empty feeling. They let you know that you had been given birth two days ago, that Red and Joe are holding down Graceland, and most importantly Elvis is going to be here soon. 

You don’t ask about Eric. 

You’re glad they’re here even if all you can do at the moment is cry, and feel hollow on the inside.

He looks awful, is your first thought when you see your husband for the first time in almost a month. His eyes are bloodshot, his outfit is wrinkled, and you can see a hint of stubble even from where you're sitting. The girls quickly make their way out as Elvis makes his way over to your side, his chest heaving and his breathing ragged. 

Elvis is not one for tears, but you can only watch helplessly as the love of your life falls apart in your arms. You thought you'd cried yourself dry at this point, but even now you find yourself holding back even more tears as you try to wipe his tears away. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he whimpers against your palm. Your heart is  in your throat at this point, knowing he only ever calls you by your name when it’s serious. “I shoulda been here for ya’, this is all my fault.”

“Amor… Amor, please look at me,” you beg. “This isn’t your fault.”

“Y/N, please tell me what happened,” he pleads. 

“They didn’t tell you?” 

“They did… I-I just,” he takes a deep breath to steady himself. “I need to hear it from you.”

You’re trying to get your breathing under control, but finally you whisper to him what happened. You’re saddened and humiliated as you tell him how your own pride got you into this mess. The pride that liked to frustrate and rile up Eric, because you thought it was funny. The pride that prevented you from telling Elvis, because you wanted to feel like you were the one handling it. The pride that made you turn your back on a man you knew to be dangerous, because you thought he would never do anything to you. And now people are suffering because of you.

You beg him for forgiveness in the part you played in this, and you’re honestly surprised when he sticks by you and you bury your face in his chest. He tells you there is nothing to forgive, but you can see the dangerous gleam in his eyes as he asks if you want to press charges against him, and you shoot that down just as quickly. 

You don’t trust the police, something that has been with you since your earliest memory, Apá telling you about his scars that he got for having the audacity to wear a Zoot Suit as a young man. Navy men had beaten and stripped him in the streets and then afterwards policemen who saw the whole thing arrested him as though he were the problem. It was a scary thing to tell a little girl, but the older you got the clearer the story became: the police aren’t there to help people like you. 

That’s why you told Elvis not to take it to the police, just to have Eric leave Graceland and never come back. It’s going to be a hassle getting the state to acknowledge your daughter as his, let alone getting them to recognize that anything bad happened to you. You just want to put this whole thing behind you and never have to think about this again. Elvis frowns at that, but you doubt after everything you went through he’s gonna deny you this. 

After things have settled, the doctors make their way to your room, now that Elvis is here, they’ve decided now is a good time to tell you what’s happened. They tell you that the fall caused something called placental abruption and as a result you went into labor prematurely. It also caused internal hemorrhaging that caused you to pass out. None of that mattered to you really, you simply wanted your baby with you, and you let them know as much.

The doctors share a look, but they allow you to leave the bed and Elvis wheels you to where they’re keeping your baby. There is a whole team of doctors and nurses to greet you and tell you how you can see her, and what to prepare for. They escort the two of you to a private room farther away and with private security guarding it.

And then you see her… Your baby girl. 

You never thought babies could be so small.

She lies there, wires attached to her and tubes up her nose. She’s too small to even know how to eat and they have to use a tube in her mouth and a needle in her hand. Her little feet kick at the air, her tiny fists are clenched, and her eyes are shut tight, but you're glad to see it all, to know that your baby is still fighting, still daring to live. 

You want to be able to hold her, to let her know her mamá is there with her, but they tell you she’s not ready to be outside of her box yet, and they warn you of how delicate she is right now, and that the slightest change in her environment could be devastating, so touch is to be limited. The doctors told you that they had almost lost her in the beginning, but she’s a fighter and things are looking up. 

They leave the two of you alone with her, when one of the nurses playfully suggests Erica as a first name on her way out. All at once it hits you like a freight train, why your baby is the way she is now and who is to blame. You weep silently, so she can’t hear your grief over the situation: your baby is weak, so you have to be strong for her now. 

“I hate him. I hate him so much.” You sob, your hand pressing on to the warm glass that separated you and your child. Elvis wraps his arms around you, he doesn’t need to ask who you’re talking about. 

All this time Elvis has been so quiet, and he swiftly wraps you in his arms as he promises to take care of everything, and as he wipes the tears from your face he swears that he will make everything better again. 

You know, in spite of the horror that it was to get her here, you’re both overjoyed to finally be able to meet her. But all too soon the both of you are escorted out and away from her. They explain that once you’re discharged, you and only you will be able to stay with her on a long-term basis, but policy prevents Elvis from being able to do so as well. No amount of money or argument will change that. 

The next few days you vaguely register the visitors Elvis brings to see you, but you can’t bring yourself to care about any of it. They all come with well wishes and promises to do anything the two of you need during this time. The men look haunted to see you in such a state and they promise you that they’ll personally make sure Eric never does anything like this again. It’s little consolation to you considering it already happened once.

Finally you’re discharged and you walk yourself straight to the NICU. You visited her as often as you could, as did Elvis, and getting to be with her throughout the day is a step in the right direction. Being there with him makes it easier, but soon Elvis has to leave and your heart breaks all over again. You part with a long sorrowful kiss and you save your tears, knowing that of all times, this is the moment you need to be strong, for both him and your daughter. It was a hard, sleepless night for you and one look at the bags under his eyes and the bruises on his knuckles when you see him the next morning, tells you that Elvis had a similar night to you. 

He smoothes out your brow, as he softly pleads with you not to worry about him and instead to focus on your daughter, as she’s the one who needs you the most. And as he gives you a kiss on your forehead and you wonder what you did to deserve such a loving husband. 

You begged Amá to stay home, not wanting to have to worry about her being this down south without you. She’s apparently been praying everyday for you and the baby, and she’s begging you for the name. You want to tell her so badly, but you can’t risk telling her fearing it will somehow get back to the world at large.

You and Elvis had thought long and hard about the perfect name for your first-born and with everyone seemingly wanting to have a say in it, it was a little overwhelming (with how easy your pregnancy was going you stupidly thought that this was going to be your biggest hurdle to overcome. You wish you could go back to those days).

Eventually though you were able to come to some agreement born from your mutual love of I Love Lucy, though the names mostly stemmed from a joke when some of the magazines started calling you two the new Lucy and Desi. Neither of you could figure out who was supposed to be Lucy and who was supposed to be Desi. And as a play on that, the two of you ultimately decided on Lucía for a girl and Richard for a boy, as a fun little reversal. 

You had been so eager to tell the world about your beautiful baby not even a week ago and now it feels like the last piece of this whole ordeal that you can control. Even the hospital staff only know her as “Baby Presley,” promising that you would only name her once she was discharged. Someone had snuck into the hospital and was able to get a picture of your baby in a box attached to wires and fighting for her life, while the newspapers excitedly announced “It’s Girl!” to all of America. Your husband saw his own daughter for the first time on the front of a newspaper walking into the hospital before he could see her in person or even know if you were dead or alive. It felt like the whole world saw your baby before you did and that hurts you in a way that you fail to find words for in either language you speak. 

That entire stay, you didn’t leave the hospital once, and you rarely ever left her side, and even then it was only when Elvis could be in there with her in your stead. The days all seemed to blend together for you, you would eat so she could eat, you would sleep when she slept, singing and telling her stories everywhere in between, and touching her as frequently as you’re allowed to do so. 

Early when you tried to speak Spanish to her in front of the doctors, they immediately shut you down, “warning” you that doing so has the potential to hold her back if she has to learn another language in the long run. You internally roll your eyes at that, having grown up speaking both, but nonetheless you comply, but save it for when you’re alone with her. On the list of things you absolutely do not need right now is the media turning on you for being a bad mother by not complying with doctors orders. They already make comments on how you should have been more careful in the situation, because as far as anyone outside of Graceland knows, you simply fell down the stairs.

You wouldn’t say it was all bad, you love the moments you’re all together. Moments where you both hold her hands at the same time and feel her delicate skin, where you hear her gurgle as she’s being tickled, and especially the way she wiggles her arms and feet as Elvis sings to her, are ll moments you would never trade trade regardless of the fact that you’re in a cold sterile room and not in your warm home. Elvis even brought a record player and the nights became a little more bearable as now you’re both able to hear him when he’s not there. 

Finally you’re able to get the all clear from the doctor and Lucía finally gets to experience the world outside of her little clear box for the first time in short bursts. You’ll be able to hold your baby fully and not be limited to just holding her hand. In many ways you were not ready to lose being so close to her so fast, and this was only made worse by the fact of how limited you were in touching your own baby during this whole time. And still you worry that maybe she’s still not ready, as you’re still roughly a month away from your original due date.

But as you’re finally able to hold her and you feel her latch on and nurse from you, these doubts and fears all fall silent. Your baby was almost completely ripped away from you, by someone who only had cruelty and spite in their heart for you. But now as she rests in your arms and feeds from you getting stronger, and your husband holds the two of you close to him everything feels as it should be now. 

Not too long after that, Lucía is finally able to be discharged and you can finally take her home. Elvis was nervous no doubt, from all the times he questioned the doctor if he was sure that she was ready and if she couldn’t stay a little longer just to be sure. You have similar thoughts but you’re trying to think on the brighter side of the situation, for the both of you.

Of course you and Elvis still have to do that photoshoot for the press. You hate this, but also recognize that getting this out of the way now will sate their curiosity about your baby and get them to leave you alone, at least for now. You and Elvis recognized this would be the case when you saw them go into a near frenzy the moment you stepped off that plane from Hawaii with an obvious baby bump months ago. 

Ironically enough the only thing that has gone according to plan was this aspect, as you were able to get photographers you’re familiar with and Elvis brought the outfits you picked out months ago. His fans were also willing to give the two of you a wide berth so that you could leave the hospital. You are far too enamored with Lucía to really take notice of any of it, until the two of you are already in front of home. 

Your mood drops once you see where you are, and Elvis takes notice of that. He squeezes your hand and reassures you that everything's been cleaned and that the trash’s been taken out. Still, walking through the front door, you held onto his arm for dear life and your hands were shaking so bad you had him hold Lucía, as you were afraid you would drop her. You're greeted inside by a few friends and his family, but your eyes immediately narrow in on the stairs and you're relieved to see that it’s completely clean. Without the bloodstains, it’s easier to forget that anything terrible happened here. 

Everyone wants to get to see her and the two of you are immediately, but a squeeze to his arm from you and the subsequent single look he gives them has them back up a little. You’re able to sit down in the living room, and hold your baby in your home for the first time, but not all is right in the world. No one has said anything about the big Eric shaped elephant in the room, as they all no doubt know why you went into labor so early.

The women do their best to distract you from it, talking about their own experiences being a new mother, and how this has been a stressful time for everyone, especially the men who’ve been jumpy for weeks now. But no matter what your attention keeps being drawn back to the stairs, as though any minute Eric’s going to be trotting down to finish the job any moment now. You try to distract yourself with anything else in the room, and that’s when you notice something off about the carpet. You figured that the carpet would have been replaced but what’s odd is the fact that you remember going straight from the staircase to the car as you were bleeding, so you don’t understand why the carpet in the den had to have been replaced too. 

You shake these concerns from your head and begin to make your way outside to get some air, because the walls are making you feel like you’re going to suffocate. That’s where you find the men, as all smoking within Graceland had been banned for the foreseeable future, and Elvis still insisted on finally using those cigars he got for the occasion. What’s weird is that they don’t surround the patio or even the pool area. No, you find them more out towards the field, surrounding a large unsightly hole in the ground.

“Amor, what did you do to the backyard?” You question your husband when he makes his way back to where you’re sitting.

Some of the men tense up at your question, but seeing Elvis not really react to the question other than a slightly nervous laugh, makes you disregard anything’s amiss.

“Well…” he says rubbing the back of his neck, “after I got done with the nursery. I-I wanted to add something to the backyard so it wasn’t so empty to look at.”

“... and you decided the best way to make it less empty was to dig a hole?”

“It ain’t gon’ stay a hole, Darlin’,” he laughs, wrapping an arm around you. “I was plannin’ on puttin’ in one a them Gazebos in the back for our little princess here. It… It kept me busy the nights I couldn't sleep.”

You soften at that answer, knowing that with his sleep issues, the nights must have been torture for him. He was always the first visitor to arrive at the ward and the last one to leave, and only once did you ever dare ask what he did when he went home at night. You worried about him, how could you not? And so one day you gathered the courage to ask him how he was handling the nights?

All he said was that he “keeps busy.” At the time you didn’t want to know what he meant, as it was a stressful time for the both of you, so digging holes in the backyard is far from the worst thing he could have been doing.

You give an amused sigh saying, “Next time, get professionals to do it.”

He grins at that, “Don’t worry baby, we got a crew comin’ in to fill the hole in a few days. I wanted to have it done before you and the lil’ one got back home.” You shake your head at him and kiss him on the cheek. You don’t really notice the way most of the men take a simultaneous sigh of relief at your acceptance of Elvis’ answer. 

Later on you’re putting Lucía down in a little bassinet Elvis had set by your bed (you’re both reluctant to be away from her), and you feel him make his way behind you. The both of you lay beside each other and watch her sleep, and now, not having to be obscured by tubes or glass, you get to really see your beautiful baby girl. She’s sleeping with her arms straight up, her little chest rising and falling on its own, and the two of you nearly melt as she yawns and rubs her little mitten covered hands over her face. 

“You ready to sleep yet?” he whispers to you. 

“No, I just want to look at her some more.”

“Me too,” he hums. 

You sit with your husband and bask in this perfect moment.

You didn’t really notice the off-atmosphere that surrounded Graceland in those days, until you noticed that a trunk of yours was missing. You think you had packed some old baby things your mother had given you the last time you had been in LA. It had been with you in Graceland before you left the hospital, and it had also been where you were storing the outfit you wore when you left the hospital, so the fact that it’s gone is odd to say the least. Considering Elvis was the one that brought the outfit to you, he’s the one you end up asking. 

“What trunk?” he asks. 

“The big white one,” you say to him as you change Lucía into her pajamas. She’s trying to eat her fist and you’re trying to get her to smile by nibbling on her fingers a little. “The one you got me the first time in Hawaii.” 

“Oh that one,” he responds. “Didn’t you leave it at Hillcrest?”

“No, I know I brought it here.” you say confused. “I asked you to look in it to find the pink outfit I wore at the hospital. It’s gotta be here somewhere.”

He furrows his brow at that and he looks deep in thought, “Didn’tcha say that you didn’t want to pack clothes that don’t fit no more?” He says as he brings Lucía to rest on his bare chest. 

You do vaguely remember saying something along those lines when you were packing, but still you remember having it here with you. “Maybe… but I did bring it here,” you say, though not as sure as you once were.

“Y/N, why you wanna know so bad?” he says, as he gently pats Lucia on the back trying to get her to fall asleep. This question throws you a bit, not for the words themselves, but the way he said it, as there was a severe lack of humor or warmth in his tone as he said that, that you weren’t used to. 

“I-I was looking for a few baby things that Amá gave me last time I saw her.” you say, suddenly feeling guilty for pushing the topic. 

His eyes soften at your answer, realizing he scared you. He holds up your chin and gives a quick kiss to your forehead. 

“I-I think, I saw ‘em when I I was lookin’ for the little pink get up a yours,” you see him jump a little. “Though you might wanna save the lookin’ for tomorrow,” he says, a slight grimace on his face, as he looks down at your baby girl. “‘Cuz lil’ one here is trying to tap a dry well.” You burst out laughing as you see that Lucía has a good grip on one of his nipples and is trying desperately to bring it to her mouth. 

“Esos son para mamá, chula,” you jokingly scold her, as you bring her close to you so she can latch onto you, and Elvis tickles your side in reprimand. Still even with that moment of levity, you still can’t let go of what just happened. If it were anything else you would have written it off but that trunk was special to you because of the fact that Elvis had given it to you on that fateful trip to Hawaii. He had insisted you pack light, which confused you until about a week later when by that point he had already gifted you twice as many dresses as you had come with. By the end of the trip he gave you this trunk just to pack everything he had given you. (Smooth operator that he was, when the trunk found its way into his room when you got back home, he insisted it would be easier for you to move into his room, rather than moving the trunk into yours).

It has been a pretty constant presence in your relationship with him, as it went where you went, and you went where he went. But… you didn't go with him to Hawaii, and you did leave a lot of old clothes back in LA… maybe it is just baby brain, and you’re overthinking this.

Things only really seem to click that something is off a few days later when you caught Charlie staring out into the backyard. If it were anybody else from the group you wouldn’t have noticed or cared too much, but you liked Charlie. He seemed to be one of the more genuine ones of them all, and he’s also one of the few of them who's at least picked up on some of the more common Spanish phrases in all the years you’ve known him.

But now Charlie seems distant, as though he’s somewhere else in his head. He’s staring off into the same direction as where that pit is now. 

“Charlie, ¿qué pasa?” you ask, and he seems to jump ten feet in the air. 

“Y/N, hi-hello… um…I-I, d-do ya’ need something?” he manages to stutter out. 

“Yes umm…” you say slightly embarrassed about what you’re about to ask. “I want to put Lucía down for a nap, but I need someone else to help carry her up there with me.” You would have asked Elvis, but he’s upstairs already and you’re not about to leave her alone to go get him.

“Sure, but… why do you need help,” he asks, genuinely confused over the request. 

“I… well, since the fall, I… I don’t trust myself to hold her on the stairs,” you say, your eyes going a bit glassy. You shake your head to gather yourself, “I ju-just need someone else to carry her on the stairs. I’m fine on my own.” If by fine you meant having to have both feet on each step going up and down, and never letting go of the railing, then yes very fine. Elvis was heartbroken when he saw this the first time, but didn’t say anything about it, just offered you his arm and let you take your time. 

Charlie has the same reaction and wordlessly helps you with her. Though you do trail behind him you eventually are able to make it up to the landing, where you see Elvis whispering something to him. You think he says something to the effect, you understand now? Charlie would give a small nod in response as he hands Lucía to him and makes his way down the stairs after giving you a quick hug. 

You’re about to ask what that was about, when you see something on one of the steps that knocks the wind out of your lungs. You see a familiar looking rust colored spot on one step, and you force yourself to sit down, feeling unsteady on your feet and your eyes welling up all of a sudden. 

“Baby what's wrong?” Elvis says trotting down the steps, Lucía still in his arms. Your hands are shaking and your breathing quicker than you should, and you're filled with the same dread that you felt as Eric walked down those same steps. “Goddamnit, I thought they got all of it” he whispers when he sees where your eyes are fixated. He crouches down beside you and takes you in his arms as he whispers in your “You’re okay sweetheart,” he says, “You and Lucía are okay.” 

Gradually you feel yourself steady as you breathe in the scent of his cologne, and feel the way Lucía clutches around your finger. That brings you back down and you’re able to stop your weeping as you focus solely on the two most important people in your life.

You wouldn’t know this, but at the bottom of the steps, just beyond your view several men would come to the same understanding as Charlie did in that moment.

What did he mean about understanding? You would ask yourself later after Lucia had been fed and put down for a nap. You’re laying down in his arms, having tired yourself out from that episode, and just wanting to rest, but this question that rings in your ear, still eats at you making you unable to do so. 

These thoughts are halted as you feel him run a finger down your spine and you on reflex push your chest into his. You also feel as he brings his hips closer to yours, and he hooks your leg around his waist, lightly trailing his hand back up your skirt to rest comfortably on your ass, as you let out a shuddering breath against him, making as little noise as possible, as not to wake your baby.

He’s gentle with you, you just had his baby after all. There was no tearing so you’re healed physically, but you're glad nonetheless as you become reacquainted with his touch again. His fingers lightly trace the edge of your panties, as he nibbles on your bottom lip the way you like. 

You’re reminded of your first time with him. He had been having trouble with one particular scene in Blue Hawaii, and he asked you to come on to the set that night. He had you sit as an extra behind Joan Blackman and he kept stealing glances at you as he sang. As the scene cut there was not a dry eye on set and Elvis was heaped with praise for his best take yet, but what he was more interested in was your reaction to his song. 

He was gentle with you then as well. You confided in him before that you were untouched, and he made sure to make it as tender as possible. Careful, as he learned (as did you) what made you whimper, what made you moan, what made you scream. 

Knowing he’s gone just as long without it as you have, you want to. God, do you want to, but as you grind yourself onto his still clothed length, he makes the mistake of tugging your hair back and suddenly you're paralyzed with an overwhelming sense of dread as he kisses your neck. It takes him a second to realize that this is bad heavy breathing, but he stops the moment he realizes it. 

“Y/N, what’s wrong?” His worried look only makes you feel more guilty, while you try to even out your breathing. This feeling only made worse as you watch his heartbreak all over again when you tell him why you freaked out when he tugged at your hair like he did.

“I’m always gon’ protect ya’ Satnin,” he whispers to you, mindful of your baby sleeping a few feet away. “Nothin’s ever gon’ hurthcha again.”

You want to believe him. You really do.

It all comes to a head when the day before they’re set to fill the hole in the backyard, you finally find your trunk. Embarrassed at your reaction to being on some stairs, you decided to try to break this habit by confronting your fears. So one day as Lucía slept, you made your way to the attic stairs, but your fears were quickly forgotten as you stared at the previously missing trunk. It’s hard to comprehend its presence as it’s supposed to be on the other side of the country right now. Or… at least that’s what Elvis had told you. 

Whatever the case may be you can’t exactly leave it alone, and you go to inspect it a little closer. It won’t open and a brief brush on the keyhole tells you that it had been locked and the key lodged inside. You also see some dents and dings here and there, but the most noticeable change were some rust colored stains dotting the outside of it. You don’t immediately recognize what they could be, but even as your mind conjures up similar looking stains that are still on the stairs, you can’t really accept what it is.

“Whatcha doin’ up here baby?” a familiar voice behind you says, startling you for a moment. You turn to see your husband, but something is … off. His smile is a little too big, his eyes a little too wide, and if his jaw was clenched any tighter he would have cracked his teeth. It’s all far too unsettling

“I-I was practicing with the stairs, and I found this,” you say, pointing to the trunk.

Somehow he’s able to clench his teeth even tighter as he sees what you found, “I didn’t want you to find out like this, sweetheart. But I,”  he says , pausing to think on his next words. “I-I… Forget it you caught me. I broke the lock on it.” he says with a guilty look on his face. 

“...That’s it?”

“That’s all, baby. I wanted to try to fix it, but I just made it worse and now it won’t open.”

Maybe… maybe he is telling the truth and he just broke the lock… but that wouldn't explain why everything kept in there was taken out or why it was up in the attic, or why it’s covered in blood. Why is he hiding this from you?

“C’mon Satnin, it ain’t nothin’ to get so worked up about? I’ll getcha another one soon,” he says as he wraps an arm around you.

You don’t have time to really question what is going on as you hear Lucía below and you're able to stamp down that curious part of yourself. You make your way back, your feet feeling so unsteady that you clutch onto him with both hands. 

But it still eats at you, the fact that he was able to lie so easily to you, and convince you of that lie when he knew full well it was up here. And why hide it from you? These are all questions you ask yourself as you lay in bed with him, you wonder who exactly you are sharing it with. 

Your blood goes cold as you feel the bed shift right next to you, and you slam your eyes shut, genuinely fearing your husband for the first time. But these feelings of fear dissipate as feel the  quick kiss he gives your forehead before whispering to you, so low you barely hear it, “No one’s ever gon’ hurtcha and get away with it.” You’re paralyzed with fear, and have to remind yourself to breathe lest you give away that you're not actually asleep as he makes his way to the bathroom. 

You open your eyes and stare at the door and the longer you listen the clearer it becomes that he’s not using the bathroom. You also hear as several feet try to quietly make their way up the stairs and then you hear the tell-tale creak of the attic door. You silently make your way to the door and listen against it as you hear them 

You stare off into darkness as the noise gradually lessens until you’re left hearing nothing but the crickets outside and your baby’s steady breathing. You stay there frozen in place, debating internally whether you should follow them. You know in your heart that something is wrong, but you don’t want to confront it. Still after some time you find yourself in the kitchen making your way outside.

As you round the corner, you're hit with the pungent scent of cigar smoke in the air mixed with the unmistakable smell of a campfire, and you see him and all the other men stripped down to their underwear. You crouch down out of sight and you see they are all surrounding the fire pit in the backyard, piles of clothes sit next to each of them, and on occasion one of them will throw something into the fire. All of them seem to be shaking from the cold or from nervousness you can’t quite tell. All of them… except for Elvis. You know he’s prone to getting jittery when he’s nervous, but here, you’ve never seen him so collected. 

“Eric was one a my oldest buddies, and he threw that all away ‘cause he had to be a shithead to the most important person in the world to me.” Those words, cold as a grave, mixed with that vacant look in his eyes, sent shivers down your spine. “There’s a lotta things I can forgive, but what he did sure as hell ain’t one a them.” 

“EP…” Jerry says. “You don’t gotta explain yourself, we-we all woulda done the same thing.”

“I’m goin’ ta hell because that sack a shit, and I look forward to seein’ him again, just so I can beat the crap outta him again.” You can hear the smile in his voice as he says these words, as he seems to rub his knuckle, the ones you remember seeing so badly bruised when you were in the hospital.

It’s unsettling how similar this is to when you met Elvis for the first time, you crouched down, being nosy, him in his boxers trying to hide someone from you. It would be funny if you weren’t one hundred percent sure that your husband wasn’t admitting to murder right now. You don’t stick around for much longer, your curiosity is sated, but you don’t feel any better knowing. 

You don’t know when or how you end up there, but you find yourself on the stairway landing. Once upon a time you thought of Graceland as a safe haven surrounded by shark infested waters, but now you realize that that couldn’t be further from the truth. You’re swimming in it, but the biggest shark had decided that you were never to be harmed. 

You want to say that there was some internal debate on that landing, where you contemplated leaving and never looking back. How you wanted to do the morally right thing and report them for all the good it would do. How there was a part of you that stared longingly at the door feeling the desire to leave from the love that has driven him to do this for you.

You would say that… but you would be lying. 

No. You sit there taking in the new reality that the man who has repeatedly physically and emotionally hurt you is gone and it was at the hands of the man you loved the most. You feel something at this moment. A feeling that has eluded you for a while now. You feel… safe. 

It’s an odd feeling to have again. It was something you had always felt with Elvis, but not something you were ever able to verbalize. But now looking back you were always safe with him, when people got too close, when their words hurt, when their stares burned, you could always retreat into him and feel protected from the world. 

There’s a lot of conflicting emotions running through you all at once, pain and sadness at what Eric had done and all the subsequent heartache his actions brought clashing with the almost euphoric relief that is knowing he’s gone for good and it’s all due to how loved you are by a single man. If anybody were to see you right now, they would see a woman with tears streaming down her face while simultaneously giggling like a maniac. You’re only broken from this manic episode when you hear the shrill cry of your baby girl.

You feel lighter as you make your way up the stairs, so light you don’t bother to hold the railing as you usually do and you find your baby right where you left her. Your husband would return later while she’s still suckling at you, and he would make his way to sit behind you, his chin resting on your shoulder, neither of you acknowledge how long he’s been gone. No, in the soft light of the room you both bask in each other watching the little wonder you both made get a little bigger and a little stronger by the moment resting in the bassinet by your bed.

“I just realized something,” you say. You feel him go rigid behind you, but you quickly break the tension by lightly running a finger along the ridge of his nose. “She got this from you.” 

“No, she didn’t,” he says with an amused huff. 

“No, it’s the same shape, just smaller. Look,” you insist. You take one of his hands to show him, careful not to wake her. 

He concedes to your point with a soft, tender kiss to your lips, while his other hand rubs circles on your hip bone. 

You should be disturbed at where his mind is at right now, and you would be if you weren’t just as hungry for him as he was for you. It’s been too long without him, and as he runs a finger along your jaw bringing your faces closer together, you welcome him back home. 

With the straps already falling off of your shoulders, you shiver as he uses a single finger to drag the silky material over your nipples, already begging for his attention that he’s all too willing to give. He languidly laves at them, using the occasional scrape of his teeth to get you to jump, all the while pressing down on your clit through your panties, before removing them.

You're laid on your back and you feel as he spreads the delicate petals of your pussy and even you’re taken aback as to how wet you are right now. You hiss slightly as you feel him probe lightly at your entrance, and he rips his hands back afraid he had hurt you. 

You take his hand in yours and bring his fingers to your mouth, tasting yourself on him, only to bring him closer to you as you whisper against his mouth “not bad, just slower papi.” You think, in a way, you both need this: to be reminded that his hands can do more than hurt. You’re not scared of him or what he’s capable of. 

He rolls so that you're on top of him and you bite your lip at his straining cock within his boxers. You run a single finger up his length and he bites down on his knuckle as you circle around the damp spot already forming. As you spread kisses along his length, he quietly pleads to be inside you, and after all he’s done for you, you won’t deny him.

Finally you sink down on him, and a long, satisfied moan escapes from your mouth and you chance a look at your baby relieved that she’s still asleep. He gives a cheeky grin, biting down on his bottom lip to keep quiet, and you grind down on him in retaliation, though that quickly backfires on you as it feels way too good and you have to concentrate on not doing that again, as you don’t want this to end so soon.

Neither of you are in a hurry at the moment, just choosing to indulge in the connection that circumstances had denied the two of you for so long, sharing lazy kisses and secret jokes in equal measure until you can’t take it anymore. You set the pace for yourself and he is all too willing to oblige and let you chase your peak, as he’s not too far behind. You may very well be in bed with a monster, and yet you’ve never felt safer.

The next day you watch from the Balcony as the men fill the platform with concrete and you get one last look at that trunk, and hope to never see it again. Elvis joins you there, watching and holding you and your daughter, both secure in the knowledge that he’ll always be able to protect you.

You don’t end up thinking about him as much as you thought you would have. In those early days after construction had finished you had feared that the slightest slip up and everybody would know. You felt you could hardly breathe when you looked at it those months, and you were surprised and more than a little disturbed that Elvis had no such reaction to it. 

Though eventually a good memory would come to almost completely scrub out the sour taste that the Gazebo leaves you in the form of Lucía’s baptism. Even over a year later she was still so small compared to other babies her age and the doctors warned you to expect some developmental delays, but you still worried over the fact she still has yet to crawl. Most times she seems content enough to sit where she’s put and play with the toys within her reach and getting someone’s attention to get her what she wants. It’s almost as though she’s aware that Elvis is called The King, making her a princess and so she expects to be treated like one. 

Recently she’s taken to standing up using whatever’s closest, bouncing up and down on her little legs for a bit then sitting back down. You sat there letting Lucía hold your hands and do her thing, while you talked to some of the other women. Your husband on the other side of the platform, surrounded by Lucía’s godfathers (they helped him hide a body after all, this felt like the least the two of you could do to honor them), talking business.

When you felt her let go your immediate instinct was to grab her, but you stop yourself when you see that she’s not only standing on her own but shakily taking her first steps forward. You and the other women go dead silent as you watch her make a slow but sure beeline, her eyes set on her Daddy. You hold your breath so afraid that she’ll fall, but all of your muscles are tensed ready to dive in and catch her if she so much as stumbled.

Elvis was looking away, not noticing what was happening until she finally got to him and wrapped herself around his leg. Seeing her next to him throws you for a loop, as over a year ago, she was so tiny that she fit almost entirely in one of his hands, and now she stands on her own at his knee, and you really do see how much she has grown. Elvis finally turns around and sees her looking up at him, but with no one around to have helped her he doesn’t put it together until he sees your mile wide grin, and it finally dawns on him what just happened. 

You and Elvis would later joke that she, just like him, wouldn’t do something so big without an audience. And for that entire day you didn’t think once about Eric. Your little girl's first steps were over a grave, and you couldn’t be happier about it. 

When she was four, you had explained to Lucía that her father had had it built after she was brought home in celebration that the two of you had pulled through. After that she started calling it hers, and it just stuck, even when your other children were born it was always Lucía’s Gazebo. Birthday’s, barbeques, family dinners, many of them were held underneath that gazebo, and only occasionally would you even spare a thought toward Eric. 

And now as you watch your daughter dance with your husband underneath the gazebo, celebrating her quinceañera you’re glad Elvis did what he did. If that man had had his way you wouldn’t have any of this, and you refuse to feel anything close to guilt or sympathy for him.

Eventually Elvis breaks away from her to stand next to you as she now embarks on the arduous journey of dancing with her many, many padrinos. You welcome him with a tender kiss, and he holds you from behind as the two of you watch your little girl who is now becoming a woman.

“I swear she was this small yesterday,” he says while rubbing your two-year old son’s back as he rests on your shoulder right now. Elvis had been close to tears all day, with the doll ceremony nearly doing it for him as he always loved spoiling her with toys, so the idea that this would be the last one was very bittersweet for him.

For you it was the shoe ceremony that did bring you to tears, as you held her hand as she took a few shaky steps in her new heels, not so much for the first steps she took as a baby, but the painful reminder of all the things you thought you wouldn’t get to have with your little baby that couldn’t leave her box. You refuse to let that man ruin anything special for you again, and over his grave you whisper in the love of your life’s ear how it’s not too late to have another one. His eyes widen at that for a moment before he gives that devastating grin of his that won you over years ago and agrees to later.

You love Elvis Presley. And you were lucky enough to be the woman that he loves back.

@venus-haze @djsjs13949 @ilovehobi101 @butlerslut @richardslady121 @giabelia @sydneyyyya @meetme0614 @tacozebra051 @myradiaz  @thelifes-world @maythesunshineagain @rakitirakiti @lostteenagetale @j-v-9-2  @eliseinmemphis @dkayfixates  @immi547 @thatbanditqueen   @marriedtoeddie @cuteejeno @itlover8000​ @isthlsfate​ @mgparker​

#elvis #elvis 2022 #elvis x reader #austin!elvis #austin!elvis x reader #yandere!elvis x reader #yandere x reader #yandere!elvis #yandere elvis #yandere #yandere!elvis presley #yandere austin!elvis x reader #austin!elvis fic #austin!elvis angst #austin butler #austin butler x reader #latin!reader #latina!reader

[sgiandubh]

The sound of silence

With the end of August already in sight - somebody, please, tell me where did this botched summer go, all of a sudden? -, a somewhat different landscape is slowly emerging, on the S&C front.

Dare we hope? The new normal seems to be a mix of latergrams, sibylline tweets, ultra-muted innuendo (most of it the result of a couple of pundits' sterile speculations on meagre hints dropped on purpose) and secondary (even third-circle) players being conveniently called to the rescue. A low budget, almost homemade solution to keep the prayer wheels of this fandom spinning. A fandom both of these two know, by now, like the back of their hands.

For months and months in a row, I tried to understand something that puzzled me constantly: not the messages being ventilated in here, but their circuit and lifespan, if you want. For what is worth, the rinse and repeat image is fine in my book, but in no way comprehensive, nor intellectually satisfying. And then, a couple of weeks ago, I started to suddenly figure it out.

I am not going to insult you with savant jargon or Venn diagrams, rest assured. However, I need some arrows. I called it the 4 R Circuit and here we go:

(an information is being) Released (via Anons or DMs exclusively: it's never sheer luck, that is a bloody lie and a poor one, at it) -> (it then prompts a couple different) Reactions -> (followed by an almost immediate) Retcon (by the other side of this very antagonistic fandom) -> (in response, an old information is being) Recycled (thus effectively keeping the chatter alive, but re-oriented until ) -> (a new or old/new information is being) Released

Historically, the lifespan of this news cycle was never shorter than 24, but seldom (if ever) longer than 72 hours. This summer is a resolute break off this pattern, but old habits die hard: the collective attention span has been also conditioned accordingly.

And how could it be otherwise? Because neither of them had any consistent A-list level gossip history, the emerging fandom had to resume itself to their social media accounts, for a start. And boy, were we copiously spoiled, with banter and innuendo and double-entendre galore, and then with voluble Anons being simultaneously directed to the main players of all the factions. I bet it was elating. I am sure it was also great fun: a merry, sunny age of innocence. Until it wasn't and the ugly manipulative streak began its inglorious march in here. The thirst grew, and so did the stakes. Pictures, pictures or it did not happen. And when we got them, we started to immediately diss and hiss and hum and drum. In the Real World (you know, out there, where we all go every morning and are civilized, amiable people), this kind of behavior would be more than uncanny: it would be uncalled for and drastically sanctioned as such. But, I digress.

The result of this disco inferno by design is a pattern of reactivity I have never seen in my entire life. Nano-inquisitors immediately spring out of their chairs once you dare write something: why did you say that? how dare you speak your mind, you are supposed to be a stupid, stupid shipper? In the meantime, almost nobody bothers connecting the dots, finding a solid background for arguments, placing facts or speculation in a logical context. It's frowned upon. Yet, the whole experience would be way more enjoyable, if instead on focusing on idiotic and obviously doctored details, we could bring some perspective to all this hubbub.

Last case in point, this freshly baked imbecility:

We all know who the fuck Brave Heart is: the kilt obsessed, once Mightiest Troll of Mordor. The one who invented by herself the grotesque story of the Hôtel Costes Rash sightings, last April, via Anons written in painful English. Also, the one who spun, based on a friendly snap at a sportive event, the Ellenwood Innuendo, promptly ditched - it didn't stick well enough- now reactivated. A sample:

Calling all stations: there is no side exit at the Hôtel Costes' restaurant, you fool, who's been to Paris as often as I went to Oahu, which is to say never. There is a back exit, through the kitchen, madam: next time, do your damn homework properly! Unlike you, I often went there (I preferred other, less nouveau riche playgrounds, that being said), back in 1996-2002, when it still was the boldest celeb' spotting venue in town. Not anymore. And who in their right mind would bring luggage or shopping bags in a very peculiarly laid-out French restaurant, without immediately taking the risk of being a conversation stopper, a bull (heh) in a china shop?

The "have seen it with my own eyes" gave you away, this time. A classical, by the book way to spin a cheap lie.

Also, C's witty latergram, via a tertiary player. I am sure (and I will film myself eating my socks live, if proven wrong) that back in Mordor someone already came with the agit-prop retcon: "it's irrelevant when the picture was taken".

It is very relevant. July 31. One day before August 1st: I always admired her humor. But who would take the time to tell 1+1= 2?

If I could gift this fandom anything, let it be this: context is always important. Manipulation starts exactly when you stop questioning and let your brain live the 72 hours news cycle.

The only real sound of this August, on the S&C front, is the sound of silence.

I rest my case.

#fandom

[dulcewrites]

New Traditions

Pairing: Rhett Abbott x afab!reader

Summary: As the first holiday season in your new home approaches, Rhett and you start new traditions and make promises (wc: 3k)

Warnings/Fic notes: mentions of unhappy childhoods (reader and Rhett probably needed more hugs as kids). Allusions to a rich!reader. Me using decorating as smokescreen for a character study lol. Daddy issues galore. The Christmas music is very self indulgent on my part too. Allusions/mentions to 18+ content

A/N: *Mariah Carey whistle note* ITS TIMEEEEEE. Lmao hiii, I hope you all are doing well. It has been a minute since I have written for a fandom outside of hotd so please bear with me on that front. I eventually want to take request soon (for Rhett, some tgm characters, and Calvin Evans) so my inbox is always open if y’all are interested - just shoot me something. If you read anything you like please reblog, like, and or comment. Also let me know when y’all put your decorations up (if you celebrate anything). I’m a staunch first weekend of December girlie myself ❤️

Masterlist

As pathetic as it sounds out loud, Rhett had grown accustomed to having the rug pulled out from under him. He had a looming and painful history with differentiating the cards life dealt him and what he deserves; over time, they began to blur together. At a certain point, he just resigned himself to life just being sort of... eh. Reminding himself that though things could be better, they could also be much, much worse.

It would all combinate in this hazy, syrupy snapshot of moments that ran together. At least, that is what he thought till he met you.

He thinks you would not understand it if he told you - that you are one of those people that is easy to love, while people like him took work to want. Hard work. Something that would be likened to the type of manual labor a Wyoming, farm grown boy like him is used to doing day in and day out. If he dared to express it, you would give him a good-natured laugh and shake your head like you always did when he said something self-deprecating.

"What kind of women do you take me for, Abbott," followed by a playful eye roll. "The type that settles?"

Rhett supposes that was the conundrum with you. Because the statement is not wrong; nothing about you gave off the impression you would settle for anything. That could come from a life of having almost everything at your fingertips. But the questions still tickle his tongue and doubts still makes his brain hazy.

It has only compounded since the two of you moved in together.

It was you who posed the suggestion, a shy smile on your lips. Despite the skepticism and disappointment from your parents, it did not feel right for you to sell your grandmother's ranch, the one your father grew up on, after she passed. You insisted on keeping it yourself, clearly having a soft spot for the house you would visit whenever you had the chance to.

Our home, you called it.

Your baking kits in the kitchen, his horses in the stable, and various clothes in the closets. He should feel reassured by this all… and yet… he waits for the other shoe to drop. For the rug to once again be pulled out from under him. Everything is so warm and new, and he worries about the day it slips through his fingers like sand.

Words in general, and expressing this specifically, does not come easy for him. Though loving you comes as easy as breathing for him. Rhett puts all that stuffing emotions and feelings away to good use as he tries to focus on the present. The only thing that manages to keep his mind clear is keeping his hands busy. So, he tries to make up for it in any way he can. The pale wall color your grandma insisted on keeping but reminded you of a sterile hospital? Painted to something more vibrant. The light fixtures in the kitchen that you said were ‘far too phallic to enjoy a meal under’? Well, those new ones are the best money could buy.

He just finished the building that rocking chair you got for the porch when you stick your head out of the house to call him in for dinner, eyes alight with something he could not put his finger on.

Dinner was silent, too silent for you, who always could spark up a conversation with anyone. A tiny sense of dread sets in, and he can’t help but think it maybe something he did… or did not do.

“The chicken is good,” he tries to start any kind of conversation or joy behind the eyes, but all he gets is an empty smile.

The unnerving quietness carries on for a few of minutes, but you suddenly drop your fork on the plate with a clank.

“Did y'all go all out for Christmas?”

Along with the noise the fork made, the question startled Rhett. He blinks blankly utterly confused by how it went from silence to that.

“What?”

“Oh, sorry,” your lips downturn into an embarrassed frown. “I should not have assumed y’all even celebrate it. I guess I just assumed with your mom and all.”

“No, we do celebrate,” he shakes head.

“So, did you go all out? When did you guys put the decorations out?”

Rhett shifts in his seat uncomfortably. Much like everything else that comes to his family, it is never linear or easy. He doesn’t know how to explain how one year they just stopped decorating; gifts and midnight mass were seen as hassles not the usual. Everything that the holidays stood for: family, love, gratefulness, togetherness was the antithesis of them. The joy and warmth of the holidays was sucked from the house and never came back till Amy was old enough to know what Christmas was - till Rebecca and his ma teamed up one day to make a fuss about the house being cold and sterile. What they meant is that Royal was cold… and sterile.

Rhett can still remember the look of disbelief in Rebecca’s eyes when Perry didn’t back her up on the matter. It was a look Rhett had seen from when he was a teen till the last day, he saw Becca. He still gets a rotten taste in his mouth thinking about he never got to tell her how much she meant to him. But that would also mean admitting that often his biggest advocate was a woman basically forced into the family versus the people he shared actual blood with.

Slight embarrassment burns his mouth like a hot iron down his thoat.

With a tight throat, Rhett shrugs. “It changed every year,” he lies. Then shakes his head. “It wasn’t a big deal really.”

Almost as abruptly as you stopped eating, you get up from the kitchen table. He just about calls out to see if you are ok, but you come back in the dining area carrying a picture.

“When I was cleaning out the garage, I found this.”

Rhett leans over, and he can’t help the slow grin that settles on his face. At first, he didn’t recognize the faces in the picture but then he saw a familiar crooked, mischievous smile, but this time on a younger girl. A little you. Decked out in a red, poofy dress and tiny white fur shawl. Shiny black saddle shoes that gleam even in the old photo.

“My baby as a baby,” he whispers.

Rhett continues to scan the photo. Behind you was two older people, and he can only assume they are your parents. They are exactly how he thought they would be and nothing like he thought at the same time. Your mom casually glamourous in green, your dad in a suit far too done up just for family dinner with a heavy hand on your shoulder. You wear her eyes but his nose. Right behind the three of you, a heavily decorated banister and in the foreground a Christmas tree so large that Rhett thinks it has to be a safety hazard.

You do not seem as happy or in awe of the relic as him, in fact you look sick at the sight.

“That was taken before they sat me down to tell me they were getting a divorce.”

Rhett’s heart sinks a little at the as the way your mouth juts out in bitterness.

“Looking back on it, I should have known. Dad was never home, mom was detached, probably depressed. Ya know, I remember them specifically saying that nothing would change, and naive little me not only believe that but wanted it. Not realizing something was just… off. But I guess most nine-year-old’s can’t tell the difference.”

He supposed it was easier for him to paint a rosier picture of your parents, for his sake and yours. Maybe winters in Texas were better than ones he experienced, maybe life was better. He has seen pictures of house, the compound, you grew up on. But now hearing what you are saying made pity take over the normal envy.

Rhett reaches out to grab your hand, and squeezes. “M’ sorry.”

You wave your free hand nonchalantly thought the casualness does not meet your eyes fully.

“No use crying over spilt milk,” you sigh. “I just saw the picture and tried to rack my brain for the last time we were all together for the holidays. After that one, it was one year with mama, the next with dad. And I don't think we ever decorated the house together. That was my caregiver, Jodie's job. Made me curious other people’s traditions I guess."

Rhett fiddles with the rings on your fingers while chewing on the fleshy part on the inside of his cheek.

“Maybe we can make our own,” he mutters softly. “Startin’ this year.”

You look up through your lashes, eyes fluttering away from the picture that sat on the table.

“Really?”

He nods. If that is what you want, he’d do it for you. Like he would do anything for you. Your gaze goes out the window across from the table. The leaves on the trees already began to change and fall to the ground. Going from green to various shades of red, purple, and brown. The season already has changed; heat melting away as the temperature dropped and cool breeze set in.

Your spirit noticeably lightens. “Do you think we can get a real tree? Mamma always said it was too much of hassle to get a real one.”

Rhett holds up his hand and extends his pinky. “As long as there is mistletoe in the house.”

Under new light fixtures, and with the sun grazing the ground as it sets, the two of you made your first promise.

Investments are important.

Your father told you so all your life. To the giant painting he bought for the Tennessee house (the one you later realized was a Degas), the stocks he bought for you for your fifteenth birthday, or his insistence you go to his alma mater. All investments that he expected payoff for. Your father will always be the smartest businessman you know, and he still managed to be so clueless with everything else.

People are not investments. Not really, at least. Not in the way your father looked at it. You can put money and effort into something, but it is never a guarantee it will work out that way. And you can’t just leave when things do not go your way. Your poor father never seemed to understand that, and you think it broke your grandma’s heart in the process.

And maybe you are no better than him. As a child, you admittedly reaped the benefits your parents offered you, almost to a fault. They would often laugh at your ability to move on to the next thing without so much as a blink of an eye. Onto the next toy, the next piece of clothing, the next makeup item. How can you criticize behavior you gave into yourself?

“You’re a reformed brat,” Jennie, your old debutant buddy turned psychologist said over the phone. “Give yourself some grace. At least you want better yourself now.”

So, you gave yourself just that. You didn’t sell your grandma’s place for the equity or whatever bullshit your dad mentioned. You didn’t Amelia County leave though your mom offered to set you up with her in New York. And God… you’re letting your fall - fall so deeply in love with Rhett, despite the voice in your head that tells you not to.

You replay your, in your opinion, embarrassing meeting. Bursting into tears in the middle of a grocery store was not the romantic story you want to tell others. But he came up to you to say that though he only spoke to her a handful of times when she would stay in her vacation home in Wabang, he knew your grandmother was a good woman and would be missed.

A blubbery mess of grief right next to the meat aisle spiraled into decorating your grandmother's house together - your house.

With Frank Sinatra’s version of ‘Let it Snow’ playing in the background, a rush of giddiness takes over. Jodie always said you had an eye for pretty things.

"A little excited, no," Rhett eyes copious amounts of bags you brought into the house. “It’s not even December yet.”

You survey the bags and boxes laid out. So, you went slightly overboard. Like driving out of town to the nearest big city to do some more shopping. Some habits die hard.

"This is just the starter stuff," you pull reams of garland out of the bag. “Just wait till they start selling the trees. Oh! And I got ingredients to teach you how to make sugar cookies from scratch.”

Rhett is silent for a moment, and you wonder if it is too much too fast. Your mother always said that enthusiasm, especially around men, should be tempered and demure. No one likes a girl that acts like a dog with a bone, sweetheart.

“Do.. do you think we can invite Amy over for the cookies thing,” his cobalt eyes soften at the mention of his niece. “I think she would like that.”

“Of course.”

You knew how important it was to Rhett for things to stay good with Amy. Her reception of the move was the only one he seemed to care about. You could not help but think the rest of Rhett’s family was skeptical about his decision. Cecilia was always kind towards you, and she was mostly receptive to the idea, but you assume it must hurt to see her baby venture out. Something about her reminded you of your own mother. Two women clearly used to the short end of the stick, and had to find ways to deal with it. While your mother found salvation in travel and extravagant parties, Cecilia found hers in faith.

Perry was well… Perry, about the whole thing. Just based on how he handled the news, and small tidbits you picked up from Rhett, it seemed like Perry was upset about Rhett making a choice just for himself. A luxury that the eldest son had a premium on for some time.

But you think it was the patriarch of the family who took it the hardest. It may be the reality of having two less hands around 24/7 like Rhett says, but you tend to think it is something deeper with Royal. Anger, sadness, pride - all of them??? You don’t know.

But what you do know is that family tension is something both you and Rhett know far too well.

After unpacking the bags and boxes you got, the smoky coos of Frank Sinatra transition into the pop Christmas playlist you put together. You don’t remember when the bottle of red wine came out, whether it was between Britney singing about what she wants for Christmas that year or Mariah singing about a holy night. It might have been after you insisted the two of you try your hand at diy decorations. But Rhett rolled his eyes when you talked about getting glasses, taking swings straight from the bottle instead.

“I don’t know how you drink this shit,” he wrinkled his nose, but he takes another hit.

“Just like you enjoy your watery beer,” you retake the bottle from him to have some more yourself.

“Last time I checked,” he expertly ties red and green ribbon into pretty bows and knots. “You were there with me, drinkin’ said watery beer.”

You bite your lip as you watch his brows furrow, and he pokes his tongue out sweetly as he ties meticulously.

“You’re quite good at that.”

“‘M good with ropes too.”

It could be the red wine, which always made your insides warm and fuzzy. Or if could just be the Rhett of it all. Him indulging this perhaps silly childhood wound of yours in full earnest.

“Hmmm,” you shuffle closer to him. The two of you might a makeshift area on the living room floor of pillows and blankets. An almost sickly-sweet peppermint candle ablaze on the table, and the fireplace crackling nearby.

“Royal used to make me secure the lines and pull logs. Kinda got good at it.”

By this time, you’re stuck at his side, suddenly a little fixated on hair on his neck that trickles up to his jaw and cheeks. You like him like this; hair falling from behind where it is tucked behind his ears. Scruffy and soft.

“Maybe you can show me how good you are.”

Rhett’s attention still doesn’t stray from the ribbons he cuts and ties, a task he is clearly taking seriously, but he nods in agreement. You roll your eyes slightly at how oblivious he can be.

“On me, Rhett,” you spell it out for him. “You can use the ropes on me.”

He stops and turns with a look of wanton, wetting his lips for a moment.

“Yeah,” he asks, the inflection at the end of the question breathy and soft.

You nuzzle your nose into area right under his ear with a hum, kissing the skin there and taking in the smell of his cologne. A woodsy scent with sprites of magnolia and cedar. It was one that consumed the bedroom and your mind. You spent much of your formative years pretending to hate the idea of being desired or wanted - chasteness an idea drilled into your head since you were a little girl and told by the ladies of your church that the only thing worse than being ungodly is being ‘fast’. Then you spent college overcorrecting to the point of farce. Letting the guys you knew had little regard for how you felt at the end of it make decisions for you. Emotionally, mentally, and sexually.

Your first time with Rhett was a hodgepodge of giggle and sighs only to be heard by vast emptiness of the home you do sit in now. His boots and jeans askew on the floor. You eccentric grandma’s knick knacks watching you two. Most notably, the cat clock that reflected in the moonlight, the one Rhett insisted you keep when he moved in. After him eating you out until you cried, and a night that ended in you making a trip to the local pharmacy for a Plan B, you honestly expected a series of awkward moments that would single-handedly ruin the small town bliss you experienced for the first time. And yet, in the morning, his lips turned up in a shy smile and he asked if you had bacon in the fridge.

You didn’t realize how badly you were under water and needed to breathe until you came to Wabang. Your lips work their way up his jaw til you reach the corner of his mouth.

“Let’s make it another tradition.”

#rhett abbott x female reader #rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott #outer range imagine #outer range #rhett abbott x you #rhett abbott smut #outer range fic #black!reader #lewis pullman

[bronx-bomber87]

Happy Saturday lovely Fandom :) We’ve reached my favorite episode of the season. I explained in detail to that ask I received about my fav eps why I love it so much. Great follow up to the previous episode. So much good content in this one. Married moments galore, growth, all the goodies. The name on this one is apt. Makes me breakdown every time I watch it. Let's get going.

4x09 Breakdown

First off imma need more Lucy/Genny scenes in S6. Their banter and bonding makes me so happy. Idk what Tim was expecting with these two together again. Of course they were going to bond more and chat. Get off track while doing so. Genny trying to reminisce about the house. Asking Tim if he remembers their mom used to make them pose for pics by that window? Lucy jumps in because why wouldn’t she? Joining in saying her mom did the same thing. The smile on Genny's face. She clearly enjoys Lucy's company. Probably thinking why isn't Tim dating her?

Tim doesn’t look amused by this at all. Even huffing a little bit. They continue on like he isn’t there. Talking about wrist corsages they had to wear. Genny saying 'Why was that ever a thing?' Tim cuts off memory lane. Stating they’re just here to fix this place up and sell it. That’s it. Lucy therapy mode is activated by this comment of course. Stating they’re closing an important chapter in their lives. They need closure by doing things like this. Reminiscing and such.

Tim being so very over this turns on the saw. Trying to drown her out saying ‘What? LOL Such a little shit ha I love him so much though. (So does Lucy heh) Lucy screams 'You need closure!' again despite him trying to drown her out. He screams again 'What?! 'She is so flirty when calls him an idiot. Mixture of exasperated and flirty. Like he’s her idiot and I love it sfm. Also let’s note this is clearly Lucy’s day off. How is she spending it?

Renovating Tim’s childhood home and bonding with his sister some more. Not soulmate behavior at all… It’s crazy just like in S2 you forget he’s dating Rachel. It’s the same in S4 only their bond is even stronger now. Where is Ashley is all this? Not here... Their married vibes are insanely high in this moment.

Tim’s exasperated face when she calls him an idiot haha Epitome of Sunshine x Grumpy. All in front to Genny too. Like Grey I’m sure she also knew long before they did. If you needed a future depiction of their marriage this is it. Sister in-law and all in the mix. This is so domestic I cannot stand it.

As they continue to tear down the wall Lucy is telling them how much she wanted a sibling. She begged her parents for one. Instead they got her a turtle ha. Not really the same thing... Saying it was cute but a little smelly. Then Genny comes in with the hilarious sibling slam. 'Cute and smelly sums up Tim’s teenage years' LOL Saying she didn’t miss much at all. Tim returns the sass in full above. The cute family bonding getting me all in my feels. Lucy is so happy to be apart of this.

Written all over her face. Future sister-in law bonding as well it’s so great. Unfortunately while they’re tearing down the wall they find a gun. Tim goes from light-hearted and fun to serious at the drop of a hat. Genny asks how long that could’ve been in there? Tim isn’t sure. That it’s hard to say. He shows Lucy that the serial number has been filed off. Lucy says they need to run ballistics. Tim nods agreeing with her completely. They're so damn in-sync and just a well oiled machine with work stuff. Just comes together so seamlessly.

Genny panics a little. Says they don’t actually think it was used in a crime do they? Tim lets her know it’s THEIR job to find out. Not just him THEIR. I love it. Genny is upset they’re leaving. Wondering if anyone else can handle this? Tim promises they’ll be back as soon as they can. Genny scoffs and says she knew he’d find an excuse to leave. Tim tells her this is serious. They have to go.

Genny doesn’t fight him and tells him to just go. Lucy’s face when Tim exits the room. She’s torn between comforting Genny and rushing after Tim. Naturally she goes after Tim. He needs her more and is clearly so upset. She’s worried about him so he takes precedence. It’s like an instinctual pull to him in that gif above.

You can tell she wants to stay to help Genny but Tim needs her more. Before we delve any further. Let’s talk about seeing Tim in jeans during this. Phew lord. Tall drink of sexy in tight blue jeans. I am here for it. Break me off a piece. Those biceps in that t-shirt too. Trying to kill me good sir. This man can make the simplest outfits sexy af. How does he do it? It's not fair to be this attractive.

Once Lucy catches up to him she says Genny has a point. He could call someone else to handle this. That he still can. Tim gives her a good company line. Saying 'How a good Sergeant doesn’t create work for his officers. Even on his day off.' Lucy of course isn’t buying what he’s selling. Knows this man better than anyone else. Asks if 'It’s not at all about the emotions this house is stirring up?'

Tim not wanting to deal with his emotions says ‘It’s just a house…’ How you acted all of 4x08 would contradict that statement my love. *sigh* Oh my poor Tim. Lucy hit the nail on the head and he doesn’t want to face it let alone deal with it. Lucy doesn’t press him any further. She knows her boundaries with him. That doesn’t erase the massive worry on her face though. If she could hug him right now she would.

We rejoin them at that station. First off how can two people exude so much chemistry just walking next to each other? Tall/Smol gloriousness. The little to no space between them as they walk together. Personal space? Never heard of her. That word is foreign to them and it makes me giddy. How Tim is drawn to her as they move. Looking like he’s reading the file. When really he’s just magnetically drawn to her. He physically can’t help it at this point.

I can’t get over Tim being in street clothes in the station. Mmm. Not only that but being in jeans plus his badge showing? My god I’m a puddle. This man is my undoing and I welcome it. *Ahem* Their dialogue here is married af. It’s so god damn natural I cannot stand it. Lucy being on it with ballistics. Saying she got it already. Tim comments that was fast. Lucy stating above how she achieved said fast results.

Forever love that silent communication they do. He doesn’t even need to say thank you. That cute little smile does it for him in the second gif. It’s his thank you and she reads it loud and clear. Her buying cookies just to expedite this case? Tell me your ship is in love without telling me they’re in love. Gah this ep is doing things to me. It’s like when you see a cute puppy and are overcome with cute aggression. I’m overcome with amazing cute ship aggression LMAO

Lucy gives him the details she has from the report. Saying the ballistics match a 25 year old murder. Someone named Frank Ochoa. Tim freezes and says he lived down the street from them. He also mentions he was 14 when he was murdered. Lucy continues on and says the investigation resulted in a botched home invasion. Tim replies they can rule that out now that they found the gun in their wall.

Lucy asks Tim if he remembers anything from that night? Tim tells her he had football game. His mom took him and Genny. When they got back it was crawling with cops. That his dad hated Frank. Lucy tells him he had an alibi. Frank’s wife. This incites Tim’s anger even more. Saying he was having an affair with her. She was no alibi.

His mom didn’t know but he did. Ugh. Poor Tim having to live with that. To protect his mother’s feelings by living with it. You can see the hurt on his face. The anger welling up inside of him. So much so when Lucy tries to theorize with him he just says I don’t know. So overcome with emotions of his past. I wanna hug him this entire episode.

This next section we see protective/worried Lucy come out. Honestly she’s present most of this episode tbh. She finds Tim in the hallway headed towards interrogation. Asking what he’s doing? Tim lets her know Monica Ochoa is in interrogation. That he’s going to get to the bottom of this. Lucy stops him right away. Knowing he will go in there like a raging bull full of emotions. Tim shoots back she’s his father’s alibi.

She has the answer to whether it was her or his dad that killed Frank. He's so antsy to have answers. His anxiety coming off him in massive waves. Luckily Lucy is well versed in the ways of Tim Bradford. Knows exactly how to handle this. She agrees but says he can’t be the one to question her. That he will have an immediate bias towards her. Lucy does what she does best. Tells him what he needs to hear. Saying he can’t be the one to do this.

They need to do this the right way if they're gonna tackle this together. The best part is he agrees and hands the file over to her. No fight in him at all. My damn heart. I'm bursting. The immense amount of growth in this man. Seeing her reasoning right away, handing it over knowing she’s right and trusts her to interrogate Monica. The levels of growth for them and Tim as a person are off the charts. I adore him pointing to her then handing the file right over. Not giving it a second thought that she is right. Not only is he trusting her to do this correctly. It’s a family matter he’s letting her handle.

I cannot emphasize enough how huge this is. How far we’ve come from where we started. It’s moments like this where we truly get to reap the reward of all the build up. How Tim ‘I don’t talk about my personal life’ Bradford is handing over the most personal thing he could to Lucy. Saying you’re right, I trust you, let’s do this. To have this guarded man hand the reins over to Lucy is colossal. That wall of his with her is in damn near ruin at this point.

Tim watches from observation as Lucy handles questioning. Monica is defensive right off the bat. Dodging all of Lucy’s questions. Lucy gets her back on track though. Has her recite what happened that night. She says she was over with Tom (Tim's father) doing her taxes. He was a CPA so she went to him for help. When she got home their house has been broken into. Found Frank’s body in kitchen. Lucy tries to poke at the affair a bit more. Trying to get her to admit to it.

Asking if she was with the Bradford’s a lot? If so we're the kids there? Did Tom leave the house at any point while helping her? Monica gets even more defensive and gets up to leave. Lucy isn’t able to keep her in the room much longer. Suspicious af behavior. Tim can’t stand her up and leaving. He confronts her in the hallway. It goes about as well as you’d expect. If you think she was defensive with Lucy amplify that by ten with Tim.

When she takes off Tim says she’s covering for him. Lucy says maybe…but they can’t prove that. For first time he’s not looking at something with cop eyes. Thankfully he has Lucy who is. He’s so determined to see this the way he wants to. To nail his dad for something. If he does it’ll be cathartic for him. Almost likes forcing his father to atone for all his sins with this one crime.

Tim goes to see his father and it’s hard to watch. Tim has tears in his eyes from the moment he steps into that room. All his pent up emotions barreling out of him. He tries to keep himself in check and it gets the best of him. You can hear the hurt in his voice as he speaks to his father. I know that hurt well. His father joking the nurses love him. But not enough to give him a shot of patron. Tim is so irritated with him. Annoyed he always finds people to take care of his even when he doesn’t deserve it. Tom asks him if has something on his mind?

Tim brings up finding the gun, Frank Ochoa, his wife. His father denies knowing her cause he’s awful. Tim letting him know he knew about the affair. He tries to deny it further and Tim lets him know he caught them when he was 13. His father finally giving in with an 'Oh crap.' Then Tim says something that breaks my heart. ‘For some reason I still don’t understand. I lied for you. Lied to mom.’ You can see how that ate at him to do so. He was too young for such a burden.

I think the reason he doesn't understand is he wanted his dad to be proud of him. It sounds messed up but I get it. Wanted him to praise him for something. Anything. Give him an 'Atta Boy.' I so understand that. You’d think the relationship I have my own parents their opinion would mean nothing. Now it does less so than it used to. But there’s still something deep down inside me wants them to be proud of me. Praise me. Say I did a good job. Instead of being disappointed.

It’s some crazy DNA thing with your parents. Where even if you’re on bad terms there is still part of you that wants that acceptance. When really it should be the other way around. Tim wanted his dad to recognize what he had done for him. Even now he wanted that and all he got was emotional abuse as his reply. Belittling him and calling him ‘Poor little Tim-Tim’ I bet you Tim was a very emotional sensitive child like me and he was shut down constantly like I was. Hence that nickname. Ugh. I hate his father so much. Tim asks why he did it? Ruining one family wasn’t enough for him?

His father gets out of bed. Tim tells him to get back in. His father being defiant knowing Tim won’t lay a hand. Says ‘Make me.’ Tim can’t even look him in the eye and his father tacks on ‘That’s what I thought.’ This hurts my soul watch. Feels like a glimpse into how things were for him growing up. Anytime Tim stood up for himself or Genny. This was probably the reaction he got. Him goading him into a reaction. Then when he didn’t get it belittling Tim was the next step for not doing so. *sigh* Seeing the emotional abuse in action is hard to swallow. I hate seeing Tim shrink like he does in his father's presence.

That strong confident man we’re all used to reduced in an instant due to his father. Breaks my damn heart. His father confesses to killing Frank. Goes after Tim some more and says screw him. Calling Tim mockingly a ‘big man’ for dragging him away from his death bed. Tim tells him ' This isn't over..' tears threatening to spill from his beautiful eyes. I wanna hug him so much. His father tells him to get the hell out. *heart clutch* When a parent cuts you down like that and you’re too stunned to really reply. It's a helpless feeling. The rage I feel is a culmination for him and what I’ve dealt with myself.

We return to Tim at the station. Ready to write his father up. Man on a mission really. Lucy comes over to talk to him. Tim word vomits all over her. Coming out faster than Lucy can get a word in. Asking her a favor and getting the DA contacted for him. Lucy finally is able to tell him to stop. Let’s him know she brought Monica back in while he was away. Tim is confused and asks why?

One of the two things I adore about this scene is Lucy’s initiative here. She knew from very jump how emotionally compromised he was. He only saw one narrative and ran with it. Blinding him to any other possibilities this case had. Lucy was the one with cop eyes for him. Brought Monica back in knowing she could get more out of her solo.

The second thing I love is once again is the personal growth from Tim. He doesn’t question her doing this. Isn't mad about it. Hears her logic and her telling him like it is like she does best. Letting him know his judgement was clouded. That Tim couldn't see past the version he wanted. Tim doesn’t disagree. At all. She took charge of this case and he’s not upset in the least. Just curious and asks her what she’s found? I’m just so proud of him. It’s not easy to work on yourself and he has so very much. It shows so much in moments like this.

We cut to Tim back at his dad’s room. There is a finality in the air as he walks in. Gives his dad that shot of patron he has been wanting. Like Tim is giving him little something to gain passage into talking him. To say how he’s really feeling. Calls his dad out on what really happened. What he learned from Lucy. Frank was beating Monica. She lost it one night and killed him. Ran to Tom cause she was terrified. He helped her stage the house.

His father goes off saying she deserves a medal for what she did. That he was an abusive brutal bastard. This where Eric should win all the awards. He is so masterful in his inflections, The emotion in his voice, The tears in his eyes, His facial expressions, Everything. How he calls his father out for being the exact same thing. His reaction is the same as my mother is anytime I bring up something from our childhood. Defensive saying they’re nothing like what you’re bringing up.

Being defensive because they know it’s true. Or so deluded they truly think they did no wrong. Not sure which one is worse tbh. Tom trying to take credit for who Tim became. That he turned him into a man. His reply is so so good. The deep emotion’s in his voice as he tells him off. Saying he became who he was despite him. Yeah you did babe. As did I with my parents. His final words an amazing slap to his father's face. ‘Goodbye dad. I hope it hurts.' I hope it does too.

I would like to say first I adore her coming to hospice with him. Knowing he would need it after confronting his father. Knowing him so well. He would never ask for her support directly. Lucy recognizing this and coming for this reason. He needed her and she knew it. She watches him emerge from his father’s room so distraught. Immediately asking if he’s ok? Lucy looks like she wants to cry the minute she see's him. He looks so broken and sad. Melissa and Eric are just incredible in this scene. That look of intense worry on her face. my heart.

Tim telling her right away he sure as hell isn’t. Divulging his feelings and showing how deeply hurt he is. That his father protected Monica. The way his voice breaks as he tells Lucy this. How his father never did anything to protect him and Genny. All he ever did was tear them down. Physically hurt Tim on top of emotionally damaging him for life. The pre-tears in his eyes when he says but he didn’t think twice for his mistress. Broke half a dozen laws for her...

His reply a mixture of incredible anger and deep hurt. Lucy updates him saying Monica is being processed now. That they probably won’t go after his father. Since he’s on his death bed. Tim is so drained and resigned at this point. Says 'It doesn’t matter. He will get judged soon enough..' The worry is still coming off Lucy in waves. She knows he’s holding something else back. Something that is still hurting him. She is just waiting for him to share it.

Lucy is pleading him with her eyes above to share it. It comes shortly after this. The line that circles us back to the one Lucy said toward the end of 4x08. The 'Tim Test' line she let slip. One that has been eating at him ever since. A thought that no doubt was destroying his mental health further. Adding to his overall anxiety about the connection between him and his father. Worried Lucy viewed him the same way as his father. That she associated his tests with training to the abuse his father put him through. It’s heartbreaking to watch Tim say this to her. Almost begging Lucy to relieve him of his hurt. His deep seated anxiety about this.

To alleviate him of the bottomless worry that she’s made an association between how he was abused and she was trained. NEEDING her to let him know they’re not the same. Because if they are it’ll destroy him. To think he hurt one of his favorite people because he was just like his father. It's not a thought he can handle. The fear in his eyes thinking he had done to her what his father had done to him is breaking him. Tim is unraveling at this point.

It’s the way his body language is defense and guarded as he speaks his lines above. Like he’s bracing for impact. Waiting for her to give into his deepest fears. He’s expecting the absolute worst due to his damaged past. Lucy with all the empathy in the world splayed across her face says ‘I know. You’re nothing like him…I...’ Too stunned to finish her sentence. She's hurting right along with him. Because she is seeing the load he's been carrying and wanting to relieve him of it so badly. She truly believe's he isn't like him. Needs him to know this.

I mean back in 1x04 when she defended Tim to Nolan. When she was at the height of her tests. She said he was 'Calculating not cruel.' Lucy not once believed that of him. Always saw his good heart from day one. You can see Tim take a step back from her in the first gif. His body innately trying to protect himself. He looks so broken I wanna cry. He so desperately wants her to assuage him of his fears.

Yet when she does he can’t believe the grace she is extending to him in this moment. The way he steps back instinctively. Like he isn’t sure he can trust this. That last bit of his wall holding him back in this moment. His gut instinct to retreat from having any emotions. Especially this openly with someone. Lucy can’t stand him pushing away when he’s hurting this badly. Doesn’t waste anymore time and encases him in her arms.

Rushing to not only reassure him but to comfort Tim on a physical level. Giving him the solace he didn’t even know he needed. She does this because if she doesn't she'll start crying herself. She has never seen him this vulnerable. This open and its making her emotional too. Lucy is wanting to absorb his pain, his fears and most of all put him back together. She does so with this beautiful embrace. His beautiful sunshine human wrapping him up in her arms is just what he needed. Pushing away his dark clouds with this hug. He is stiff at first with the initial contact then gives in fully below.

Hands down my favorite hug of all time because of the emotions that go with it. She then reassures him once again. 'You're nothing like him.' We watch Tim melt into her arms fully giving into the comfort she is providing. That wall she’s been chipping at since S1. That’s gone now. Utter rubble after this moment. Lucy validating him is everything his soul truly needed. His person confirming he was a good man. Tim’s body finally surrendering and sinking into her embrace once she spoke those words again. Reaffirming it for him.

Her opinion mattering the most. This moment screaming that in every way. Hearing this from her was EVERYTHING to him. Absolutely everything. I remember when I first watched this moment I was in awe of it. How perfectly he fit into the crook of her neck. Once again they fit together like a perfect puzzle piece. I also knew we were headed towards our endgame. This was our pre-getting together season. The emotional depth out of this episode alone I felt it. The hug solidified that gut feeling.

One of the many reasons why this is my favorite episode of the season. These are the moments I love so much because they’re developing emotionally, as characters and their relationship as a whole. It’s why they work so well in S5 when it finally happens. The bond, the growth, the things they went through together before they got together. It’s what created this amazing base they’re standing on now in s5 and what we will get in s6. I love their journey so much. Wouldn’t trade a single thing in this slow burn. Not one.

Tim shows back up at the house. Looks like Genny has done a lot do work solo. You see the guilt splayed all over his face. He apologizes for not helping out more. Genny tells him she’s used to cleaning up messes by herself…Tim apologizes again for that and says he knows she is. He wants to be a better big brother. Genny compliments him says he’s not that bad. When he’s around....

Tim tells her that’s all gonna change. He’s going to visit for every holiday and call twice a week, and he’ll handle fixing and selling this house. That she should get home to her family. Genny replies sweetly and says he’s her family too. I do love their scenes a lot. I need more of this in s6.

She has them make a deal. That they’ll do this together and be done with it. All of it. I love this so much. There is a lot I don’t love about my childhood. But the one thing I’m eternally grateful for is the relationship with my baby sister. You can’t beat that bond. I am so happy for Tim to have it. Her asking about the gun was too funny LOL I imagine he would tell her even if it’s awkward af.

Side Notes-Non Chenford

Gonna be honest didn’t care about anything else in this ep. Other than Tamara owning Smitty’s ass repeatedly in this ep haha

Thank you forever and always to those who like, comment and reblog these reviews. Makes my heart happy. Shall see you all Monday with 4x10 :)

#Caitlin Rewatches The Rookie #chenford #chenford hiatus #waiting on s6 #winter rewatch #s4 #4x09 Breakdown #the rookie 4x09 #otp: doing my job #otp: you know me so well. Too well. #otp: some things matter more. #otp: you did good #otp: you’re nothing like him. #tim x lucy #tim bradford #lucy chen #lucy x tim #eric winter #melissa o'neil #the rookie #tim bradford x lucy chen

[bowieandqueen11]

Rosy Cheeks / Gwaine Imagine

Request: MERLIN!!!! I would DIE if you did a Merlin drabble/imagine etc. Gwaine has been the loml since I was 10 and would LOVE something to do with a headstrong maid or tavern barmaid reader and him. Like he is so flirtatious and she doesn't think he's being genuine until Gwen points out the way he talks/looks at her. FLUFF GALORE. This request is 100% self-indulgent but I couldn't resist! Your writing is so lovely and I love that you cover so many fandoms. Do what you want with this, sending good vibes :)

I literally cannot believe I haven’t written for Merlin before I think I cried for about three months after the finale aired Christmas Eve ahh but thank you lovely that’s very kind! <3

Clocking in at nearly 4,100 words, this is the longest oneshot I’ve ever written, and I’m knackered! So please, if you like this, do let me know as this took me a solid 3 days to write! 

(I do not own Merlin or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @babinicz.)

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°

You would know the light tread of Gwaine’s footsteps even in the darkest of dungeons. It was familiar, comforting, and most of the time most welcomed from your best friend, but also incredibly infuriating.

It had already been a long enough day: your boss had started to become distinctly unimpressed by the sight Gwaine gracing his doorway and taking your attention away from serving the drinks until far into the night at every opportunity he could find. Between the large crowd of travellers who had nestled their way into the long tables, spilling their drinks on the lone romantics and starting brawls with the for-hire thugs, sweat was already beginning to cloud your vision. It didn’t help that it had been a warm spring day outside; the verdant fields of Camelot blooming to life with fresh grain and wildflowers cropping their borders rolled past your vision every time you went to stoke the already pounding fire at the left edge of the building. 

Wiping your forehead with the front of your apron, you blow out a sigh as you collect the next round of empty, splattered bowls and chipping mugs, and head back towards the counter, counting down the minutes until Gwen arrives and you can finally roll into bed for some much needed sleep. It doesn’t take very long for all your hopes to be dashed, as the phantom pursuing you like immortal love appears within your line of vision.

‘What’s a pretty maiden like you doing in a dank place like this?’

The face of Gwaine peers over the edge of the tavern’s chipped table like an eager chipmunk: all bright smiles, rosy red cheeks, and a mischievous glint in his eye as he stares straight at you. The crimson tint of his tilted head, as red as a cardinal and twice as beautiful, alludes you to the fact that he had probably already spent half the night in romantic pursuit of various poor patrons at the tavern. The slight pant in his breathe as he spoke clocked you to the fact that it was he you had heard pacing around the tavern, scheming up some new hairbrained joke to swat your way. The droplets of ale he wipes from his stubble with the back of his glove clues you in to the fact that he’s been here, watching you, for a while, waiting for the perfect time to strike when you were most busiest, and, of course, when the tavern owner was watching you with a scowl from the barrels.

Little did you know, in fact, that Gwaine hadn’t quite been wasting the night away waiting for the right moment to strike. He had been pacing with his mug by the doorway: half of him fiddling with the rose he has bought off the old lady outside, preparing himself to finally muster his usual courage and give it to you, and the other half preparing to run back to Camelot and go hide in the armoury till the end of time. He had heard an avalanche of pillows being thrown behind Arthur’s door as he had walked past the corridor earlier, and the familiar sound of Merlin’s wincing cry of  exasperation as he apparently dropped the King’s breakfast on the floor, so he was sure his dear friend would join him in hiding away in the crevices of the castle. Gwen could smuggle them food up from the kitchens, and he’d make Percival keep watch out the door to make sure you would never catch sight of how reticently self-conscious you made the usually so blatant knight.

Yet most of all, Gwaine had spent most of his time shaking his head with a breaking grin, strutting up and down and up and down the entrance and getting in everyone’s way. It was only when Gwen decided to stop in during her daily visit to walk with you back home after your shift, that she finally managed to grab his arm and pull him away from the growing mob of irritated and drunk carousers.

You thump the empty mugs down by his left elbow, grinning as a few drops slosh out and drip over his arm. ‘Gwaine, with all my heart I love you, but if you’re in need of someone to annoy I’m sure Sir Leon has finished with target practice by now.’ Sighing, you lean over him to grab a rag from behind the counter, ignoring the muffled shouts of patrons and wolf whistles to grab your attention.

He seems to flush at your words, shaking his head until his hair splays out over his forehead like a warm dawn’s soft and curling mist. He looks down at his feet, then back to peer at you from behind the safety of his fringe, his eyes burning just as fervently as the gold light of daybreak. It takes him a moment to fall out of his love-struck stupor. In mock offence, he raises a hand and grabs his heart, taking a false stagger back on his heels. He prays you can’t see how fast said heart is pounding in foolish, all encompassing, body devastating, stricken hope. ‘How your words wound me, Y/n! Besides, Leon smells like old goat instead of daffodils and mead. Also... I may owe him a few gold shillings.’

You turn to him with an incredulous look. ‘A few, again!? Already?’ Gwaine just shrugs, and smiles all the brighter as he notices you becoming enticed by his shenanigans. If he could just keep you by him for a few moments longer, perhaps he would find the strength to stop stroking the petals between his gloved fingers and hold it out to you like a proper ‘knight in shining armour trying to woo his true love’ would. ‘I may have said that I could win in a sword fight against Arthur - and I nearly did! If only his trousers hadn’t magically fallen down in the middle of it.’

You press the back of your hand to your nose to try and hide your snort, and Gwaine laughs pleasurably at the sweet sound. Waving away an obviously intoxicated customer who was now slamming his glass up and down on the counter to try and get your attention, you turn away from your now seething boss to look at the blithe knight resting beside you. ‘There is no way that happened. Even I would have heard news of that by now. News seems to travel faster than the crow flies in Camelot.’

Picking up your rag, you turn to move away from the man, but a gentle hand encircles your wrist before you can even take a step. ‘No, please’, he starts with a hitch in his throat. ‘Please don’t go yet. I haven’t finished my tale! Besides... it ends with me fighting a dragon, and being declared the true king of all fair maiden’s hearts by a wizard.’ With a tilted head watching your exasperated feelings flash across your face like zings of magic, Gwaine begins to chuckle through his words. His earthen eyes are dream-like as they trace the outline of your eyes, then the dip of your nose, and further to the bottom curve of your lip, as if you were the brightest beauties of all the heavens rolled into one being.

‘You promise you’re telling me the truth’, you ask, rolling your eyes while trying to hold back your own laughter.

Gwaine unintentionally drags his teeth over his bottom lip as he raises his head up again, wetting the edge of his mouth with a final slight lick of his tongue. His gaze drops for a moment, before sheepishly coming back up to glance at your growingly delighted eyes. His fingers dance a final dainty circle around the pulse point of your wrist, before coming up to draw a quick X in the air above his chainmail. ‘For you Y/n, I’ll even cross my heart.’

‘And you’re definitely not here just to cause me more trouble’, you accuse with a jab at his chest. ‘This isn’t another one of your hairbrained schemes to make me lose my job so I can come work up at the Castle kitchens, is it?’ 

For a moment, just a flicker across his usually radiant face, Gwaine looks crestfallen at the accusation. Whether it was due to the fact that you would think of him in such a way, or the thought in the back of his head that he wanted nothing more than to spend every day working in as close a proximity to you as possible, neither of you are entirely sure. He quickly recuperates himself again, and with a shake of his head and a quick wink in your direction, he’s smiling fondly at you once again. ‘You’re very lucky I like a girl who has a bit of bite with her bark, otherwise you may have just broken my heart.’

You groan, but the man standing in front of you, plain as day as he holds his love out to you on a silver platter, is still hopeful in his smile. 

Distracted for a moment by a weary patron politely tapping you on the shoulder and enquiring as to whether he can purchase some late night grub from this tavern, you don’t notice Gwaine playing back and forth with his hand. After you’ve answered the gentleman, you swing back towards your best friend, who looks as if he’s been caught with his hand stuck in the cookie jar. Wide eyed, he swings his right hand back behind his back and coughs innocently.

‘What in all the kingdoms are you doing?’, you ask him as you narrow your eyes, trying to figure out why the knight looks so daunted. 

With a quizzical frown, you grab onto his shoulder and try to peer around the chainmail engulfing his torso, but with every move you make he matches it with a swivel of his head. His smile never falters, but the edges seem to quiver a little... almost as if he were embarrassed? As if he were bashful at being caught hiding something from you. You drop back down onto the balls of your feet and raise an eyebrow at him, both deeply puzzled but also determined to find out what secret the man, who usually gushed every little detail of his day to you as soon as you met, could be hiding.

‘Now now’, he chides, ‘it’s not polite to ask a knight what he’s hiding behind his back. I could be holding keys to the dungeon, sent on a secret mission by Gaius to infiltrate the castle and release Merlin, especially after Arthur locked him up again for spilling shoe polish all over his pretty new tunic. Or, it could be a powerful artefact, or a relic I won on my quest to slay, you know, that dragon I told you about.’ You lift a hand up and gently slap the side of his cheek a couple of times. Gwaine raises his eyes to the ceiling, chewing the inside of his cheek in humorous anticipation. 

‘Or, you could have injured your hand giving Sir Elyan a piggyback ride to the jousting arena again, and don’t want to tell me about it. Or, even more likely, Arthur managed to knock you on your bottom during your sparring match, and you landed on your wrist like the big fool you are.’

Gwaine scoffs, opening his mouth quickly, his tongue ready with a new witty retort to your brazen appraisal. Before he can reply, though, Gwen has nearly shocked you out of your skin by seemingly appearing out of thin air to grab the side of your arm. With one hand resting on your bicep, her other comes around your other shoulder, and she whispers quietly in your ear: ‘Y/n, may I speak with you for a minute before you finish?’ You nod, and with a final teasing smirk at the knight, you allow Gwen to guide you away towards the fireplace, and through the milling crowd of tipsy drinkers and cheeringly clamorous guests. Gwaine watches you recede through the throng with a pang in his heart, taking the flower out from behind his back and looking at it forlornly as he begins to run his fingers over the velvet petals. 

‘She loves me’, he murmurs, letting them fall through his fingertips. ‘She loves me not.’

If only he could stop flirting for one moment, then perhaps he may have had the chance of being truly happy. With a final sigh, he places the flower between his fingers and heads back out into the crowd.

Thankfully for you both, Gwen had been as good-hearted and observant a friend to you both as she had ever been. Once she had finally managed to persuade Gwaine to approach you, she had settled herself into a corner of the tavern, to watch the confession she knew in her heart was coming. In fact, you had an incredibly wonderful network of kind friends, as Gwen would soon divulge to you, once she had tucked the two of you back into the corner and away from the ears of any passing gossips.

‘Y/n, she started’, letting go of you and glancing back in Gwaine’s general direction with an apprehensive peer. ‘Why on earth aren’t you flirting back with the poor man?’

You stare at her in bemusement. ‘Gwen, my dearest friend’, you grab both her hands within your own, and familiarly begin to rub your thumb over the back of her knuckles. ‘As long as I’ve known Gwaine he’s flirted with any breathing, moving woman. For instance, I remember a certain someone being wooed by said knight only ten minutes after he had set foot in Camelot!’ You swing your joint arms between your chests, and give her a comforting look. ‘He’s a dear, dear friend, just as you are, but he’s not serious Gwen.’

‘Oh Y/n, that was different’, Gwen swings back and forth on her feet, ducking her head as she thinks of the best way to relate to you what poor Gwaine had been so poor at trying to tell. ‘Sir Gwaine may be a flirt, but he loves you.’ Before you can even open your mouth to laugh, or shout, or groan, Gwen has gripped your fingers tighter and pulled you another step towards her. ‘And! And, he’s in love with you. How can you not see it?’

Your mouth stutters for a moment, the flickering of the settling fire warming the growing blush on your cheeks until you wish you could fade back into the shadows. Falling backwards, you trust your friend to catch your fall as you lean against the cobblestone wall and stare, gobsmacked. Gwen only nods fervently at your speechlessness, and you can tell by the seriousness lining her face, by the eagerness in her eyes, that she’s telling the truth.

‘Wh-what?’, you finally manage to muster out after a few seconds shock. ‘We’re... we’re friends. We’re friends! He treats me like a friend, like, like he would talk to any of the knights, or Merlin, or, or you!’

‘That’s not true’, she replies, disappointed. 

‘How do you know?’, you ask in a whisper, afraid to hear the answer.

‘I have eyes! Besides, Merlin told me.’

‘About my crush on Gwaine? That little tattletale-’, you begin to rile up, but Gwen could tell from the way you gnashed your teeth and shook your head that you weren’t seriously angry at your friend. You were just disappointed: devastated, even, by the thought of your friends using your infatuation as a source of teasing.

‘Not about you!’, Gwen was quick to correct. ‘Although... that may have come up, just a little.’ She pinches her fingers together and squeezes her eyes shut in apology at the brimming look of annoyance you give her. ‘More about Gwaine though! Apparently, Sir Leon told him in the strictest confidence’, you laugh at that, knowing your friends too well, ‘that every time he’s passed by the armoury in the last two weeks during his nightly rounds, he’s heard Gwaine’s voice echoing inside, practicing to the shields and crossbows how he’s going to admit his feelings for you!’

That... that startles you. With a languid blink, you take a moment to think, before asking Gwen: ‘did Merlin tell you what he was saying?’ 

Gwen places a finger to her chin. ‘I believe it was something along the lines of: ‘my dearest Y/n, from the first moment I was graced with your company, I knew that you would be the only creature in all the kingdoms to hold my heart, forever.’ Sensing your silence, as you dip your eyes and ponder over her words, your friend continues. ‘Besides, Leon’s not the only one! I heard that Gwaine admitted to Percival, I believe during one of their quests, when they were faced with the Dorocha and of uncertain death, that Gwaine admitted his love too. I think while they were roaming the castle, to try and lighten the mood he told Percival that the first day he had met you in this tavern was the best day of his life, and how he wanted to live so he may return to it once more.’

‘See!’, you finally spring to life, throwing a dirty glance at an old drunkard man who was leaning precariously over his table to lean his ear closer to your conversation. With a final swat of your rag in his general direction, you turn back to the intense conversation at hand. ‘He only admitted he missed the tavern!’

‘No Y/n, if you let me finish, he said that he wanted to return as he had made a promise to himself, all those years ago, that he was going to marry you one day. Do you really find it no coincidence that as soon as Camelot was saved, you were the first person he sought out?’

‘He did hug me rather tight’, you murmur, crossing your arms over your chest and chiding yourself for being so blind. ‘Oh Gwen, how could I have been such a fool too? How can I fix this? He must hate me for the way I’ve treated him.’

Before you can finish your musing thought, Gwen has stepped forward to wrap you in a tight hug, squeezing your shoulders before letting go. Sliding her arms down to your waist, she shakes her head. ‘No one could ever hate you, Y/n. And the solution is simple. Go tell him.’

Glancing out across the tavern hall with worry lines deepening your eyes, your heart is relieved to spot Gwaine still milling about; he seems to be entrenched deeply in an arm wrestle with some young, muddy looking farmer, but you can tell his heart isn’t really in to win. Over the course of your conversation with Gwen, he’s spent every excusable reason to glance over his shoulder and back at you. To make sure you were safe. To make sure no one was hassling you. To make sure Gwen wasn’t going to break your heart by indulging his true feelings for you. To make sure you weren’t about to push through the crowd and run out the door, disgusted by the idea. His eyes met yours: aflame, tense, deep set in their worry, and he’s quick to look back down at his elbow again.

How could it really have taken you so long? To realise that his bitten, plump lips, his rosy cheeks, his overwhelming joy was all solely from the thought of you?

With a resolute gasp, you allow Gwen to gently push you off in his direction, despite how thunderously your pulse was flickering through your body. You nod, and let your feet direct your path, not giving yourself a moment to think over the implications of the incoming interaction. After what feels like an eternity of treading water, you come to an uncertain stop behind the three men. Although Gwaine is still chatting with the green-clad man he had been wrestling innocently with earlier, the other crop gatherer seems to have fallen asleep on the table, his crossed arms pushing his mug of ale until it rested against his nose.

Mustering determination, you quickly prod Gwaine three times against his cape, taking a worried step back as he quickly turns to look at you once again. ‘You just couldn’t stay away’, Gwaine remarks with a warm smile when you finally garner the courage to approach the table he’s currently leaning over. ‘I can’t blame you, not many can.’ With his thumb, he points over at the young man gently beginning to snore on the opposite end of the table. ‘This poor lad grew so tired of my wit and charm he had to close his eyes for a bit.’

He stands up, giving a final wink and a nod at his short-lived companions. His tall frame hunches over you as he steps forward, blocking out the rest of the flitting candlelight from the east end of the tavern; the front of his chainmail brushes against where your hands are bunched into the coarse linen of your apron, sending a jolt flying along your fingertips. He seems to be casing you into his very being, that same soft - so soft dopey smile breaking like dawn across his face as he appraises you from above.

Before he can start whittling off again, and you lose your garnered nerve, you break the laden silence by asking Gwaine the most important question you could think of in that moment.

‘What were you hiding behind your back?’

Gwaine seems taken aback by your query, visibly raising his eyebrows as he begins to bite his bottom lip again. You know him to well to think him puzzled: he’s worried, scared that Gwen may have told you the truth, and you have come waltzing over to tell him off, and in doing so, cleave his heart clean in two.

‘Do you - do you really want to know?’, he asks uncertainly, taking the flower out from where he had stored it in his belt for safekeeping, before placing it behind his back once more. You’re swift to reach around his waist, skirting your pointer finger over the bone until you meet his hand. He gives it to you easily, his palm warm and laden with scars as he allows you to unfurl his fingers.  

‘I think... I think I already do’, you reply with a hitched breath, enjoying the way Gwaine has taken to rubbing the tips of your knuckles as you press against his palm. Before you can lift the flower, though, he’s already using his free hand to tuck a strand of hair back from your ear. With a careful precision he’s obviously spent many nights over the years practicing, and doting on within his dreams, he tucks the stem of the flower behind your ear.

‘Well, I’m glad’, he states, dropping the back of his own knuckles down the side of your cheek, until he’s cupping your jaw. Your pulse point races against his skin as he dips his head down with a flash of pearly whites, not satisfied until he feels your nose bump against the tip of his own. ‘For I fear it has been my quest in life to find you, and love you till the end of days.’

‘Hmm, and a knight must never fail’, you mutter between laughter against the side of his mouth.

His voice is stricken: as serious as you’ve ever heard the rebellious man speak, and you know he has choked trying to speak these words many times before. 

‘I don’t intend to.’

A rapturous wave of applause seems to fill the serene air (even your grumpy old boss manages to roll his eyes and pound the table a little), so dreamlike in its warmth, as Gwaine leans down fully to kiss you. His arms wrap around your waist, seeming to pull you in their vice like grip impossibly close to his chest, until the air you both breathe seems to be one and the same. You can feel him smile against your top lip as he tenderly places a second, lingering, caressing kiss against it, before pulling away to look at you.

Before either of you can breathe out a sigh of relief, though, you’re interrupted by the sound of Gwen cheering from the fireplace. The two of you finally break out in laughter, then, doubling over together and holding onto your stomachs as Gwen covers her mouth with her hand in embarrassment. 

#merlin #gwaine #gwaine x reader #gwaine imagine #merlin imagine #sir gwaine #sir gwaine imagine #sir gwaine x reader #bbc merlin #x reader #eoin macken #merlin bbc #bbc merlin imagine #merlin fanfic #merlin fanfiction #gwaine fluff

[sleepingdeath-light]

celebrating mother’s day hcs ; poppy

requested by ; anonymous (14/05/23)

fandom(s) ; welcome home

fandom masterlist(s) ; here

character(s) ; poppy partridge

outline ; “I know this probably won't be posted today, but can you do a Poppy Partridge and a Child!reader where they celebrate Mother’s Day together?”

warning(s) ; none, just fluff!

note ; getting this request a few minutes ago confused me since we brits celebrate in march — but needs must so you get this piece today

you’d been planning for today over the past few weeks, confiding in wally and howdy about your plans since you needed their help the most

howdy had made sure that what you needed was in stock and passed the goods over to you — ‘on the house’ for his favourite little tyke

wally had provided the space to prepare your gifts (with home’s approval, of course)

and julie, with very minimal persuasion, had become your cover — offering to babysit for poppy whilst ferrying you to and from home

the whole ordeal was much more secretive than it needed to be, but it was much more fun that way so nobody was complaining

but after days of thorough preparation the stage was set and your neighbours helped you set everything up in the early morning — before your loving mum was up and ready to start the day

you, with some help from a newly recruited frank, made her favourite breakfast (plenty of pancakes and waffles with syrups and fruits galore) — before he slipped out of the back door whilst you went with a tray full of goodies to wake her up

a very chipper ‘morning, mum’ followed, rousing her from her sleep only to be greeted with her comparatively tiny child carrying about a half a dozen plates stacked with servings of various dishes and desserts

still tired, she smiles at you and thanks you, welcoming you by carefully taking the tray and setting it on her bedside table before pulling you up into a very warm hug — kissing all over your face and making you giggle

then she’ll indulge in the breakfast you made, careful not to spill anything, and insisting on splitting it with you — surprised by how well made it all is (but masking it behind typical compliments like ‘wow, honey, this tastes amazing’ and so on)

the two of you spent a good hour and a half in her bed just lounging and chatting before you remembered her card and gifts and basically flew out of bed to go and get them for her (tripping over your own feet in the process and getting a ‘careful!’ yelled after you in response)

the card itself is handmade and crudely drawn in crayon (a loan done under the guiding eye of wally) — a picture depicting the two of you with ‘happy mother’s day’ written in bold capitalised letters at the top

the message inside is what you’d expect from a child but the effort of it all still had poppy tearing up and wiping stray tears on the feathers of her wings before she finished it and pulled you into another hug — carefully placing the card to one side when you launched yourself at her

next were the gifts: a mixture of suggestions from neighbours and your own intuitions that culminated in quite the sizeable pile of presents

new oven-mitts embroidered with birds and baked goods and her name in the centre — a custom order placed by howdy and designed in part by julie

a new cookbook that frank had bought two of and gifted to you for the occasion, knowing poppy was always looking to expand her knowledge of baking

a painting of the two of you made by wally — a recreation of an older photograph that had gotten damaged a few years ago due to a leak in the roof

and a ‘world’s best mum’ teddy bear that you’d bought for her with your pocket money (howdy tried to give it to you for free, but you insisted so he settled on a massively discounted price)

by the end of it all, poor poppy was in tears and was only able to thank her sweet little fledgling for doing so much for her — pulling you into a hug and kissing the crown of your head as she did so

the rest of the day would be spent in the kitchen helping her experiment with new recipes whilst doing silly dances and singing along to whatever song comes up on the radio

ending the day with a wonderful picnic in your garden as you watch the sun set, stomachs filled with delicious food and hearts filled with love for your little family and the friends that helped you feel right at home

#sleepingdeath #gender neutral reader #child reader #platonic x reader #fluff #fluff hcs #welcome home fluff #welcome home x reader #poppy partridge x reader #poppy partridge fluff

[dearophelia]

best of sara's fic, according to her

Because I’m feeling some kind of way about my cancer lately and wanted to put together a Sara’s Greatest Fic Hits while I’m still around to do it (which is a morbid thing to type, but see the intro: been feeling some kind of way lately).

These range from my most popular fics, to the ones lost to weird posting hours, and everything in between. If I counted correctly, there are 14 fandoms on this list: from Mass Effect and Dragon Age, to Grey’s Anatomy and Stargate SG-1, to The West Wing and Calvin & Hobbes.

I’d appreciate reblogs on this (I am not ashamed to pull the stage iv cancer card here) so it can reach as many people as possible.

I have been writing fic for over 15 years; this is not a short list.

All are rated T or lower unless otherwise indicated. All stories are at or under the 3k mark unless otherwise indicated.

Stargate SG-1:

waves are universal (the heaven in hiding remix) (Sam/Jack; I’m very Normal about this fic; time travel and alternate realities, a host of OCs (and some familiar faces from Norafic if you look closely), oh and the Sam/Jack kid from the alternate reality! Only she’s an adult and working on a way to save the world! This has it all, folks: humor, romance, angst, action! I told you I’m Normal about it; 40k)

strange is the night where black stars rise (Sam; horror! A low creeping sense of doom! The King in Yellow! No, seriously, fuck that planet; 10k)

#sg1wedding (Sam/Jack; their wedding turned into An Event against their will; bets are going down about who would win in a fight: Bra’tac or the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs; also Jack loses his socks; twitterfic from 2012 and technology has definitely Marched On, just read it like an unhinged group chat fic)

phoenix (Sam/Daniel/Teal’c, Sam/Jack, Sam/Jack/Daniel/Teal’c; apocalypse (that I consulted a real live geologist on!); rebuilding in the wake of said apocalypse; team family feelings, kids, and some really shitty neighbors; 38k)

Dragon Age:

joy cometh in the morning (Ariadne; rated M; a host of OCs; mind the warnings; friendship; worldbuilding galore; friendships and mentors and first loves; did I mention friendship and worldbuilding?; 56k)

through the rude wind’s wild lament, and the bitter weather (Ari+Cullen; quiet magic, kind magic, good magic is still new to Cullen)

as the sun kissed the horizon (Ari/Josephine; a relationship in ten moments)

‘til we meet again (Ari+Cullen; platonic sleeping together!)

so hold my hand, consign me not to darkness (Ari; her faith is the core of who she is and, for the first time, Andraste isn’t there; post-Trespasser)

raise your fists up to the sky (Kylie/Krem; it’s Krem’s first day with the Chargers and there’s a naked elf in the middle of camp)

every demon wants his pound of flesh (Krem+Bull; Krem was in the Fade with the Inquisitor and the fear demon had some Things To Say To Him)

black dove (Anaya) & strange little girl (Anaya+Dagna) & dissolving clouds (Anaya+Cullen) (because neurodivergent Inquisitor, friendship, blossoming romance, and three very different takes on blood magic)

skeletons (Zahara+Bull; she is saarebas, he is Ben-Hassrath, and language is important)

children shouldn’t play with dead things (Juliette Amell; she’s always had an easier time with the dead than the living; cw for bugs)

a sorta fairytale (Josephine/Cassandra; flower shop & tattoo parlor AU; 8k)

Mass Effect Trilogy:

gonna set your flag on fire (Nora Vakarian, Liv/Garrus, James/Liara, Liv+Liara, Livfam; action! Humor! Angst! Worldbuilding! OCs!; I am Super Normal about this fic too; I promise everything’s okay in the end, promise, even though it isn’t written yet; Nora is an N3 and has an inactive control chip in her head. She and her team are ordered to investigate a Cerberus facility. It goes, shall we say, awry; 40k)

anthem (Liv/Garrus, Hannah/Zaeed, Liv+Liara; eight months is a long time without each other; angst with a happy ending (I promise); post-Destroy; 13k)

holy ground & dress (Liv/Garrus; ficlets from the night he gets sworn in as Councilor)

brightly shone the moon at night (Liv, Liv+Liara, Liv/Garrus, Livfam; five Christmases in Olivia Shepard’s life; 5k)

the pieces of gold, they light up your eyes & now we’re alone, now we’re alive (Liv/Garrus; the evolution of a relationship)

fighting is said to have reached palaven (Liv/Garrus; please, please let him be alive)

and some things you just can’t speak about (Quentus+Nico; the war)

‘cause i know that it’s delicate (Liv/Garrus; pre-wedding!)

nosce te ipsum (Nico; he likes boys and fanfiction and he didn’t think he’d get his little italicized oh moment)

i will write you love letters if you tell me to (Liv/Garrus; Hannah gives him one of Liv’s notebooks before he goes off to Omega; Garrus does the only thing he can think of with it)

i really need you (Liv/Garrus; James POV during the reunion scene in Priority: Palaven)

you look really tired (Liv/Garrus, Liv+Liara; post-Thessia, Olivia’s not doing well)

hey, so, ground rules (Liv+Zaeed; it’s a lot weird now that he’s dating her mom)

and all the scars you bear are from a previous war (Liv+Quentus; Mom!Liv)

you can hear it in the silence (Liv/Garrus; just a moment, post-war)

this all started because of a bad day (Liv/Garrus; from first meetings to matching rings)

combat, i’m ready for combat & turn on your favorite nightlight (Hannah; she’s a civilian and her daughter isn’t, and she’s bound and determined to know what Liv goes through when her boots hit the ground; Hannah, Zaeed, Liv, and Garrus hit up Armax)

four quarians who never made it back to the fleet (and one who did) (kinda what it says on the tin, honestly. Oh, Tali’s in this!)

everyone’s lost, the battle is won (Evangeline; somewhat predictably, my experiment in getting as many of my team killed as possible resulted in Feelings About It)

across the sky (Susan/Liara; how to make the Control ending feel good)

and yours is in red underlined (Vanessa; The Illusive Man has pissed her off for the last time)

i’m headed straight for the castle (Vanessa; renegade control ending; kneel before your queen)

Mass Effect Andromeda:

for saviours (Tori; ten scenes from a pre-Andromeda life; 10k)

ringing joyful and triumphant (Tori/Liam/Jaal; just some morning fluff)

the thing with the baby angara (Tori/Liam/Jaal; thinking about the future)

the undone and the divine (Tori/Liam/Jaal; the lone single solitary explicit fic on here, give it props for that alone; Liam gets absolutely railed by his partners. That’s it. That’s the fic.)

you’re like the thing that makes the universe explode (Sara Ryder/Suvi, Drack; kid, the only people who don’t know that you like Suvi are people who haven’t met you and Suvi)

this one’s for the torn down, the experts at the fall (Tori+Garrus; one night in the intersection of Victoria Ryder and Archangel; maybe they’re better friends than they both thought)

The West Wing:

a great revelation sigh (CJ; she’s Chief of Staff; ten steps to the apocalypse; the apocalypse source probably didn’t age well, heads up)

it’s in my blood and i won’t give up ‘cause it’s running through my veins (Amy+Andi; it’s Election Day in the future and Amy has nothing to do)

Grey’s Anatomy:

dropsonde (the singers in a lower choir remix) (Addison/Alex, Derek/Meredith, Addison+Derek, Addison+Mark, Mark+Derek; the one that kicked off all the remixes; absolutely off the rails from canon somewhere in S3; budding romances and kidfic and my theory about people being storms and lighthouses; 40k)

scarlet city (Mark/Addison, Burke/Cristina; film noir gangster and detective AU; Addison’s the gangster, Burke’s the detective; literally everyone I could fit into this fic shows up; also Denny is comic relief; 18k)

Misc:

access records (Star Trek Voyager; Naomi Wildman’s holodeck access for the past week; worldbuilding!)

in this twilight our choices seal our fate (the song in the house of night remix) (SVU; Olivia/Elliot; rated M; on the rise and fall of partnership; probably a little too much religious imagery but what the hell else am I gonna do with a minor in religious studies?; 4k)

the end of days job (Leverage; Parker+Eliot+Hardison; the apocalypse job, basically; this one ages well!)

let the only sound be the overflow (D&D; Calia/Kelpie/Edal, aka ot3: fathoms below; the ocean is big and they are not)

we are golden stars above silver seas (we hear echoes from another galaxy) (Calvin & Hobbes; Calvin+Susie; throughout all those years, she never gave up on him; this one went viral on tumblr [LINK] and I cleaned it up for the AO3 version)

lift her, pull her, from the orchids (Grace and Frankie; Grace/Frankie; the one where I invoke the spelling bee)

rocket queens (Babylon 5/Pacific Rim; Susan Ivanova/Talia Winters; look, they’re jaeger pilots, I really don’t know what else to tell you)

the great gig in the sky (Battlestar Galactica; Six; rebirth is painful, she forgets this sometimes)

#screams hits post #s:words

[ofallthingsnasty]

Do you know any other yandere/dark conent like yourself?

fyi you sent this twice and i've had someone in my inbox in the last weeks with the same 'problem' - your app/connection might be fucky, just so you know haha

Sure I do!! I don't know what fandoms you're looking for, so I'll just throw a whole bunch of people at you I adore. In general, check my fic recs tag!! I don't read much but I've reblogged a thing or two in my day, haha

@after-witch I love Theo - I've been following her for three years now and her writing is divine. She writes very delicately - if you like psychological horror/dark fic, bleak fates and that sinking feeling in your stomach, her blog is just the place! Theo has written and writes for a lot of fandoms (from JJK, HxH, BNHA etc to original content), I'm sure you'll find something you'll like. @391780 You HAVE to check out Early's stuff. Fat reader fics galore. They write everything from romance to soft dark to dark fic, all CoD. I know nothing about CoD but by some strike of fate her fics landed on my dash and I've been in love ever since. You don't need to know anything about that fandom, trust me, you can go in blind and you'll fall in love just as much. If you like dark dark stuff, her Nikto masterlist is perfect - and the Nobody series is my ultimate fave of theirs. So delicious, you'll want to curl up and cry afterwards (out of joy).

@darkficsyouneveraskedfor Roo is THE darkfic writer to me. She writes MCU/DC and again, I haven't watched a Marvel movie since 2015 - but you don't need those to read her fics. She crafts AUs you've never even thought about - and masterfully so. Seriously, I especially love her historical stuff and the way she puts you into these worlds is something else. Roo's writing is very direct and raw and hopeless. She doesn't write happy ends and it's amazing. One of my favorite series of hers is Tapestry , a medieval AU featuring Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes. If you want something even darker, Splintered is another masterpiece of hers that I've been screaming about on here for literal years 😭💕

@stupid-sloot-headcanons is another fixture on the 'dark fic side' of tumblr to me. Sloot has ... everything. Seriously. Pluck in a random fandom of yours and 9/10 times, she's written about it. Her thought/characterization posts never miss, she just gets characters through some form of magical mental connection, I swear.

@thus-spoke-lo Pain Management. You will read this. Now. No discussions. Adshjshfj but seriously, Lo has written SO much. So many different tropes, so many different levels of romance. I'm on a One Piece kick right now and her whole OP masterlist got me through the first 300 chapters of my re-read... The twists, the turns, the love (or not) - experience it for yourself (╹ڡ╹ ) And of course, I have to mention @girlwithsharpt33th and @tang3r1n - they're both still 'fresh' but give them a scroll... Things are brewing and they're perfect and disgusting and abhorrent 💕

and a rest in peace goes out to kyneslust (mae) and captainmcslashypaws... you two are missed. so much. 😭💕

#fic recs #ask #anon

[whatsmyline-pb]

I need to discuss the insanity that is Harry Potter’s trauma. So without further ado, I’ll delve in.

General childhood trauma:

-Orphaned and raised from age one in general neglect and abuse

-Specifically: confined to a Cupboard, denied food, physically and emotionally abused, full on neglected

-In the end and throughout via Dumbledore/Hogwarts: Under constant life-threatening situations, subject to authority figures disabusing and denying his realities, used as “pig for slaughter”, and having truths constantly withheld from him.

Deaths witnessed first-hand:

Mom and dad

Cedric

Sirius

Dumbledore

Hedwig

Dobby

Crabbe

Snape

Other deaths, unwitnessed but still v. emotionally damaging:

Mad-Eye

Tonks

Remus

Lavender Brown

Colin Creevy

Fred Weasley

Kills:

In first year! Quill, however unintentional

Peter, same but during war

Voldemort, nuff said

And I mean…Harry walked willingly to his own death after all of this…Wtf? It’s not even that surprising he was able to embrace it, heartbreakingly. In my mind Harry’s fatalistic… like, yeah, this has been a 17-year shit show, fuck it I’m done. But also the opposite…isn’t he also like, I’ve suffered enough, give me a goddamn break? What do I even owe you, you assholes? And he just takes it. Truly a testament to a character who embodies heroism and selflessness to an unhealthy degree.

Anyways, all of this equates to the most fucked up human ever IMO. PTSD galore on so many fronts and I don’t even know where to begin but so desperately want to write a fic that encompasses dealing with all this trauma (it’s soooo much Aaaahh!) It seems near impossible to do without a ridiculous amount of trauma-dumping.

Which is also to say: I have a problem with canon-compliant, post-HP stuff. It’s all too pretty-with-a-bow-on-top, even considering the Cursed Child story-line. Harry marrying Ginny, having three kids and becoming an Auror is just…absurd. At least without some otherness. Be it crazy trauma porn or something smaller that devolves his present/future scenario into chaotic nothingness turned into something else far more sturdy. Because in no world do I feel Harry ever should be an Auror, at not least long-term. (Which isn’t to say I don’t enjoy well-written fics where he is an Auror for the duration or not, don’t get me wrong!)

But thank god for fandom exploring all these things. Because TERF JK prettily wrapping things up does not compute to the insane amount of trauma she’s introduced.

Fight me. Agree with me. Land somewhere in between. Curious about your thoughts! 😘

#harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #drarry #drarry fanfic #character study

[ur-mousey]

~ Ground Zero ~

fanfic links included

.............................. ABOUT ME:

Hey, I'm Sydney ♡ 20 ♡ She/Her ♡ Welcome to my decrepit lair that will be filled with fantasies galore! I write yandere smut for the girlies, guys, and non-binary hoes.

☉♓︎ . ☾♎︎ . ☊ ♋︎

.............................. GOALS:

I will make it my mission to post at least twice to three times a week!!

.............................. REQUESTS:

I take requests! There is a forum in the description of my profile to leave requests. Pls do so there or I might not get to your idea.

Rant Post suggestions can be made if you want to hear my opinion about certain medias like the fandom in the description.

I will add links to all of my posts here eventually ~

RULES:

* Leave a description of the pairing in mind and their situation. Ex: Yan! Sukuna x faun! reader + dark home * Please specify the gender of the reader! Or they will be written as I see fit. Most likely female. * I write Yandere non/con + dub/con content.

Without any other specifications to not include those topics, I will assume to write that in. * Don't Spam your requests * NO requests for incest, step-family is cool. Stories with underage characters will be age appropriate. Or the characters will be aged up. Everything else is on the table, however, depending on how graphic, your request may be denied. Certain kinks like vore, scat, piss, etc. are off limits.

.............................. FANDOMS:

Anime ~ * Jujutsu Kaisen * My Hero Academia * Blue Exorcist * Soul Eater * Attack on Titan * Hunter x Hunter * Haikyuu Random ~ * The Folk of Air Series * Class of 09' *The Coffin of Andy and LeyLey Original Works ~ (link in random until further notice) *Entangled Lies - Rhin (tentacle monster) Rant Reviews ~ (these are posts that I share my opinion on) *Ghibli Movies + Anime Movies *Collar X Malice (otome games) *The Coffin of Andy and LeyLey

>>>

Obviously, I couldn't include all the fandoms I know cus I just can't remember them all. If you happen to request something not on this list, it doesn't mean I won't write about your fandom! It just might take me a while to research, or watch the show myself.

#masterlist #blog rules #yandere smut #link #rant review #jujutsu kaisen #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #chainsaw man #blue exorcist #soul eater #attck on titan #hunter x hunter #haikyuu #the folk of the air #the cruel prince #the wicked king #the queen of nothing #studio ghibli #collar x malice #class of 09 #class of 09 the re up

[sitp-recs]

HP Rec Fest, Day 9

Rare pair galore, my moment has come!!! This is probably my favorite rec post so far. I mean, I’ve been reccing rare pairs for @hprecfest prompts already so I’ll take this opportunity to champion my favorite rare pair writers and focus on some niche ships that I would not even consider had I not stumbled across that particular fic. Idk how many people out there indulge het ships but if anyone’s looking for something steamy hot and well-written oh boy, do I have some treats for you. You’ll notice that most fics fall within the “problematique” category due to the age gap aspect (which let’s be honest, it’s the reason why I considered reading them in the first place 🌝). By the way, some of these are the only fics written for these ships, how cool is that?!

Day 9) A 5 rare pair fic (less than 2000 fics)

Opposite Ends by pauraque (Millicent/Aberforth, E, 1.5k)

She thought she'd feel different after they'd fucked. He's lived long enough to know that he wouldn't.

would never imagine these two together in a million years but omg so freaking hot 🥵 we have so little canon info on them but both povs are fascinating and full of personality

Gouge Away by tamlane (Millicent/Victoire, T, 1.7k)

The Weasley girl has developed a keen fascination with Millicent's woodworking shop. Millicent can't seem to get rid of her, no matter how hard she tries.

another surprising but quite charming pair, I love the set up and dynamics here - so much UST under 2k wow I need more wlw age gap!

Drip, Honey, Drip by tamlane (Lily Luna/Michael Corner, E, 3k)

Lily's boss catches her daydreaming on a Friday afternoon. He thinks there could be a business opportunity in it, and he wants to hear more. Sequel here.

this fic turned me on blew my mind! very original concept perfectly executed, the sexual tension is so dripping hot and intoxicating I thought I’d combust. the sequel is equally delicious, 10/10

testosterone (sounds like a spell) by pauraque (Justin/Hannah E, 7.7k) 🏳️‍⚧️

Justin never returned to Hogwarts after the Death Eaters came. He's found that the Muggle world offers other kinds of transfiguration — a body alchemy far more powerful than any magic spell. Sometimes he wonders if anyone even remembers that once, years ago, he was a novice wizard.

one of the best, most sensitive and moving trans stories I’ve read in the fandom. it’s such a privilege to follow Justin’s journey and I adore the way he clicks with Hannah. fabulous sex scene too

Burned Silk, Buckled Leather by @ruinsplume (Draco/Sirius, E, 12k)

When Sirius discovers a down-and-out Draco Malfoy lurking around the edges of a Muggle kink club, he thinks he knows just what Draco needs. He isn't expecting to run into some long-buried needs of his own.

my favorite Draco/Sirius out there, this fic has RP’s trademark: sinfully hot, tender devastating smut bringing together complex characters and many emotional layers beneath the surface. the kink exploration here is 👨‍🍳💋 mesmerizing!

#hprecfest2023 #day 9 #rare pair

[kaladinkholins]

hot take time about the mizu and akemi ship. y'all can disagree but i said what i said, because again, it's just an opinion!!!!

putting the rest under a cut so y'all are free to ignore this if you want. i'm just rambling anyway and, again, these are just my personal opinions.

okay like i gotta hand it to blue eye samurai like it's genuinely impressive that they've written their characters so well, like each one of them feels so real and fully-realised

and as a consequence of that, it actually. for the first time ever. has me rooting against a sapphic ship becoming canon endgame LIKE LMAO ???? i didn't think that was POSSIBLE but here we are ???

cuz like if you know me at all you know i usually instantly latch onto any femslash ship at any given opportunity. like i don't think yall understand. i was ride or die for korrasami before it was even remotely a thing, like at that point korrasami was still a CRACK SHIP in the fandom and i was gunning for it immediately and begging them both to leave mako's stupid ass!!!

but SOMEHOW this show, with all its gender fuckery galore and all its well written characters, has somehow made me look at the mizu/akemi ship and say "i'll pass." like dont get me wrong i was pinning my hopes on it initially in the first episode, but by the time i got to the end??? NAH.

like don't get me wrong they ARE cute and sexy on paper and i DO definitely see them developing feelings for each other (mizu towards akemi especially, less so the other way around because akemi just does not strike me as the pining type) but for an endgame? nah. it'd be weird and messy for both of them like!!! they'd be bad for each other!!!

they both want and need completely different things in life (mizu wants vengeance but needs acceptance/belonging; akemi wants freedom but needs autonomy and empowerment).

and they don't even share much in common that would help them bond in a romantic way? like not even interests-wise, but like. personality-wise too. their perceptions of life and approaches and experiences all directly contrast each other. like i know that they're narrative foils and all, which is great, excellent really, but romantically? there is no common ground between them.

besides, of course, both being AFAB and struggling with the patriarchy and misogyny, both having a surrogate father figure who raised them (swordfather for mizu; seki for akemi). aside from those things, they diverge in almost every single way?

like i do get the appeal of the "yin and yang" dynamic of opposites attract in ships (i have so many such ships from other fandoms after all), so i do suppose that, if given enough time for a really long and intense slow burn, it could work. but with all the plot plot plot the show's got going on, i don't know if that's going to be possible, especially now that mizu is ??? apparently going to london ????

and what would their endgame even look like? the two of them running off into the sunset together? why? when akemi has everything she wants and needs in edo palace? which, by the way, is completely the opposite of what mizu wants and needs, as mizu needs a place where she is free to be herself and is accepted and loved for who she is. she does not need, nor want, a life of political intrigue. she is not made for it, nor is it meant for her. akemi, on the other hand, is perfectly suited for such a life, while being completely unsuited for a life on the road, travelling, or living on a farm in the middle of nowhere. nor would akemi like or enjoy such a life either! she'd get freedom, yes, but it would hardly be fulfilling, especially now that she has decided that she wants greatness!

i don't know. if they become canon endgame, the show better put in the work. because this is a netflix adult animated show with the freedom to do that (unlike, say, cartoons on nickelodeon and disney where the creators all faced heavy censorship to get some rep in), so if they're taking the sapphic endgame route, they better buck up and put their backs into it because seeing the state of it right now, the chemistry is bone-dry and the prospects are disastrous!!!!

so until further developments prove me wrong and change my mind, every time i see mizu/akemi content somehow escape the confines of the mute function, i just reenact the gengar gay wrongs gif:

#fandom.rtf #wank.mp3 #shut up haydar #blue eye samurai #mizukemicritical #also i say critical not anti because im not 100% against it #like lemme be clear i support gay women's rights and wrongs!!!!!!! in this house we stand up for toxic yuri rights 🫡 #but! i'm talking about like. from the perspective of what i want to be the canon endgame of the show #like i fully endorse the show exploring a romance between them! #but im crossing my fingers hoping they are not the final canon relationship ykwim dkjfksjfsk #but regardless of my feelings just know i'm still out here in the trenches defending them from the reddit homophobes 🫡🫡🫡

[sparklepocalypse]

And now for something I haven't done in an age (mostly because of that, you know, dozen-year hiatus from being active in fandom, which ended abruptly this fall)...

It's Fic Rec Friday!! I'm going to try to do this every other Friday (if not every Friday; TBH it really depends on my brain at the end of a given work week...), and share the links to 5-ish of my favorite fics. These will likely be multifandom rec posts pretty frequently, so just a heads up there, but I'll clearly mark each fandom included and chunk the recs out that way in the posts.

Will I rec new fics? Seems likely! Will I rec old fics? Signs point to yes! Will I rec WIPs? Probably just completed fics for now, but we'll see! Will I be effusive in my praise of the fics I rec? Absolutely!

Recs after the jump to save you a scroll...

Red, White & Royal Blue

With so much of my heart (that none is left to protest) by @kiwiana-writes [Alex/Henry acting AU | rated E | 65.5k words] Former child star Alex meets theatre graduate Henry in a queer stage reimagining of Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing.

This is the first fic that I ever yelled at MJ about, and there's been plenty of yelling since then. It checks all the boxes: it's an AU (my beloved!); there's a heap of drama on and offstage; there's big huge romance; there's really delightful humor. Also, you will feel the need to give their Henry a hug. The way MJ writes Alex and Henry always reaches into my brain and scratches it in the right place, and they'll absolutely be a frequent flyer in these rec lists.

Please Don't Let Me Be So Understood by @cha-melodius [Alex/Henry corporate AU | E | 20k words] Alex and Henry are colleagues who can't stand one another. They're assigned to mandatory reconciliation by their boss, but their therapist assumes it's actually couples' therapy, and well... things escalate from there.

How do I love this fic? Let me count the ways... after I crash-landed into the RWRB fandom this fall, this is one of the fics that really stood out to me when I was sort of frantically trying to digest all the M and E-rated (I know, super shocking) fic that the fandom had to offer. Sara always handles her characters with such care, regardless of the situation she throws them into, and couples' therapy that's not supposed to be couples' therapy is no different.

What Do I Know? by @three-drink-amy [Alex/Henry amnesia AU | E | 83.6k words] Alex has a serious car accident and wakes up a week later in the hospital with no memory of the past five years. He's shocked to learn that he and Henry are married, because they hate each other... right?

Put on your favorite angst pants for this one, because it's going to hurt. I absolutely had to pause and cry during this fic, but it's so, so well written that I can forgive the face leakage. And the promised happy ending absolutely delivers! Just, you know. Brace yourself because ouch.

Star Trek

How High the Moon by kyliselle [Kirk/Spock AOS AU | E | 37.7k words] After the destruction of Vulcan, Spock shielded his mind to protect it from his broken bond with T'Pring. Little did he know another bond had already formed in its place.

This is the first Star Trek (2009 Abramsverse) fic that made me absolutely feral, and I share it now with you because it's just that good. I'm a little bummed that the author hasn't claimed it on AO3 following the original archive being shut down, because I would love to yell at them on AO3 about it and know that they see the comments. But it's so good. I am a huge sucker for soulbonds, and Vulcan bonds in particular where they've got the telepathic component, and accidental Vulcan bonds in particular in particular, and this fic absolutely delivers. Angst galore, though, so just like with the previous rec, you'll need your angst pants.

Smallville

When a Strawberry is Pushed into a Mountain by Thamiris [Clark Kent/Lex Luthor | E | 33.1k words] While studying at Metropolis University, Clark takes a literature class and, with Lex's help, finds a new appreciation for poetry.

If you have an appreciation for Beat poetry, beautiful phrasing, and the DCU/Smallville, you'll love this fic. Thamiris was an incredibly talented writer who unfortunately passed away in 2007, but a group of her friends ensured that we'd have access to her writing in perpetuity by archiving it for her on AO3. This fic was one of the influences of the body calligraphy and intercrural sex fics I wrote for Kinktober 2023; just gorgeous, gorgeous prose altogether.

#fic rec friday #red white and royal blue #rwrb fic recs #multifandom fic recs #star trek fic recs #smallville fic recs #read these fics #they're so good #i can't even