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precious-little-scoundrel · 6 months

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Sarge & lil Mama: Wouldn’t it be Nice?

Fully co-authored with: @ab4eva 🤍

Summary: In between shooting movies and topping charts, Elvis Presley takes his young family to the California beach for some hard earned frolicking, nothing extraordinary occurs, but then again, extra and ordinary are words redefined since Elaine gave him five children under the age of five.

Date: 1962, Summertime

Word Count: 9k

Warnings: PG13- The accidental destruction of a child’s sandcastle, breastfeeding toddler, talk of being uncircumcised (including by children + children being aware of it), use of several nicknames for a man’s member, someone’s hair accidentally being set fire to, language, a minor injury involving sand in the foreskin + lots of talk about it (including by children) + treatment of the injury by uncommon methods while children are present (but not directly involved), Elvis being a big baby, Rosalee being distraught about her daddy’s injury, a child willfully acquiring a knife and threatening to cut off fathers member (more wholesome than it sounds) but has it taken away before anything can happen, parents kissing while children are present.

Jerry thought the day had been going quite well. Beach days were supposed to be carefree and rollicking and generally a time to let loose and soak up salt spray tranquility, and today had been correspondingly mellow. Or at least, everyone tried their best, a break from those back to back Wallis pictures doing wonders for EP and giving him a chance to take the kids to see the ocean for the first time, or the first time that some of them can remember .

It gave the day both a heavy amount of purpose and a giddy sense of long sought freedom. Away from the hustle and bustle of Hollywood, nestled between the Santa Monica Mountains and the cliffs of Pacific Palisades, sits a beach so serene and beautiful you’d think you were a thousand miles from nowhere instead of a stone’s throw away from the City of Angels. Miles of smooth, sandy shoreline and calm ocean waves, not to mention the virtually non-existent crowd, made it the ideal spot for their getaway. They would have space, and privacy, away from the prying eyes and curious shutterbugs that seemed to follow their little gang wherever they went.

They had a good little headquarters set up on the sand, a sandpit and bonfire beginning to be used for the evening’s meal of s’mores and hot dogs, a half a dozen umbrellas erected and a carpet of towels. Often they held a dozing child, nestled in a nest of cotton stripes when their little bodies couldn’t keep up with the games so vigorously played on at the water's edge. An hour ago Elvis had been there himself, laid out and snoozing next to Rosalee, his face in the shade but the entire rest of him in the sun’s full glare, clad in a wispy muslin shirt that had a penchant for riding up his belly with each gust of wind and tiny red shorts that he’d swiped from Edith Head’s costuming department after the latest film had wrapped.

“Those’ll make for some crazy tan lines.” Billy had remarked about it to Elaine while grabbing a beer from the cooler.

She’d just hummed dreamily while watching the way her man and their baby’s breath synced up, the little girl not even a third as long as his lanky frame, positioned in a L, her pasty baby skin in full shadow from the summer sun.

The cat nap had revived Elvis immensely and he was back at it within an hour, playing football with the boys while Elaine floated between her children, one minute collecting shells with Ella and Rosalee, the next inspecting a tiny crab Jackson had found. Jack, as his family called him, was intrigued by sea creatures and creatures in general, so he happily set about running from one thing to the next, crouching down to study a jellyfish that had washed ashore or gently returning a live sand dollar back to the water. At the ripe age of four years old, Jesse considered himself one of the guys, and was allowed, begrudgingly by some, to take part in the football game. Elvis had taught him how to throw a football almost as soon as he could walk, he’d been obsessed with any sort of ball since before he could talk and so was a natural. And Daisy Mae? For once she was sat quietly by herself, plastic buckets and pails all lined up in a row, diligently building a sandcastle..

It had three turrets so far, and an outer courtyard like the real life castle mama had driven them all to see when in Germany. Jesse had insisted that Daisy only recalled it from pictures and not memory, as she had been “just a baby” but she insisted she did. And to prove her point she was creating its layout with painstaking accuracy. Unless Elaine was greatly mistaken, Daisy’s little sand edifice bore a more striking resemblance to an illustration in Scribner’s edition of Grimm’s Fairy Tales, but she would be the first and staunchest defender if asked that the wet mounds resembled Lichtenstein Castle.

It made what happened next even worse as Elaine and Aunt Betsy watched as if in slow motion horror as a cataclysmic catastrophe of toddler sized proportions unfolded as the ball game spread and spread across the white sands. It wasn’t that Uncle Rex was trying to trample on Daisy’s masterpiece, but Elvis threw a Hail Mary pass, farther than even he thought possible, and the next thing anyone knew Rex was skidding to a stop with one foot in the moat and the other on a turret, his team cheering with wild abandon because he’d caught the ball. A high-pitched wail pierced the air, drowning out the gulls and the waves, startling them all.

Uncle Rex’s kindly and sun tanned face turned a little sickly pale upon looking down and noticing that while little Daisy Mae did not look to be in any mortal danger, she was glaring at his foot through a cascade of tears as if it were the cause of all human woe. Then he noticed the turret, the moat, what was probably a stable for horsies in back and the stack of plastic shovels and molds beside it that all bore witness to the four year old’s painstaking efforts. All of it demolished with a misplaced foot and when Rex looked up and saw Elvis running over to ascertain the cause of his child’s grief, Rex coulda swore his wide-receiver days were over.

In an instant, Elvis had scooped Daisy Mae up in his arms, her tears soaking the shoulder of his thin shirt as he patted her back soothingly, swaying gently from side to side and murmuring softly in her ear. Being a father was second nature to him at this point, he had perfected all of the little rituals and responsibilities that came with having so many children all under the age of five. At the same time, he was holding her close and checking to make sure she wasn’t hurt, smoothing the fine hair that floated in a halo around her head and running his hands over her tiny limbs.

“Aww now darlin’ it’s alright, it’s alright, Uncle Rex is awfully sorry,” he soothed her the best he could once hearing her bawling complaint, “he’s awfully sorry, didn’t mean to, such a pretty castle ya got here. So pretty, he’d never mean to do it and he feels sick about it.”

“Just sick.” Rex agreed vehemently, dropping to his knees on the sand beside Elvis and his child, careful to choose an undeveloped patch of sand from which to properly apologize, “I’m ever so sorry, Daisy dear.”

It was typical Daisy fashion for words to be cheap and the devastation of her afternoon’s work a soul scarring affair, and while her daddy’s arms and sweet words were soothing, at least a little, there remained a bitterly painful sense of loss in her little chest that nothing was ever again going to remedy or fill that void.

That is untill Jesse piped up softly at her side after surveying the damage, “Daisy, was this goin’ to be where they keep the wolves?”

Lichtenstein Castle had an large menagerie in back where it’s first Saxon overlord kept the native beasts for gruesome purposes Elaine did not expound to the children about. Seemingly forgetting his insistence that Daisy did not recall the place from memory alone, Jesse was intrigued by the design and after asking her she finally pulled her face out of her daddy’s shoulder to give her big brother a sniffling nod and very pointedly emphasized:

“S’posed to be.” For it would never be now and never could be again, for all her mortal dreams had been dashed by Uncle Rex’s foot.

“We can help finish it!” Jesse insisted. “Look here, Daisy, this shovel is the perfect thing to fix the wolf pen, just needs a bit of sand scooped out is all and it’ll be good as new!” He dropped to his hands and knees and got to work, carefully scooping out sand and water, shoring up the walls as he went. Daisy observed him watchfully from the safety of her father’s arms, hiccuping a little every now and then. Elvis gently swiped the tears from her reddened cheeks, kissing her forehead gently and whispering to her, “Whatdya reckon, Daisy Maisey? Think we can get this ol’ castle fixed up? Uncle Rex and I know a thing or two ‘bout buildin’ things, don’t we now, Rex?” He nodded knowingly to Rex above Daisy’s head, giving him the go ahead to speak up.

“Oh sure we do, I’ve been known to build a sandcastle as tall as your daddy before, ain’t that right, Elvis?” He hunched down beside the duo, eye to eye with Daisy to plead his case. “I’ll even make ya some pretty vines to hang down the side outta seaweed, would ya like that?” Daisy eyed him warily before nodding her head slowly and stating with a great deal of gravity, “Lick-en-stine Castle doesn’t have vines that hang down…but it has trees that grow on the side.” Her small concession was all the affirmation Rex needed to plop himself down properly, grabbing a pail and filling it with sand, talking to the little girl the whole while, regaling her with his favorite parts of the castle he had visited while in Germany.

“What’s going on down there?” Up at Beach HQ under the umbrellas, Elaine asked Aunt Betsy for an update on the toddler crises as she tried to discreetly nurse a rather lanky Jack under a towel he was insistent on throwing off.

He was perhaps getting too old for this, Elaine had to admit, but her milk hadn’t stopped, and she didn’t have another baby yet. “They’re all over the place.” She snickered at the sight of them, as much of them as she could make out which was mostly when they went to the water's edge and scurried back again with refilled buckets.

They weren’t that far off down the beach but Betsy was always nearsighted and so she held the binoculars Rex had brought for whale watching and trained it on the group of men down there hovering and packing and molding sand and fetching water like a great army of ants. Anywhere Daisy beckoned was attended to by a member of the Mafia, with Jesse as her most dedicated foremen, while it appeared that Rex had been entrusted with wreathing the front pillars with garlands of seaweed that he received from further up in the assembly line where Elvis was braiding the slimy stuff with dedicated perseverance and the help of Rosalee’s tiny fingers. Rex and Betsy’s son, Sam, happy and carefree and practically one of the Presley kids himself, plopped down beside Rosalee, far more interested in watching her work than doing any work himself.

“Your man has got the boys rebuilding it.” Betsy summarized with an amused smirk. “Only Elvis could wrangle a group of grown men into building a sandcastle for a three year old…and with such authority. He really did learn a thing or two in the army, didn’t he?”

Elaine smiled softly to herself and held out a hand for the binoculars to better see the little group at the water’s edge. She wasn’t at all prepared for the sight of her husband, tiny red swim shorts and wind-blown hair, breath-taking in his command of an army all his own, pointing and inspecting and generally being an adorable menace for the benefit of his girl. Her darling children were running to and fro with buckets and shovels, laughing and screaming, while Daisy sat like a queen in the midst of them all, the real commanding officer and Elvis only her obedient second. That girl had had her daddy at her command ever since the day she was born.

Jack was roused from his cozy stupor at Elaine’s breast by all of the noise, letting her nipple go with a soft pop and turning his head to the commotion. A lackadaisical learner, Jack’s favored vocabulary consisted mostly of “mama” and food items at this point in his life and having stuffed himself with milk, he proved he was his father’s son by looking away from the sand architects down at the beach and asking her hopefully,

“Cat’sup?”

By that he meant the hotdogs intended for the bonfire but his favorite ingredient in them was ketchup and so they were referred to by it accordingly.

“You can’t possibly be hungry, little man.” She laughed, poking his distended, milk full belly and making him laugh until he hiccuped and that dimple of his dug deep.

“Cat’sup.” Jack persisted, cheeks in full grin and he bonked his soft button nose to Elaine's, holding their faces together with clammy little hands. “Caaaat’suuup.”

“Well, ya heard him,” she giggled to Betsy. “The man of the place says he’s hungry.”

“I don’t blame him one bit. I’m a little hungry myself,” Betsy said, rubbing her pregnant belly and winking at Jack. “What do ya think, Jacky boy, should we get lunch ready?”

Elaine and Betsy set about preparing lunch, knowing the troops would be ready to feast when they finished with all their hard work. There wasn’t much to do, as roasted hotdogs and potato chips were the beginning and end of it, with s’mores for dessert, but they laid everything out on the card table that Betsy had brought, stacking skewers and buns, stoking the burn pit to a good blaze.

The sandcastle crew were just about done shoring up their renovations, much to Daisy’s satisfaction and glee, when the smell of the bonfire wafted down shore, making their tummies suddenly grumble, the promise of sustenance close at hand. The whole gaggle of them made their way towards Beach HQ, and chattering excitedly, descended upon the food like a pack of hungry wolves set free from Lichtenstein Castle.

After the hot dogs had been roasted and consumed, the s’mores fixins were brought out, much to the gathered children’s delight. With the concentration and patience befitting a much older child, Jesse slowly turned his marshmallow over the low flames, just like his daddy taught him. Slow and steady, until it starts to grow and puff up, turning a lovely golden color. It was almost there, almost ready to be popped onto a graham cracker and smooshed with chocolate, a melty, delicious, sugary mess. But then the inevitable happened, because no matter how careful and how meticulous you are when roasting marshmallows, at least one or two, three or four even, are bound to catch fire. It happens in a flash, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

Waving it back and forth, though, that will surely put the flame out, right?

This is Jesse’s thinking at least, as his eyes grow big and he inhales a breath, intending to blow out the flaming marshmallow that is too far gone to save. He waves it back and forth, frantically, the tiny blaze only growing bigger by the second. Those gathered around the campfire watch almost in slow motion as the mallow launches off of Jesse’s stick, flying through the air with the greatest of ease, and lands with a plop on poor Jerry’s beautiful blonde mop of hair.

“Holy shi-“

“Uhem!”

“Somebody put it out!”

“No, no, not the marshmallow, forget the marshmallow, his hair! Get his hair put out!”

It’s absolute pandemonium then as Jerry tries to pat out the flames but only succeeds in yelping as the fire singes his hands, the same goes for Charlie and Billy as they try to bat it out and Elaine and Betsy are no help at all, lost to giggles and trying to make sure no more marshmallows get catapulted off sticks.

“Dunk him in the ocean!” Elaine suggests the obvious and suddenly Jerry is resistant to all help.

“No, no, just, just hand me some water or somethin-“ he backs away from the encouraging hands of his friends.

“There’s a giant body of water right behind ya.” Elvis laughs the same hiccuping laugh that Jack has.

“The salt will ruin my flow, man!” Jerry begs for him to understand and Elaine watches as her peacock of a husband has a compassionate epiphany for him.

It’s no time for vanity, the smoldering sticky bomb in his hair is singeing and casting a nauseating stench over the dessert.

“Jerry, just stick your dumb head in God’s teacup, man.” Charlie coaxes him towards the ocean.

“You’re gonna lose more than your flow if ya don’t.” Elaine predicts as she watches those blonde locks begin to frazzle.

She can tell it spooks him but it’s not enough and in the end they have some free entertainment with their s’mores, watching Billy and Rex dunk their unwilling buddy into the waves. Before Elaine can remind him to swallow his last bite, Jesse is off down the beach and into the waves himself, body surfing like his daddy taught him with an alarming lack of caution. It makes even Elvis nervous and with a sticky peck to her lips in thanks for the meal, her husband discards his shirt and jogs after their son.

The diaspora affects all and soon the bonfire occupants have dispersed, each to their own little endeavors again as the sun begins to dip towards the westerly horizon. There’s frisbee’s being thrown now, higher up the beach and well away from any sandcastles, and it gets quite competitive as the kids are happily intent on burying Betsy and Elaine. The mermaid tails requested by each take additional time to craft and part way through Jesse becomes too restless to mold sand any longer and with tentative steps makes his way back to the towel fort under the umbrella and pulls the family’s famed new Polaroid camera from inside Elaine’s diaper bag.

“Mama, can I?” he hollers, careful to wipe his sandy fingers off on the towel after he notices them near the lens.

“Sure, darlin,” she grins from her sand casement, “Rosa baby, can ya pull my hair back a little for mama? It’s gettin’ in my mouth, thank ya baby.”

“Alright,” Jesse appears before them all knobby knees and tanned little legs beneath his shorts, looking for all the world like a collectible sized Elvis doll, “gimme your best smile ladies!” he imitates his father’s tone so well that Betsy let’s out an ungainly snort alongside her shocked laugh.

“I want a mermaid tail!” Ella, usually so very selfless for so young a child, lets slip her needs with a wobbly lip and yearning eyes.

“Of course you do!” Elaine murmurs, nodding her head to the side, “Lay down beside mama, sweetie. Y’all got enough muscles for one more, right?” she eggs on her boys and Jesse springs to action for his twin maybe a little too fast: “No, Jesse, the camera -don’t, not on the sand! -oh well.”

It’s just money, Elaine realizes, as Jesse’s guilty face waits for her verdict on the Polaroid camera face first in the sand. Luckily her husband makes a whole lotta the yummy green stuff.

“It’s fine, darling,” she insists and the colony of worker bees sets in motion again until Ella has a tiny little tail to match mama’s.

After an hour in this full body cast Elaine ventures with an unassuming tone, “Do y’all need me to get you anything? Y’all hungry again?”

“Yeah, I think there are more graham crackers left over?” Betsy adds to it, a terrible itch on her shin hardly able to be tolerated any longer as her hands are pinned to her sides.

“No, we’re good,” Daisy replies serenely.

“Ya sure?” Betsy’s face shows alarm at the prospect of not being released.

“Yeah.”

Elaine smirks and leans into the sandy hair petting Jack is lavishing on her, “How long do you reckon mermaids last after they get tossed ashore?” she asks Betsy.

“With those men as the sailors?” She rejoins, wryly nodding at the group of full grown men body smashing each other in pursuit of the frisbee, “An hour max.”

Elaine snickers and settles for waiting until someone wants to be carried into the waves before breaking out of her meticulously crafted tail. She doesn’t have to wait long before unforeseen circumstances arise that require her attention. With that sixth sense that motherhood has given her, she senses an injury in the frisbee players even before the concerning hush alerts her to a downed man.

“Ow goddamnit! Ow, ow, owww!” The last thing anyone had seen was Elvis diving for the frisbee with ease, his long and tan athletic form sure in its ability. And now here he was, rolling around in the sand, clutching his groin through his tiny, red shorts and moaning like he’d been shot.

“What is it Daddy? What’s wrong?” Little Jesse is at his father’s side in an instant, dropping to his knees on the sand next to Elvis, his sharp, intuitive eyes assessing the situation like a triage doctor on the battlefield. He takes in Elvis’s hands covering his privates and understands what’s happened, in the way that men always understand when that delicate part of them has been injured, like a sixth sense. “Is it your nozzle, papa? Is it hurt?”

“I think I’ve got sand in my…” Elvis grits out, before blushing deeply and coughing, too embarrassed to go on. Jesse stares at him, eyebrows drawn together, a puzzled look on his little boy face, trying to decipher his father’s unspoken meaning. He looks from Elvis’s face down to where his hands are pressing at his shorts and back up again, a look of recognition dawning.

“In your scarf, papa?” Jesse whispers loudly, the way a little child thinks they’re being discreet but really they’re just announcing your business for the whole world to hear.

Elvis hears the snickers of the gathered men at this and through his pain manages to give them a hard stare, withering in its ability to shut them up immediately, their eyes pointedly looking anywhere but at the situation unfolding before them, though they can’t help their drifting gazes that settle back on the man himself. Jesse’s little boy fascination with his father’s “nozzle” that wore a “little scarf” came from the fact that he himself didn’t have one. There had been no way in hell that Elvis Presley would let any sons of his grow up being teased and tormented in every locker or shower room they found themselves in for the rest of their lives. He had been through so much hazing and shame in his lifetime due to his uncut self that he was insistent with Elaine when Jesse was born that he be circumcised.

Elaine had been torn, and a little bit saddened, by this decision. She had wanted her boys to resemble their father in this aspect, had wanted them to be able to see themselves in Elvis in this most intimate way. But she knew there would be no arguing her point with him, this was one concession she had no choice in. She understood his shame, his embarrassment, but that didn’t mean she had to agree with it. Her man was perfect in every way, this one included. So she had merely tilted her head to the side and given him a gentle, searching look, her brown eyes meeting his scared blue ones, before nodding once and agreeing to his decree.

And so it was that when Elvis taught his little sons how to aim just so in the toilet, or when they went camping and had to use the bathroom in the woods, or when they saw him getting out of the shower every now and again, they were sorely disappointed that their “little men” didn’t have a scarf like their daddy’s did.

Such was Jesse’s preoccupation with making sure that Elvis and his little scarf were ok. Elvis hisses as he shifts his position in the sand, trying to sit up, every move he makes jostling more sand to fall out of his tiny shorts.

Jerry rolls his eyes behind his aviator shades and drawls, “Want me to carry ya to mama, EP?”

“Help me up, dammit, and wipe that look off your face, Schilling. Do you have a nozzle with a little scarf? No? Then I don’t wanna hear it,” Elvis spits out venomously, hissing again as Jerry pulls him up by the hand, throwing Elvis’s arm around him as Jesse rather comically supports him on the other side, his daddy’s hand resting heavily on the little boy’s shoulder. A truly absurd amount of sand falls out of Elvis’s tiny shorts as he stands and Jerry has to bite his cheek to keep from laughing. Distracted by all the commotion, Jack leaves the seashells he’d been collecting, running over to see what all the commotion was about.

“Elbis’ wocket owie?” Jack asks his daddy who he refuses to call by his proper title, taking a sandy thumb out of his mouth as he casually observes the trio making their way delicately across the beach to headquarters. Ever their curious child, by talking age Jack was obsessed with NASA and everything to do with space. He had settled on calling his little man “rocket,” a decision his father was sure he would come to regret in a couple of decades. But as he could tell that Jack wouldn’t be persuaded against it, he had sighed with fondness, ruffling the little rascal’s hair and saying, “Ok, my boy. I see I ain’t gonna change your mind on this one.” Elaine had watched all of this from the darkened hallway in Graceland, biting her lip and trying not to smile, as her three men stood in the bathroom, discussing men things. Jesse was already making blast-off jokes about it, something he would no doubt continue to do for the rest of their lives.

“Oh now, what’s all the fuss about, hmm?” Elaine, having broken out of her mermaid tail at the first sign of distress down the beach, looks over her cat-eye sunglasses at the group slowly making their way towards her. Her motherly instincts kick in as she evaluates the situation with sharp eyes, taking in her husband’s disheveled and slightly embarrassed state - noting with some concern the pained grimace running from his furrowed brow to his twisted mouth, the look of pure concern on her son’s face as he peers up at his father and the barely concealed amusement that Jerry’s trying hard to reign in. Elvis is limping like his leg’s been shot clean off, and she can’t quite make out where the injury lies. There’s no blood, no bruise, no showing bone…she runs through all of these possibilities in a matter of seconds, still puzzled by the time she meets them halfway down the beach.

“Elvis, what’s wrong?” she asks again as she meets them up the beach and takes in Schilling's straight face but bouncing shoulders and Elvis’ teeth gritted glare at his friend. “What’s broken?” Elaine throws her hands up in encouraging exasperation at the mute trio and it’s Jesse who has the composure to break the dire news to his mother in grave, childish tones,

“Daddy’s nozzle is broken.” Jesse tells her and for a split second Elvis can see the identical expression on both Elaine and Jesse’s faces, that alarmed and incredulous mix that makes the beginning third of their eyebrows point upwards briefly in a way that blows out of the water any theories about Jesse being his daddy’s copy. He’s a pure blend of both parents and Elvis thinks that the boy having his mama’s expressions makes him somehow fonder for the almost womanish amounts of fretting his young son already indulges in.

“Broken?” Elaine repeats and she’s already gathered enough comfort for Schilling’s mirth to figure that this isn’t life threatening, pulling down her shades again she ducks to meet Elvis’ eyes and mutters for only him to hear, “Really, honey? We’ve talked about you runnin’ round with a stiffy.”

“It ain’t broke or stiff!” Elvis replies with vehemence driven by pain, “There’s a beach worth of sand down my drawers and all up in my…business!”

“Oh.” Elaine’s mouth trembles in a way that closely resembles Jerry’s suppressed attempts and that’s just great, Elvis thinks, Elaine finds him and his scarf full of sand funny and maybe he will too in a few months when this gets to be a bonfire story but right now it feels like fire in his drawers.

“Woman, I’m in agony over here!” Elvis cries and his wife composes her face with credible ease and looks down to the offending red shorts with eyes intent to solve the issue.

“Do somethin’ mama!” Jesse urges, mimicking his father’s faith that Elaine can work miracles on big or little men.

“Umm ok, yeah of course I-“ she starts to fret herself as she looks around at their entourage, most of whom are starting to take notice of the boss being injured. “Can’t you just -wade out there and rinse the sand out?” She misunderstands exactly how intricate the issue is. “Just pull the legs out a little and…shimmy in the water..”

“I could barely walk to you!” Elvis eyes are wide as saucers and he looks like a hurt child for all that his masculine body is on full display to dissuade her gut instincts.

“Yeah, uh, Boss Lady, it’s like -up, UP his …scarf.” Jerry helps out in his staple, sardonic drawl.

“And it hurts?!” Elaine looks flabbergasted and Elvis gives her one last pained and withering look of incredulity before she shapes up into the doting little caregiver Elvis has molded her into, “Oh Mopey, no, oh dear, I’ll fix it, I-I’ll find a way. We need these folks distracted -Jerry?”

“What am I supposed to do about a dick injury?” Jerry asks, offended at the notion he’d know anything about dicks.

Elaine’s eyebrow quirks in appreciation for Jerry and his staunch idiocy. “I need to rinse the poor thing!” she hisses, “And I need some privacy from our folks while I’m at it.”

“Yeah, she needs to rinse it!” Elvis repeats in a small voice that’s very hopeful and very needy and Elaine slips her hand around his bronzed wrist to keep her husband from fully floating away.

“Elvis, come on honey, just a little further to the blanket fort,” she urges him and he throws his arm around her sun kissed shoulders and hobbles to HQ with unsuppressed little whines at each step that Elaine shouldn’t find so cute but she can’t help it when he turns into a big baby for her.

“What’s wrong with daddy?” Rosalee demands with terror in her eyes and predictably Sam Harrison and Daisy Mae are right on her heels.

“He’s got a boo boo and I’ve gotta rinse it out.” Elaine hushes the brewing hysteria as gently as she can, and even Elvis gives his girl a weak thumbs up of assurance as he drops to his knees on the sand and tugs at the tight pant leg of his shorts. “Like how we gotta rinse your cuts with antiseptic when you scrape your knees, ya know?” Elaine explains patiently while thinking up a plan, “But daddy’s owie is higher up. And I need your help, Rosa sweets. I need y’all to make a blanket wall for me, can ya do that? Get your brother and sisters and hold hands with your towels?”

The words are barely out of Elaine’s mouth before little Sam Harrison seizes his chance and grabs hold of Rosalee’s hand, the essential towel forgotten. The little chestnut haired cutie stares at his forwardness with typical childish surprise before looking to her daddy to see if he’s gonna kill Sam for such an assumption. Elvis is staring at the wide blue sky with gritted teeth and so he missed both the interaction and the way Sam’s mother Betsy comes over and asks after the plan -which Elaine relays with unapologetic diction but pink cheeks. Soon they’ve got a fine little semi circle made with the kids facing outwards and their towels held between them, giggling like it’s a competition of who can keep the most soldierly posture, the felled umbrella doing the work of three in the gap.

Somewhat sheltered for her delicate work, Elaine crawls over her prostate husband and takes in his puckered eyebrows and the trusting set of his blue eyes as he waits for her to fix him. Fix him, oh it’s so silly, she thinks, he’s so silly and she loves him so much and can’t believe she’s humoring a grown man in this stupid fit of whimpishness. Then again, maybe it does hurt.

“I shoulda made ya walk to the ocean like we did Jerry and his hair,” she sighs over him and his eyebrows knit together, further aggrieved at the mere suggestion of him putting in such effort when he’s so dreadfully wounded.

“Mama I’s hurtin,” Elvis objects and his sad glare is the same as Jack’s and somehow she’s gone from angel to being in deep trouble with a grown brat -and Elaine never got taught how to deal with such a phenom, in her own experience it’s best to just kiss it better.

But Elaine was always one to be been torn between doing what’s best and doing what’s asked of her. “My poor pretty baby.” she coos to him and places a wet peck to his plump lips and Elvis pitifully puckers them to receive it as he is still petulant, the praise has him only slightly pacified. “Lemme just grab-“ Elaine ignores the nearby canteen, it’s empty anyway, and instead sneakily reaches into the cooler and snags a Coke bottle. It’s chilled even though the ice has melted throughout the day.

“Here Butnin, open up,” she murmurs and Elvis unscrews his eyes enough to see her lighting a cigar for him and drawing on it with the faded paint of her lips before pressing it to his. The familiar taste and warm rush of the nicotine soothes him and he lays his head back on the towel, expecting her to present that Coke she’s grabbed for him to taste as soon as she uncaps it.

The sky is impossibly blue above him without a cloud in sight and at the edges of the horizon it’s turning violet as the sun wanes, and if he holds very still the burning down south calms enough for Elvis to appreciate the breeze and the feel of Tink fussing over him. Jack’s been getting more than his fair share of doting from her and while Elvis would never fake an injury or embellish it’s severity, when God fells a man it’s his due for a woman to fuss over him.

Drawing on his cigar, Elvis feels her hands stretching out the leg hole of his shorts and gingerly Elaine’s hands creep up his thigh and beyond those golden tan lines. She finds him where he’s tucked himself to the side, soft and floppy in its silliest state, and takes greater care with her hold in him when Elvis hisses,

“Careful woman, it’s burnin’ like hellfire, don’t need your maulin’ on top of it.”

“Sowwy, so sowwy baby,” she simpers as she tries to carefully pull the floppy worm that is a man’s flaccid penis out of his very elastic leg hole. There’s nothing quite as absurdly unimpressive or cute as a soft cock when it’s in repose. A cock with a tan little scarf tugged round its pink head like a nugget bundled freshly in a towel after a bath is doubly so, and Elaine can’t help the grin splitting her face as the comedic aspect of her duty comes to the fore. “We’re gonna fix hims up, Butnin, yes we is,” she whispers as the cigar smoke burns her nose and she gives a furtive glance the sunburned backs of the kids who are still busy competing at being dutiful with the shield wall while the adults pack up the condiments and leftovers at a distance.

Letting his cock lay heavily on his thigh, Elaine deftly pops the top off the Coke and wedges it between her thighs at the ready before gently cradling little Elvis in her palm. She is quite certain she hears her strapping young husband sniffle as she does so. It’s more of a production than one might think, to pull back the foreskin on a soft cock, but Elaine has played enough with her man in every stage of arousal that she is able to uncover the tip with some ease, and the next little bit with only some trouble.

“Goddamn it, Tink, that hurts!” Elvis pleads as he bites at his lip, gripping handfuls of sand, and she pets his bare belly soothingly, knowing he might be childish but the poor man is sensitive.

“I’s gotta gets to him, Naughty,” she says, loath to make it worse but now she’s looking, the dear, chubby little thing really does look a bit raw. “Let mamas take care of ya, hold still an’ it’ll be over soon, pretty baby.”

“Hurts worse t-than breaking a bone, o-o-r a virgin f-or-” her pretty baby informs her of this in a growl that’s not aimed at her but at the situation, nonetheless Elaine doesn’t appreciate the cadence or the subject matter so near her children and picks up the bottle as he goes on pouring out his woes to the sky, “-hell I’d wager a couple grand it’s worse than childbirth! -WHAT THE HELL TINK?”

Elaine tips the Coke and spills it onto his unsuspecting member, thumbing back the foreskin with practiced ease as the bubbles fizz in a caramel dance on top of his little head and pool in his slit before running down to his thigh.

“Hellfire woman that’s ice cold!” Elvis screeches around his cigar with his voice gone up two octaves at least and the harmless appendage in her hand shrinks like a miracle lab specimen. It makes her giggle.

“You said it was burnin’?” she reminds questioningly and she looks so earnestly confused at her wrong doing when Elvis goes to give her the stink eye that he can’t quite manage it, it’s an honest mistake a silly little gal without a cock would easily make. What he doesn’t so easily condone is the way she’s still dribbling the soda over him and trying to swish the sand off with her thumb like it’s a wiper on a windshield.

“Y-yeah I did,” he accepts and crunches partway up to watch and correct her ministrations, his lean belly crumpling up like a washboard and shimmering from the Coke, Elaine licks her lips in longing that can’t be indulged in with a crowd of kids nearby. “But in no world does that mean Coke on a pecker, Laney.”

“Is daddy gonna live?” Rosalee asks tentatively from her distance away and Sam squeezes her hand in either solidarity or hopes she’ll stop being preoccupied during this, their historic first handhold.

Jack takes a peek behind him to ascertain whether his midnight rival for his mama’s snuggles is indeed still alive and after Elaine snaps her fingers at him to turn back around, he reports morosely, “Elbis still alive, Woslaee.”

“But-but he’s crying, he’s crying like you do!” Rosalee protests in a whimper and Elvis’ head jerks up at the comparison to Jack.

“I’m fine, Schnucki, just a little hurt and your mama’s bein’ silly.” Elvis hollers, using her German acquired nickname for emphasis.

“Elaine, enough with the Coke,” Elvis insists, pulled out of transient toddlerhood by the need to control his own nursing and calm his most suggestible child.

“But look -it works!” she eagerly defends her choice and before he can prevent it there's a Coke bottle rim being wedged under the extra length of his foreskin and she’s tipping it back again and watching his hood swell with fizz.

“You ain’t got the brains of a lil bird,” he realizes aloud while watching his wife use cola for antiseptic.

“You say the sweetest things, E,” Elaine titters and looks around at the restless kids before pulling him straight up with the bottle wedged atop, seamless from the foreskin still wrapped around the rim. “Someone oughta call Ed Sullivan and tell ‘em he was spot on. See look, it’s workin’, the sand’s coming out.” She sounds pleased.

“No thanks to you!” Elvis says a little loudly and it causes little Ella to whimper as her own nursing skills are denied their proper outlet this time. She was always the one to patch daddy up, bandaids or dab his cuts with mercurochrome and she finds her sidelining for this injury particularly offensive. The more her father whimpers behind her the more obvious it is that Mama’s care ain’t cutting it.

“Hold still while I rinse this last bit out!” Tink hisses back at her husband in a low tone, actually sounding a little impatient and Elvis realizes maybe she’s right.

“Why’s it takin’ so long? Is daddy gonna bleed out? Mama?” Rosalee starts up again and Elvis swears that child’s nightmares are as bad as his, only she has them when conscious.

“You can’t bweed oudda yer wocket,” Jack helpfully informs where the trouble lies (daddy’s rocket), while rolling his baby blue eyes in disdain for female stupidity. “But a wocket can snap off.”

“Why’d his rocket snap off?” Rosalee wails in concern for any limb of her fathers being snapped and little Sam let’s go of his edge of the towel wall to thumb a tear track away from her chubby cheek.

“‘Cause God doesn’t lub Elbis.” Jack clarifies.

“We should just snap it off all the way, then it’ll stop hurtin,” Daisy surmises in hopes of comforting her now sobbing twin.

“I can’t lose him, I can’t lose daddy! We jus’ got him back!” Rosalee’s grief brings Betsy over who tries to comfort the girl while watching as the thin barrier of privacy for Elaine’s work starts to waver like a Roman shield wall when met with the War Elephants of Carthage.

“Then we should snap the wocket clean off,” Jack insists gravely with a dimple creating a cavern in his milk fat cheek.

“Pete’s sake! It’s not his rocket doin’ this, it’s his scarf!” Jesse chimes in with authoritative four year old sensibility and not in a million years did Elvis dream that filling up sweet Elaine Phipps with children would get him five toddlers discussing his package.

“I hate Daddy’s scarf!” Rosalee screams about something she doesn’t even understand, straight into Betsy’s red and soothing face.

Elvis gives pause from hissing at Elaine’s ministrations of tying his foreskin off like a balloon end and shaking the soda up in it in order to reach and tickle the back of his disconsolate Rosalee’s neck.

“Schnucki, my Schnucki I’m gonna be fine!” he coos and Elaine rolls her eyes fondly at his picking and choosing moments to be tough. Elaine lets out the soda and retracts the foreskin back as far as she can manage it.

“I don’t want ya to die!” Rosalee wails, informing him of the obvious and not even Elvis’ tickles on her back can soothe her. Little Sam Harrison leaves off petting her wet cheeks and looks back, giving Elvis a hard stare that’s firm and straight outta left field as far as a clueless Elvis is concerned.

“What ya lookin’ at boy?” Elvis growls only to yelp as Elaine flicks his cock -in hopes of jostling the last bits of sand out.

The yelp breaks Ella’s resolve and the usually dutiful little eldest daughter drops her towel and scurries over to help her obviously insufficient mama. “Mama, where’s it hurt?” she demands to know with all the matronly surety of Elaine herself and Elvis launches upwards onto his knees in an attempt to cover himself. Laney and her Coke have done about all that’s gonna get done without a bath and some q-tips maybe-

-yeah, they’re done here. It's an effort to smash his cock back up his tight shorts lightening fast, when he put the article of clothing on he hadn't been sticky with coke. Elaine catches a flying Ella as she hurtles forward and keeps her spun away as Elvis modestly tugs on his leghole, mouthing to her husband with a vibrant smile,

“I’ll clean ya up at home!” Elaine fortifys him with a wink.

This sweet promise gets quickly smacked down with Jack having abandoned his post and coming up to Elvis on his chubby little toddler legs and asking with a bizarre amount of hope, “Does it hurt ya bery badly, Elbis?”

Never in a million years would Elvis give this imp the satisfaction of knowing it hurt like hell, besides, Elvis is now cradling a clinging Rosalee who keeps sniffling into his neck in a rain of snot that she’s gonna have Daisy “chop off his rocket” so it never happens again. “No, Trouble, I’m all better ‘cause mama loves me and fixed me up” Elvis goads with an ethereally content smile that Elaine catches and savors as she herself is in the middle of calming a spurned little Nurse Ella.

Jesse, peeved at his siblings lack of order, comes up and makes fussy noises in Jack’s ear as his baby brother swats at him like his mouth is a mosquito. “Ya ok, daddy?” he asks, the first selfless inquiry of this whole ordeal -alright Ella did too.

Elvis gives him a sober nod that the scarf will live to see another day. “Scarf’s fine and gonna make it.”

“No i’s not! We gonna chop it off!” Rosalee insists and Elvis would laugh that off except Daisy is up the beach bartering her juice box for Rex’s k-bar.

“Oh, honey now, that won’t solve nothin,” Elvis begs as he wraps his arms fully around her and smushes Rosalee till both their ribs are liable to crack.

Rosalee pulls her head out of his neck and cradles his cheeks in her hands and says while looking earnestly into his eyes with blues the same shade as his own, “Is’ better this way, daddy, s’never gonna hurt ya again. Promise.”

“It’s for de bestest, Elbis,” Jack agrees right at his shoulder like a tiny little devil and Elvis begins to panic slightly as his children’s wild terror cools into calculated anarchy. “Wosalee knows it’s gonna wot off odderwise,” he adds gravely as if this is common knowledge.

This induces a fresh bout of tears from Rosalee who may be resigned to the need to chop off a limb to save her father’s entire life -or at least have Daisy do her bidding- but it doesn’t mean that she’s immune to the grief the prospect causes them both. Elvis feels close to crying himself as Daisy rushes back towards them over the sand with the sheathed k-bar in hand.

“Rex why the hell did ya give my kid a knife!” he yells.

“She said you wanted it and would fire me if I refused!” Rex shoots back from where he and Charlie and Red are collecting all the beach paraphernalia, the evening truly setting in.

“Rex!” Betsy scolds, echoing Elvis in exasperation with her husband.

“Be a man about it, Daddy!” A breathless Daisy charges him as she skids to a stop nearby only for Elaine to grip her by the back of her swimsuit and haul her away from Elvis where he’s pinned and helpless under the mournful embrace of Rosalee and Jesse and a gleeful Jack.

“Nope, no Daisy, no, give it to me, now!” Elaine wrestles her most wiry and vicious daughter until the army knife is safely in her possession. “Nobody is gonna chop off anythin’,” she declares, winded from the chaos and yet utterly glutted from being in her element and Elvis thinks she looks gorgeous all keyed up and holding a child or two and a knife so effortlessly. Thinks he made the right choice when he married Elaine Phipps and filled her up with all those children.

“But what about it wotting?” Jack protests, as if he really gives a damn about Elvis ever peeing ever again.

“It won’t rot,” Elaine sighs, “It’s not that badly hurt at all.” And she adds that for Rosalee’s benefit as the girl’s cheeks are so smashed to Elvis’ own that there’s no discernible edge to the flub.

“But we wanna be careful,” Rosalee protests, “This can neber happen again.” And she sounds like Mr. Truman did after the great war ended, swearing that the universe wouldn’t make it in a nuclear age.

“Lil Elvis is my little friend, I don’t want him hurt either!” Elaine insists and between his children’s misguided concern for him and his wife making a court case for his assets, Elvis has never felt more loved.

“Daddy’s my best friend too, but I gotta help him,” Rosalee insists.

“But darling -I did help him!” Elaine mutturs.

“Didn’t sound like it got better,” Ella speaks up and Elaine glares at Elvis for being such a baby during his first aid.

“Billy says men can still pee without them,” Sam Harrison adds in support of Rosalee’s ambition and Daisy gives him a proud look for his display of spine.

“How do ya-“ Elaine looks flustered for the first time and Elvis winces in anticipation for what she’ll defend him with next, “-peeing would hurt, Sammy! Hurt worse than sand up scarves!” Elaine reasons.

“Sounds like it.” Jesse sides with mama.

“But if he don’t have a rocket it won’t hurt to pee-pee!” Daisy vehemently enunciates. “And Rosalee’ll stop cryin.”

It’s that simple for the twin.

Elaine looks up to her friend Besty who’s still standing near the group, helpless in a fit of laughter and holding half wadded up towels. “We aren’t cutting off my lil friend,” Elaine declares staunchly, standing up herself in the sand and wincing as a struggling Daisy elbows her in the ribs.

“Why don’t ya care that daddy’s hurt?” Rosalee asks with grief in her eyes.

“It’s gonna wot off.” There goes Jack again.

Elvis snorts and rolls his eyes heavenward, pinching the bridge of his nose and praying for a sliver of patience.“Hush up, Trouble. I’ve had just about enough outta you.”

“Do y’all want more siblings or not?” Elaine finally asks and even Elvis is a little jolted by it. “Cause without that nozzle there ain’t any peeing or babies or all sorts of important things. Y’all could manage without your noses far easier.”

Jack rallies to declare, “I’m baby, don’t want more sibwings,” and is summarily ignored by all in favor of pondering nozzles and their newly learned miraculous necessity.

“Elaine!” Elvis hisses at her indiscreet lesson.

“It’s true!” she cries, throwing up her hands in exasperation, and he’s maybe to blame for the fact she’s got no filter, he taught her without any precaution and now she’s half savage about these things.

“Rockets don’t rot off when they get enough care. Just like any other boo boo,” Elvis assures his group of concerned progeny as Elaine pulls Jack away from his father by the arm not occupied with Daisy.

“I can’t wait to play thirty questions with Sam tonight,” Betsy drawls sarcastically and Elaine huffs.

“Serves ya right, much help you were, Blue Eyes.” Elaine rolls her eyes at her friend and both women laugh. “Consider it payment for Rex’s K-Bar,” she adds and watches as Betsy’s face pales again at the recollection of her husband’s stupidity.

“That man…” she grumbles fondly while taking a squawking Jack off Elaine’s hip to free her friend up for more child wrangling. Elaine mouths a weary “thank you” and kneels next to Elvis, gently prying Rosalee out of his arms where she still clings to his neck. She lets out a small whine of protest which is quickly overtaken by a big yawn, her little fists rubbing her eyes sleepily.

“Come on baby, let’s get you dressed, hmm? It’s time to go home,” she murmurs, pulling a sundress over Roselee’s tiny frame before turning to help Daisy into her matching one, kissing her forehead tenderly and smoothing her hair down. Betsy and Rex start the slow procession of herding the gaggle of children towards the car, making sure everyone has a hand to hold. Elaine can still hear them chattering loudly about rockets and nozzles as she flops down in the sand, catching her breath a moment, trying to find the willpower to stand, to move. It’s been such a lovely day, but suddenly she’s bone tired, the exhaustion hitting her like a wave and threatening to pull her under.

Jerry ambles over as the guys start to gather everyone’s scattered belongings - beach umbrellas and chairs and coolers, remnants of a day well spent. He stares down at Elvis over the top of his aviator shades, the amusement on his face still threatening to spill over. He holds out a hand, “Help you up, Boss?”

Elvis scowls, swatting his hand away indignantly, “Don’t need no help, Jerrah, it’s just a scratch. Actin’ like I’m too wounded to stand on my own. I’m not an invalid, goddamnit! Git outta here and help those boys clean up this mess. God almighty, think I was a child, need some hand-holding or some shit.” He continues his grumbling as Jerry holds up his hands placatingly, shrugging his shoulders good-naturedly before jogging over to help the clean up crew.

Elvis watches him go, making sure he’s well out of sight before gingerly standing up, shaking a leg and adjusting his swim shorts, hopping from foot to foot a few times, hissing quietly. It snaps Elaine out of her reverie and she blinks slowly as a face-splitting yawn hits her out of nowhere. Elvis chuckles and pats her head, gently tugging on the chocolate curls that have become bouncy spirals in the salty ocean air.

“Ok Laney, let’s get you home. Had enough excitement today to last us the whole year,” Elvis chuckles, winking as he offers her a hand.

Elaine smiles up at him, shading her eyes with a red manicured hand, the setting sun casting a warm orange glow over the beach and making her movie star husband look even more like a bronzed Adonis, if that’s possible. She places her small and delicate hands into his larger ones as he hauls her up easily, wrapping her in his arms and resting his chin on the top of her head. She sighs dreamily, shivering a little in his embrace as his body heat warms her against the chilly sea breeze.

“Thank you, baby,” he whispers, rubbing slow circles on her back. She shifts a little, resting her head on his shoulder and looking up at him quizzically.

“For what, E?”

“Whatcha mean, ‘for what?’ For-for always takin’ such good care o’ me. Even when I’m a grumpy sonuvabitch about it.” Elvis smiles down at her, planting a little kiss on her button nose. She wrinkles it and arches up on her tippy toes, rubbing her nose against his in a bunny kiss, her hand cupping his jaw lightly.

“Oh Mopey, I’ll always take care of you. Sweet man.” Elaine runs a thumb across his lips, pulling down his plump bottom one before slotting her lips against his, her hands twining through his mussed hair, moving his head just so, like her own personal puppet on a string. Elvis groans, moving his hands to cup her bottom, pulling her tightly to him. Just then he hears a shuffling of sand behind them, someone discreetly clearing their throat. He sighs, like the most put upon man on the planet and pulls away, gritting his teeth, “What now, Jerrah?”

“Sorry boss, but everyone’s all packed up and ready to go. Just waiting on you and Mrs. Boss.”

Elaine smiles at Elvis’s look of utter hurt and disappointment at being interrupted just when things were getting good, like a little boy who’s just had his favorite toy taken away. She knocks him on the chin playfully, swatting his butt for good measure. “Oh now, don’t look so blue, mister. To be continued at home, yeah? In the meantime, how bout I buy you a milkshake. Swing by Mel’s Drive In on the way home?”

Elvis’s face brightens at that. “Can I have strawberry?” Suddenly the little boy look is back, and he practically skips across the sand, dragging Elaine by the hand to their car full of waiting children. Elaine gives Betsy a peck on the cheek and a sweet belly rub to the little bean inside before hopping in the driver’s side and waiting for Elvis to finish his goodbyes. She turns around to address her children only to find that all but two of them are fast asleep. Jesse and Jack are still discussing the events of the day, with Jack holding a sandy handful of shells and beach glass he collected, carefully explaining each piece to a patient Jesse. By the time they reach the drive in diner, all of the kids are snoozing, and the weary parents breathe a sigh of relief.

“Just us then,” Elaine whispers, looking over her shoulder at their brood. “Just like old times. Almost.” She turns off the car and scoots to the middle of the bench seat, and Elvis does the same, careful not to wake little Rosalee snuggled between them. He drops his arm over Elaine’s shoulders and twists the knob on radio dial until he finds a doo wop station.

“Now it really is like old times. ‘Member when I crashed your date with Billy at the drive in movie? Scared that poor boy half to death,” he chuckles gleefully. Elaine’s eyes grow wide and she starts to titter, her hand flying to her mouth at the recollection.

“Oh goodness. Elvis! I’d completely forgotten about that. You came barging in with your flashlight and ill or good intentions, I never could figure out which,” she muses.

“Then I drove ya home, real proper like,” he breathes quietly, placing a hand on her thigh, an echo of a memory. “And then,” he murmurs, tilting her head back, exposing her long, white throat, “I kissed ya, right…here…” His soft lips meet the pulse on her neck, pounding in time with her heartbeat.

Elaine shivers and swallows. “Naughty,” she whispers.

The magic spell is broken abruptly by a gum-chewing teenage waitress, knocking on their window. “Hi there! Can I take your order?” Her chipper cheerfulness is a stark contrast to their soft reminiscence. Elvis clears his throat and sits up, coloring slightly at being caught by this stranger as Elaine winks at him, leaning over to roll down the window to order their milkshakes. They settle in again, snuggling back together and regaling each other with stories from their beach day. Before long the milkshakes arrive, and they tuck in, enjoying the sweet sugar rush of the milky treat.

“God, how long has it been since I’ve had a milkshake?” Elvis wonders, sipping his strawberry concoction happily. Elaine doesn’t have the heart to tell him it’s been a good long while, that the Colonel doesn’t allow such simple pleasures these days. But she doesn’t want to spoil the moment so she settles for humming in response, squeezing Elvis’s knee as she slurps her chocolate one.

Elvis scoots a little closer to Elaine, forgetting about Rosalee squished between them. She startles in her sleep, her tiny arm flailing in the neon lights of the diner, inadvertently knocking Elvis’s shake from his hands. In a flash everything is covered in pink - it dribbles slowly down the dashboard and soaks into Elvis’s thin shirt, it’s even in his hair and a small blob drips down his right eyebrow. Elaine’s face is a mixture of horror and mirth, her perfect mouth a round o as she struggles to keep a straight face, staring at her husband who is frozen in place, covered in cold strawberry milkshake.

“Oh! Elvis…baby! I…” she starts, struggling to keep her voice steady, her hands fluttering around him, unsure of where they should try and help first. She bites her lip and an unladylike snort escapes as her shoulders start to tremble with held-in laughter. She starts to giggle, slapping her hand hastily over her mouth, her body shaking with silent laughter as she tries to keep quiet, not wanting to wake the children. Elvis’s blue eyes blink rapidly as the concoction runs down his cheek now, his mouth still hanging open in surprise. He starts to laugh, doubling over in his seat as Elaine reaches over and swipes a finger across his eyebrow and brings it to her mouth, sucking the sugary sweetness off her fingertip.

“You taste good, honey,” she wheezes as their laughter starts to die down and he remembers Rosalee between them, checking to make sure she’s ok and by some miracle she’s untouched by the ice cream bath she accidentally gave her father, still sleeping peacefully.

“Aw hell! My leather seats!” Elvis swears through hiccups, looking around for something to clean the car, and himself, up with.

“Shawbewies?” A little voice from the backseat whispers, followed by a blonde head sleepily popping up over the backseat. “I want some.” Jack opens and closes his tiny hands in a gimme motion, and Elvis and Elaine start to crack up again.

“Just perfect. Here Trouble, here’s some for ya,” Elvis says as he sweeps some shake off the dashboard with his fingers and leans back towards Jack, shoulder almost dislocating in an effort to feed the kid a taste. Jack happily laps it off his fingers like a kitten, licking them clean. His sleepy little face breaks into a happy grin and Elvis ruffles his hair. “That’s enough sugar for today, boy.”

Elvis looks at Elaine. She stares back at him a moment before another fit of giggles threatens to overtake them again. “Why’re we never alone in a car, baby?” Elvis whispers aloud, a comically pleading hint to his voice. Elaine reaches behind her, into the backseat, and snags a forgotten beach towel tossed aside by one of the children. She gently wipes his face clean before moving on to his hair, rubbing as much of the ice cream out as she can. It sticks up on end, making him look much like their cat Whiskers did whenever he got a bath.

“You’re the one who wanted to fill up my little house, remember?” she teases softly, her eyes drifting over their brood before returning to meet Elvis’s gaze. He raises an eyebrow, cheeks puffing out in droll amusement as he whistles lowly.

“Yeah, with somethin’ besides strawberry milkshake, I did.”

Hope y’all enjoyed!

If you’d like to be tagged in this particular series please drop a note below. Xoxo 💋

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#elvis fanfiction #elvis presley #elvis fanfic #elvis imagine #elvis #fic #elvis presley x reader #elvis and me #elvis presley fic #welcome home elvis #elvis presley fan fic #elvis fans

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epochofbelief · 3 months

Text

Strictly Confidential: A Feysand AU

Chapter One

She's a law student turned confidential informant. He's a prosecutor with only one goal: bringing down her boyfriend for illegal activity . . . What could go wrong?

Hi everyone! Here's chapter one. I hope you enjoy. Let me know if you're interested in being tagged. Any thoughts on the story are much appreciated, too!

Chapter One

Feyre collapsed against the wall as soon as class was over. Sweat dripped from her temples, sliding over the layer of concealer she had plastered on that morning. She wiped her forehead, swearing to herself once again that this would be the last time she allowed Tamlin to drag her to a Crossfit class.

Even though she had made and broken that same mental promise to herself three times a week for the past six months.

As she guzzled from her near empty water bottle, Tamlin slung a sweaty arm over her shoulders, his skin against hers slick. Oily. “Got any of that left?” Tamlin asked, already reaching for the water bottle.

Feyre sighed, handing it off to him. “A few drops.”

He knocked it back without another word. Not an appreciative smile. No thank you, Feyre. Not even a nod of gratitude for the water he had taken from her.

As she followed Tamlin out of the warehouse where the Crossfit classes were held, Feyre made another vow. The first of its kind, but perhaps with more resolve behind it than the one she had made only moments ago.

She was going to break up with him this week.

Feyre trailed Tamlin through the parking lot, eyes on the back of his neck, his blonde hair stuck to it with sweat. Her boyfriend of over a year had fallen into conversation with his best friend, Lucien. Lucien was also a regular at these Crossfit classes, but had met Tamlin through work. Tamlin had hired Lucien as his Director of Operations at his company, Spring Solutions. Five years later, the duo were best friends.

Lucien climbed into the passenger seat of Tamlin’s expensive truck, leaving Feyre to haul herself into the back as usual. Tamlin swung into the driver’s seat and made short of work of getting the vehicle out of the parking lot and onto the highway that would carry them back into the city, back to the building where Tamlin and Feyre shared an apartment and Lucien lived a few floors down.

As the two discussed something about work—a topic Feyre didn’t particularly care about—she thought more about the terrifying new task she had set for herself.

Breaking up with Tamlin wouldn’t be simple.

Because it was her life, of course, and things were never simple.

She had shared an apartment with Tam, who was nearly seven years her senior, since the beginning of her second year of law school. Now, a month into her third and final year, their lives were fully intertwined. Feyre paid a few hundred dollars of rent each month, but Tamlin footed most of the bill. The downtown apartment was expensive, something Feyre could never afford on her own thanks to her law student’s budget.

She rarely paid for meals, either. Tamlin subscribed to one of those ultra-healthy meal services. A week’s worth of dinners delivered to their door every Monday morning. Feyre cooked them on study breaks, and the two would usually share a quick meal before Tamlin logged back on to work in his home office and Feyre returned to her books.

Most of the furniture was his, as was the art on the walls. The kitchen utensils, pots, pans. The bed they shared. Everything.

If Feyre moved out, she would have to return to her father’s house or increase the amount of student loans she had already taken out that semester. Neither option sounded appealing. She had lived with her father and her two older sisters her whole life—all throughout her undergraduate studies and until the end of her first year of law school. How she had made it so long trapped in that house, caring for her family in much the same way she cared for Tamlin, Feyre had no idea. So when Tamlin had proposed the idea of moving in together, she jumped at the chance. Didn't think farther than Get me out of my childhood home.

She hadn't considered what would happen if things didn’t work out. If she decided he wasn’t the one for her anymore.

She had gone straight from her father’s house to Tamlin’s apartment, and had fallen into Tamlin’s lifestyle, even if she still wasn’t quite used to it.

At least the bed in the guest room was hers, and the nightstand and the few books she had taken from her father’s house. Her painting supplies.

“Babe?” Tamlin’s voice scattered the plans she was fruitlessly trying to cobble together in her mind.

“What?” She inquired, blinking up at her boyfriend.

“I asked if you wanted to get dinner out tonight.”

Feyre bit her lip. She had already put off studying to come to Crossfit—if she didn’t get home soon, she would have to burn the midnight oil to get all her reading for class done at a decent hour.

“I really have to study,” she said quietly, praying he wouldn’t try to convince her to come to dinner. Because he would never let up and she, inevitably, would give in.

At Tamlin’s sigh, she tentatively tried again. “I’m really sorry! I wish my professors didn’t assign such long readings, but I can’t change it.”

He didn’t say anything.

“You know I would come to dinner if I could. I would much rather do that.” The words weren’t new—she’d used some variation of them numerous times over the past year and a half. They had almost lost all meaning to her, but she’d found this was the best combination to keep Tamlin happy: apologize, provide an excuse that was outside of her control, and assure him that he would always be her first choice.

“Alright. We’ll drop you at home and come back later.”

Feyre choked back her sigh of relief. “Sounds good. Thanks, babe.”

Lucien’s eyes met hers in the rearview mirror—one ginger eyebrow cocking slightly. Feyre looked away, gaze fixing on her lap.

Twenty minutes later, she waved at the car as it sped down the street toward Tamlin and Lucien’s favorite sports bar. With any luck, Lucien would get him drinking beers and talking about work, and she would have at least three hours to herself to shower. Study. Maybe even time enough to feign sleep by the time Tamlin returned.

And indeed, she managed to accomplish everything she needed to do just before Tamlin came stumbling into the apartment hours later. Feyre shut her eyes tight from her spot on the right side of the bed, her fledgling plans swirling through her thoughts until she well and truly drifted away.

-----

The next morning, Feyre gazed at herself in the mirror, turning this way and that to make sure every inch of her suit was clean and pressed to perfection, not a wrinkle in sight. The black jacket clung to her narrow frame, the pencil skirt she wore beneath it as flattering as a skirt that cut her off just below the knee could be. Her golden-brown hair fell in loose waves just past her shoulders, watery blue eyes popping thanks to the brown mascara she had applied.

“You look amazing,” a voice from behind her said.

Feyre turned, smiling at her boyfriend despite all the promises and plans she had made the night before. “Thanks, honey.”

“What’s the occasion?” Tamlin asked, striding forward and placing his hands on her hips.

Feyre stepped back, grinning up at him. “No touching. I have an important networking event with my firm today and I can’t get all wrinkly.”

Tamlin held up his hands, backing away a step. “My apologies, Ms. Archeron.”

Feyre smiled. Tamlin wasn’t always awful.

Just most of the time.

“So when can I expect you home today?”

Feyre sighed, grabbing her backpack and purse and brushing past Tamlin, striding out of the closet and into the master bathroom. “I’ve got a full day of classes, and then this networking event at six. I’m not sure how long it will go, but I’m really hoping to be back by eight.”

“Just as well,” Tamlin said. “I’ve got a late night at work—probably won’t be home until after ten.” Feyre nodded, and Tamlin followed her out of the bathroom, through the bedroom, and down the hall to the kitchen. Feyre grabbed the smoothie she had made earlier that morning and tucked her lunchbox into her backpack.

“Have a good day, honey,” she said, pressing a kiss to Tamlin’s lips. He nipped at her lower lip, green eyes sparking. But Feyre just smiled, retreated, and didn’t breathe deep until she made it to the hallway, door automatically locking behind her.

This week. She was going to do it this week.

Feyre’s day dragged on in one long, miserable slog. She got cold-called by her professors in two of her classes, but she managed to answer most of the questions correctly, her heart thudding violently in her chest all the while.

Cold calls and the Socratic method of teaching were one of her least favorite parts of law school. Most professors gave no warning to their students before they called their names, subjecting them to several questions of the professor’s choosing. If you didn’t know the answer, they might move on. But some waited for you to at least attempt to respond, while the class stared and stared and hands jumped into the air all around, telling you that they knew the answer, that it was obvious. Answering a question correctly felt wonderful—but answering incorrectly usually caused Feyre’s cheeks to burn a bright red.

It didn’t matter how many of the randomly determined “calls” Feyre endured—every time a professor spoke her name, her hands started sweating, her heart rate climbing up and up and up until the professor moved on to another victim.

She spent a few hours at the library after class, tucked in her favorite corner. It was private, but better than sitting in the main quad where most of the law students gathered to study during daytime hours. Feyre hadn’t spent any notable length of time in the quad since the first semester of her 1L year. As her relationship with Tamlin progressed, the few friends she had made faded away as Feyre opted to attend the fancy dinner parties and events Tamlin invited her to. Maintaining a new relationship and keeping up with her studies didn’t leave much time for anything else—not even friends. That wasn’t to mention the time she had spent at home with her sisters and father her entire first year of school, taking care of most of the housekeeping and cooking duties because the rest of her family had “real jobs” and Feyre was still “just a student” who didn’t work a regular 9-5.

Now, she felt like a ghost in the halls of the school. She would wave to her old friends if they passed in the hallways, but Feyre had long ago accepted that this would be her law school experience: sitting in the back of the classroom, answering questions if forced, and generally keeping to herself.

It was a quiet, small existence she led. Class. Tamlin. Attending whatever events or obligations Tamlin dragged her to. Studying.

After she’d had enough studying for the day, Feyre took the train to downtown Prythian, checking her makeup at least four times before the train arrived at its stop a few blocks from a large hotel and event center in the heart of the city. She started to walk the five minutes to the hotel, staring up at the enormous shiny buildings rising around her.

To think, this would be where she worked full-time in just a few short months.

Thanks to competitive firm recruiting, Feyre had had her post-grad job lined up since the summer. She would be starting as a junior associate at Hybern & Night LLP, one of the largest and most powerful national firms in the country. Jobs at Hybern & Night were hard to come by, but thanks to Feyre’s top 5% ranking at Prythian University Law School, and her ability to say all the right things under pressure, she’d scored a job during early interviewing last summer.

The firm occupied the upper floors of one of the tallest buildings downtown. Tonight it was holding a networking event for its partners, associates, recruits, and other lawyers in the community.

She could have skipped the event, but her career counselor had emphasized how important it was to immerse herself in firm activities as quickly as possible—it would make her transition from student to junior associate much smoother, and allow her to make connections with more senior attorneys and partners who might be willing to provide projects for her to work on when she started.

So, she was here, clicking down the shadowed streets of downtown Prythian, gearing herself up to rub elbows with some of the city's wealthiest attorneys.

Some day soon, she would be one of them.

Feyre tugged her coat closer around herself, the chill in the air signaling autumn’s impending arrival. A block away, the windows of the event center glowed warmly in the shadows of the buildings around her. She increased her pace, and soon found herself ensconced in a world of cocktails and arguments. Feyre made a beeline for the refreshments table. She could certainly count on attorneys to ensure there was an open bar at events like this. She seized a glass of red wine and cast her gaze around the room, but didn’t recognize anyone. She had interviewed with at least five of the attorneys from Hybern & Night in order to get her job, but they were nowhere to be seen.

Feyre thanked the man who served her the wine, swallowing back memories of her own time spent as a bartender at Humane, one of the filthiest hole-in-the-wall bars in all of Prythian. She would have preferred talking to the bartender—less posturing required—but forced herself to skirt around the room, looking around for someone to engage in conversation.

She had almost completed a full lap when an enormous man leaned against the wall just in front of her.

“You look lost,” his deep voice rumbled, light brown hair sliding over his forehead, pale green eyes gazing down at her. His cheeks were flushed—probably from the alcohol—and as his eyes slid over her, Feyre was glad she hadn’t yet removed her coat.

“Not lost. Just—” Feyre broke off, shaking her head. “Feyre Archeron,” she said, offering a hand. “I’ll be starting as a first-year associate at Hybern & Night next August.”

“Jax Smith,” he said, an enormous hand encompassing hers. “I'm in my eighth year at Hybern & Night. Hoping to make partner next year. It’s nice to meet you, Feyre.”

Feyre swallowed, taking her hand back and sliding it into her pocket. “You too.” She cast around for one of her pre-prepared questions: So how do you like working at the firm? Any advice for 3L students preparing to enter the workforce? How do you survive the eighty hour workweeks year after year after year? Is the money worth it?

Luckily, Feyre didn’t have to resort to any of her questions, because Jax spoke for her.

“You look awfully young to be a 3L,” he commented, gaze sliding up and down her body.

Feyre cocked an eyebrow, a chill trailing down her spine. “I’m twenty-three.”

“That’s young.”

Feyre gritted her teeth. This was certainly unprofessional. “Not too young, I hope,” she said, forcing a smile. This man was going to be her coworker. She couldn’t just turn around and flee. “I’ll be twenty-four this December,” she said brightly. “Practically collecting Social Security.”

Jax didn’t smile. Only narrowed his eyes like he was trying to see through her coat.

Feyre swallowed another gulp of wine, and as he inched closer, she realized that the alcove where they stood was mostly obscured by two of the many enormous columns ringing the event center. There weren’t any lights in this section, and no one else seemed to be paying them any attention. The rest of the networking attorneys seemed miles away, even the sounds of their voices muffled by a dull roaring that started in Feyre’s head as Jax’s gaze fixed her in place.

“And are you married, Feyre?” Jax asked, one arm resting on the wall next to her head. His gaze dropped to her left hand, wrapped around the stem of her wineglass, her fourth finger obviously bereft of any ring.

“No,” she said, backing away another step.

But her admission only seemed to encourage Jax. He slid forward, eyes focused somewhere just south of her neck, where her coat had fallen open to reveal the v-neck of her dress shirt. “I would be happy to meet you for a coffee sometime. Maybe even a drink. Tell you more about the firm, away from all these stuffy partners. We could even find somewhere quieter here. To talk.” His eyes slid to the hall that led who-knew-where, just behind Feyre, stretching off into the shadows of the hotel.

Feyre’s eyes widened, a lump forming in her throat. This man was her future coworker, her senior. He might even be partner by the time she started at the firm. To turn him down could be fatal. If he took offense, he could spin it any number of ways: She had no interest in learning more about the firm. Couldn’t care less about team-building and getting to know her coworkers. Clearly came for the wine and nothing else.

He could ruin her reputation. And that was something she couldn’t afford. Not if she ever wanted to be free of Tamlin, of her family.

“What do you say?” Jax asked, bending down, his face so close to hers she could feel his breath hot against her cheek.

“I—” Feyre started.

But another man’s voice, smooth as velvet and gentle as the night, floated into the alcove, startling Jax and sending a wave of relief over Feyre.

“There you are. I’ve been looking for you.”

#acotar #feysand #a court of thorns and roses #acomaf #sarah j maas #fanfiction #feyre archeron #rhysand #feyre x rhysand #modern au #feysand modern au #strictlyconfidentialau

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writemekpop · 1 year

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I Kissed the President (Part 2) | Jung Jaehyun

Summary: You're an undercover journalist digging for dirt on billionaire Jung Jaehyun. You'd do anything to get the story. Even fuck him... But what happens when he finds out you're lying?

Genre: Smut, angst, drama

Word Count: 1.5k

Part 1 | Part 2 ❤️ | Part 3

The idea of seeing you again makes Jaehyun feel a little hot. And not just in a good way. Kind of sweaty. Nervous, almost.

You vowed to never go back to Jaehyun – but your editor said that if you couldn’t get this story, you ‘shouldn’t come back at all’.

So, three nights later, you go back to Jaehyun’s house. You’re wearing an outrageous black lace dress that ‘highlights your boobs’ (in Giselle’s words).

A full-on limousine idles in front of Jaehyun’s house.

Jaehyun slouches stylishly in the back seat, offering you a glass of champagne. “More tea, vicar?”

You can’t stop smiling.

Jaehyun’s wealth should disgust you, but it secretly impresses you. He looks offensively good in a black three-piece suit, his fringe falling into his forehead.

He treats you to a five-course meal in a skyscraper. The restaurant… is empty.

“I asked them to keep our little date quiet,” Jaehyun murmurs. “Journalists, am I right?”

You stifle a gasp. If only he knew.

A while later, you are in a designer clothing shop, resting your heads on your elbows. Your eyes burn into each other’s.

A gorgeous three thousand dollar Chanel dress lies between you – one that you made the mistake of glancing at.

“Get me to change my mind on one of my policies and the dress is yours,” he challenges.

“Easy,” you say. “Stop cutting immigration. Instead, let qualified people from abroad enter the country. The economy will boom.”

Jaehyun clears his throat uncomfortably. “Well… I hadn’t thought of that.” He eyes the dress. “If I didn’t know how sexy you would look in this dress, I would be annoyed. It is very expensive.”

Later, you and Jaehyun walk arm in arm along the banks of the Han River. Dangerously, the dress makes you feel like you are Asha… like you could do anything.

Jaehyun smiles arrogantly down at you. “Did my date impress you?” He sighs. “Why even ask? Of course, you’re impressed.”

You curl your lip. “You’re a little rich boy who showered his family’s money on me. That doesn’t take talent.”

His face hardens. “Stop calling me that.”

“What?” you say.

“A rich boy. I’m not who you think I am.” His voice drops. “My father, who you love talking about, isn’t even my father.”

Your heart speeds up. This is the story you’ve been looking for.

“What do you mean?” you ask, keeping your voice steady.

Jaehyun continues, “I’m an orphan. He picked me up from the streets when I was ten. Trust me, if he had any child of his own, they would be running the party.”

You gasp.

He smiles bitterly. “Poverty? I know it.”

You should be thrilled – this is enough to bring Jaehyun’s campaign down. But instead, all you want is for that pained look to leave his eyes.

Just then, a strange memory surfaces in your mind. You frown.

Jaehyun smiles sadly. “Now you remember.”

And then it comes back to you. Almost twenty years ago, your mum sent you to the laundrette… when you saw a boy with large brown eyes and dimples, sitting on a huge box of Ultra Clean laundry detergent, grinning at you. You gave him your last coin.

In delight, you clasp the sides of Jaehyun’s face, beaming up at him. You always wondered what that boy would be like when he grew up… how handsome he would be. You could barely believe that the boy was Jaehyun.

Jaehyun kisses you. And you like it. Far too much. You kiss him back, pulling his body as close to you as is humanly possible. He feels delicious against you. You feel his hardness against every inch of your skin.

You try to see him as the spoilt airhead the way you used to. You try to stop yourself from caring about him. But you fail – Jaehyun has changed for you. Or maybe, you two were never that different in the first place.

You pull away…

Removed from the intoxicating influence of his lips, you are confused. Jaehyun, if he likes you at all, does not like you. He likes Asha.

The thought makes you stiffen.

Wrapping your arms around yourself, you walk away, hoping the chill night air will bring you clarity.

“Asha,” he calls. “Leaving so soon? That’s classy.”

But his joke does not make you laugh. You know where you have to go.

---

The office of the Daily Herald is empty.

Every time you try to write the news story that will bring Jaehyun’s campaign down, you get distracted.

You see Jaehyun’s blazing eyes as he confessed to you. You feel his lips on your lips. You remember the grin of the boy at the laundrette so many years ago. And the words won’t come.

You take a deep breath. This article will save your career. As for you and Jaehyun… well, there is no you and Jaehyun.

You plug in your headphones and, though your stomach is twisting, you begin to write.

Jaehyun Jung is the darling of the people. However, even he has his share of dirty secrets…

When you are done, you feel disgusted by your article. It’s a cheap shot. You’re not attacking Jaehyun’s policies – you’re attacking him for being working class. And, a little voice says, you’re hurting him.

You decide that you will never publish this article. If you lose your job, so be it.

When you see the time, you freak out. You need to get home.

---

The next morning, you are awoken by a rapid pinging noise.

You have 7 missed calls from Giselle, followed by a message that says, TURN ON THE TV.

…is not, in fact, former President Jung’s son…

…orphan, picked up off the street…

…election campaign thrown off the rails…

The newsreader lifts up a copy of the Daily Herald – with your article front and centre.

How did they get that? You never submitted the article! You look for your laptop… then realise that you left it in the office last night.

You feel sick.

You have only one message from Jaehyun.

‘I trusted you.’

—

Read Part 3 here! 💋

MAIN MASTERLIST

Taglist: @lovingvoidgoatee @the-universe-in-you-jjh @tacitanecdote @jolie-jolie @methneo @fairy-jojo @fluffyjaes @callingczimlonely @lav-nct @zodiqmz @nctevia

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little-cereal-draws · 10 months

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Some sad Ballister and money headcanons

pt 1? maybe?

Ballister has a very complicated relationship to money

Growing up poor, the threat of not having basic things like a home, food, or other necessities hung heavy over his head. He might not have understood the full scope of it, but he was a smart kid and understood enough to feel its affects

He didn't have nice toys, his clothes were full of holes, their meals were small. He knew other families had more, he would see them walking down the street, but knew that wasn't for him or his family

He wouldn't ask for ice cream in the summer, wouldn't complain when they ate the same stew for dinner every day for a week because that's all there was, never cried or whined the few times he asked for something and was told "no"

It bled into guilt. When his mom offered to cut his hair one summer when he was sweating up a storm, he said no. He didn't want to bother her; she already was so busy and stressed. She assured him that it would take five minutes and wouldn't cost anything but still he refused

Or one fall, he helped a neighbor fix his heater (he held the tools) and got paid $10. He was so excited; this was money all for himself! His first thought was to give it to his parents because he knew how much they needed it but this was his money. He bought himself a sandwich for $6. The rest of it he gave to his parents. They didn't want to take it from him but he insisted and eventually they gave in

That night, he cried. He wanted to help, he knew how much they needed the money and how hard his parents worked, and he had selfishly spent over half of it on a single meal. $10 would have been much more helpful than $4 but he just had to treat himself, didn't he? He knew those fancy, expensive foods weren't for him but he bought it anyway

It was around this time that he decided he wanted to be a knight. They were so brave and strong and helped so many more people than he could. And they probably got paid pretty well, their armor was always so shiny

So he would pick up any odd jobs people could give to a kid (walking someone's dog, watering their plants while they were away, sorting recycling from garbage, etc) while dreaming about being a knight. The jobs only paid somewhere between $5 - $10 but it wasn't about the money. He was a hero of the realm and they only needed the safety of their people to be satisfied

But he would go home and count every dollar before he went to bed

When the Queen offered to keep him at the Institute and train him to be a knight, neither him nor his family could believe what they were hearing. There was some back and forth about what this would mean but ultimately, they let him go. He would have food, shelter, stability and all the things they couldn't provide

Joining the Institute was very overwhelming for many reasons but Balister did have to say he did enjoy not worrying about money all the time. He never had to worry about if the lights would shut off or where his next meal would come from. He didn't have to budget his few dollars and didn't feel guilty for wanting things. The other kids had so much stuff, surely he could have some too

This... wasn't totally true. Even though his life was more stable now, he still didn't have the latest sneakers or stories about long vacations to country houses or anything else that these kids had. He tried to ignore it but it was a glaring middle finger to the face every time someone casually mentioned their new pet pony or other ridiculous bullshit

The first few years of his training were fine, they were all using fake swords with plastic armor on straw dummies. But as he reached his teen years and training got more serious, he realized he was going to be left behind again

The Institute and the Queen did provide some things for him but it turns out that most of those kids' families provided their knight equipment for them. Ballister's family would be expected to do the same and he knew there was no way that was going to happen. He had come here to make his dreams a reality but if he had to choose between his future or his family starving/being homeless because all their money went to his armor, he would go home in a heartbeat. It would kill him but, in his heart, he knew it's what he would do

So he went to class everyday with only a sword that wasn't his. Ambrosius gave him a sword when he first got to the Institute and saw he didn't have one. At the time he was thrilled but told him he couldn't accept it, Ambrosius needed it. The blond boy had simply shrugged and said "You can keep it, I have a whole bunch." He was ecstatic to finally get a real-life sword but now it was a reminder that these other kids could trade these thousand dollar weapons like baseball cards. The monetary value meant nothing to them

Despite having a sword already, he didn't have any armor and got his ass handed to him so many times. Turns out having protection against people thrusting blades at you was important. Todd and the other knights made of him mercilessly but he would just have to endure it because there was no way in hell he was going to tell his parents he needed equipment. He was going to have to deal with it himself

At first the Director wanted him to stop training until he was able to afford armor but he begged her to keep going. He got really good at blocking attacks, because if he didn't, he would get hurt, but he knew it wasn't enough

It was nearly impossible because training took all day and then left him dog-tired but he started picking up odd jobs on the weekends again. People paid much better in the wealthier neighborhoods and he could get quite a decent sum for cleaning someone's gutter or mowing their lawn. It was embarrassing that he had to do this while the other kids could relax but it was worth it to not be covered in bandages all the time

He had saved halfway to his goal when he got seriously hurt. Sparing gone wrong, he fell for a fake-out right move and got slashed across his left side. It was bleeding a lot and he was whisked away to the informatory. After he got stitched up, the Queen came to see him. He hadn't expected her but apparently the accident was big enough to reach her

She asked him how this happened and embarrassedly, he admitted he wasn't wearing armor during practice. She was shocked and asked "why in the world not???" After a moment debate, he admitted that he didn't have any. That opened the floodgates, and everything came pouring out. He was ashamed that he got hurt, he was embarrassed he didn't have armor, he was guilty that he didn't ask for help, he was stressed that his parents would help him at their own expense, he was tired from spending every second he wasn't in class working

The Queen comforted him, letting him cry on her shoulder and combing his hair. It only added to his shame, this was no way for anyone to be treating the QUEEN. He pulled away and then the unspeakable happened. She offered to buy him a suit of armor. He sputtered, trying to refuse it, or at least let him pay for the part he had money for but she refused to negotiate. It was unacceptable that one of her knight cadets was left without the basic equipment required to succeed, that the Director did nothing to fix the problem, and that the environment of the Institiute made Balister feel too ashamed to ask for help and got him seriously injured

She bought him his thick black armor and the first day he wore it to class, he couldn't stop grinning. He beat the shit out of everybody who dared spar with him

Time went on and Ballister's armor got chipped and dented but he never wanted to buy a new pair like all his classmates in their shiny chest plates. This armor was old but it was his, he was allowed to have this

#i might do a part two of this set after the moive bc i hit the character limit on this post lol #i know a lot of ppl have done analysis posts on bal class and the institute but i wanted to do more of a personal approach #also i like the hc that bals really good at fighting bc his lack of armor/poor quality of armor wouldn't protect him very well from attacks #he had to really really learn how to block and dodge which led to his victory many times #nimona #ballister boldheart #ambrosius goldenloin #the director nimona #the queen nimona #nimona headcanon #whew long post

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infinitegalahad · 9 months

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AMERICAN PROMETHEUS AND HIS ATHENA - CHAPTER 2

Pairing: J. Robert Oppenheimer x Female Indentifying! Reader Summary: You and Robert fall into a routine of your Friday Physics meetings with the never skipped dinner after. But as the tension grows stronger, the meetings suddenly cease to be about Physics with a newfound realization; and sudden change Word Count: 3.4k Warnings: N/A Notes: GOD, HE LOOKS SO HOT THERE!!! Anyways! Not even twenty-four hours later. I know, I'm very unwell and couldn't help myself. Thank you so much for all the love and support so much! The next part should be coming out very soon. And let me say, it may or may not get spicy *insert evil cackling*. I am also working on a new and refined masterlist! It'll be linked here, along with a taglist if you are interested.

Masterlist | Taglist

The image of you and Robert formed, and your Friday afternoon meetings with him soon became a little routine between the two of you. However, this barrier created a bond and broke through the force of physics into something else.

You would always arrive ten minutes before, and Robert certainly noticed this. He enrolled you in watering his flowers outside, which you had no issue doing. Robert insisted on paying you ten dollars, which you felt guilty for taking. Every Friday, when you walk down Shasta Road, the flowers are more giant in bloom, full and radiant in their muted colors. Robert had even put a tiny vase of pomegranate flowers on his desk. In one of your meetings, he confessed that he didn’t know such a plant was growing in his garden. You told him now he had pomegranates to make with his meals. After each session, Robert gave you a pomegranate to go home with. Like him, they were hard to resist.

The first hour of your meeting would be about physics, but the length of an hour began to shorten down to thirty minutes, forty-five minutes sometimes. You could sense that Robert wanted to get out of Physics much as you on your late Friday afternoons together.

And then Robert would ask that same old question of wanting to stay for dinner. He’d preface it with the meal he was making, which was starting to fall into the pattern of recipes you recommended.

And without fail, you would always say yes, lacking hesitation.

In the first set of meetings, Robert would cook. He’d ask you to go into his living room to turn on one of the records. You’d ask what record, and he answered with any since he would like what you would put on. In the third week of meetings, Robert stopped directing you to his record player, as you soon could locate the record in the middle of his bookshelf.

Simeusolty putting on a Prokofiev’s Cinderella Record, Summer Fairy began to play low. The intricate and angular melodies to powerful and dramatic orchestration played as you ran your fingers across the bookshelf, observing the elective collection of books Robert had collected. Running your fingers against the thin pages, you looked down at his coach. Two pillows were propped up, and you could see his coffee table in the light. A copy of Sentimental Education rested beside the ashtray of many burnt-out cigarette buds. Robert was in the same chapter as you were.

Most of the time, you would get bored sitting at the island table as Robert smoked, cut, and cooked. All you would do is drink his Martinis, which you hated before but now loved. Without asking, you simply started to help Robert with the cooking. Robert never protested against this.

As the two of you cooked, your conversations ranged in topic and vulnerability.

Robert asked about your family life and hobbies. You told him you had family in New York City but spent a lot of time hiking in Europe or the Southeastern United States being outdoors. Your mother was much older than your father, but it was never an issue. You were the youngest of three much older siblings, two of whom were your step-siblings. You were into reading and art outside the classroom but absolutely loved the outdoors. Some things you didn't even share with Hatomi, you ended up sharing with Robert.

Robert also shared parts of his life; in each part, you two learned that you were somewhat similar, as Robert would say, “kindred souls” who have found each other. Robert was also from New York City, but like you, wanted to escape the East and came out West for a change and its natural beauty. He also enjoyed the outdoors, a found horseback rider. In his youth, he was an avid rock collector and even told you that when he applied for a club, they asked him to come to be a keynote speaker. It fits his character.

One night, as you cut vegetables and Robert sauteed the chicken, he blatantly asked if you have a boyfriend.

You turn to him, and instead of being flustered and embarrassed, you deadpan and say no, before asking if he has a wife.

“Had,” Robert corrected.

Robert had been married to a woman named Kitty, whom Robert said was similar, yet harsher than you. They had divorced three years back, and two had two children together who were three years apart, Peter and Toni. Kitty had moved out to Pittsburgh with their two children but would visit with them every month. Robert did not seem sad by the divorce, saying they still cared for each other but no longer loved one another.

The two of you remained silent until dinner was ready that night.

Your meetings further continued with no issue after that conversation.

It was like any other Friday night meeting. You closed your Physics notebook as Robert got up to prepare dinner, which would be chicken with pomegranate seeds, asparagus, and mashed potatoes which you taught him to cook. You got up and snuck beside Robert, taking pomegranate seeds and putting them in between your lips.

He looked over and smiled, shaking his head. He mumbled something under his breath in which you missed.

“Robert, you must stop asking if I will stay for dinner,” You casually teased, bringing another seed to your lips. You moved the bubbly and wet seed around your lips, adding a glossy red color to the center of your lips, “Especially when you know the answer.”

Your playful words hung in the air, accompanied by a faint smile that danced at the corners of your mouth. The atmosphere was light, and the tension between you and Robert was more of an enjoyable banter than anything serious. The act of painting your lips with the seed was oddly captivating, a unique blend of sensuality and playfulness that added to the moment.

On the other hand, Robert appeared slightly flustered but still managed a sheepish grin. "Well then, why do you always stay, y/n?”

You chuckled softly, savoring the gentle rhythm of your exchange. "Maybe it's your irresistible cooking that keeps me coming back, or perhaps it's the charm and wit of the company."

In mock astonishment, Robert feigned a dramatic sigh, his hand on his chest. "Ah, so you're saying it's not my dashing good looks that have you hooked?"

You playfully rolled your eyes, a mock expression of disbelief on your face. "Oh yes, Robert, your dashing good looks are definitely a bonus. But it's the entire package that keeps me intrigued."

The two of you shared a lighthearted laugh, the energy between you bubbling with a mix of familiarity and affection. Clearly, this banter was a delightful ritual you both enjoyed, a way to express your fondness for each other without saying it outright.

Robert leaned in a little closer, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone. "I might have to keep asking about dinner just to hear your flattering reasons."

You raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in your eye. "Well, if that's your plan, then I'll just have to keep giving you reasons, won't I?"

The playful challenge hung in the air, the unspoken understanding between you both weaving a tapestry of shared moments and shared jokes. As the evening continued, the seed on your lips became a symbol of this unique connection, a touch of color that spoke volumes about the newfound chemistry you shared with Robert.

After finishing dinner and cleanup, Robert invited you to his living space. From what you have seen in his house, the living room was by far the biggest. The room smelt like oakwood with its Mahogany shelves of aged books and artifacts from Europe. Prokofiev’s Cinderella plays slowly as Robert and you rest on the couch, only a few inches apart.

In a quiet moment that exudes an air of undeniable allure, Robert reaches into his pants pocket to fetch another box of cigarettes. His fingers move with a graceful confidence, effortlessly withdrawing a sleek pack of cigarettes. The soft glow of ambient light plays upon his lean features, enhancing the sharp angles of his jawline and the subtle smirk that graces his lips.

As he taps the pack against the palm of his hand, a sense of anticipation seems to envelop the surroundings. The action is as deliberate as it is captivating, every movement purposeful and measured. With a smooth and calculated gesture, he slides a cigarette from its sanctuary within the pack, drawing attention to the meticulous attention to detail that defines his every action.

Bringing the slender cylinder to his lips, his eyes remain fixed on the horizon, an enigmatic gaze that hints at depths of both experience and mystery. His fingers deftly produce a matchbox, which, when opened, reveals a single matchstick ready for ignition. The flame is brought to life with a flick of his thumb, illuminating his features momentarily and casting an enchanting glint in his eyes.

The first inhalation is a languid dance between his lips and the cigarette, an intimate connection that only accentuates his innate allure. A plume of smoke curls gracefully from his lips, an ethereal veil that frames his visage like a work of art. The atmosphere seems to pulse with his intoxicating energy as if drawn into the magnetic pull of this captivating moment.

As he exhales, the tendrils of smoke disperse into the air, a testament to his ability to command the space around him and the elements that entwine with his presence. The remaining smoke dances and swirls in the air, mimicking the invisible threads of attraction that weave between observer and observed.

You watch the smoke dance across the dark room in its dark and light hues. Robert sees you in admiration of the smoke (and him, but that’s a secret you keep to yourself) and pulls a stick out, holding it out in front of you. There’s no need to respond verbally; you let him put the cigarette between your lips.

Robert’s fingers, capable and elegant, hold the cigarette with a reverence that speaks of his attentiveness to the details that matter. The slender cylinder is presented not as a mere object but as a gesture of connection, a bridge between the worlds of conversation and quiet contemplation.

He raises the matchbox, its lid flipping open with a soft whisper of anticipation ember at the tip of the match glows with an ephemeral beauty, casting a warm radiance that highlights the contours of his hands and the contours of your cheek.

Drawing the match to the cigarette, the flame bends obediently to his command, transferring its life to the waiting tobacco. As the cigarette ignites, its end glowing with an ember-like intensity, Robert's eyes meet yours, a silent acknowledgment of the shared moment.

Robert brings the cigarette to your lips with a tender elegance, his fingers barely grazing your cheek in a caress that sets the heart aflutter. The touch is fleeting but leaves a lingering impression, a sensation of connection that transcends the physical realm. The smoke dances gracefully from the lit end, curling into the atmosphere like a wisp of shared conversation.

The gesture encapsulates more than a simple offering; it encapsulates his genuine nature and ability to infuse even the most ordinary moments with a touch of extraordinary intimacy. In this ephemeral exchange, the barley touch of Robert’s fingers against your cheek lingers like an echo, a reminder of the subtle and beautiful connections forged through the simplest gestures.

You fall back and take a drag into the cigarette, exhaling the smoke. It was your first time with a cigarette, so you inhaled too much smoke and coughed slightly.

Robert looks back at you, and like a sly predator watching its prey, he too leans back. You can feel the weight of the pillow sink back. Your mouth nearly drops the cigarette as you look over, goosebumps now appearing over your legs. Shifting in your position, you don’t move farther away. Oppenheimer’s another atom bond, in which you feel connected, despite your differences.

Hearing your mother’s and older sister's voice ridiculing dating a man who could be one of your brother’s ages, you take another drag and exhale smoke as the nicotine soothes your anxiety.

“I understand now why people smoke.”

You can feel Oppenheimer’s intense stare, not that it bothers you at all.

There’s a small silence for a few minutes. The two of you bask in the setting sun, watching the smoke play against the hues of the sun. You swear you feel your eyes get heavy, both from the buzz of the alcohol and the nicotine of the cigarette.

The couch feels lighter as you feel Robert get up and walk over to the bookcase. Admiration mingles with a sense of awe as you watch your professor navigate the rows of tomes. His movements are measured and deliberate as he selects a book that promises to unfurl a tapestry of thoughts and ideas. The act itself is a testament to his insatiable thirst for knowledge, a quality that you have deemed extremely handsome to the tall and slender man.

He walks in front of you and flips through the pages, putting the book down in your lap.

You put your cigarette in the ashtray and hold the book to examine it, “Les Fleurs Del Mal.”

“One of my recommendations to you,” Robert responded as he sat back on the couch. The room suddenly got hotter as he felt closer than he did before, “It’s scattered poetry. You can skim, but I don’t recommend it unless you want to enjoy it.”

Your speculation proved to be true when Robert pointed to a page in the book, feeling his thigh scrap against yours. Butterflies danced in your stomach as your cheeks got that burning sensation again.

“These are some of my favorites,” Robert pointed, his finger gracing the page, “That I want you to read.”

Halting your breath, you look at him, and he’s looking right at you. More like right into you. Robert's eyes are like an ocean; they're truly the bluest you have seen. They hold a depth that draws you in, in which you find yourself lost, embraced by an intimate connection that speaks volumes without a single word.

“Read?” You almost stutter, “to myself?”

“Outloud, dear.” Robert’s smooth voice politely commands.

Suddenly, your limbs feel both hot and weak. Robert leans in closer, taking another drag of his cigarette. His gaze does not once leave you.

You put one hand on the page and the other on the soft pillow as your fingers soften the material. Clearing your throat, you look at the first poem and take in a deep breath to contain a noise of ecstasy and pleasure.

I know your heart, which overflows With outworn loves long cast aside, Still like a furnace flames and glows, And you within your breast enclose A damned soul's unbending pride;

But till your dreams without release

Reflect the leaping flames of hell;

Till in a nightmare without cease

You dream of poison to bring peace, And love cold steel and powder well;

And tremble at each opened door, And feel for every man distrust, And shudder at the striking hour - Till then you have not felt the power Of Irresistible Disgust.

My queen, my slave, whose love is fear, When you awaken shuddering, Until that awful hour be here,

You cannot say at midnight drear :

"I am your equal, O my King!"

Robert only responds by turning the page to the following poem, A Carcass. In the corner of your eye, his hand rests on the couch, only an inch away from yours. Before looking back at the page, you uncurl your fist, lying all of your finger against the couch, less than an inch away from Robert’s.

Recall to mind the sight we saw, my soul,

That soft, sweet summer day:

Upon a bed of flints a carrion foul,

Just as we turn'd the way,

Its legs erected, wanton-like, in air,

Burning and sweating pest,

In unconcern'd and cynic sort laid bare

To view its noisome breast.

The sun lit up the rottenness with gold, To bake it well inclined,

And give great Nature back a hundredfold

All she together join'd.

The sky regarded as the carcass proud

Oped flower-like to the day;

So strong the odour, on the grass you vow'd You thought to faint away.

Robert’s index finger is now hooking onto your smaller pinkie. You relax your hand as his hand covers yours, his touch gentle and alluring. You don’t know much you’ll be able to read in a controlled state. Robert turns to the next poem as his hand covers yours, his thumb stroking the top of your hand.

“My personal favorite,” He murmurs—Love’s Lighting.

Gulping, you proceed to read, slowly breaking down.

Last night as I lay awake in bed A flash of you came into my head And into my heart, and straightway fled.

It passed from the chamber suddenly,

Leaving no trace to know it by

But a tightened breast and a wet, glad eye.

Like a moonray soft it came and went,

Which glimmers through where the cloud-wrack's

rent,

Hovers a moment and then is spent;

Or a bee against a window-pane,

Which taps but once and never again, Some autumn day, before the rain.

For one brief moment I felt it stealing Along the verge of thought and feeling

As though some great vague thing revealing,

As though for that moment sad and sweet

My soul was out in the infinite, And Life and Death were as one to it.

You close the book and look at Robert, catching his eyes before looking at your intertwined hands. His hand covers yours, his fingers laced within yours. He gently squeezes your hand, propelling you to move closer to him, which you do.

“Your eyes,” You murmur as Robert brings you closer to him, your faces an inch apart, “There blue. But there’s something in them. There’s a spark, an explosion. There’s a burning desire, surrounded by the never-ending sea.”

Robert is just as enchanted as you are. He brings his free hand to your cheek, stroking your smooth skin like you are a fragile China doll.

“If there is a god, he spent more time on you,” Robert confessed, moving to the back of your hair, entangling and losing himself within the silkiness.

“Y/n, you are among the most beautiful creatures I have seen. Can you let me kiss you?”

Your hand moves to Robert’s cheek, and he leans into your touch.

"If there is a god, he spent more time on you," Robert confessed, his voice a warm breath against your skin as his fingers delicately traced the contours of your hair, entangling and losing himself within the silkiness.

"Y/n, you are among the most beautiful creatures I have seen," he murmured, his gaze locked onto your lips with a mixture of desire and reverence. His thumb brushed your lower lip in a gentle, teasing caress. "Can you let me kiss you?"

Your heart fluttered in response, your chest rising and falling with each anticipatory breath. Your fingers moved to cup his cheek, feeling the slight stubble against your palm as you leaned in, your lips drawing closer to his. The world around you seemed to melt away, leaving only the soft, charged atmosphere between you.

His lips met yours in a tender, lingering kiss. It had been your first, so you let him overtake as you enjoyed. It was a dance of sensations, a slow exploration of desire and affection. The touch was gentle, as if he was savoring every moment, every nuance of the connection that formed between your lips. His mouth moved against yours with delicate precision, a symphony of longing and intimacy that left you breathless.

As the kiss deepened, you could feel the possessiveness in the way he held you, his fingers threading through your hair, anchoring you closer. His hand, which held yours found the small of your back, a reassuring pressure that drew you impossibly nearer.

Time lost meaning as your lips moved together, a rhythm that spoke of shared longing and a connection beyond the physical. It was a kiss that whispered promises of intimacy and trust, an unspoken understanding that bound you together in that stolen moment of tenderness and desire.

As Robert kissed and held you, you loved the sensation of being adored. The romance between you, too, however, was forbidden. He was thirty, and you were a teenager, albeit legal, but recently, a little girl. But you couldn’t resist, and he couldn’t control his desire. After all, Life and Death were as one to it.

#carrie writes #cillian murphy #cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy x reader #oppenheimer #oppenheimer x reader #robert j oppenheimer x reader #j robert oppenheimer

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helloalycia · 3 months

Text

𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐏𝐈𝐃𝐋𝐘 𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐒 [𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄] — 𝐀𝐋𝐘𝐂𝐈𝐀 𝐃𝐄𝐁𝐍𝐀𝐌-𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐘

one / two / four / five / masterlist / wattpad

summary: it's four years into your relationship with Alycia but you're still not on the best terms with her parents, so you're forced to spend a week at their mansion and grow closer. Of course, it's not so easy when her dad hates you.

warning/s: none.

author's note: here’s part three, hope someone reading likes it haha. also i’m trying out a new layout for my imagines with hopes it’ll speed up putting it together on tumblr (as i copy it over from wattpad and have to format it which is annoying lol) - feel free to let me know what you think or if you prefer the old layout! :)

Four years later...

"I'm still not too sure about this, Alycia."

Alycia looked at me and raised an eyebrow playfully. Her blue-green eyes were practically bursting with amusement, and she obviously found my discomfort hilarious, as usual.

"For the millionth time," she said, and she wasn't exaggerating, "it will be okay! They know we've been together for a few years now, and they know that you mean a lot to me, so stop panicking!"

As always, I nodded and released a breath I was unaware I was holding. Despite having met Alycia's family a few times before, I was still nervous because this time was different. It wasn't a meal at night and then say goodbye, it was staying for a week and getting to know them better. Sounds easy, right?

Wrong.

Not only were her parents insanely intimidating, but they were also loaded with millions of dollars, and they didn't seem to like me very much.

"Miss Debnam-Carey, we have arrived," the driver from the front of the car informed Alycia.

Yeah, a driver. Her parents sent for someone in a car (that probably cost more than all of my belongings put together) to pick Alycia and I up. All through the journey, I had been freaking out internally and failing to hide it on the outside.

"You ready?"

It took me a moment to realise that Alycia was talking to me. I looked to her, and the humour that was painted on her face throughout the whole journey was gone and replaced with reassurance.

"As ready as one can be when they are about to epically embarrass themselves in front of their loved one's parents."

Her adorable giggle echoed in the backseat of the car as the vehicle came to a halt. "I got you, Y/N. Don't worry."

The door to my right was opened by the driver, who had stepped out of the car without me noticing. I took a deep breath before stepping out of the vehicle. Only for my jaw to drop. Their house was beautiful.

Or should I say mansion.

The whatever-it-was was huge, spreading across a large amount of land. Only in front of me I could see a white, stone-carved fountain that was spouting crystal blue water, which was obviously artificially enhanced but beautiful nonetheless. Around the fountain was a cobbled pathway that led to the front door and around the driveway. Surrounding the mansion was acre after acre of empty land, being used for various rich-people activities.

If this was what the front of the grand house looked like, how did the rest look?

I felt someone's hand push my jaw close and I looked to my left to see that humoured grin on Alycia's beautiful face again. "Don't want to catch flies now, do we?"

I rolled my eyes but smiled, already feeling better knowing that she was still the same old Alycia I had fallen in love with. Despite the millions her parents owned.

"Come on," she said with a smile, lacing her fingers through mine and tugging me to her side a little. "I'll show you around."

—

"And that's the golf course," she finished, releasing my hand and looking to me with a bright smile. "What do you think?"

Alycia had shown me around the whole of her home and it was pretty hard for me to stay sane when her mansion of a home was freakin' beautiful. The amount of facilities that she had was unbelievable and it only made me realise how much harder this visit would be.

"It's amazing, Alycia," I responded, smiling weakly. "This is going to be an awesome week."

She smiled at my response, but when she saw the worry in my eyes, her smile faded away and she grabbed my hand once again. "Y/N, what did I tell you about worrying?"

"To only do it when I'm worrying about whether there's a ghost living in our flat?"

She sighed and cracked a smile, knowing humour was my defence mechanism to hide my feelings. "I never said that."

I scoffed. "I mean, have you seen the way our doors keep swinging close without anyone touching them?"

"Y/N–"

"Like, seriously. I'll literally be on the other side of the room and bang! The door shuts–"

"Y/N–"

"–and I'll spend the whole day wondering if somebody previously died in that place or if I'm just losing my mind–"

I got cut off when I felt a soft pair of lips press against mine. It was only short, but boy was it amazing. Alycia pulled away and laughed at my expression, which probably resembled a younger me getting my first kiss off Alycia a few years ago.

"You really need to quit babbling sometimes," she said, knowingly, patting my cheek with her hand.

"Sorry," I mumbled, taking her hand and kissing it gently. "I'm just being stupid. I promise I'll act normal now."

She shrugged and grabbed my hand, leading me back to the house. "If you say so, but you can't act like something you aren't."

It took me a few seconds to realise what she'd said since it was said so casually, but when I did, I gasped and looked at her, feigning offence.

"I'm kidding," she said in between laughter. "Sort of."

I waved my hand dismissively. "Oh, okay. That's fine. I guess I'll be sort of kidding when I tickle you!"

"Y/N, don't," she warned me, losing her amusement, and when I took a step forward, she backed up. Green eyes fixed on mine and she repeated, "Don't."

I quirked a brow, resisting the urge to smile. "Don't what, darling?"

It was silent between us, her not moving a muscle as she waited for me to dare make a move. All it took was for me to step forward and she yelped before running away.

"Alycia!" I shouted, chasing after her, but damn she was fast.

She kept looking back every so often to make sure I was far enough from her, so I ran that extra bit faster, closing in on her until we finally reached the house. Running inside, she was out of sight and I immediately slowed down upon entering the main atrium.

Too uncomfortable to be alone in someone else's house, let alone a rich person's house, I forgot what I was doing and tried to swallow down my nerves.

"Alycia!" I whisper-shouted, eyes scanning the space to try and find her. "Where are you?" The uneasiness settled in when there was no sign of her. "Alycia!"

Just when I was about to give up and ring her, I felt someone jump on my back and I automatically caught their legs, holding them upright instinctively.

"Hey, loser," Alycia's voice said into my ear, sending uncontrollable shivers down my neck. She leaned down further and kissed me on my cheek.

I craned my neck so that I could see her face, only to see that annoyingly attractive smirk on her lips all over again. "You're actually so annoying. Why am I even with you?"

She laughed it off. "'Cause you love me, duh!"

"Sure I do," I mumbled, before looking around.

She had shown me around earlier, so I remembered seeing a couch to the side which gave me an idea.

"Giddy up, horsie!" Alycia shouted, whilst patting me on the back simultaneously.

I smirked and walked forward, towards the couch. "I'll show you just how much I love you, Alycia."

She didn't respond, but I could sense her confusion. I headed towards the couch and turned around so that my back was facing it. She eventually realised what I was going to do and tried to jump off me, but I sat down before she could escape.

"Get off!" she ordered, trying to escape from my weight of a body that was currently crushing her and preventing her from standing up.

I purposely pressed myself down on her even more and laughed at her helpless struggling. "I just love you so much, Alycia. I can't help but be close to you!”

Her body was shuffling about beneath me and I could hear her whimpers as she tried to shove me off, but she wasn't strong enough. I thought she would give up, but instead, she began to use her hands, ruffling my hair and slapping my face with them.

"Not–" slap, "so–" slap, "funny–" slap, "now–" slap, "–is it?" she asked between laughter, making me squeeze my eyes close as she slapped me wherever she could.

Even without turning around, I could already imagine the obnoxious smirk adorning her lips.

I stood back up to get away from her, but she clung onto me from behind and began to slap my face again. I tried running away from her, but she wouldn't let go, her arms and legs clinging to me like a koala.

"Alycia! Let–" I tried prying her off me, but it wasn't working. "–go!"

"Then say–" she smacked my forehead, "–you love me!"

We were both as stubborn as each other, so the next minute consisted of Alycia smacking me and clinging to me, and myself trying to pry her off but failing miserably. We were so caught up in annoying each other that we didn't even realise we had an audience.

"Ahem," someone cleared their throat on purpose.

Alycia and I paused and turned to the left, only to see Mr and Mrs Debnam-Carey standing there with raised eyebrows. I looked back to Alycia and saw her mid-smacking my face, and I didn't look any better as I attempted to throw her off me. Oh, God.

"This looks a lot worse than it is." I laughed awkwardly, letting Alycia down off my back gently.

"Mum, dad!" Alycia yelled happily, immediately running to both of her parents and embracing them in a tight, loving hug.

They returned the hug, but their eyes were studying me up and down over her shoulder, and I couldn't help but feel uncomfortable under their gaze. Talk about bad timing.

"You guys know Y/N," Alycia introduced as she motioned to me.

I stepped forward and Alycia grabbed my hand, squeezing it gently for reassurance. She sent a hopeful smile my way and I felt the majority of my nerves die down. Her smile always made me feel ten times better; she had a certain power to make me feel good, and I loved her for it.

"Lovely to meet you both again," I greeted her parents, smiling nervously. I put my right hand out and they both shook it.

"You, too, Y/N," her mum responded, smiling a little. "We're glad you could join us for the week. It'll be good to be able to get to know each other properly."

I nodded in agreement. The reason I'd been with Alycia for so long and not gotten to know her parents as much is because it took her a long time to feel comfortable enough to introduce me, and when she did, I got the vibe that her parents didn't like me as much. It had been really difficult to 'befriend' them, if you will, which is why they invited me over for the week.

"Has Alycia shown you around the house?" her dad asked, seeming as if he were ready to snap his fingers and have someone give me a full-blown tour. Which to be honest, he probably could.

I nodded again. "Uh, yeah. You both have a lovely home by the way."

They smiled kindly and nodded their heads as a thank you. I internally relaxed, glad that I'd said the right thing. So far, so good.

"I'm sure Alycia can show you where you're both staying," her mum explained. "You can freshen up and then you'll be joining us for dinner tonight. We're having lamb. Sound good?"

"Yeah," I said with a nod, before smiling. "Thanks."

They smiled my way before leaving the main atrium. When they left, I let out a deep breath that I wasn't even aware I was holding.

"You looked like you were about to combust into thin air," Alycia noted aloud, an amused smile on her lips. "You okay?"

I flashed her a small smile. "Perfect."

—

Dinner rolled around quickly enough, too quick for my liking. The rest of the afternoon was spent with Alycia and I unpacking and messing about in our room, which was huge by the way. It was beautiful, though, especially with its balcony that overlooked one of the many grounds that the Debnam-Careys owned.

"So Y/N," Alycia's mother began after we had all dug into our meals and awkward small talk was made. "What have you been up to lately? You're doing a teaching degree at university, right?"

I was surprised to know that she actually remembered from our last chat which was a pretty long time ago, but nodded nonetheless.

"Uh, yeah. It's going well. It's kept me pretty busy, but I know I'll achieve something at the end of it, so I don't mind."

"Not too busy to keep Alycia happy, though, right?" her dad teased playfully, though I could tell that he genuinely wanted to know. I always got this vibe that he didn't like me as much, at least compared to her mum.

His comment caused Alycia to flush with embarrassment and sink lower into her seat to avoid being seen, though it made no difference.

I chuckled and glanced at Alycia, lacing our fingers together underneath the table. "Alycia's happiness will always be my top priority," I spoke with sincerity, smiling at the embarrassed Australian beside me.

Neither of her parents responded, but when I looked back at them, her mum was smiling as she looked between us. I wish I could say the same for her dad, but he was studying me like a battle plan, detecting whether I would make the right or wrong move in the future. And so returned my nerves...

"How is your company doing?" I asked them both, hoping to make good conversation and not say anything wrong. "I heard its picked up quite a bit recently. There was that new TV advertisement, right?"

The Debnam-Careys were rich because of their world-renowned summer camps, ironically where Alycia and I first met and she tried to pretend it was her aunt who owned it. It was their number one achievement, I had learnt, and sometimes I was sure that they were more proud of that than they were of Alycia, but I never said anything because it wasn't any of my business.

Alycia's mum finished chewing her food and nodded her head, saying, "It's definitely getting more popular. The advert helped, yes."

I nodded and tried to think of something else to ask or say, but I didn't know what. And all whilst I was trying to think, a good two minutes had passed, it being full of an awkward, uncomfortable silence. And this is exactly what I was dreading.

The whole meal was filled with random small conversations that soon ended with silences, and it was the most uncomfortable thing I had ever had to endure. So, you can imagine how happy I was when it was over.

"They hate me," I repeated for the millionth time, all whilst pacing up and down in Alycia and I's bedroom. "I probably looked like some boring person who has no interests."

Alycia sighed from where she was sat at the edge of the bed, and ran her hands through her hair. "You always overthink things, Y/N. It wasn't as bad as you're making it out to be."

I paused and looked to her with a raised eyebrow. "Are you kidding me? The highlight of the evening was you dropping your fork under the table, only to drop my fork under the table too."

She chuckled and stood up, moving closer to me and taking my hands in hers. "I only did that so I could talk to you under the table."

"I know." I cracked a smile. "And I appreciate the mini pep talk you gave me."

She did that cute smile she does, where her nose scrunched up and her eyebrows furrowed together, and I felt the need to lean in and give her a small but tender kiss on the lips. It certainly took her by surprise, and when I pulled away, she smiled at me with confusion.

"What was that for?"

I moved a piece of hair from her eyes and smiled down at her. "I don't really tell you enough, but I appreciate you a lot."

She chuckled gently. "I love you too, you idiot."

I rolled my eyes playfully, not bothering to explain what I meant. Instead, I leaned in again and kissed her, appreciating the way she relaxed and began to kiss me back. I was certain I'd never get tired of her lips against mine.

—

"You're kidding me, right?"

Alycia laughed and shook her head. "Honestly, I'm not."

I raised both of my eyebrows at her, still not believing a word she was saying. "You've got to be joking! You're seriously telling me that you and your parents did this 'afternoon tea' every single day for three years?"

Alycia nodded and took a sip of her tea. "Between the ages of 9 to 11. They believed it was the key to developing my social skills." She bit her lip as she thought to herself, before adding, "Evidently that didn't work since I'm super awkward with people I don't know, but yeah."

I couldn't help but laugh at her seriousness. We'd been here two days and Alycia had invited me to 'afternoon tea' with her and her parents. Of course, they'd said they were going to be a little late, so Alycia and I got started as they'd wished.

Honestly? It was a little weird, but the little cakes were delicious and Alycia's table etiquette was a sight to see, so this was all worth it.

I wasn't really sure how Alycia's parents felt about me at the moment to be honest. It had only been two days and yet they still made no effort to show me what they were thinking. Alycia assured me that was just their personality, but I wasn't so sure...

"Oh, look, my parents are here," Alycia pointed out, her eyes on the door.

I followed her line of sight, looking to the door on the side of their house (mansion) that led outside where we were sat, overlooking one of their many well-kept gardens. She was right – her parents were here, but they weren't alone.

"Erm, who's that?" I asked, quietly, so only Alycia would hear me. There was a random man stood trailing behind her parents as they approached the table we were sat at.

Alycia was smiling on the outside as the two of us stood up, but I could see the confusion in her eyes. "Not gonna lie, Y/N. I have no idea."

I wasn't really liking where this was going, especially since Alycia was as clueless as I was, but nonetheless, I plastered a smile on my lips and watched as the three figures stopped by the table.

"Ah, girls, sorry we're late," her father apologised, and honestly, I'd never seen him look so happy in the whole time I'd met him. Something wasn't right. "I was waiting for Clayton."

At this comment, he patted the guy's – I guess, Clayton's – back, causing them both to chuckle. The guy was pretty tall, young, handsome, well-dressed... well, shit, I definitely wasn't liking where this was going.

"Sweetie, sorry we're late," Alycia's mum apologised to her, and when she looked my way, I felt like she was apologising to me too, but rather more for what was about to go down. Shit, shit, shit.

"It's fine," Alycia got out, keeping up her smile. She spared Clayton a glance before meeting her father's eyes. "I thought it was just us for tea, dad?"

Her father merely shrugged before motioning to Clayton. "Yes, but I bumped into Clayton here yesterday and thought he'd make a great addition to this event! You remember Clayton, right, sweetie?"

Alycia's forced smile was slowly being replaced with a look of confusion. Meanwhile, I was awkwardly rocking back and forth on my heels and trying not to think about what was happening.

"Charlie and Maggie's boy," her dad explained. "Remember?"

Alycia still seemed lost, and as each second passed, I was slowly losing my mind.

"We were in primary school together," Clayton spoke, a smile on his lips. "We had Miss Penny together?"

Alycia narrowed her eyes as she studied him, attempting to put two and two together. "Clayton... Clayton... wait, I think I– Clay? The kid who had that massive nosebleed in the school play?"

Clayton chuckled awkwardly, looking down to his shoes. "That was– yeah, that was me.

Alycia stifled a laugh as she nodded. "Wow, it's been a long time. I guess, how have you been?"

"Good! Good...," he said cheerfully. I wanted to fall asleep right now, that's how dry this conversation was. "I'm actually in the estate agency business now."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah..."

"Pretty big step up from primary school, eh?" I joked as I tried to make myself present, only to cringe internally at my choice to speak because literally everyone looked my way. The only person who didn't have daggers in her eyes, excluding Alycia, was Alycia's mother. She looked like she was amused, if anything.

"Erm, this is my girlfriend, Y/N Y/L/N," Alycia introduced me. "Y/N, this is–"

"Clayton from primary school, I got that," I cut her off, smiling dryly. Thankfully, nobody got offended, but Alycia did send me a confused stare.

"Girlfriend...?" Clayton seemed surprised, but he overcame that pretty quickly as he smiled in my direction. "Nice to meet you, (your name pronounced wrong)–"

"It's Y/N," I corrected him through gritted teeth and a fake smile.

"Right," he did the same. "Sorry."

There was an awkward, tension-filled silence in the air as Clayton checked out Alycia pretty obviously. I didn't bother hiding the glare I was sending him.

"So, shall we get started?" Alycia's dad asked rhetorically, clapping his hands together.

I clenched my jaw as I looked between them both. I didn't think I could stand sitting through a bloody afternoon tea with this guy. God help me.

—

"...and so I knew I had to buy the car off him," Clayton was telling another one of his boring stories as I sipped from my tea. "It holds too many good memories to simply let go of!"

Alycia's dad chuckled like he'd said the funniest thing in the world whilst Alycia and her mum smiled politely. I wanted to leave. I hated it here and it was very obviously why Alycia's dad had invited Clayton here in the first place. Clayton was just as I expected him to be – rich, boring and ogling my girlfriend – and there was nothing I could do except sit and put up with it.

All tea time, Alycia's dad was asking Clayton questions about his life, whilst trying to involve Alycia and engage them both in conversation. Not once had I been spoken to, unless you counted the few times Alycia tried to involve me with an apologetic look in her eyes. So, I hated it here. And I wanted to leave.

"I've actually bought the car with me if you want to see it," Clayton said to Alycia's dad. "It's parked out front. A wonder, really."

"Oh, how exciting!" he exclaimed, before looking to Alycia. "Why don't we go and take a look?"

Alycia quirked a brow, trying to remain polite. "As much as I'd love that, I'm actually a little tired. I think Y/N and I might go upstairs to relax a little."

Yes, yes, yes. We can leave!

"I'm sure Y/N won't mind if you meet her up there, right, Y/N?" her dad asked, looking to me, before saying to Alycia, "It'll only be a moment, darling, c'mon. Clayton is a guest. We can see him off also."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, but said, "It's fine, Alycia, I'll see you after. Your father is right. You should see off your guest.”

Even saying it aggravated me, but the sooner she went, the sooner Clayton would be gone and the sooner I wouldn't have to see him again.

"Very well," Alycia agreed reluctantly, before standing up. "Shall we?"

We all stood up and I was relieved when I walked in a different direction to them, instead going upstairs to our room to collapse on the bed and mentally switch off.

I'd love to say that that was the last I ever saw of Clayton, but it wasn't.

The next morning, when I thought I was going to eat breakfast with my girlfriend in peace, we came downstairs to find Clayton in the kitchen chatting with Alycia's parents. There was an assortment of muffins and pastries in a basket next to them and I instantly where this was going.

"Alycia, my dear, good morning!" her father said with a smile, stretching out his arm to hug her.

She was as confused as I looked, but hugged her father. "Morning, dad. What's all this?" Glancing at Clayton, she nodded. "Clay, hi."

"Clayton here thought he'd stop by to surprise us with breakfast," her dad explained. "Isn't that thoughtful?"

"Sure is...," Alycia agreed awkwardly.

"Your dad said chocolate croissants are your favourites, so there's a few in there for you," Clayton added with a smile, and the way he was staring at her was enough to make me want to throw up, but I simply stared daggers into his head instead.

"I really appreciate it," Alycia said kindly, "but Y/N and I were actually going to head out for breakfast."

At this, everyone looked to me and I was so used to being ignored in that moment that I suddenly felt nervous.

"It was very nice of you to get the muffin basket though," I said uncomfortably. "Looks like some... great options."

Just kill me now.

"Right... well, Clayton is going to be hanging about here today. We're talking business. So, if you're up for a good old catch up, you know where to find him," Alycia's father said to her.

"I will, dad, thanks," Alycia said with a small smile, before approaching me.

I nodded at him before letting Alycia drag me out of there. Only when we were gone did she stop to look at me apologetically.

"I had no idea he was going to be here again," she said guiltily. "I don't know what my dad is up to, but it's certainly not fair on you."

I shrugged uncomfortably. "I knew he didn't like me, but this is a little weird."

"I'll talk to him," Alycia promised, cupping my face and finding my eyes with hers. "He shouldn't be doing this."

I nodded, not sure I could do much else other than agree, and she pulled me in for a tight hug before letting go.

"Breakfast's on me," she promised, kissing my hand. "Let's go."

—

So, whatever chat Alycia had with her father didn't seem to do the job.

Later that same day, I was lounging around and watching TV by myself whilst Alycia was supposed to be hanging around with her mum. But when I finally got up to find her, hoping to join them to cure my boredom, I couldn't seem to locate either of them. And it definitely didn't help that the Debnam-Careys residence was too large for me to search without an inkling to where they could be.

I tracked down one of the staff members, finding the nearest one and hoping they could help. She was a young-ish girl, older than me but still younger than the other staff here, and seemed friendly enough.

"Sorry to bother you, but have you seen Alycia anywhere?" I asked.

"Oh, yeah, she's out horse riding," the girl answered with a smile.

Barely remembering where she could be doing that since Alycia's tour had already flown from my mind, I asked the staff member, "Thank you. Sorry, what's your name?"

"Millie," she quipped, before suppressing a laugh when she saw my confusion. "Do you need directions to the field?"

I smiled sheepishly. "Am I that obvious?"

She chuckled before saying, "It's just outside. Walk past the shed over there–" She pointed her finger out of the doors from the dining room, "–and it's the one on your left. You won't miss her."

I sighed with relief. "Cheers, Millie. You're a lifesaver."

She nodded. "Anytime."

Following her instructions, I headed outside and tried not to get lost amongst the greenery. Just when I was on track, I turned to the left and indeed found the correct space where Alycia was horse riding. I began to smile as I approached, but then I stopped when I saw she was with Clayton. What the hell was he still doing here?

Her father was there too, watching from the sidelines, but my eyes were glued to Alycia who was sat on her horse as Clayton sat on his, the two of them side by side and chatting with smiles on their faces. I knew Alycia probably got dragged into entertaining him by her father – she had an inability to say no to her parents, I'd noticed. And I also knew that she didn't like Clayton like that, but it still stung a little to see them together.

Despite her wealth and class, she'd only ever been my Alycia. Nothing intimidating about her. And it was definitely more of a me problem, but seeing her like this... horse riding for God's sake, and with a handsome man who was dressed to impress and had heart eyes for her, only made me feel like I didn't really belong here. She was the daughter of a bloody millionaire and I was me. I'd never even saved ten grand, let alone millions.

And yes, this wasn't her problem. She still loved me for me. And I wasn't usually the insecure type. But right now, seeing her, maybe I was starting to become that.

Not wanting to interrupt and definitely not in the greatest of moods anymore, I returned to the house, sulking.

"Did you find her?" Millie asked, and I was surprised she cared enough to.

"Yeah, thank you. She's horse riding alright," I answered, before scowling to nobody in particular. "With Mr Sucky-Handsome Face."

Millie frowned a little, sensing my disappointment. "Is everything okay?"

I sighed deeply. "Oh, yeah, everything's great. Just having the time of my life watching some dude check out my girlfriend in front of me and try to steal her away. Nothing much."

Okay, so I was salty and it was very unprofessional of me to air my grievances to the staff, but I couldn't help it. Alycia wasn't here and I had nobody else to talk to.

"That's shit," Millie said, surprising me. "Sounds like you need to take your mind off it.

I smiled dryly. "If only it were that easy."

"Well, I was going to start baking some dessert for dinner tomorrow," she said, before suggesting, "Maybe you'd like to help? You could prepare something special for Alycia. I'm sure she'd love that."

I glanced at her. "Really? I can do that?"

Millie laughed. "Of course you can! C'mon. Kitchen's this way."

Surprised that she was offering to cheer me up and also that she was so chill to be around, I smiled a little. "Wow, thanks, Millie."

I spent the remainder of the afternoon helping Millie bake some cupcakes in the kitchen, whilst she also helped me put together a little cake for Alycia. We only got as far as baking the cake part since she had to do her other duties as a staff member, but she promised I could help with the icing tomorrow and to say I was a little excited was an understatement. It certainly did the job of helping me forget about stupid Clayton and his inability to leave my girlfriend alone.

By the time the evening rolled around, Alycia and I were eating dinner by ourselves in one of the many dining rooms of the household. It was nice to finally have her to myself, since she'd been MIA all day, though at no fault of her own.

"So, I should probably tell you if you didn't already know," she began, "but I was hanging out with Clayton earlier today."

And just when I thought I'd forgotten about that.

"It was solely because my dad invited him over and basically dragged me away from my mum," she continued to explain, a hint of regret in her voice. "I really didn't want to."

I shrugged, focusing on my dinner plate. "You can't help it if your dad makes you. It's fine, Alycia."

"I told my dad to back off," she assured me, finding my hand on the table. "He claims it's a business venture. An opportunity."

I almost snorted, but remained cool. An opportunity, sure. An opportunity to steal my girlfriend.

"I don't know what he's told Clayton, but I've made it very obvious I'm taken," she said with conviction, tugging my hand and finally earning my attention. Her eyes were searching mine. "He's nothing to worry about, okay?"

I awkwardly began to smile, really not enjoying this conversation. "I know, Alycia."

She didn't seem convinced, but clearly sensing my discomfort, she dropped the topic. With a nod, she let go of my hand and grabbed her fork to twirl her pasta. Meanwhile, I felt icky at the mere thought of Clayton hanging around her again. Why did Alycia's dad hate me that much that he'd try to set his daughter up with some guy whilst I'm right here? Talk about rude!

"So, what did you get up to today?" Alycia asked, thankfully changing the subject. "You weren't bored, I hope?"

As I remembered this afternoon's events, I began to smile, excited to share with Alycia. "Not at all. There's this girl that works here. Millie? Well, she let me help her bake some cupcakes in the kitchens. Which, by the way, your kitchen's huge."

Alycia tried not to laugh as she watched me. "That sounds lovely. So, where are these cupcakes? Do I get a taste?"

"They're not finished yet," I told her with amusement. "Tomorrow's dessert, love. Also, there may or may not be an extra surprise for you."

"Oh, now you have to tell me more," she insisted, and I laughed at her curious expression.

"It wouldn't be a surprise then, idiot," I reminded her. "Tomorrow. You'll find out tomorrow."

She sighed dramatically but nodded. "Very well. It better be dessert-related. All this talk of cupcakes is making me hungry."

"So what I'm hearing is you wanna go on a dessert run," I said with a nod, already convinced.

Her smile widened. "Hell yeah. Finish your pasta and let's go."

I rolled my eyes at her childishness, but did just that. Maybe today wasn't so bad after all and I was just overthinking it.

#alycia debnam carey #alycia debnam carey x you #alycia debnam carey x reader #alycia debnam carey imagine

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littleshploinka · 3 months

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Ten years ago the russian set foot in my country. The russian raped. The russian killed. The russian pillaged. The world kept on silently turning, ignorant of what Ukraine was going through. Peace of mind was higher on the list of priorities than peace.

But then the 24. February 2022 happened. And the world seemed to, for the first time, notice.

It's 26. February 2024 now. Two years and two days since.

Last year I was thankful for my comfort, yet this year I am revolted by the comfort those around me choose to bask in, consciously buying it with the lives of those they deem far enough away to be expendable.

It's been two years and still the russian rapes, kills, pillages, tortures, steals, defiles and rapes again and kills again. And the "war in Ukraine" is still somehow a controversial topic and the life of the Ukrainian mother, child, husband, uncle, grandmother, neighbour, friend, or classmate is but a statistic.

So I address this post to you, the comfortable one.

Look in the eyes of the pregnant woman raped to death by russian soldiers and tell her "you're a statistic".

Look in the eyes of the man shot by russian soldiers while on his way to feed his elderly mother and tell him "you're a number".

Look in the eyes of the child bringing canned food to their mother's grave after she was starved to death by russian soldiers sieging Mariupol and tell them "your mother is a number".

And to you compassionate ones:

Break the silence. Speak and scream and sing of russia's crimes and Ukraine's resistance,

Donate. A dollar, two, five, ten, twenty. Alone, with your family, with your friends. Buy a vest, helmet, a bandaid, a meal, a drone.

You can save a life.

I'll keep on doing just that. I will shout and donate and cry. And hope we can finally heal. Hope we can finally grieve.

Hope we can finally.

Fucking.

Rest.

Слава Україні 🇺🇦

#ukraine #free ukraine #russian invasion #russia #ukranian #україна #слава україні!

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macsimagines · 10 months

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Yandere!Hakkai Shiba w/ an S/O he 'bought'

(I was sick of waiting for him to win the polls and wrote this myself. OOPS. Angsty too. Set in the timeline that Hakkai became the leader of the blackdragons.)

TW: NSFW Minors DNI, Yandere behavior, Coercion, Manipulation, mentions of possible Prostitution.

Your family is in debt. Huge debt. And you have no choice but to try and sell yourself to save them.

Searching for some kind of work you figure out the best way to make back the money they owe is a 'Host' club ran by a man named Nahoya Kawata.

The process is exhausting, they almost don't hire you. You're very shy despite your pretty face and they don't think you'll be a good fit until they hear you're a virgin.

You should have never said anything but you just blurted it out when they asked. Suddenly Nahoya himself contacts you and explains he knows your situation.

He says people will pay top dollar for a young virgin that is as pretty as you. You'll have to comply with some blood tests and a screening to make sure you're telling the truth but that if the results come back good, he can make sure your families debt is payed off within the year.

Its all a lie of course, as soon as your virginity is gone he'll make sure you're stuck with him for the next five years until you're all used up.

But then Hakkai Shiba sees you. He tells Smiley he likes your pretty face, and Nahoya tells him you're a new contracted girl working for him. He explains your situation to him and Hakkai asks to have you entertain him.

Surprisingly, he doesn't want sex. Just wants something pretty and innocent on his arm for one night to make him seem more menacing in comparison.

What he doesn't expect is to fall in love. Your gentle touches, your sweet voice, the genuine concern you have for him when he gets rough with some punk he tried to make a deal with.

You're too good for this. All of it. And he's sick to his stomach to think how Smiley is going to turn you out.

He then buys out your contract. Pays off your families debt. Smiley tells you what happened and now Hakkai owns you. Nahoya has a new contract drawn out for you, and you sign it without looking at it.

That night, Hakkai is quiet, as he slowly pulls you towards the bed. Loves the pure white lingerie you're wearing. Probably courtesy of Smiley.

Lays you down on the bed, and kisses your lips lightly then trails kisses all the way down to your panties. His rough hands run up and down your legs and finally takes the garment off, pulls your thighs apart and stares down at his meal.

You weren't expecting him to start licking you up and down. You thought it would be the other way around. But he expertly eats you out with long strokes of his tongue, gently inserts a few fingers when you start to get nice and slick, groans at all your whimpers and loves knowing you're never going to be touched like this by any one else.

Takes your virginity, and you don't know what's worse. The fact that a man you know to be a murderous gangster had your first time, or the fact that he was so kind and gentle with you that you actually enjoyed it.

He's big- No, he's huge. But you came on his tongue and fingers and for whatever reason having him fill you inch by inch, raw, felt so amazing. You can feel your pussy pulse around his girth, and you swear you can hear him gasp when you clench around him...

You feel him fill you up, and can't even force yourself to stay awake while he actually goes down on you again. Licking you clean with his own cum leaking out of you.

Hakkai never says one word to you...

Congratulations! The Leader of the Black Dragon Sect is now your sugar daddy. And even though he says he's going to help you, you feel like you're sinking more and more into debt.

Hakkai is also stark quiet with you. In his head he thinks you two are slowly falling in love and that you understand the depths of his affections. But you don't understand why a man who only speaks two words to you, Yes and No, when he sees you is paying for your nice apartment and nice clothes....

The paranoia is eating away at you. He's going to want something from you, not just your little hands on his arm and for you to have sex with him occasionally... even if its so amazing.

But Hakkai insists he just wants you with him. Here a new handbag. His sister told him this is a good brand. What about some diamonds for your neck? You're so pretty...

Eventually you tell him, you want to get a job. Pay him back in a real way. Your breaking his heart baby, he doesn't want you to go anywhere. Don't you know he loves you? Don't you know you're married?

You're once again shellshocked. That's not possible, you'll tell him, he just bought out your contract and had you sign a new one right!?

Through his tears and sniffles Hakkai pulls out the contract that Smiley had you sign and that's when you realize it was never a fucking agreement or contract of any kind. It was an incredibly detailed and thorough unbreakable marriage license.

"I-I had no idea!" you tell him, feeling yourself about to cry but for very different reasons, "S-smiley didn't tell me! Pl-please Mr.Shiba you have to-!"

He grabs you and wraps you in a crushing embrace, his huge form needing to bend just so he can fully hold you.

"D-Don't call me Mr.Shiba. I'm Hakkai. I'm your husband. You're my wife."

You can feels his tears fall onto where his head is buried in your shoulder, you see the way his own shoulders shake as he cries.

"Please, I'll be good. I swear I'll be good. We'll be a real married couple. Just please...don't leave me.

#yandere tokyo revengers #yandere tokyo revengers smut #yandere tokrev #yandere hakkai shiba #yandere hakkai #yandere hakkai shiba smut

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oneatlatime · 7 months

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Zuko Alone

I'm hoping for some Appa this episode. It's been too long since he's gotten any good sight gags.

Zuko is cosplaying Clint Eastwood. He's also back to being stupid pale this episode.

You know it's a good thing that Zuko's not in the Fire Nation anymore because he really would have sucked at being Fire Nation. Robbing pregnant women is probably kindergarden level stuff for them.

How is Zuko in such bad shape? Last time we saw him he had a cave full of spoils robbed from rich people. Did he not bother to pack at least some of that stuff? Actually, not thinking far enough ahead to pack would be pretty in character.

Oof that would rub me the wrong way. Not enough money for a meal, but sure, let's use totally edible eggs as ammo.

Where'd the egg go?

Who is the scarred up hat wearing vampire and what happened to the real Zuko? Imposter Zuko just elected to not be provoked into a fight. Real Zuko would already be setting things on fire.

Just a bunch of thugs. Yep. It's consistently awesome how many of the facets of war this show can cover.

Imposter Zuko and Song's horse bird just got kidnapped. Did not see that coming.

Zuko kind of has arm bandages like Sokka has this episode. Also love the character detail that the boy has scraped knees.

Is the kid's dad the same guy as the man at the store? Or maybe this is a one haircut town?

So the guy who was near to fainting off his horse bird this morning is now turning down freely offered food? Could Zuko please shelve his pride for five minutes? Kudos to the mom for accurately reading his distaste for charity and turning it into a request for aid though. Although covering for the boy's egg trick is worth at least a meal.

Tangent!

I don't get Zuko. How can he still have so much pride when he's wearing rags and starving himself to feed Song's horse bird? I'm quite shameless when it comes to accepting help and I've never, ever been able to understand the whole 'too proud to accept charity' mindset. I'm always up for some charity. I have enough manners to offer to do the dishes after, but if you're offering free food I'm eating it. And I've never been in a situation as desperate as Zuko's. So I don't get this.

ok tangent over.

Peak rich kid behaviour. I hope those nails aren't expensive otherwise Zuko doing work for food might end up with this family out of pocket.

Is the wood grain on this ladder an actual photograph of wood grain?

Zuko has more patience this episode than he had for all of season 1 combined. He's also never gone this long without yelling. Either proximity to young children activates Zuko's otherwise mostly slumbering decency, or to fit him into a Fistful of Dollars homage the writers had to make him out of character.

If I had been in this situation when I was a kid, if I had been a) this visibly bored, and b) this nosy around guests, I would have been given a hammer and a bag of nails in three seconds flat. Also, nice to see a Sokka face from Zuko.

I get that 'a man without a past' is a staple of the cowboy genre, but the boy's father bringing up the privacy of the past twice in like two minutes makes me think he's done stuff he doesn't want to talk about. Seems both the parents have read Zuko right though.

Finally! Some pretty! I have been suffering! This may be the first really good pretty all season!

Bad news for the Appa decor on my blog. He may have been supplanted in my affections.

Two things: first, Zuko is a carbon copy of his mom. Second, That is way too much forehead.

Having Zuko's mom introduce herself by talking about the lengths mothers will go to for their children is not giving me foreshadowing anxiety at all.

Azula's been a bitch since birth. Noted.

Sir, your eyebrows. Also, yeah, I wouldn't want to play with her either.

Yikes this is making my teeth itch and my skin crawl. Calling it now, she's rotten to the core.

Zuko and Azula's dad has some weak ass genes. BOTH of his children are carbon copies of their mom.

Also, I was not expecting Zuko's very stupid ponytail to be a pre-scar thing. It is much better with a full head of hair.

If I had spent my childhood hanging out with an untouchable princess who set things on my head on fire for fun whenever I involuntarily displayed emotion, I'd be gloomy and apathetic in self defense too.

Sokka in this episode in spirit, if not in person.

Seriously that's the same face three times over!

Um, no? If Iroh doesn't make it back from the front, doesn't his son become next in line to be Firelord?

Can you hear all the unspoken "father thinks that" and "father says that" in front of every one of Azula's opinions in this whole scene? I stand by my assertion that she's awful anyways, but she's also obviously drunk much too much of her dad's koolaid, if you know what I mean.

This kid is going to get into so much trouble one of these days. Provoking the soldiers, nagging the mysterious stranger with the mysterious past, and now taking his weapons? Kid's sweet but he really needs to learn when to stop pushing his luck.

Stabbing dead, dried wood sounds like a great way to utterly annihilate the edge on those. Hope Zuko packed a whetstone.

Where is this patience coming from? I don't understand and it's BUGGING me.

Hold on. Technical problems.

My very basic DVD player sometimes has difficulty with these disks. Whatever happened between the above two screenshots, I've missed it. So picking back up from the one on the right...

Either these soldiers are impressively cowardly (which, yeah) or Zuko's really been working on his death glare, because they've got him outnumbered and out-armoured and they still back off.

OH it's parallels! Zuko's cousin and the boy's older brother. Got it. Kind of a false parallel though. Grandson of the Firelord does not equal earth kingdom conscript.

Give the demonstrably impulsive and nosy child a knife. That'll work out just fine I'm sure. Pretty sad the kid glommed on to Zuko so quickly, but it's also yet another realistic representation of the consequences of war. This show's good.

*shudders* theatre kids.

She's tiny! Do you know how darkly humourous it is to watch a two foot tall baby spout her father's murderous nonsense? Once again, in this whole scene, not a word out of Azula's mouth is actually Azula's.

"What is wrong with that child?" Apart from budding homicidal and psychopathic tendencies? Her dad. Her dad is what's wrong with that child.

Their dad has no subtlety at all. And also no brain? You think a day after the firelord finds out one of his family died is the right time to very boorishly make a play for the crown with you daughter as a prop? Could you possibly come up with a better demonstration of why this guy shouldn't be in charge?

How did this asshole land such a nice wife?

Yep. Siding with the old firelord on this one.

Does flashback Zuko sleep in his day clothes? Because that's not ok.

I like that their mom sees straight through Azula's lying here. She knows her daughter.

In a move that should surprise no one, everything Zuko touches turns to shit, as usual.

It's the Mexico filter!

Absolute truth from Zuko in that monologue. He's got them pegged. Too bad it fell on deaf ears. It's Zuko's curse, that whenever he approaches being remotely reasonable, he happens to be surrounded by people who will react in such a way that Zuko learns to equate being reasonable with failure.

An earthbender. The bare feet should have clued me in.

Last season Zuko and Iroh laid waste to like ten of these guys. And Iroh didn't even have pants. So what gives? Is he that starved?

Ursa pulling a Mufasa.

Don't answer don't answer don't answer

And he does.

Zuko is so very good at completely misinterpreting the point.

So we can add thief to the list of things that make Azula awful. Also that delivery of "who's going to make me? Mom?" is chilling. Zuko's lost his only defender inside this atrocious family and she knows it, he knows it, hell the turtleducks probably know it.

His dying wish? You guys buying that?

Ozai. That's his name. I'd forgotten that.

So... something something dead firelord something something missing mom something something maybe Azula wasn't actually lying this time?

Final Thoughts

The title wasn't kidding. Let's rename the show 'Avatar: the Guy who's Really Bad at Capturing Him' while we're at it.

There is now no way whatsoever that Zuko is not going to be redeemed. No writing team would invest that much energy and a whole episode into a character we're not ultimately supposed to root for. So somehow he's going to end up joining the Gaang. Don't know how he'll pull that one off. He's done some pretty not great stuff. And it's not like the Gaang watched this episode and unlocked his tragic backstory.

Speaking of, what prompted these reflections? I could understand if Zuko started to contemplate his cousin and the events surrounding his loss in the war after he learned about the family's older brother, but he was having flashbacks before he even got to town. Usually when there are backstory bits, there's a good reason to show them at that time, like how the Storm prompts Aang to think about the last storm he was in, or seeing a boat from his father's fleet prompts Sokka to remember what his dad told him. So what caused Zuko's memories to give him situationally appropriate flashbacks?

Pretty funny that he found the Nice Earth Kingdom Family that Azula predicted for him. And they are really nice! Either Zuko is an open book or the parents' social intelligence is off the charts because they're giving him exactly what he needs to feel at ease after barely a single conversation.

Speaking of Azula, I'm not surprised to find that she's always had deeply awful tendencies, even as a child of (I'm guessing) less than ten. But it cannot be ignored that, from the moment her father took a liking to her (as a tool to boost his own greatness, if not as a person), she didn't stand a chance. You can tell by the number of times that the stuff coming out of her mouth is a thinly veiled repetition of her father's unfiltered opinions, that she's been spending lots of time listening to him, probably while he puts down her mom and brother and talks about how she's the special one. You know what I'm getting at. Azula never stood a chance once her father got involved, and her mom lost the ability to influence her once her father started giving Azula praise for objectively wrong behaviour. That being said, Azula is awful even when she doesn't need to be awful for her father's approval, like when she's with her friends, so it's not all her father's doing. She's not a good person but she also had plenty of help to become that.

I guess Zuko and his mom are Fire Nation anomalies? And maybe Iroh has become that since his son died and he lost the war?

How on earth did Zuko survive as long as he did in the palace without his mom to protect him? What a no-win situation to be in. The only person in a whole nation with empathy.

This episode does makes Season 1 Zuko make more sense. He's been larping his dad as a defense mechanism for surviving the Fire Nation/probably a very futile effort to earn his approval. Although Zuko doesn't seem to care much for his dad if the tone he takes with him by the turtleduck pond is any indication.

Being banished was the best thing that ever happened to Zuko. The more distance between him and his remaining non-uncle family, the better. Between prioritizing his crew over capturing the avatar in the Storm, releasing the Avatar in the Blue Spirit, and now defending a random earth kingdom child this episode, it's hilarious how much Zuko HASN'T learned the lesson that Ozai banished him for not knowing. Don't get me wrong; that's a good thing. This episode plainly shows that behaviour that pleases Ozai is behaviour that should be unlearned as quickly as possible.

Zuko completely missing the point of his mom's last instruction is delightfully on the nose. But it also makes sense, which I may talk more about later.

How did Zuko hold on to his temper (and his volume) for a whole episode?

How did a show named after the main character get away with an episode that doesn't feature him at all? As a concept, this is such a strange episode. The writers were like "how can we kick start the woobification of Zuko? I know! A Spaghetti Western!" and it worked. Who comes up with that?

I now want at least as much, if not more, of Sokka and Katara's childhood via flashbacks. And more Gyatso please. If they can devote a whole episode to the childhood of a guy who isn't even a team member yet, they can show me some Sokka childhood shenanigans as a palette cleanser.

I really don't know what conclusion to draw about this episode. The writers have given me a massive backstory/trauma dump and I'm honestly like:

#atla #avatar: the last airbender #avatar the last airbender #zuko alone #I really don't know what to make of this one

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everlasting-rainfall · 23 days

Text

-One Piece Crossing: Familial Yandere G8-

Okay so I wrote this as a bit of self comfort as Navarone aka the G8 Arc has always been a huge source of comfort for me but let me start this by saying this

NOTHING IN THIS IS MEANT TO BE ROMANTIC OR SEXUAL

FAMILIAL YANDERE’S ARE PEOPLE WHO VIEW YOU AS THEIR CHILD IN A YANDERE SENSE, THERE IS NO ROMANTIC LOVE TOWARDS YOU HERE

IF YOU BELIEVE THAT THERE IS THEN THERE IS NOT

THE REASON I DON’T WANT MINORS INTERACTING WITH THIS IS BECAUSE ALTHOUGH THERE IS NO ROMANTIC/SEXUAL CONTENT. I STILL DO NOT WANT THEM HERE!

Okay now that that’s out of the way, let’s get into it

!-MINORS DO NOT INTERACT AT ALL-!

!-POTENTIAL TRIGGER WARNINGS-!

Sentient Video Games, Stalking, Delusions, Writing Reminiscent of Old Creepypasta, Being Treated like a Baby, Gaslighting (?), Force Feeding, Kidnapping, Off Camera Beating, Execution Mention

!-POTENTIAL TRIGGER WARNINGS-!

!-MINORS DO NOT INTERACT AT ALL-!

Okay so let’s say that you wound up being the next person to come across the One Piece Crossing game like let’s say you found it at some kind of garage sale for five dollars or it was gifted to you by a friend or something

You booted the game up and played around with your characters design for a bit before setting the time and date then picking an island which is when you were finally given the choice between pirates which was a red box or marines which was a blue box

After thinking for a bit, you choose Marines and a villager select popped up where it would be two characters standing next to each other against the background of what looked like a harbor with their names underneath them

You hit random multiple times trying to find ones you would like and after what felt like hours of getting the same guy in a white shirt and a marine hat, you finally found someone you liked which was a red headed man with a big bushy mustache and a blonde dressed in what looked like a chef’s uniform

Their names were Jonathan and Jessica, they even had a line connecting their name boxes with a tiny box in the middle saying “Married!”

They seemed nice so you picked them and off you went to the island, the tutorial was alright if not pretty cozy as you and your villagers went around placing what would become your new homes and once your home was placed

You went inside and placed what little furniture your character had on them before going upstairs to save, you saw the phone up there and messed around with the settings menu that it provided before flicking Immersive Interactions on

After that, you saved the game and put it down for the day to do other things and once you picked it back up. The interactions really were much different as it almost felt like you were playing with actual people

Jessica although she was short tempered was somewhat kind with you and praised you for eating everything on your plate when her husband struggled with eating his broccoli and carrots. She would always actively come looking for your character too if she had found out that you hadn’t eaten or it was a meal time

Jonathan was more chill as he would always be in the most random spots like did you just find a small beach that you didn’t know was there? Jonathan found it first and is currently fishing there. He would always offer for you to join him as well to just sit down and relax until it was time for you to go

There was also one time as well when Jessica had come to tell you both that she had prepared food only for you to suddenly get a bite on your characters fishing rod, you weren’t expecting that to happen during a scripted event so it caught you off guard and next thing that you knew. Your character was being pulled into the ocean with a splash

It wasn’t long before your character resurfaced and a notification box popped up with your character looking embarrassed telling you “I hope that fish likes its new fishing rod because it’s gone now”. The two of them then helped your character out and you all had a small bit of a laugh about it

Eventually a few others moved onto the island having been invited by Jonathan and Jessica, they were people like Drake. Kobato. Mekao. A few others too like a few people known as Shinpachi and Tom

The island was filling out quite well in all honesty and although some of the characters could be a little irritating like Drake shouting at you when he saw you trying to decorate claiming that you shouldn’t be dragging things around like that by yourself as you could hurt yourself or when Mekao got blackout drunk on the beach and you had to clean up the bottles that were left behind when Kobato dragged him off telling him that he needs to cut that out for his health

It was still honestly quite fun despite it and honestly you wouldn’t trade these villagers for the world

Something surprising did happen at one point though and it was Jonathan coming to ask you a question, he was asking you if you would like to move in with him and Jessica as the island was getting bigger by the day and it could help with space

You figured it would be nice to have more decorating space so you selected yes and a little animation of your character moving their things into their home played out. You had a room in their home and they told you that they were happy to have you but gave you a few rules

It was after that when you saved your game and put it down for the day and let’s say that life got busy, you weren’t able to play anymore and when you did have time. You usually found yourself playing something else

However when you eventually returned back to One Piece Crossing, your character was asleep but they weren’t in their bed and instead looked like they were in an infirmary at a hospital or something. Your character had quite the bed head and from what you could see, there were nurses wandering around

That was weird but before you could make your character get up, a few notifications popped up telling you some things

“Jonathan has taken over the island while you’ve been away” “Jonathan has chosen to change the islands name to Navarone” “The islanders have changed the layout of Navarone” among other things but those were the ones that most interested you until…

“Jonathan and Jessica have chosen to adopt you”

That was weird to say the least, you didn’t expect there to be some kind of adoption mechanic like there was a relationship mechanic in the game to determine who was family and who was dating but you didn’t expect it to go as far as adoption

It was a pleasant surprise but in all honesty, you kind of wished that the game would have given you an option to reject it but oh well… You decided to internally blame the developers for not giving the player a say in this sort of thing…

So once the notifications were finished telling you about everything that had happened, you pressed a button to make your character get out of bed only for you to be rushed by the nurses who quickly laid you back down

They were surprised at your sudden awakening and urged you to stay in bed as you had just come out of a comatose state, you were in no state to be up and moving around until they gave you a clean bill of health

So your character was forced to stay in the bed and was shouted at by the nurses whenever you tried to get up, you almost turned the game back off until Kobato appeared and sat down next to your bed telling you how happy they all were that you were finally awake

Proceed to her asking your character all sorts of questions about how they were feeling after having been asleep for so long, you chose from the multiple options provided to you and honestly kinda felt like you were dealing with Mr. Resetti but a much calmer version of him who just wanted to make sure that you were okay

Once you were finally free from the medical area, you went wandering around only to find that the entire island wasn’t just different. It was barely recognizable, you felt like you were in some kind of military base instead of your cozy and fun little island

Honestly as well, you found yourself getting lost quite a few times… But no matter because as frustrating as it was, you were going to take the islands control back from him if the game would allow it

So when you finally reached where he was after lots and lots of wandering, you had your character enter through the double doors and found him talking to Drake about something only for both of them to go dead quiet when you saw them

You barely had any time to go over to Jonathan yourself as he suddenly rushed your character and hugged you tight saying that he was so happy that you were awake, he was even kissing your characters cheeks in a very detailed scene that looked straight out of an anime

Jonathan proceeded to have your character sit on his lap like a small child while he continued his conversation with Drake, you tried to initiate a conversation with him multiple times only to be told “Don’t interrupt”, “You can tell me when I’m done talking to Drake”, and “Sweetheart, Drake is talking…”

It was this every single time until you finally managed to get into a conversation with him only to find that there was no option for control of the island to be taken back from him which was annoying so you said out loud

“I don’t play for a few days and I lose control of the island permanently? That’s such shit…”

Only for Jonathan to respond directly to what you had said like he had heard you…

“I wouldn’t say it was few days, sweetheart… More like you were asleep for a few months… And besides why would you be in charge of Navarone? That’s a grown up’s job…”

Of course you absolutely froze upon hearing that as it was incredibly shocking to hear the character actually respond to what you had said… So once you had saved the game after getting away from Jonathan and turned it off

You checked the manual to see if the game used the microphone but there wasn’t a manual… You were thoroughly creeped out by this and you couldn’t find any information online about the game

Being very creeped out, you decided to put the game back down for a while and just play something else until while you were scrolling through the internet, you saw something that you just had to see for yourself as someone had made an absolutely great story island

So of course to go and see it, you would have to boot up your game again… It couldn’t be that bad, right? It was probably just coincidence and besides… It was probably worth it… Right…?

Debating for an while on whether or not to do it, you eventually came to the conclusion that “It’s just a game, it can’t do anything to me” so you booted it up and found that it was pretty late in game

You were in a room that looked like it was meant for a little kid to sleep in with a bit of medical equipment around you, there were a small amount of notifications to get through but you had your character hop off the bed and off you went

After changing them out of the cutesy blue pajama set with the ocean theming, you knew where the harbor was due to having left the island before Jonathan took it over but you had a feeling that this was going to be difficult with how Jonathan rearranged everything when it became Navarone

There were so many more villagers now too like a lot of those bland looking characters with the same white shirts and marine hats, they almost looked like they were patrolling too as they went about what they were doing

Regardless you kept wandering until you found the harbor which had be renamed to Dock 88 instead of the name that you had chosen for it. Luckily the NPC in charge of it was still there and you were able to input the code for that island you wanted to visit

It took a minute to register causing Mekao to notice you, he started to approach you only for the game to finally register the code as valid and the screen faded to black only for you to hear through the speakers as actual speaking and not the typical little sounds that were made when the islanders spoke

“Hey!! Come back!! That’s kidnapping, you bastards!!”

When the screen faded back in, you were in the typical loading screen for traveling to a new island as your character stood at the front of a boat with a smile on their face as the NPC stood behind them with their arms crossed

The little box at the bottom read your destination and you were excited if not a little weirded out by what had happened until your eyes widened when suddenly the fun little loading screen was interrupted when a cannonball landed in the water next to the boat

Suddenly the NPC’s boat was being raided by the islanders, the NPC’s were all being arrested and chaos came through your speakers as you watched as your character was grabbed and brought onto the ship that had pursued you

Drake was on board and he was shouting orders for the Marines to not let a single person get away but once he saw your character, he immediately switched up how he acted and started asking if you were alright

Saying that he knows how scary that must have been but its okay now and also that’s why you don’t talk to suspicious people

There was no chance for you to respond but soon the screen faded to black again and you were back at Navarone, you were barely two steps in before suddenly Jessica ran up to you looking absolutely panicked with her hair out of its usual bun style

Immediately she embraced you in a tight hug saying that she was so happy that you were okay and asking if those people had hurt you at all She looked to be on the absolute verge of tears like hearing that you had gotten “kidnapped” was some of the worst news that she could have ever been given

Like genuinely, I think you could tell her that her husband died and she would still take the news of you getting kidnapped worse

Soon enough, Jonathan arrived at the dock having hopped on a boat to give pursuit just like Drake had and he swiftly jumped off of it before it had even stopped moving and landed on the ground

He rushed up to you and made it so that the hug that Jessica was giving your character was likely even tighter, the man looked so relieved and he planted a big kiss on your characters cheek that for some reason… You felt like you could feel like you could feel the hairs of his mustache tickling your skin

“It’s okay, sweetheart… It’s okay now… You’re home… You’re safe…”

On the screen, you could seem all of the travel NPC’s being led off of a boat in handcuffs but they all looked really beaten up like someone had personally taken the time to completely brutalize all of them

It made you cringe with how bad their beatings looked, they looked like they would need a doctor with how they were going but Drake just shouted at them that they were going away for a long time and for his men to lock them all up

You knew that they didn’t deserve that so remembering that the game reacted to your voice, you tried to speak up…

“Hey, go easy on them! They don’t deserve that!”

“What are you talking about? Of course they do… They kidnapped you, sweetheart… In fact, they deserve much worse…”

“No, they don’t! I went with them willingly! They didn’t do anything wrong!”

“I think you may have hit your head at some point… You didn’t go with them… All the dock workers reported that you were kidnapped…”

“I’m telling you both! I wasn’t kidnapped! I put in a code to take me to another island that I wanted to see and they were taking me there!”

“Shhh… It’s okay… You don’t have to defend them… You’re here with us now… Back with Mom and Dad…”

“Could you quit acting like my parents and listen for fucks sake?!”

That last part, you said it out of frustration as they didn’t seem to be getting the hint that you were not kidnapped by the NPC’s but this seemed to deeply upset the two of them as they pulled back to look at you

The screen darkened ever so slightly and a chill went down your spine at this, you felt like you had messed something up deeply. You tried to press buttons after a minute of this but nothing happened so you tapped the screen and found your hand going through it

You felt like your wrist was grabbed and suddenly you were playing tug of war with whatever had you, you were fighting for your life as your heart raced in your chest but your fighting was no use as you wound up being pulled through the screen

Instead of landing on something hard, you found yourself landing in what felt like a hug which caused your heart to drop so you opened your eyes reluctantly

You were in the game being held by Jonathan and Jessica…

“We are your parents, sweetie… Let’s get you checked out at at infirmary…”

After that, you were taken away to the infirmary and looked over by Kobato who gave you a diagnosis of memory loss among a few other things that you didn’t really hear as when you were trying to shout that this wasn’t right

They ignored you like they couldn’t even hear you like there was barely even a glance in your direction from them

Jessica asked if there was any way that it could be helped but Kobato simply told them to remind you of how your life really is and to be patient

So after spending the night in Mama and Papa’s bed being cuddled in between them as they didn’t trust you to sleep in your bed anymore, you started trying to figure out how you could get out of this

When rifling through what was apparently your room and making a big mess to hopefully find something to send you home, you found yourself getting in trouble with Drake who scolded you for making such a big mess

You tried to basically enter hibernation in your bed of waking up and immediately going back to sleep but all that did was earn you a trip to the infirmary and Kobato telling you that doing that wasn’t healthy for you and you need to stop doing that

Part of you thought that you could potentially leave the game by getting out of Navarone so you attempted to stowaway on a ship that would be leaving soon only for Mekao to spot you and take you away from Dock 88 saying it was no place for someone like you

At some point you attempted to sneak into the jail to talk to the imprisoned NPC’s to see if they had a way for you to escape only to be unable to find them. When the Marines spotted you, they brought you right back to Jonathan who grounded you and told you that they had been sent off to be properly punished but you had a feeling that executed was the right word

And finally when you got so desperate to escape that you refused to eat anything even if it was your absolute most favorite food until they allowed you to escape, Jessica wasn’t having that at all as she started to force feed you all of your meals

With every passing day, it seemed like escape was getting further and further away from you as every single thing that you did was being stopped by someone

You tried to stay determined and hopeful that you could escape but it was starting to seem like there truly wasn’t one

No matter how hard you tried, you kept winding up in trouble with someone and no closer to freedom than where you had started so as much as being treated like you were a small child by the people who claimed to be your family

You started to give up…

What else could you do after all? It didn’t seem like there was a way out and besides all of these disapproving looks and punishments were starting to make you feel sad like you were sorry for upsetting them so much with how much you were trying to leave them

Guilt started to rise up inside of you and part of you wanted to make up for it so when Jonathan was heading out to fish, he stopped when he saw you standing in the doorway and he looked at you waiting for you to say something

“…Can I come with you… Dad?”

That was when Jonathan smiled and told you that you most certainly could as he took you by the hand and led you outside to watch him fish while sitting in his lap

Part of this felt very relaxing like one of the most comfortable experiences of your life, you even started to get a little sleepy as you leaned into him and started to drift off into a nap. You swore that you could even hear him start to hum to you

And once you were fast asleep against him, Jonathan gently pet your head with one hand knowing that you had completely accepted this as your reality now

You were his and Jessica’s child now, you were never from the real world and never had any family who wasn’t them You had always been from here from the day that you were born and you would stay here until the day that you died if that day ever came as no one seemed to age here

And he would ensure that you would believe you were always from here and that you simply forgot when you were kidnapped from them by those criminals

Not just him either… Jessica, Drake, Kobato, Mekao, All the Cooks, All the Marines, All the Dock Workers…

They were all family here and no one was going to let not just the newest recruit and Jonathan’s daughter escape

You were here forever and besides the save file was already locked away and the game was in the hands of someone new!

#minors dni #yandere #yandere one piece #read the trigger warnings #yandere male #yandere female #platonic yandere #familial yandere #Yandere G8

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