#i already have a bunch of this written so i thought since i'm taking a kind of short break from writing
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Southern Nights
(steddie, some depictions of blood, gore, and talk of death, just over 8k words)
chapter one: an aching feeling that you can't get rid of
“The road is longer than it is hard. With no one to guide you, and no one to hold. No best foot forward to sway the odds. Just a voice inside you, and a stone to throw.”
-Ethel Cain and Wicca Phase Springs Eternal, “God’s Country”
Steve’s thighs were going numb from sitting in the car for so long, so any kind of stop was greatly welcomed. Hell, he practically flung himself out of the stuffy car the second it was stopped, being extra careful not to slam the door in his haste.
Georgia was much hotter than Indiana. He had only been here once before, on a trip down to visit his grandma before she died, but that had only been for a day. Now he was supposed to live here. Five-Hundred-and-eighty-two miles away from his best friend, and five-hundred-and-eighty-two-miles away from the reason that this was all happening.
His parents hadn’t told him why they were moving, but he knew. They wanted to get as far away from the rumors about their son being queer as they possibly could, which meant a quick (and as he had only learned on the car ride over, permanent) trip down to his mother’s childhood home—one that he had heard her curse and slander thousands of times growing up, but one that she now had a kind of faux-eagerness to visit, trying to play into the lie they were feeding him.
There was a reason his mother had quit trying to become an actress when she was younger. She wasn’t very good at faking things, and she hadn’t gotten any better as she had aged. Her smile was tight and forced as she gingerly stepped out of the car, making a show of putting her hands on her hips as she glanced at Steve, sighing. “I missed this.”
“Sure you did,” he muttered, giving her a strained smile of his own, nothing but doubt evident in his voice. He wasn’t allowed to be rude, but he could sass them all he wanted—for the rest of time, actually, if it came to that, he was quite good at it.
“It’s been a while since I’ve been back here, you know,” she said matter-of-factly, walking past him to get to the door to the rest-stop, her heels clicking against the worn, cracked pavement.
Steve nodded, glancing back at the car where his father was still sitting, his head leaned against the back of the head-rest, eyes closed, probably reveling in the quiet that had been so scarce as of late. Steve had made sure that his Walkman’s volume was at its highest so that they could hear the music playing even when he had his headphones on. They didn’t tell him to turn it down, even though it annoyed them. They knew he was upset.
He followed after his mother, grabbing onto her arm lightly when she tripped over a crack. “I know, ma, it’s probably hard to visit here if you’re off in Paris all the time,” he said gently, patting her shoulder.
She nodded, her eyes kept down. He didn't want to be mad at her, because this was all his fathers idea and she just had to play along. This was hard for her, too, but he was still upset. She didn’t say anything to convince Richard otherwise—but it’s not like anything she said would have helped. “Let’s get inside, hm? It’s hot out here, your makeup will run.”
She stayed silent, her eyes glued to the ground in front of her feet. Steve sighed, his head ducked down near her shoulder. “Ma?”
His mother’s head snapped up, flinching when she noticed how close he was. He dropped his hand from her shoulder, stepping back. “Let’s go inside. Dad’s waiting.”
Adelina nodded and took in a shuddering breath. She was holding together a lot worse than Steve was, which wasn’t a surprise. It took her a moment, and a gentle nudge from Steve, but she kept walking, her son trailing behind her as they entered the building.
It was small, run-down with peeling wallpaper, a couple rows of shelves with half-crushed bags of chips and pretzels, a few freezers with flat sodas and warm water bottles. “Restrooms are over in the corner, I think,” Steve whispered to his mom, pointing off to a darker area of the room with a short hall and a couple of doors with worn down signs. “I’m gonna make a call, get some chips.”
Adelina nodded, a slight stumble in her step as she walked off. Steve pitied his mother, the poor thing–her whole life uprooted and moved back to a place that everyone knew she hated. Maybe seeing how miserable she was here would change his dad’s mind and he would take them someplace closer to Indiana, where he could still see Robin.
This was all Tommy’s fault. Every fucking bit of it. But Steve didn’t want to think about Tommy anymore.
He turned to face the counter. The clerk looked less than friendly, scribbling away in some notebook, her stare bored and her cheeks flushed. She was pretty, a short blonde braid down her back, a too-big flannel rolled up at her elbows. Steve ran a hand through his hair, sighing before heading over.
“Hey,” he said lightly, leaning against the front of the counter. The girl didn’t look up. He could see freckles dusted across the bridge of her nose now that he was closer. Her eyes were a gray-green. “Could I, uh–use the phone over there?” he tried again, ducking his head and motioning to the phone on the wall near the back door.
“Nope,” she said, still not looking up from what she was writing. It took everything in Steve not to look over her arm and see what was on the pages. He didn’t look.
“I need to make a call,” He tried again, moving slightly and shifting his hand more towards her arm so as to get her attention, his voice softer and more pleading. Being pathetic always worked to get him what he wanted.
“And I said no, I'm not allowed to let people use the phone unless it’s an emergency,” She said, looking up, her voice slow as if he was dumb. “Sorry, sweetheart.”
“It is an emergency, I need to call my sister,” he lied, faux-sadness seeping into his tone. “She’s little and alone, I need to make sure she’s okay before we keep driving.”
The girl didn’t bother him with too many questions, didn’t ask why his (not real) little sister was being left alone, only sighed and shook her head slightly, rolling her eyes. “Fine. Two minutes.”
Steve grinned, nodding and pushing off of the counter. Robin answered in only a few rings, her voice choked with a half-sob, “Steve–”
“Hey, hey, Jeez,” Steve whispered, his voice quiet. He didn’t want the clerk to overhear, but then again she really didn’t seem to care. “Don’t just assume it’s me, Bobbie.”
“Are you okay?” She asked breathlessly, panic in her voice. “You haven’t been answering my calls!”
“We haven’t gotten to the house, yet, babe,” He leaned more against the wall. “You’re calling an empty house.”
“Well, the phone answered the last time I called but all I heard was wet -choking sounds and I got worried.”
“Okay, Jesus, well—“ he huffed, shaking his head slightly, his fingers tugging at the hair on the back of his neck. Robin heard things all the time, but it didn’ make the eerie feeling in his gut go away. “It’s an old house, Robs, been empty for a long time. It was probably just some people fucking with you when they heard the phone ring, yeah? Relax.”
Robin didn’t sound relaxed when she spoke again, but she sounded better than before, her voice less shaky. “Thought you died or something.”
“I’m alright, babe,” he whispered, sighing.
“If you get to live in a haunted house without me I’m going to kill you,” she whispered back, her voice still a bit choked.
“I know,” he murmured. “It’s not haunted, just old. Can’t have fun with ghosts without you, don’t worry.”
“And don’t die in it, either, I don’t want to move to Georgia just to see you because you’re dead,” she threatened.
“I won’t die,” he said firmly, his eyebrows pressed together. “Promise.”
It was a strange promise to make, and one that virtually meant nothing, but Robin seemed satisfied. “Okay. But you could—“
Steve’s head snaps over to the side when he hears the click of heels, whatever Robin was saying dying away before it could reach his ears. His mother rounds the corner, the skin around her eyes blotchy and red, but she instantly straightens up and wipes her cheeks when she sees him looking, giving a shaky smile.
“I gotta go, Bobbie,” Steve interrupts whatever she was saying about EMFs. “Promise I’ll call you tonight once all of the unpacking is taken care of, okay?”
He heard Robin sigh. He knew where she was sitting, curled up in the beanbag by her room, leaning against the wall with all of her Madonna and Elvira posters–probably wrinkling them, her fingers twirled around the cord and her knees pulled to her chest. There were probably books covering her floor again, even though he had helped her clean it just a few hours before they left two days ago because she never remembered on her own.
“Okay,” she whispered, her voice small and quiet–fragile.
Fuck, he missed her already.
“Hey,” he said softly, pushing off of the wall. “I love you, okay? I’ll call you tonight, go and clean the papers off of your bed.”
Robin giggled, and it sounded wet, nasally. “Love you too–and stop being right about things, that’s my job.”
“So there are papers on your floor, huh?” He prodded, grinning.
“I’m hanging up!” She shrieked, and Steve flinched away from the phone slightly.
“Okay, Bobbin, bye.”
The dial tone beeped and he sighed, running his hand through his hair to make sure it was fixed before going back over to his mom, forgetting about the snacks. They’d be at the house soon, anyways.
Adelina smiled, thin and watery and not at all happy, rubbing her hand against Steve’s shoulder briefly before placing her hands on her hips. “I’m just–so sentimental, baby, I'll be okay soon.”
“I know you will,” Steve said, nodding once before trudging off, waving goodbye to the clerk who didn’t look up from her writing.
He wasn’t prepared to be back in the summer heat, squinting through the brightness, the crunch of his shoes and the clicking off his mother’s heels on the pavement all too much. She always complained to him about how uncomfortable they were (to him, not Richard), he didn’t know why she wore them all the time, they were the only pair she had.
He opened the door to the blue BMW–his car, because his dad insisted on driving this one down through the heat instead of having a mover take it like he did with the other car–and slipped inside, reveling in the air conditioner and dreading getting out again, even if it meant he had to be locked in a car with his dad for the rest of time.
“Jesus,” His dad breathed when Adelina finally trudged her way to the passenger door, slipping inside and taking a deep breath.
“Richard,” Steve’s mother chided, the only thing she said for the rest of the ride.
Everyone was quiet–mourning the loss of something, because they all didn’t want to be there–stuck together, miserable together. Steve wished they would go back to Paris soon so that he would at least have the house to himself. Then he could sit and call Robin all day without his dad telling him to stop bothering ‘that poor girl’. He never liked Robin, always saying it was unhealthy how attached they were on the few days that he was home, that he shouldn’t be hanging out with a dyke, and that he should hang out more with the Hagan’s boy.
Now he wanted Steve to hang out with anyone but Tommy. Steve wished they had never kissed–even though it felt like more than just kissing with how touchy Tommy was, but it wasn’t like Steve had been complaining when it had happened–and that he had listened to Robin and hadn’t pathetically begged Tommy to come over because he didn’t want to be alone.
The rest of the car ride went by in a blur, green trees rolling past and the blue smudges of the ocean against the fogged up window from his breath. Careless Whisper playing through his headphones just made him miss Robin even more. It was the song that she liked to dance to with him, made him play it all the time whenever she would come over. She would have liked seeing the ocean here. It was pretty.
His new house wasn’t at the coast, but it was within walking distance–through a little swampy area, his mom had said, an always-flooded graveyard and a stream that no one went by because of all the old deer carcasses that kept showing up without warning. She hadn’t given much detail to that, but then again, no one knew what was killing them.
“Oh,” Steve’s mother breathed, her shoulders slumping slightly as soon as the house came into view. It was more ruined than Steve remembered it–old and tall, chipping stone and rusted iron railings up the steps to the front door. Some of the windows were cracked, and there were vines moss up the walls.
He wanted an excuse not to have to go in, but saying ‘this house makes me feel like I want to die’ would do nothing to deter his father. He sighed and turned off his Walkman, slipping off his headphones and stuffing them all back into his backpack.
His mother got out and sighed what Steve assumed was supposed to sound nostalgic, but sounded almost like a whimper. “Isn’t it just…”
“Falling apart?” Steve recommended, raising his eyebrows.
His dad sighed, shaking his head as he got out of the car, smoothing down the jacket of his suit. “Steven.”
“What?” He muttered, looking away from his mother’s shaking hands.
“You and your mother go and unpack what we have in the car, I need to drive up and make sure everything is all set in the office.”
“You’re leaving?” Binaca said quickly, turning. “I–can’t I go with you, the movers will be here in an hour–”
“I told you to stay here and unpack,” Richard said sternly, his expression challenging Steve and his mother. Try and argue with me again. See what happens.
Adelina straightened up, nodding, her breath catching deep in her throat as she watched her husband unpack the few bags they had from the trunk. Steve wanted to throw his father in the supposed river outback, but he picked up the bags from the patchy grass instead.
His mother stood watching the car drive away, and then for a while after, her gaze focused on something that he couldn’t make out. He knew that something happened to her in this house–there had to be a reason that she had left, and why she was this upset about coming back.
Steve left her there as he walked over to the house. The inside was more homey, less falling-apart but still worn and tattered in the corners. Everything looked well loved. There was one stair step that was more worn, lighter and scratched away over time, with a little chipped paw print painted in green on the side. Steve didn’t know what it meant. There was so much history in this house that it made him feel sick—little porcelain birds that each had a story, crosses with writing painted into the sides that he couldn’t understand, and a jacket draped over the dining room chair nearest the kitchen, collecting dust.
Steve set down the bag with his clothes on the table, going over to it. It was brown and leather, kind of faded and scratched. His fingers came away gray when he touched it. The inside was sewn with a flower print, red roses on dirty white lined cloth, no longer soft from years of wear.
“Steve, bambolotto,” Adelina said, stepping through the door and into the kitchen. Steve watched as she looked around at the faded floral wallpaper and the dark brown wooden panels. Her eyes fell onto one of the many framed photos that were cluttered on the far wall–ones of little girls in long white dresses, all black and white.
Adelina sniffed and wiped her eyes with her free hand, her husband’s bag of clothes at her feet. “Right,” She started again, sighing, watching as Steve set the jacket back over the chair, picking up his bag. “There’s a room in the attic, that’s yours, carissima.”
“The Attic?” Steve asked, frowning. They drove all this way down and he got the room in the attic?
“Yes, Steve, the attic,” His mother said, a bit more firm this time, her eyes watering. “You go and set up, I'm going to go and sit out back for a while.”
Steve nodded, huffing and going to find his dingy attic room. He glanced over at her quickly when she gasped as he set foot on the stairs.
“Don’t step on the middle one,” She said quickly, her eyes wide, and she looked so on edge that Steve didn’t question it, skipping over the worn step with the paw print and continuing up the stairs.
There was a door down the hallway at the top of the stairs, with another, steeper set behind them, flowers painted on the handrails. Steve kept his hands off so that they wouldn’t chip. He had now resigned himself to his fate, but he was going to be nice about it.
At least he might have a good view if he had to be in the—
Oh.
The attic room wasn’t tattered at all. There were photos and odds and ends on the wall, a couple skulls mounted above the window and some…hanging bones in the corner that he wasn’t going to touch in case they were cursed. The bed was small with a metal frame and a pretty pink and white flower quilt that had seen some better days.
The dresser in the corner was green and yellow with white foxes painted on the drawers. He opened it to put his clothes in and found a dead bird, dropping the bag with a gag and cringing away.
“Oh, ew,” He muttered, picking it up by the foot and going over to the window. The latch was hard to undo with one hand, but he got it after a minute, shoving at the glass with his shoulder until it opened, tossing the bird out onto the grass. It fell the story down and hit the ground with a sickening thwap!, and Steve held back another gag as he backed up, leaving the slightly cracked window open to let the room air out, since most things were covered in a thin layer of dust.
“What the hell is wrong with this place,” He breathed, eyeing the hanging bones and the corner as he slowly opened the drawer again before putting his clothes away, trying to busy himself with sorting before the movers came and he could help them. They hadn’t brought a lot with them, seeing as they hadn’t really had much in their old house to begin with–it has been mostly empty since his parents had barely been there for a few days before they left for their work trips, his mother only going along to make sure Richard didn’t try and stick his dick into everything that moved–but his father insisted on hiring movers anyways to take the few boxes that would have fit in the car with them.
It didn’t take long for his clothes to be put away, since he didn’t really have many clothes already–a few polos and some jeans and a couple loose t-shirts here and there. If he had free time he could call Robin, but if he called her this close to the last call she’d expect frequent calls all the time, and his parents would probably have things around the house to keep him busy.
But on the other hand…Robin…
He called Robin.
“Did the ghosts kill you yet?” Was the first thing she asked, the cord scratching on the other end like she was spinning back and forth in her desk chair.
“How do you always know it’s me?” He muttered, sitting down on the bed, but it was a bit uncomfortable since the old phone on the wall couldn’t quite reach that far. “And no, Bobby, I am very much still alive.”
“Oh, good. Have you seen any ghosts yet? Anything weird?”
“No,” he rolled his eyes. “Ghosts aren’t real though.”
“Do you even know who you’re saying that to, Steven?”
“Don’t call me Steven,” he whispered, standing up and leaning against the wall.
“Sorry—but I love ghosts. How could you do this to me?”
“I’m not preventing you from liking ghosts, babe, you can still like them without me.”
“But we were supposed to go on ghost hunts together when we were older!” She whined, and he could hear the pout in her voice through the phone.
“We were?” He muttered, his eyebrows pressed together. “You didn’t tell me that.”
“Well, I shouldn’t have had to, you should have just known,” She muttered back.
“But won’t it be more fun if I don’t believe it? To contradict what you say?”
There was a long pause. “Do you even know what contradict means?”
Steve frowned. “Yeah, I do.”
“That’s a big word for you, Stevie,” she teased, and he knew she was joking but his shoulders still slumped.
“I know big words,” he defended, his voice more quiet. “I’m not stupid. Please don’t start thinking I’m stupid…”
Maybe this would be better than Hawkins. Maybe his reputation this time could be better, too. Back home, everyone thought he was pretty, but also a fucking idiot. ‘Jesus it’s like he doesn’t listen unless you’re talking about sports,’ Carol was fond of muttering, rolling her eyes and making his shoulders shrink in like they always did when he got upset. He always tried his best to listen, but when she talked about her romance novels it was hard to follow along with all of the names and who had sex with who.
Things just slipped his mind, especially the important things, it seemed. He only really knew three things about Carol, even though they had been best friends for years:
She kept a hairdryer in her purse and used to let him borrow it after rounds when he was still on the swim team
She liked fancy french perfumes but they discontinued her favorite one so she only used it when she was trying to hook up with someone during the many times her and Tommy had broken up
She liked girls,too, but if Steve told anyone she would “strangle him with the hair dryer cord”
“Oh, no, Steve—“ She said quickly, her tone dropping the teasing. “You’re not stupid, I was just joking.”
“I know,” Steve said dismissively, hating that his insecurities were making Robin feel bad. “I know, I'm sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” She whispered, and Steve really wanted to touch her right now. It felt weird to be so far away from the one person who he knew actually cared about him. Sure, there were plenty of people in Hawkins who liked him, but no one he knew was missing him right now except Robin. And maybe Carol. He’d have to ask Robin to find out her new number so he could call her, since he hadn’t seen Carol since she moved to the next town over. She switched highschools and didn’t even bother to tell him she was moving.
Maybe that was why Tommy kissed him. He didn’t even know if Carol knew about the kiss, but he hoped she wouldn’t hate him for it. Sure, he had asked Tommy to come over, and he hadn’t told Tommy to stop when Tommy had slid his hand up his thigh while they were watching the movie, or when Tommy had pulled Steve into his lap and kissed down his neck, his hands up Steve’s shirt. Steve had kissed him back, but he thought that Tommy and Carol had broken up–that it was fine because Tommy didn’t have a girlfriend anymore, and because Tommy and Carol both kissed other people when they were “taking a break” all the time.
But later that night Tommy had said “my girlfriend”. Because she was never just “Carol” to him, she was “my girlfriend”. Steve told him to get the fuck out of the house after that.
And then he was here. In Georgia, in the attic, standing silently and listening to the silent line where his best friend was on the other end.
Steve?” Robin whispered, her voice hesitant and unsure.
“Hm?” he hummed back, his fingers drifting over the wood of the fox-dresser.
“You’re not mad, are you?”
“No, Bobby, I’m not mad,” He muttered, sighing and tugging at the phone cord. “Just tired, babe, that’s–”
His head snapped towards the door when he heard a wet sounding cough and a thud. His brows furrowed and his finger tightened on the phone cord. “What the fuck?”
“What?” Robin said quickly, sounding panicked. “What happened?”
“Nothing, nothing, I just–” He glanced towards the door again when the noise happened again. “I gotta go, unpacking and stuff, okay?”
“Okay,” Robin said, sighing. “Call me tomorrow?”
“Will do, birdie, love you.”
“Love you too.”
The line went dead and he shoved the phone back into the holder hurriedly, running over to the stairs. “Ma?” He called, being careful not to trip down the steep steps out of the attic. He really hoped she wasn’t choking, because that’s what the noise sounded like.
“Mamma?” He tried again, leaning over the railing and trying to see into the kitchen once he got to the second set of stairs to where she had left the screen door to the back porch open. “Stai bene?”
There was no answer again.
“Shit,” He cursed, practically running down the rest of the stairs. “Mammina?”
He ran through the kitchen and pushed open the screen door. “Ma?”
His mom was curled up in a white rocking chair, her long brown hair–wavy from being in a braid all last night–falling down her shoulders. Her shoes were thrown in the grass in front of the rotting porch steps, the top one caved in. There was moss and lichen across the planks, cracks and holes, and it all creaked when Steve walked over to her, kneeling down next to the chair.
“Ma,” He whispered, placing a hesitant hand on her knee. “Are you okay?”
His mom just sighed, turning to look at him, shiny tear-streaks down her face. “Sì,” she whispered back, shifting in the chair and reaching over to push some hair out of his face. “I’m okay, baby.”
Steve sighed, nodding and standing up. The wood creaked dangerously underneath him, but it stayed still. Steve made to leave, give him mom some space to deal with her emotions in peace, but her hand slid down and circled his wrist. “Why?”
“Hm?” He looked down at her fingers, shaking and cold against his skin, even though it was so fucking hot outside.
“You were worried,” She explained, her grip softening to let him go. “Why?”
“I heard, like,” He trailed off, waving his hand absently in confusion. “Choking sounds somewhere, wanted to make sure it wasn’t you dying or something.”
“You could hear me out here?” She said, sounding a little panicked.
Steve felt confusion seep into his skin before it shed off. He took in her tears streaked face, cheeks flushed again and shaking hands. She was worried that he had heard her crying.
It wasn’t the first time he had seen his mom cry, but that had been when his grandma had died and they had to come out here for the funeral. That was a good thing to cry over, she had said to him. She kept telling him that this–being upset over moving–was stupid and that she just needed to adjust to the change and get over it. Steve didn’t think it was stupid to cry over, but he didn’t say that, just took her hand from where it was hanging limply at the side of the chair and squeezed it gently, his voice quiet. “No, no. I couldn’t hear you, mamma, I just had the window open to air out the attic and I wanted to be sure it wasn’t you. I couldn’t hear you, It’s okay.”
Adelina sighed, nodding, her thumb brushing against Steve’s palm as she relaxed back into the chair, her eyes closed.
“Mamma?” Steve whispered, tracing his hand up her arm to rest on her shoulder.
She didn’t answer. The rocking chair stilled.
Steve picked up the high heels from the grass, skipping the most rotten step and placing them at his mother’s feet. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, patting her knee lightly before going back inside, closing the screen door as quietly as he could.
He needed a shower. And a nap. And maybe for Richard to come back so that he could check out the town without worrying about his mom being alone in the house.
He went back up the stairs, turning to the bathroom which was just next to the door leading up to his bedroom. THe bathroom was small, with one of those claw-foot bathtubs that was supposed to be white but wasn’t anymore, a shower curtain dipping into it, hiding the inside. It was big, big enough for four people to sit comfortably, he thought.
It made Steve uneasy. He never kept the shower curtain open in Hawkins, not after those horrible fucking nightmares about vines and that man with burned red skin and claws. There was some perfume on the sink counter: a pink flower bottle that read “EAU DE TOILETTE”.
Maybe he’d mail that to Carol. It wasn’t the kind she wore on occasion, but the bottle was from Paris. He slipped off his shirt, folding it and placing it on the toilet seat before pulling back the shower curtain and–
Steve screamed, falling backwards, his back hitting the sharp corner of the sink. There was a boy in the bathtub, curled up and coughing, his long curly brown hair swaying slightly around his shoulders like it was underwater. His face was a ghostly pale, his hands shaking.
Steve gasped at nearly the same time the man did, shooting up and making to leave for the bathroom before he heard the man gag again. He stopped with his hand on the doorknob. He couldn’t just leave this person here to suffocate.
He looked back at the boy, whining in the back of the throat as he ran a hand down his face before slipping into the bathtub with the boy and helping him move onto his knees, leaning over near where the drain was. Always the fucking hero. God, this was going to get him killed one day. Maybe in a few minutes when this intruder stopped dying.
“Jesus, man, breathe,” Steve muttered, patting the man harshly on the back. All of his former training as a lifeguard suddenly left him in this moment of panic.
The guy hacked again, choking out a garbled, “Ri–Ri…ver…”
Steve frowned, his hand stilling, but going back to its original movement when the man gagged again. “River?”
The guy nodded, gasping and trying to sit up, but Steve kept him bent over. Water spilled out of the guy’s mouth and into the drain, black and murky and gross.
“Fuck, what happened?” Steve asked, panicked, holding the guy’s long curly hair out of his face as he spat up more of the black liquid. It felt weird in his fingers, cold and not-really there, soaking wet just like the rest of him.
“Jus’ go,” The boy muttered, shaking his head.
Steve shook his head, too, frowning. “I’m not just leaving you–”
The boy cut him off with another cough. “Go,” He snapped, coughing up more goo.
Steve stood, startled at the forcefulness of the man’s voice. He scrambled out of the bathtub, his back stinging with white-hot pain as he moved to the door. “The river?” He asked slowly, turning back around.
The man nodded, one arm wrapped tightly around his stomach and the other bracing himself against the edge of the bathtub, black dribbling down his chin.
“Jesus, fuck, okay,” Steve breathed, grabbing his shirt and slipping out of the door, calling over his shoulder, “If you die in here while i’m gone, that’s on you.”
He slipped his shirt on, ignoring the obvious feeling of a bruise forming on his back when his shoulders flexed. He ran down the stairs again, a death grip on the rail that grated on his palm. He felt bad for leaving that poor boy there, even if he was intruding and had probably broken in–maybe while Steve was outside with his mom?–the thought of the shit he kept spitting out made him want to throw up. He stepped around a dusty metal bowl on the ground next to the door, running down the porch steps and ignoring his mom as she asked where he was going.
He could see the river a few seconds after moving around trees and ducking under vines, his sneakers wet from the damp moss.
There was a boy in the river—the same boy from the bathtub—lying limp on the side, his arm twisted and tangled in a root. He had blood coming from his mouth, but he was unmoving, the red mixing with the murky black water as it watched over his mouth. His hair was dirty, matted, and if Steve didn’t know any better he would have thought that the swaying of his other arm in the water was him moving, trying to keep his head from going fully under.
He stepped forward, wet soaking the knees of his jeans as he kneeled in the wet moss, disentangling the boy from the tree root that popped above the ground, trapping his arm. The body let out a whimper and Steve froze, grabbing onto the boy’s arm before he could float further away.
“It’s okay,” He whispered to the corpse, dragging him back onto the muddy earth. It felt stupid to soothe someone who was dead, but he didn’t seem all that dead, even though he wasn’t breathing and his hands were cold. “I’ve got you now, you’re safe.”
The body didn’t make any more noise as Steve looked around, his eyes landing on the old shed. The boy’s wet hair was cold against Steve’s shoulder as he carried him, pushing the creaking wood door open with his hip and leaning the boy up against the corner. The wood was rotten like the porch, damp smelling with little beetles crawling in and out of the holes and knots.
Steve brushed some hair out of the boy’s face, his fingers tracing over his cheeks. The boy choked again and Steve flinched back, startled. The black goo he saw in the bath trickled out of his mouth and Steve helped him lean over again so that he could cough it all out. He didn’t like how the boy whimpered, his eyebrows pressed together, so lifelike for a corpse.
“Hurts,” the corpse whispered, and Steve made himself still, sucking in a breath.
“I know, but you’ll be okay,” he said back, his fingers untangling some of the bloody and gross curls on the back of the boy’s neck. “You’ll be alright.”
Steve didn’t know why he was so calm, but he didn’t want to panic and worry the corpse, even though a corpse shouldn’t be allowed to be worried. There wasn’t really anything to be worried about when you were dead.
“You’ll be alright,” Steve whispered again, rubbing his hand up and down the corpse’s back, trying to help him calm down even though he didn’t know what the fuck he was doing. “I–you’re okay now, right? I can go and check on you inside?”
The corpse fell still, slumping forward, his cold, damp forehead hitting the rotting wood floor. Steve leaned him back against the wall, standing up slowly. His hands were shaking, and he could feel his breath stuttering already.
He wasn’t going to cry he wasn’t going to cry he wasn’t—
Fuck.
When he got back, the boy twisted his arms, trying to get his shirt off, his hair dripping water down his pale, scarred chest. Steve watched as he stood up on his tip-toes to get a better look in the mirror above the sink, his face contorting in a sob as he bent over, his spine pressing up against the thin, pale skin of his back. There were red lines between each bump, thin and scarred, one bleeding down towards the waistline of his wet jeans.
Steve stared, his cheeks flushing. He wanted to reach out and trace the ridges of the boy's spine, feel his waxy skin under his fingers–the way it bumped and dipped, his skin feeling not-all-there…
Steve shook his head, frowning. Normal thoughts, fuck, think normal thoughts–
“Are you okay?” Steve whispered, watching the blood make a mark along the boy’s pale skin as it soaked into his Levi’s.
“Fuck,” the boy moaned, dropping his head back, exposing his neck which was also scarred, but not as much as his chest. Steve felt his face flushed as he took a hesitant step closer.
“I can breathe, holy shit,” the boy muttered, rubbing at his throat, sounding almost in awe, which was immediately followed by a sob as his legs gave out, his hands covering his mouth as he all but collapsed on the tile floor.
Steve decided that all of the ‘who are you and how the fuck did you get into my bathtub’ questions could wait until later. “Okay, Jesus—“
Steve reached forward quickly, grabbing the boy and easing him onto the ground, his hands on the guy’s shoulders. “Hey, hey—“
The boy’s eyes were big, brown—looking down at his knees as he ran his hands quickly through his hair, which looked more dry than it had a few moments ago. “Holy fuck,” he sobbed, dropping his head down.
“What’s your name?” Steve asked, turning the boy slightly to look at his back, trying to wipe some of the blood away before pressing his hand to the cut to try and stop it from bleeding.
The boy winced, dropping his head onto Steve’s shoulder, and Steve tried very hard to stay still, his jaw set. “Eddie.”
“Eddie? Okay, Eddie—wanna tell me what happened back here?” He pressed a bit harder to try and stop the bleeding and could feel the boy’s face twist up against the skin of his neck, a whimper slipping out.
“I don’t know, I was—I was helping Evelyn get rid of those deer and then I was…cold,” Eddie whispered. “And then I was wet and I was choking a-and then–but I’m not anymore–”
“Slow down, Jesus,” Steve whispered, patting the boy’s back as he coughed up the black goo, which ran down his chin and landed just in front of Steve’s knee. “Fuck, what is that?”
“Dunno,” Eddie whispered back, shrugging as he cleared his throat and ran a hand over the scar on his throat. “I just…I can’t go back outside.”
There was a sense of urgency in the boy’s tone as he looked up at Steve pleadingly. “I can’t—if…if Jason is still there he’ll…”
“Who the fuck is Jason?” Steve muttered, his eyebrows pressed together as he kept his hand on the boy’s spine when he stood, blood flowing from under his finger in a steady stream. There was blood in the bathtub, too, on the tile floor and on his jeans. On his shoes. His arm.
Eddie looked down, wiping his eyes and reaching behind him to push Steve’s hand away. “He…I don’t want to tell you. Maybe I can haunt him, though, if I’m not stuck here.”
“Haunt?” Steve asked incredulously, wiping the blood off of his hands and onto his already ruined jeans. “What do you mean haunt?”
“Like a ghost,” Eddie whispered, wiggling his fingers and then wincing. “Wooo…”
Steve sighed, shaking his head and running a hand down his face, which only smeared blood. “There were two of you.” He said calmly,clenching his hands into fists to try and stop them from shaking. They shook anyway. “Why were there two of you, Eddie?”
“Woooo…” Eddie repeated, wiggling his fingers again, an apologetic smile on his face before he winced again, and Steve grabbed him before he could tip over, his eyes wide.
“You’re a ghost?”
Eddie shrugged. “Something like that. I think.”
“Jesus fucking christ,” Steve whimpered, running a hand through his hair, not even caring about the blood that was getting in it. “Holy fuck—“
“Hey—,” Eddie tried to get in, his expression softening, but Steve shook his head. The panic he had been pushing away was finally catching up to him. He felt like he was going to throw up, saliva filling his mouth as he gagged, bracing himself on the sink counter.
“It’s okay,” Eddie whispered, placing a hand on Steve’s shoulder, and it went through his skin, which made Steve feel even worse. “Shit, sorry, I’m still not used to the touching stuff.”
He placed his hand in Steve’s shoulder and it stayed, but Steve was really beginning to realize how fucked all of this was—why Eddie’s skin really didn’t feel right, why he looked kind of hazy, why there had been two of him—god, why had there been two of him—
“There you go,” Eddie murmured sympathetically as Steve took a deep breath, the hand unmoving on his shoulder, and Steve wanted it off, wanted this feeling to go away, but he didn’t say anything. “It’s okay…just breathe for a second, don’t try to talk, alright?”
Steve reluctantly snapped his jaw shut from where he had opened his mouth, with a bit more force than he wanted to. He felt warm in the heat of the bathroom, but he was fucking cold. He flinched when Eddie’s fingers shifted slightly, absentmindedly, tried to play it off, but Eddie must have noticed because the hand slipped off with a sigh.
“Sorry, man, I just…sorry,” Eddie muttered, his hair looking just a bit more dry, but still wet around him, sticking to his face.
“I feel like I’m gonna be sick,” Steve whispered shakily. He wanted his mom, but he didn’t think she’d understand why he was so upset, and that would just make her worried.
“I can go,” Eddie offered, wringing his hands out awkwardly. “I mean, I can’t…leave the property but I could go and hang out in the basement for a bit if you need some space?”
“Why can’t you leave?” Steve muttered, his head tipped back as he tried to breathe again. “You know what, I don’t care, just go, okay?”
Eddie nodded, looking down, and Steve reached around to feel at the spot where his back had hit the counter, hissing. It felt better when he kept his hand on it after a moment, though. “Yeah, I’ll…I’ll go.”
Steve nodded back, closing his eyes and sinking to the floor, rubbing his hands up and down his thighs as he sucked in a shaking breath, shaking his head. He was okay. It wasn’t like his entire world just got flipped fucking upside down, because now there was a ghost in his house, and a body in the shed, and blood covering the bathroom floor.
Right. Blood. He should—he should clean that. He stood, grabbing a towel from the sink and wiped down the edge of the tub, running the shower to help it wash away. He wiped the floor next, and then the sink counter, biting back tears as he tossed the towel into the sink huffing. Fuck showering, he didn’t want to be in the bathroom at all anymore, not after what just happened.
He went into the hall, surprised he didn’t find a trail of blood down the stairs from how much Eddie was still bleeding.
The leather jacket was gone from the dining room when Steve got downstairs, sitting down on the floor in front of one of the kitchen cabinets, the green paint chipping.
The screen door clicked open and his mother padded in, looking exhausted, her heels in her hand and her makeup smudged. She shot him an odd glance as she grabbed a cup from the cabinet, and filled it with water from the sink. She let the cup overflow as white sediment collected at the bottom, her lip quivering as she dumped out the glass and set it on the counter. “Hey, baby?”
“Hmm?” Steve hummed, trying to keep the shake out of his own voice as he stood, his hand cupped at her elbow. “What?”
She hesitated, looking him over.
“Mamma?” He prompted gently, rubbing his thumb in a circle, trying to focus on how real her skin felt.
“Nothing,” she whispered, shaking her head, but she looked like she wanted to say more. She kissed his forehead, having to stand up on her toes now that she wasn’t in her heels anymore. “Are you okay?”
Steve scoffed, looking away, but his breath was still shaky. He rolled his eyes, dropping his hand. “I’m okay, ma. Don’t worry.”
“I am going to worry, you’re all shaky,” she murmured, lightly poking him in the ribs before her hand smoothed up and down his side. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m tired,” Steve lied through his teeth, shaking his head and letting her pull him into a hug, feeling heavy when she swayed him back and forth, her feet rocking, her heels forgotten next to them.
“I’m tired, too,” she confessed quietly, like it was something she wasn’t supposed to say, and Steve fit a hand on the back of her neck, his nose pressed to the top of her head. He hated how she thought she couldn’t tell him these things. How he was just supposed to believe her when she said she was fine each time, because she was his mom.
He stayed quiet, nodding, and trying to ignore the way he heard the muffled sound of the basement stairs creaking, his eyes screwed shut. “It’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.”
Adelina nodded, a hand coming to rub up his back, pausing when he winced. “Steven?” She muttered, her tone worried, and fuck, she never called him his full name.
“I’m okay,” he lied again, bending down to hide his face in her neck, pull her closer and hoped she wouldn’t push, because he didn’t want to talk about it. “I’m okay.”
He needed to stop telling her that.
“I was thinking of heading up to church,” Adelina muttered, pulling away, and Steve wished she would stay—not leave him alone in this fucking house with Eddie, but he nodded.
“I’m staying here, I don’t—“ he breathed out a sigh, shrugging. He hated church more than he hated ghosts. “I’ll just stay.”
“Alright,” his mother said, grabbing her high heels and wiping her eyes. “There shouldn’t be any services right now, I just…need to speak to Dan. Take my mind off of things.”
Steve paused, looking her over as she fidgeted with her dress. She looked embarrassed and he wanted to know why, but he knew she wouldn’t tell him.
“He’s—he’s an old friend, carissima,” she explained quickly. “It’s nothing, just…wanted to catch up, see how he’s been doing in the…years I’ve been away.”
Steve nodded, “Mhm,” as he took the glass and filled it up with the now clear water. “I don’t need an explanation, ma.” He turned, kissing her on the cheek. “I’ll tell dad you’re visiting one of your lady friends if he gets back before you.”
He passed the water to his mom, who sipped it and muttered. “One of my lady friends?”
Steve nodded, leaning back against the counter. “Yeah,” he smiled, a thin and weak thing, but a smile nonetheless, nudging his shoulder against his. “Go, you don’t wanna keep Dan waiting.”
Adelina rolled her eyes, but she pushed off of the counter and walked upstairs to fix her makeup.
comments and reblogs are appreciated! they help cheer me up and motivate me to write more if i know that you guys are enjoying this nonsense hehe
the taglist for this will always be open, but i am in the midst of a writing break (a very short one) so it might take me a while to post the net chapter of this <3
(divider by florietas)
#i already have a bunch of this written so i thought since i'm taking a kind of short break from writing#i would post some pre-written stuff so that y'all still have stuff to read#i'm on a laptop right now so i'll post this on ao3 when i can log into it again#i don't remember my password haha i never use stuff on this laptop#it's old#also i don't speak italian#but i looked up italian pet names and found ones i liked so sorry if they're horribly wrong#i'm tired#steddie#steddie fanfic#steddie angst#steddie hurt/comfort#steve x eddie#finn writes#steddie fic#stranger things#eddie munson#steve harrington#my fic#steve harrington has a bad dad#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington fanfiction#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson fanfiction#long fic#my post
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Hey!! I saw that you are taking requests (I also want to procrastinate studying, lol), so I thought I would request a Rafe oneshot where maybe he is helping his girlfriend move into her dorm and a bunch of frat guys start hitting on her and asking if she needs help and he gets all territorial and jealous? Just some cute fluff? Please and thank you, lovely!!!
Move-in day || R. C.
summary: Rafe helps you move in to your dorm but becomes territorial when a guy doesn't get the hint.
word count: 1.3k
a/n: i'm not sure i like this one but bare with me i haven't written anything in more then a year so, thank you sm for the request!!! i love how all of you are supporting my procrastination and/or procrastinating yourself haha
warnings: some guy
You unlock the door, revealing your dorm room. It’s very basic and bland but you can’t wait to start decorating it to make it feel more like home and a safe space for you to relax in. There are two single beds on each side of the room. Also two closets and tables for you and your roommate who hadn’t moved in yet. Your roommate was assigned to you by the school since you didn’t have any friends or acquaintances that were also going to this college. You’d much rather share a room with someone you know but it is what it is.
You choose a side of the room and sit on the edge of your new bed, looking around the room and taking everything in. You can’t believe you’re actually here. After all the hard work and applying to many different colleges, you got into your dream school. You’d only dreamed about this place in your head and now you’re physically here.
You then leave the room and on your way outside you dial Rafe who dropped you off and then went to find a good parking spot near the housing.
“Yeah?” he answers the call.
“Where are you?”
He describes where he parked his car and directs you to him. You already see him from across the parking lot and give him a wave, which he returns with a big smile and a wave of his own.
The trunk of his car is popped open and he’s already stacking boxes into the carts provided by the school.
“How was it?” he asks as soon as you reach him, referring to the room.
“Pretty okay.” You shrug and grab a few bags from the back seat, slinging them over your shoulders. Then you manage to grab a box of your books as well. It’s heavy but the room is not that far away.
“Are you sure you can carry that much?” he calls after you.
“It’s rude to call your girlfriend weak, Rafe.”
“I’m not calling you weak!” he defends himself.
“Yeah, right,” you laugh. “Third floor, 5th door on the right.”
You leave him unloading the car in the parking lot while you make your way back to the building. On the way to the third floor, you bump into some guys on the staircase.
“Hey! Need any help with that?” one of them asks, hands already outstretched. Since your shoulders are already hurting because of the weight of the stuff you’re carrying, you accept his help. What were you thinking taking the stairs? The elevator was right there.
He takes the box from your hands and lets out a grunt. “Damn, that’s heavy! What’s in here?” he starts making his way up the stairs and you follow, adjusting the straps of the duffle bags on your shoulders. The dude’s friends follow you two, whispering something unintelligible behind your back but they’re too quiet to make out what they’re actually saying.
“My books.”
The guy chuckles and asks where your room is. You tell him and soon enough you reach the third floor. He pushes open the door leading to the third floor dorms and holds it open for you while you scramble past him to your door. You fish out the key from the pocket of your pants and open the door.
“You can just put it on the table.” I let the guy into my room while his friends linger in the doorway.
Thanking him, you throw the bags on your bed. He places the box gently on the table and then turns to you. “What’s your name?”
“Y/N.” You give him an awkward but polite smile, hoping he’d get the hint and leave now but he leans against the desk, crossing his arms on his chest instead. He looks like he’s not planning to go anywhere.
“You wanna come to a party tonight, Y/N? Bunch of upperclassmen are throwing a little party for the freshmen. You could be my date.”
You stare at him, eyes wide. “Uhmm, thank you for the invite but no. I have a lot to unpack and-”
“Oh come on!” he interrupts. “We could have fun and get to know each other. And drink.”
“No, thank you. I appreciate your help and all but I think you should go now.”
“Don’t be like that! You haven’t even given me a chance.”
“You will not get a chance either way. I have a boyfriend.”
“So? You’re in college now, let loose. He doesn’t have to know. ”
Meanwhile Rafe has finally made it to the third floor with the two carts full of your belongings. He pushes them out of the elevator and towards your room. Already from the elevator he can see two guys standing at your door, which he finds very suspicious. He faintly hears the conversation going on in your room and his blood starts to boil. When the two guys standing there notice him arriving, they scurry off and Rafe scoffs before entering your room.
“Know what?”
The guy leaning on your desk is startled and he stands up, not so cocky anymore. “Uhh…”
Rafe now stands between you and the guy whose name you don’t even know. He straightens his back and stares him down with that mean look he has but which he has never used on you. The other guy is obviously intimidated by him since Rafe is basically towering over his shorter frame.
“She said no. She has a boyfriend. So I suggest you leave before I punch you in the face so hard no girl will even look in your direction ever again,” Rafe growls.
“Whatever she’s not worth it anyways.” The guy shrugs and turns to leave. Rafe’s fists are clenched by his side and he looks like he’s about to strike when you place your hand on his back, making him look at you over his shoulder.
“Drop it.” Rafe takes a deep breath and you feel his shoulders relax under your touch.
The guy lets out a scoff as he leaves but Rafe’s eyes remain on you. “Are you okay?” he asks, worry laced in his voice as he turns to face you, hands now on your shoulders.
“I’m fine. He just helped me with my books and he got the wrong idea.”
“A very wrong one at that. I was so close to punching him in his stupid face for even talking to you in the first place.”
You place your hand on his chest, feeling his heart beat under your palm. “You can’t stop every guy from talking to me. You’re not even here most of the time.”
“Watch me.”
“Rafe.”
He rolls his eyes.
“I’m serious. But he was a jerk anyway. I go for non-jerk guys.” Your lips are turned into a slight smirk.
“Do you now?”
“Yeah.”
“Am I not a jerk?” he asks, hands sliding down to your hips, pulling you flush against him.
“Oh, you definitely are, but just not to me.”
“I’d never be a jerk to you. You know that, baby. But you’re mine. I can’t stand the thought of guys like him talking to you.” He lets out a frustrated sigh.
“I know but I can handle myself.”
“I know you do.” But the next time he visits, he hands you a little box which contains a necklace with his name so everyone knows you’re taken.
#rafe cameron#rafe obx#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron obx#rafe cameron imagine#rafe cameron x you#rafe cameron x y/n#outer banks#obx#request
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scratches and bites - 2
Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x Reader
Warnings: Could be a little off-canon for some characters, lots of plot, slight angst, Miguel is an helicopter mom, reader just wants some friends :(
a/n: ok. i didn't realize how much i wanted to put into this chapter so spicy stuff is coming NEXT chapter. promith. i've already written some of it. anyway, i'm glad y'all are enjoying my O'Hara content. I hope this lives up to your expectations lmfao
Summary: Miguel O'Hara is a grumpy man and you make him grumpy. You regularly go against his orders, create chaos, and invite danger. This is what you've been doing since he swept you away.
w/c: 2.2k
series masterlist | main masterlist
----
So being “Spider-Woman” turned out to be harder than you thought. It’s not all swinging from and shooting webs like you imagined. Apparently, there’s a spider-specific physical regimen you’re required to keep up with. Every day.
You’re almost convinced that you’re being hazed into the spider-verse community because you are yet to see anyone else doing upside-down web squats on a 100-story building. Not to mention the life-threatening training simulations you were thrown into as soon as you arrived in Nueva York.
“They can’t hurt you, Kid. They’re holograms.”
“Yeah, that’s what they want you to think O’Hara, but my ass has been kicked enough to prove differently.”
“Alright, well they can’t kill you.”
Miguel has been “training” you for the last few months to become the best Spider-Woman you can be, pushing you harder than you’ve ever been pushed before. Though these days, this “training” is actually just him telling Parker to drill you in whatever he thinks will work.
O’Hara attempted to do it himself for like three days, and it turns out he’s too impatient to take in a spider apprentice or even be in a room where you do anything but exactly what he commands.
You should’ve expected it.
Sure, Miguel is a naturally grumpy man, but you swear he has it out for you. He literally tenses whenever you enter the room and makes sure to barely meet your eyes when he’s forced to talk to you.
Actually, ever since you were dropped in the middle of Spider-Central, O’Hara has been ignoring you. Treating you like the plague. Always making the excuse that he’s too busy with things that are far more important than anything you’d ever have to say. As if he wasn’t the one who forced you to come with him in the first place…
It’s not fair. He was literally all you had.
Months ago, he showed you a side of him, the one that convinced you that he actually brought you here for a reason, but now he can’t even look at you. Sure, you’re a particularly slow learner, and one that never really liked PE, but you deserve some slack. You left everything for him – for them.
Meeting people who’ve gone through similar circumstances as you was quite interesting, to say the least. And it doesn’t stop at people either. Spider cars, dinosaurs, and cats were just the beginning.
You’ve made a few friends. There’s Gwen, a 15 (or was it 16?) -year-old who mostly talks about her friend Miles, music, and…uh, Miles. It’s sweet how she gushes on about some guy without fully realizing how into him she is. Miles sounds great, really great, but you’ll probably never get to meet him because of the number of restrictions placed on your watch. Fucking O’Hara and his parental controls.
Gwen is cool, she plays the drums and can do a bunch of acrobatic things that you’d never even attempt, but she’s also almost a half-decade younger than you. There’s only so much you can talk about before you start getting homesick. Of course, despite her young age, she’s still given more responsibilities and missions than you. If Miguel has one hobby, it would be undermining everything you do.
“She’s been in the game longer than you have.” He always makes that excuse.
And you always counter it with: “But I’m older! I can do more than just scream for help!”
“This isn’t a discussion.” That honestly might be his favorite phrase to shut you up these days. “You’ll be called on when you’re ready, Kid.” And that.
“I am ready. And stop calling me that. I’m not a kid, I’m 20 years old!”
“Yeah, whatever.”
There’s also Peter Parker, your reluctant coach. He’s…something else. Sure, he’s your friend, but he’s more like a substitute teacher and crazy uncle type of guy. Usually, he listens to everything Miguel says, acting like a glorified babysitter, but sometimes, he’s up to bend the rules on some things.
Once he let you visit his dimension, claiming you’d need some real-life experience as a “friendly-neighborhood spider-woman”. You spent that day chasing down petty robbers and helping old ladies cross the road. Sure, it was a small field trip, but that was only the third dimension you’d traveled to at the time.
Parker is also always trying to get you to hold his daughter whenever she comes to work claiming that “it’ll be good for your mental health, trust me.” Of course, for Parker, every day is “bring-your-kid-to-train-the-new-spider-woman-day”. And really, you don’t mind holding her, but not when you’re in the middle of sparing 5 of Doc Ocks tentacles.
The baby is adorable, but you do worry about how she crawls up the walls. Parker doesn’t seem fazed. Actually, neither does O’Hara.
Sometimes you wonder if O’Hara wants kids one day. He certainly handles Mayday like a pro, letting her crawl over his shoulders and paperwork. Would he possibl– No, actually, it doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter, because he left you. He’s not – couldn’t even be an option. – Anyway…
Parker and Mayday are nice company and the only real constants in your life, but you really just want to be a consistent part of the team. You don’t know how much longer you can spend your days doing swinging drills and spider crunches (don’t even ask). But Parker has actually been your rock these past months, to give him credit. He’s one of the few people that makes you feel like you belonged in this distorted array of spiders and dimensions.
Then there’s Hobie.
The first time you met him you probably had literal stars in your eyes. Donned with a spiked vest and several facial piercings, he caught your attention right away. He catches everyone’s attention. Even his suit is cooler than everyone else’s with a spiked mohawk that surely gets in the way.
Unfortunately, just as you were hoping to take on the Brit as your mentor for all things spider, he was decidedly off-limits, courtesy of O’Hara. Apparently, his rebellious nature and brash energy make him a “bad influence”.
“Seriously? You should be glad that I’m taking a bigger interest in my training.” You have your hands posted up on your hips, trying to make yourself look bigger than you actually are. Damn, O’Hara and his domineering presence!
He rolls his eyes openly, genuinely already done with the conversation. “Yeah…your ‘training,’ sure.”
“What is that supposed to mean!” You practically whine it out.
“Don’t get distracted gatita, just do as you’re told.”
“Ok, what does that mean? I don’t speak Italian.”
“That was Spanish dumbass.”
Of course, that doesn’t stop you from hanging out with him anyway (though he’s not around as much anymore). Who knew making friends as Spider-Person would be so hard. You’d think you’d have a lot in common with everyone around you, but really, you’re all alone. Sometimes you think the spiders actually resent you deep down because you’re the only one that has never lost anything. Or had anything to lose in the first place.
For now, you’re just moving through a sea of spiders, trying to catch a glimpse of what you’re supposed to be doing here. Trying to figure out why you were chosen over the infinite other versions of you in the multiverse.
—
So far you’ve been on 2 and a half missions. The half was when you were forcibly sent home and effectively grounded for a week. Apparently, talking to civilians while standing guard is prohibited, even when they’re selling dip’n’dots. What? It was a long ass mission. And it was hot!
This one is your official third mission. It’s quite simple, in theory. Just travel to Earth-275A, infiltrate a tech lab, pick up some – worryingly volatile – equipment, and go home. Easy.
Except, it didn’t exactly go that way.
It’s just you, Miguel, Gwen, and Jess on this mission. You and Jess were placed on lookout duty (you on the roof and Jess on the ground with her bike), while Miguel and Gwen broke in and out of the building. It was all running smoothly, each spider occasionally muttering quietly through the radio whenever their positionings changed. Otherwise, it was silent. And frankly, a bit boring.
You idly kicked around some pebbles that somehow found their way onto the roof of this tall ass building, sometimes smacking them against the half wall separating you from falling a thousand feet downwards. You were actually dying to get back to HQ because you briefly spotted Hobie talking to Parker and Mayday before you had to go. He’s been quite absent lately, and you want to show off some of the new moves you learned this week.
Then, there was suddenly action.
A huge explosion surges out the right side of the building that O’Hara and Stacy were infiltrating. That mission plan was not kidding when they described the ‘volatility’ of the shit inside of those supply crates. Deep creaking and smashing objects follow the blast. You watch as the tallest building in the city starts to tilt. Shit, the explosion must’ve taken out some of the support beams.
You hear Miguel yelling your name through your earpiece, as well as heavy breathing and crumbling concrete in the background.
“Y-yes? Copy–”
“You and Gwen collect the crate and get out of here. I already called for a portal. Jess and I will get surrounding civilians away from danger.”
“Understood, sir.” You don’t usually call him anything like ‘sir’, but the stakes are high and complete compliance is needed at this moment.
“Crate is located on the top floor, Stacy is already there waiting for my word.” You briefly shake yourself out, mentally preparing yourself to scale the larger building in front of you.
With a quick fwp, you attach your web to the nearly as tall building next to your target to give yourself some leverage. You jump without even giving yourself time to think about it, tugging slightly at the web, making sure to collect as much kinetic energy as possible. You release the web when you get to the highest point and spit out another web to get you to the top floor of the building. Luckily the blast took out the windows so you could easily enter the floor.
There, Gwen stands next to a crate with several scientists and guards nicely pasted onto the walls with perfectly placed webs on each limb and over their abdomens.
“Took you long enough.”
“It’s been 30 seconds!”
“Relax, I’m teasing.” She shoots out a couple of webs and connects them to the crate. “Here, help me out with this.” You follow her movements, pulling at your webs slightly to get a good evaluation of its weight. Surprisingly, it moves quite easily, almost three inches from your soft tug.
“Why’re we both doing this when it weighs 100 lbs. We have super strength.”
“I dunno, Miguel just gave us the orders. There’s probably a reason. It doesn’t really matter.” You frown realizing you could’ve been down there helping O’Hara save actual lives but instead, you were ordered to assist a teenager on a one-person job. “The portal is opening in a few seconds on the roof of the building behind us.” Gwen doesn’t seem phased. “We can just swing it with us.”
“Isn’t this shit going to blow up if we move it too harshly?”
“Not when it’s in this protective crate.” She steps closer to the broken window, mentally measuring and planning out the escape route. “That explosion earlier was from an open container.” You hum, still torn over leaving Gwen to do the delivery so you can help people get out of the way faster. “You ready then?” She’s been watching you. Clearly, your thoughts are painted on your face.
You nod briefly, “Let’s go.” Together you take each side of the crate and use your other arms to swing yourselves over to the portal that magically appears. This time, that odd purring sound of the portal is completely blocked out by the chaos going on around you. Somehow the building has still only tilted a little bit since the explosion.
As Gwen pushes the crate into the gateway, you look down at the streets, watching as Miguel and Jess work impeccably together as they save hundreds of civilians from falling debris and the inevitable demolition of the building.
Then you look back a Gwen, who’s ready to head home. Then you look down at them again.
Then your eye catches on a red sedan sheltering a terrified family that sits under the chaos.
Gwen catches your eye. “Don’t.”
“I have to.”
“Migu–”
“Would do the same.”
“--Will mur-der me.” You sigh, but quickly shoot a couple of webs downwards without looking. Gwen has her arms folded, sharing that unamused expression that Jess loves to sport. Her feet are now temporarily stuck to the floor. You’re sure she could get out of it in a second, but you can tell, she’s not going to stop you. “Don’t die.”
Right before jumping off the ledge, you send her a cheesy smirk, “Me? Never.”
----
Taglist: @deputy-videogamer @danaeaurelia @reuxxi
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From savoury to sweet
All your friends are invited for winter festivities and you're doing your best to prepare everything for a big reunion. But a certain vampire keeps testing your patience until it ultimately snaps...
MASTERLIST | AO3
Author's Note: Written for the "Delicacies" prompt of the BG3 Winter Holiday challenge and since I'm running this challenge I'm cheating a bit and also fill the "Holiday spirit" with this - because I guess everyone knows the feeling of feeling stretched thin when the end of the year comes around with all the joy and stress it has to offer... And sadly I don't have a sassy vampire to pull me through it *sighs* Happy holidays to you all!
Pairing: Astarion/GN!Tav (You)
Warnings: none
Wordcount: 1,5k
~~~
The little townhouse in Baldur’s Gate you and Astarion lived in was filled throughout with delicious smells: mulled wine, freshly baked pastries, simmering gravy. Together with everything being neatly decorated with holly, candles and more wintery decor it made for a very cosy and festive atmosphere.
Unfortunately, the comfy mood was disrupted by smells of burning and colourful curses being spat.
Gale and you had been bustling around the kitchen cooking, baking and making preparations, meanwhile Astarion sat at the long table there - one leg lazily dragged up onto the bench. He was reading something and kept stealing brandy infused cherries out of a bowl that always seemed to magically find its way back into his reach - no matter how often you moved the bowl away from him.
The wizard had come over to help you prepare a whole bunch of food. And of course there had been a very good reason behind all of this.
Somewhen when winter had rolled around and the Midwinter holidays had come closer, a thought had entered your mind and been stuck there ever since - and with that a wish.
It had been quite some time since you had seen all the other members of your little adventure group last - or friends rather because that was what they all had become. And you missed them all deeply. But fortunately there could be something done about that.
So, you had brought up the idea to Astarion to invite them over for the holiday to have a nice festive evening together.
Immediately, the vampire’s nose had scrunched up in distaste: “You’re not becoming all sappy all of a sudden, are you? I didn’t sign up for this.”
You had swatted his arm and pouted profusely, feeling a little hurt by his immediate rejection of your idea.
This had been a dream of yours for a long time: having a really fancy and enjoyable holiday festivity with someone to actually share it. Because you never had the chance to have that when you had grown up on the streets of Baldur’s Gate.
The closest you’d ever gotten to a holiday celebration had been sharing a stolen pie with some other urchins while you had huddled somewhere under tattered blankets, trying to escape the cold.
When you had painted that picture for Astarion (maybe purposefully laying it on thickly), his sassy attitude had immediately fallen. You had seen some of your past hurt mirrored in his red eyes. With a small sigh he had hooked his thumb on your chin and promised you to give you the holiday festivity you had always dreamt of.
“But”, he had immediately added when you had already started jumping up and down joyfully, “no one and I mean none of them will stay with us, darling. I had enough of sharing camp with all these buffoons for a lifetime - for all of immortality even.”
You had brushed off his sarcastic words quickly and had sent out letters to all your friends the following day. Answers had come in slow and sporadically since then - but that surely only meant that everyone was just very busy. Right?
But once you had started to think about what dishes you all wanted to prepare for this evening, how to get everything festive and whatnot, all these worries had quickly been forgotten. Gale had immediately been enlisted as your aid to tackle the massive task - obviously not taking no for an answer.
So there you were: a prodigy wizard and a former thief slaving away in the kitchen for almost a whole day in preparation for holiday dinner. Meanwhile a vampire was contributing nothing to the efforts - except if you counted his snide remarks (and of those he contributed many).
Every surface in the kitchen was filled with already finished dishes, loose ingredients or heaps of dirty pots, pans and utensils. Together with Gale you had prepared little filled pies as a starter, a variety of sides for the main course of different picks of meats and fish and sauces to compliment everything.
Almost all of it was done being prepped for dinner. Now only your baked dessert was missing. And of course that had been where things had went awry. Your nerves had been on edge already, stressing how everything would go. Gale had not been helping with his unhelpful-helpful commentary. And not even to mention your vampire just lounging there on the bench like a cat, making it a point to annoy you even more with his sassy manner.
And you had reached your breaking point when you had pulled a completely burnt cake from the oven, covering up the delicious other smells while a small smoke cloud had erupted in the middle of the kitchen and Astarion hadn’t been able to keep his mouth shut about it.
“Oh love, I mean, I am no expert by any means, but I do think that’s a bit dark even for a dark chocolate cake,” he’d commented while he had barely even lifted his eyes from his book, one elbow propped up on the table and head placed on his hand while he popped another cherry into his mouth.
And that had also been the reason why he’d been hit with a small bun. Caused by your already thin stretched patience finally snapping you had grabbed the nearest throwable thing and had hurled it at the vampire’s head. That thing had happened to be a bunch of sweet rolls you had made as a side. Your impeccable aim had made sure that you hit your mark - and the screech you had let out had probably given it even more force.
Without even checking Astarion’s reaction you had sunk down on the bench opposite of the vampire and had buried your face in your hands while you tried to not let tears overwhelm you.
Astarion reflectively hissed and swatted the gnarly pastry away from him. But then he took in the scene and quickly realised that he had rightfully brought this onto himself.
Gale, who had taken a step back from you in caution with hands lifted defensively, threw the pale elf a sour look now while you suppressed sobs. “Incredibly supportive, Astarion, a job well done”, the wizard scolded the vampire who at least had the good grace to look ashamed of himself.
The wizard sat down beside you and started rubbing your back while he kept throwing Astarion looks. The vampire shuffled around awkwardly for a few moments, not being used to and not enjoying having to apologise.
With a sigh he finally got up and moved around the table and with a “shoo shoo” motion chased Gale out of the kitchen so he could be alone with you for a moment or two.
“Love, I’m sorry,” Astarion whispered as he sat down beside you and looped an arm around your shoulders. Immediately you let yourself fall into his touch. You really didn’t want to be mad at him. Under different circumstances you would have just laughed at his comment.
“I’m sorry I upset you with the stupid thing I said, forgive me?”, the vampire added and softly nuzzled his nose into your hair as you buried your face at his chest.
“I forgive you - sorry I threw baked goods at you”, you mumbled into his chest but you knew he had understood you when you felt the soft rumble of his laughter run through his whole body.
“It’s all good, my love. I got what I deserved and may I add: incredible aim. You’ve not lost your touch since the end of our grand adventure”, Astarion added and pressed a kiss to the top of your head.
You relaxed a little and just sat there with him for a few moments as you felt that your breathing slowly became normal again and some tension leaving your body. Astarion just held you.
After a while the vampire dragged over the bowl of liquor drenched fruit he’d been stealing out of. “Cherry, my sweet?”, he asked and with that made you look up again. He was holding the sticky fruit between his thumb and index and winked at you.
And for some reason that made you laugh. But when you didn’t immediately answer, Astarion shrugged his shoulders and popped the little treat in his mouth. You whacked his hand.
“No, Astarion! And stop eating those, we still need them!”, you scolded him as your partner pouted at you for being told off.
“Alright, no more cherries, but only if you agree to come with me and get some fresh air”, Astarion proposed. You wanted to protest but the vampire hushed you. “I’m sure Gale can be trusted to not burn the house down for like half an hour alone”, he continued.
You looked at him with some suspicion: “Unlike you to trust Gale with anything but walking in a straight line.”
Astarion rolled his eyes while he already got up and made to drag you along.
“Well, unusual circumstances and the like - you know”, he went on and let his free hand draw circles in the air. You just shrugged, honestly being happy to be dragged outside for a while.
“Now come, love, get your cloak - you need a break from all the sweet and savoury dishes here”, Astarion said and patted your butt for some motivation.You grinned at him: “Alright, except for that one sweet snack, my dear.”
Tag list: @spacebarbarianweird @sunfire-ancunin @tragedybunny @dependsonthedream @tallymonster @magazzne @micropoe10 @aoirohi @my-bunny-prince @lumienyx @fayeriess @darlingxdragon
#astarion#baldur's gate 3#astarion ancunin#fanfiction#astarion x tav#bg3 spoilers#baldur's gate iii#baldurs gate#astarion x mc#astarion x oc#bg3holidayfluffle23#astarion x you#astarion x reader#bg3
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Supposedly, people with Anphantasia don't get scared reading scary stories, or at least not much. Is that true with you if you ever read Horror?
You know, I'd never thought about it, but I suppose it is. To an extent, anyway.
Follows a discussion of my relationship to horror prose and media; if you don't know what aphantasia is, as many people coming to this tumblr don't, I have a tag for it here that may help -- it's basically the lack of a "mind's eye", a visual imagination, so I hear/read things and don't see an image of them in my mind. If you are scoffing right now that nobody actually has a mind's eye, congratulations, you may also have aphantasia. The articles linked in the tag will be useful to you.
I have definitely been scared by prose before but it's very rare, and not much since I was a child, when the stories I found scary were preying on fears I already had. I loved the Scary Stories To Tell In The Dark books, and I think it's not unusual that I found the illustrations more frightening than the prose, but the only story that ever scared me was the one about the vampire who kept trying to grab a kid through a window -- because I had a window over my bed in my childhood bedroom and I was terrified I'd look up to see someone looking down at me through it. Likewise, as an adult, the only content in horror I find scary is what I think of as "mind horror" -- the loss of faculty or the loss of awareness of faculty (think the end scene of the novel Hannibal with the brain). Which is one of my biggest fears.
I don't read much horror because generally I get bored, which has in the past made me feel faintly appalled at myself, but which now makes more sense. Certainly I have no interest in slasher-style gore in prose, because I find it uninteresting and it goes on a really long time, while I don't watch it in movies/TV because the visual is upsetting -- so if I was getting the visual from the prose I might react more emotionally. I am a fan of Stephen King but mostly his early work where he was shorter on suspense, and I was reading it because I liked the ideas and the characters. Carrie is super interesting because of the personalities involved, not because of the violence or the horror aspects. But I've never seen a movie adaptation and I can imagine I would be deeply unsettled if not distraught by certain scenes if depicted visually. Although I didn't find the Hannibal TV series super upsetting (I mostly was put off by how bad I imagined Will smelled) so perhaps body horror just doesn't do it for me.
This may also explain my hard-no on zombie media, because I'm not scared at all of zombies, I just find them boring and gross, and that leaves the post-apocalyptic humans. My hard-no on post-apocalypse anything is an aversion to imagining the end of my world, though, which isn't visual, it's conceptual, and not scary, just upsetting.
Like, people kept suggesting Zombies Run! to me when I was taking up running and -- well, one, I needed the music to keep my pace, I didn't want it interrupted. But two, I didn't see why a bunch of random groaning noises would make me run faster. If you could see zombies chasing you in your head, yeah, that'd probably be more motivating.
It kind of explains too why I haven't written much horror. I used to be very curious about how people worked out what's "scary" in horror prose and I guess part of the curiosity came from not experiencing it myself. It's tough to know how to write a scary story when stories don't scare you.
To be clear, I definitely experience fear. Reading Stephen King's "It" didn't really scare me, but there were scary moments in the film adaptations. I startle at jumpscares. There's plenty of stuff in real life that I'm scared of. And even podcasts -- I don't get mental images during podcasts like apparently most people do, but Magnus Archives got me with the "digging into your pre-existing fears" thing once or twice, and while I didn't finish The Left Right Game (I just got bored) the hitchhiker scene definitely got me. But I think, unless it's playing on something conceptual that already existed, yeah, I don't find prose particularly frightening.
Huh. This feels like the kind of thing that could have a significant impact on my creative output if I could crowbar my way into it. Knowing that I as an aphantic don't need descriptions that other people do has already, I think, impacted my editing process, but this feels like it maybe would somehow have an effect on the whole thing -- the fact that I don't experience emotions when reading in the same way other people do because I don't get the visuals is something to meditate on.
How the fuck did I ever even become a writer. Like what's up with that.
(Ironically it was X-Files fanfic. X-Files, a show that very much did scare me, for which I wrote and read a lot of fanfic, none of which did...yikes. Well, that's something to meditate on for the weekend.)
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Hi! Just wanted to say the latest chapter is lovely & amazing & sweet & had me smiling the whole time! I absolutely love your characterisation of everyone, especially Draco, so it was so so lovely to return to this world & to his thoughts!! with his best friend and crush at malfoy manor no less! All the yearning is already off to a great start hehe I am so excited for the rest of book 5!
Wanted to ask you how has it been for you to write this new book and volume? Has your writing process changed since when you’d first begun taking on a long form project like this?
& also are there any moments or surprises in this book that you’re especially excited about?
sending so much love & gratitude for you and your incredible works 💓
Thank you so much! This is really encouraging, I so appreciate it.
Inasmuch as I can use this metaphor without having kids myself, I sort of see each of the books as a different child. The first one flew out in basically a few weeks of very intensive writing, and it was a total dream — plot, pacing, symbolism, major beats, all fell into place basically without effort. The character stuff was the hardest, as I've written about before, but even then, the glorious part of writing beginnings is it's the most energy you'll ever have for a project, so the lows were pretty soft lows. Book 2, in contrast, I had to drag kicking and screaming by its ankle from under the bottommost mattress of my brain. It's one of my least favorite books (tone problem; COS has killer plot/setting/ingredients for a YA novel, but it's stuck in the doldrums of Harry Potter's well-documented Early-Installment Weirdness, before Cedric Diggory slams the gas and upshifts the whole series into its correct age bracket). More specifically, once I'd gone through and picked out everything in the book that happened because of Lucius, I didn't have a plot — hey alexa how do you rewrite Chamber of Secrets when We Got No Fucking Chamber Of Secrets — and oh by the way, even if you want to do a moody tone/political setup book, remember that your protagonists are still twelve, so if you go too dark or too intense, you'll risk torpedoing your readers' suspension of disbelief. Good luck, Charlie.
Book 3 felt the most like its own novel, if that makes sense? It's the last truly feel-good book of the series; it's a great stand-alone mystery novel with relatively low stakes. Plus you get a bunch of the big series icons: patronuses, dementors, werewolves, Hogsmeade, the Marauders' Map, and time turners arithmancy. It just felt like a good old-fashioned motherfucking romp of a mystery/adventure story, before any of the complex character work and major stakes of the late books come in.
Book 4 was the most fun I've had writing anything maybe ever. I don't even know what it was. Maybe the tournament arc, honestly? Love me a tournament arc. But in any case, I opened every new chapter feeling a tingle of excitement for what I was gonna get to do. Oh, and the romance started, finally, Jesus God (if it feels like a slow burn reading, just imagine what it felt like writing it, when everything takes ten times as long, and you have to figure out how to word the fucker.)
Book 5, in contrast, has felt much less like that tingle of "here we go!" and more like "oh, man, this is gonna be cool." Because this is the arc of the story that composed the original idea for Lionheart, literally years ago, and to be honest, I didn't think I'd get this far! If you'd asked me "do you know that it's going to take you 500,000 words of backstory before you can start writing that concept you're thinking about, and you're going to do it anyway?" I would have said: "absolutely not, strange mind-reader!" But like... I'm here! Finally! And it's... real now? Like, this isn't just a bunch of clips of scenes in my head anymore! That's rad!
That being said, it's definitely been slower than Book 4, because I kept switching back to my outline document to make sure that certain things were set up properly, and that I hadn't lost any of the plot threads or forgotten a minor beat that was vitally important for the story three chapters later. And I had a minor crisis about three months ago when I ripped out about 8 chapters in the first third of the book — basically everything from September to December — because I'd done a readthrough to check pacing (big mistake! never edit while drafting, that's satan talking) and realized I had a missing storyline. Like, there was a whole layer of the story that was just. Missing. Not there. And the existing text really couldn't fit another thread, so instead of taking weeks to pore through and try to sift out what I could save, I needed to factory reset and start over. And I didn't want to! I vividly remember sitting there with my head in my hands, trying not to weep, because I'd decimated 90,000 words of work in a single edit. But it had to be done. Because the story wasn't going to work. And now (hopefully) it will.
And of course, there's still that sense of excitement and exhilaration from before. Always. But whereas Book 4 felt like a delicious chocolate pudding, Book 5 is a medium-rare steak.
(Book 6, so far, is four shots of espresso and a whiskey chaser. FWIW.)
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Hi! How was your day? I hope it was great! Can I request a hsr (xianzhou) hcs with the characters you want with a klee/diona/xiangling!child!reader? I wanted to request before and I was reading your rules to request but I didn't see anything about child!reader soo i just asume i can request about it.
Sorry if there's was a grammar error por something I'm still learning english😭 somehow I learn some new words with your hcs so thank you?🤔
Whatever don't forget to take care of yourself, drink water and eat properly. Have a good day! 💞
HAIII SWEETIEE, thank you thank you for the request (｡˃ ᵕ ˂ *) ｳﾝ
I've never really thought of wrote child!reader but it was super fun to try it out, I know your request is kind of...old...(haha sorry....)
A/n - it's been so long since I've actually written regular requests (not matchups) honestly I forgot what it feels like and this was a great request and very refreshing
Anyways, YAAA
Huohuo
As a teen herself, shes...kind of taken a back by reader
Doesn't really know what to do and just stands there staring at them blankly
Maybe she'll try making a conversation and offer to take them to eat something
Generally very unsure on what to do and doesn't want to do anything wrong (poor thing TvT)
Tho if there's someone older and more experienced around she'll be a lot more calm and then she'll just talk with them about things she thinks children like
Dan Feng - imbibitor lunae
We saw how he acts with bailu already but I just think he's adorable
Just...stares at them
Very awkward around them and if they ask him a bunch of questions he'll just answer it shortly and quietly not really knowing what else to do
But can actually take care of kids if he needs to, so he'll just crouch down to readers level and like give them a single pat on the head and stand up walking away being like "come on, let's go"
Is not a fan of holding children so he'll prefer to hold their hand (even if he has to crouch down a bit)
Jing yuan
Honestly if you ever need a babysitting he's probably the person you'll go to
He's very gentle and loves playing around with kids
Whenever he sees the reader he'll crouch down and ruffle their hair to annoy them
He also likes picking up the reader, just like with one hand picks them up
Sometimes (if the reader doesn't protest against being held) he'll just walk around xianzhou with the reader in his arms, he'll do his work and duties normally like they're not even there
he could talk to reader for like hours, about the most random things or something he sees while walking around, like anything that keeps the child distracted
He's incredibly gentle with them and always careful not to hurt them.
Also since he's very wealthy, is probably gonna spoil the reader, a lot.
#honkai star rail#hsr x reader#honkai star rail x reader#honkai x reader#huohuo#honkai star rail x female reader#hsr x gn reader#honkai star rail x male reader#honkai star rail x gender neutral reader#honkai star rail x you#plantonic#child!reader#hsr jing yuan#honkai jing yuan#dan feng
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You know, after seeing the whole disaster that was the characterization of Adam in HH, I really need to take this out of my chest cause I never thought it was going to happen…
So there's this anime called 'Record of ragnarok' where they made a rewrite of Adam, since he is one of the humans that fight against the gods to save humanity from obliteration (the whole manga is about the gods wanting to destroy humans in a tournament)
Adam and Eve, both of them are presented as 'the parents of humanity' and none of them is presented as evil over the apple deal. The snake sets off a trap to acusse Eve of eating it because she escaped his attemp to attack her. Then Adam walks in and starts eating the rest of the apples to show disdain to Eve's accusation and they both leave togheter to start their own world.
He also has one of the most beautifully tragic deaths in anime, as while fighting Zeus (the leader of the gods in this story) he forces himself to the last breath and dies while standing after punching and almost defeating Zeus.
Why do I say all of this context and why I need to take this off my chest? because after I saw that one of the angels was going to be 'Adam' I started to grow affraid that Hazbin toxic side was going to come after ROR. And I was right, there came a bunch of posts and drawings comparing both characters, dumb fights over why the Hazbin Adam was superior to ROR Adam, that H!Adam could have killed his own alternate version and other annoying and disgusting stuff, I can't help it, but after seeing whats both Adam's stories are like, I can't believe this peoples audacity over 'who is better written'.
I'm getting tired of Hazbin toxic fans getting in other fandoms to try and rub in peoples faces that 'their stuff is better and the one you like is inferior and funnier and more mathure'. It already happens to a lot of western indie cartoons, but I never thought I was gonna see it coming to an ANIME fandom, im really tired of it.
Sorry for the long post, but I can't believe this people are so full of their 'demon-swearing-show-better' that they need to spread their toxicity to further fandoms.
Good lord, don't these people have anything better to do? Is their show that unentertaining that they have to walk across the neighborhood to wildly unrelated fandoms and start kicking sand in peoples' faces?
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What did you think of the live-action yu yu hakusho I confess that when I finished watching the first episode I had good expectations for the next ones but from episode 3 onwards they lost their hand.
To be honest, I loved it! They skipped all the introductory parts and got right down to the point. It's a rough adaptation of the original, but the action scenes are amazing! I felt the love of everyone involved towards Togashi's work. There were more highs than lows.
*CONTAINS SPOILERS*
Togashi wanted to draw a battle shounen, but since it was his first battle series, his editor advised him to take it easy at first. The first chapters were stand-alone adventures of Yusuke's spirit helping others. They weren't even adapted into the anime. Although I love those early stories, I don't think they are crucial to the story. I missed the comedy aspects though, that's what makes Yu Yu Hakusho so appealing. Yusuke's resurrection was a bit rushed, but I loved that "Hohoemi no Bakudan" (anime opening song) was playing on the truck's radio. I also didn't mind a 17-year old Yusuke or Kurama.
Even though they gave a more actual look to the characters, like Botan wearing peep-toes heels and Kuwabara with a dyed blonde hair instead of his iconic pompadour, we can still feel an atmosphere from the 90s in the scenery.
The stealing of the Artifacts of Darkness was so well adapted. Yusuke VS Gouki was an impressive fight. Masaru finally got to thank Yusuke, something that I missed in the original. Kurama telling his story to Yusuke at the hospital was genial as well. I think the motive that driven Hiei to steal the kouma sword in the live action suited him better. Togashi only made Hiei a main character because his editor told him so. That evil Hiei who kidnapped Keiko is so different from the Hiei who showed up later. Making Elder Toguro do the dirty job was more interesting! I'm just curious what they are going to do about Shigure in case of a second or third season. They probably have something in mind already!
Genkai's Tournament/Training was there in a different way. I don't care that much about Rando, but I missed all the pain the original Yusuke went thought to master the reiko hadouken technique. It was a little disappointing to see him absorbing the spirit wave with just an "okay". But, I'm glad they included some iconic moments of his training, like when he's upside-down balancing himself up with only his index finger on a needle.
Probably, what I missed the most was The Saint Beasts Arc. It was during this arc that the four guys got to know each other better and form a bond. Keiko and Botan also worked together and became friends. Considering the budget, I'm aware the live action didn't have time and money to produce it, they had to focus on the first big villain of Yu Hakusho, Younger Toguro.
Filming a whole Dark Tournament would be too hard, expensive, and maybe a little tiring to watch. Although the Rescue Yukina Arc and the Dark Tournament Saga were re-written, all elements from the original series were there:
They showed both Tarukane's mansion and The Hanging Neck Island;
Sakyo needed money to open a big hole to the Demon World. Goro Inagaki also slayed as Sakyo;
Younger Toguro wanted the same thing, he became too strong for the Human World;
Elder Toguro was insanely crazy. Probably, the best villain of Kenichi Takito's career;
A bunch of rich old dudes from BBC gambling;
Tarukane making Yukina cry to sell her hiruseki stones;
The random guy trying to help Yukina. Instead of killing her bird friends, Elder Toguro killed him.
There wasn't Botan and Keiko helping each other, but instead Keiko and Yukina teaming up, and I really enjoyed it;
Kuwabara falling in love at first sight, and asking Yukina to not hate all humans;
Best scenes and lines from Hiei VS Zeru and Kurama VS Roto were incorporated in the fights against Bui and Karasu;
Youko Kurama appeared! Jun Shison nailed it!
In the original, only Kuwabara didn't know about Genkai's death, I liked that in the live action Koenma kept it a secret from Yusuke as well. Elder Toguro making a puppet of Genkai out of his body was amazing!
Younger Toguro "killing" Kuwabara;
The memorable 100% Toguro VS Yusuke's spirit gun;
Sakyo telling the original plan was to make Toguro lose on purpose, so he could collect money from the rich. Also, betting his own life in front of Koenma;
It was interesting that Sakyo told his story and how he had bet his own life a few times to Tarukane instead of Toguro. I felt the Tarukane from the live action was a little bit more human. The actor did a pretty good job. Genkai's dead by the hands of Younger Toguro happened too quick and was disappointing, but they made up for that by showing their amazing goodbye scene in the Spirit World. Young Meiko Kaji was dazzling.
In the first episode, Koenma had sadness in his voice when he mentioned the former spirit detective. There was also that post-credits scene with Elder Toguro. I really hope there will be a second season. I think the Black Chapter Saga is much easier and more interesting to adapt.
I think those who have already read the manga or watched the anime, felt the love all the cast and staff have for Togashi's work. The new generation will probably buy the manga and watch the anime. The live action will surely bring new fans to the Yu Yu Hakusho franchise!
Netflix announced a new One Piece anime by Wit, made in partnership with Toei Animation. I'm also hoping that with the huge success of the live action, some anime studio or even Studio Pierrot will produce a remake of the Yu Yu Hakusho anime too.
By the way, I recommend watching the "Making of Yu Yu Hakusho". The main cast talks about all the trial-and-error process during the shoot. Action Director Takahito Ouchi also shares behind-the-scenes stories. They gave their blood to shoot this series! RESPECT!
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Drunk and/or high sex? W/ Dean or Jensen 😇🙏🏼
A/N: Picked Jensen for this since I already had a bunch of Dean requests! I imagined New Orleans in summer for this and thought the "love drug" was quite fitting. It was kinda inspired by the story of how Alison Brie started things with Dave Franco, which she told in a recent interview. Thought that was hilarious, so of course I had to use it. Hope you enjoy! 💜
Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Female!Reader
Warnings: +18/NSFW, drinking & drugs (weed & mdma), flangst, smut (thigh riding, p in v)
Word Count: 1.4k (I'm really trying here lol)
Main Masterlist || Dirty Drabbles Masterlist
Lavender Haze
There’s a visible haze flowing through the room, a midnight blue veil with particles of shimmering glitter in between that glistens like the night sky outside the French window. It feels surreal, like the fabric of the stars itself is blanketing you, enveloping your entire being as his plump lips touch every inch of your skin, ignite it as he worships your body. The entire universe is suddenly in your room.
The air smells of sweat, a mixture of drinks lingering on your breaths, and the damp summer heat that filters in through the open window despite the cool night air. You can’t remember how you got back to your hotel; too many shots have been downed tonight to care. Did you take a cab? Did you walk the busy streets till you landed back here? All of the above?
All you remember is the laughs, the music, the drinks, and the joint you shared with a friend in a dark alley. You never thought in your wildest dreams you’d land here – with him. More drinks flowed, his irresistible smile blinded you, and a few clumsy touches of his hands on places where he had never touched you before kindled your heart and soul. He was a kid playing with matches, too stupid, too innocent to know what he was doing, what dangerous game he started to play, and you were drunk enough to set both your bodies ablaze without wasting a second thought on it.
It was a harmless text from your friend that started this whole mess: Jensen – I think you should hit that tonight. Of course, your blurry mind thought it was a glorious idea. After all, you had wanted this, wanted him for a long time now.
You never thought he’d say yes, but if you were honest with yourself, you were always scared to ask in case he did agree to your insanity, knowing you weren’t good enough, knowing you’d only ruin it, knowing you could never dream this big. Maybe that’s why you posed the most outlandish question you could think of, hoping with certainty he’d deny your request and gently turn you down.
“I have a Molly… Wanna split it and have some fun in my hotel room?”
It wasn’t like him to agree to something like this. Maybe you’ve always been a bad influence on him, but you were still majorly surprised when he didn’t even blink. He just smirked at you and nodded like it was the million-dollar question he’d been waiting for.
And yes, maybe you knew he wanted you just the same, knew he harbored a crush on you for years, knew he craved the same things you craved. It’s been written in the stars since the two of you met and caught each other’s eyes for the very first time. But call it Southern gentlemanliness or whatever, in all these years, he never made a single move – not obvious ones, at least. True to form, he was never pushy, always waiting for your pull. And God, once you handed him that rope, he lassoed you like the coolest cowboy and tied you up good.
When your back hits the door, your lungs are barely able to catch a breath as Jensen is on you the second you enter the hotel room, scared if he gave you any wriggle room, you’d leave, even though you’d never dream of it. His ample lips find yours first, claiming you in a bruising kiss that leaves you speechless. You’ve kissed before, sharing the odd professional movie kisses between your characters on a set with an audience, but this kiss is entirely different.
Real. Raw. Breathtaking.
Then, his sinful lips trail down your jaw, find your throat, and mark your pulse point purple, green, and blue. His addicting hands have been on you nonstop since you each downed that little love drug with a bottle of water. It started with minute touches – his large palm on the small of your back when he guided you out of the bar, his warm hand on your knee in the back of the cab, his fingertips trailing up and down your spine in the elevator, and by the time, you’ve unlocked the door, he was ready to downright bounce on you. He loves touching you, loves to feel your skin ignite like a chemical reaction underneath his fingertips whenever the two connect.
His aura is emerald – soft, lush, and full of hope. Relaxing. Safe.
Yours is lavender – mysterious, sensitive, and full of passion. Inspiring. Chaotic.
With every touch and every kiss, his aura intoxicates yours, infecting every vein in your body until each drop of blood feels fused to his. A haze of green and purple, inseparable by the end. It’s surreal in the best way.
The tips of your fingers tingle whenever they smooth over an inch of cinnamon-freckled skin. He’s hot to the touch, his warmth swaddling you like a snuggly blanket that feels like childhood memories and home. You never want to let go. This feeling should last forever. The strong heartbeat behind his ribs tells you he feels the same.
His knee sneaks between your legs as his hand crawls inside your panties and finds an ocean waiting for him there. His groans reverberate against your skin, your throat, your chest as you needily seek more friction on his thigh, grinding your clothed cunt against the rough denim fabric as his thick thumb strokes your clit.
“God, this is so hot… you’re so hot,” he murmurs against your neck, his free hand pushing parts of your shirt and bra down to grope one breast, pinching the nipple between his fingertips until it hardens. “Wanted this for so long… So, so long…”
“Me too,” you whisper breathlessly, your cloudy brain torn between an orgasm and a love confession.
His attacks on your tit and cunt seize and still, his head slowly rising as he finds your gaze. The look in his eyes is overflowing with surprise, desire, and hope, showing a longing that’s finally sated. The hand on your breast leaves its place and cups your cheek, caressing it with gentle care.
“Yeah?”
A smile twitches on your lips as you nuzzle your nose against his and nod. “Yeah,” you admit your secret. “Of course, it is. All I need is you. I just wanna stay here forever with you.”
Jensen’s lips curl into a smile, one that hides something behind it you can’t decipher. “Good,” he says and entangles you in a kiss so deep it leaves you breathless once more as he sucks the air from your lungs while you start to think that this might be the sweetest death you could’ve ever imagined.
His hands grab your thighs, lift you up until your legs wrap around his waist. His full-grown erection presses against your pussy as you grab and bite and hold onto whatever of him you can get between your hands and mouth. Clothing items drop in haste, not sure who removes what from where, but you’re positive your lips part as he enters you in one thrust until his long, thick cock is fully sheathed by your heat, stretching your walls like no one ever has before. The delicious burn, the pleasurable sting between your thighs is a new feeling you could find yourself growing quite addicted to.
“Shit, ’m sorry…,” he mumbles into the crook of your neck at his eagerness and apologizes for his temporary loss of control, which you find quite flattering as his cock throbs inside of you while his fingers gently caress your head and comb through your hair to soothe the bits of pain you feel. “I love you,” he whispers softly against your lips and claims them in the same breath.
You smile shyly, happiness wrangling with sadness inside your heart. “It’s the drugs,” you tell him and excuse his irrational behavior, having been through this circle a few times before.
However, he shakes his head with all the stubbornness he can gather and cups your cheek, thumb caringly brushing over its rosy apple. “No, it’s you, sweetheart. Promise,” he assures you.
With a thick swallow, you nod and drop a tear on his thumb pad. “Okay… I love you, too,” you accept and cry out as he pushes back inside and never stops again.
Considering the other drabbles I did up till now and the nature of this request, this turned out oddly romantic and sweet *pats self on back* 🥰
Tag Lists:
Everything J: @extraterrestriali @this-is-me19 @writercole @awkward-and-indecisive @eevvvaa @panicking-outside-the-disco @globetrotter28 @imherefordeanandbones @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior @xlynnbbyx @jassackles @maggiegirl17 @perpetualabsurdity @deans-spinster-witch @deandreamernp @foxyjwls007 @roseblue373 @lyarr24 @deanwanddamons @deanwithscissors @mrsjenniferwinchester @justrealizedimmascifygurl @akshi8278 @flamencodiva @chriszgirl92 @wittyboldsoul @djs8891 @leigh70 @snowlovespie @b3autyfuldisast3r @ladysparkles78 @muhahaha303 @mimaria420 @creepzeyecandy @iamsapphine
#dirty drabbles#jensen ackles x female reader#jensen ackles x reader#jensen ackles rpf#jensen ackles fanfiction#jensen ackles x you#jensen ackles x y/n#jensen ackles smut
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Happy Saturday fandom :) Already onto episode 2. We get to see some new challenges for Tim and lots of work flirts because well it’s s4. These two are emotionally dating whether they realize it or not haha. Not a ton in this ep for them but just enough goodies possible with them riding apart. Off we go.
4x02 Five Minutes
We start our ep off with Nolan helping out with paint samples. Tamara has moved in (yay I love this) and they’re trying to decide what color. Tamara says she doesn’t care it’s Lucy's apt. Seemingly resigned at this point. Lucy doesn’t agree and says it’s her room though. Tamara says it’s not hers it’s…she trails off before mentioning Jackson's name. Lucy realizes this and cuts it off before she gets emotional. My heart. Nolan tells her they have to get ready for work.
They leave Tamara's room and Lucy asks John if they’re being silly about the color? That they're taking this long to pick one out? He’s says it’s not 'We' but her. Lucy gives him a look. She knows what he's implying but isn’t ready to talk about it yet. So she hands him his bag instead. She notes it’s super heavy. Asking what’s in it? Apparently Tim gave him ton of books to read for being a T.O. Nolan asks if it’s weird for her Tim's not a T.O. anymore?
Lucy acting all civil and grown up or trying to. Saying no he’s moving on with his career. So will she. I mean deep down she's gotta be happy with the fact that she was the last rookie he trained fully. End on a high note and all that. That high note being her. She continues on that she hadn't even thought of him being a rookie Sergeant. The look on her face betraying her words. She's failing terribly at containing her excitement at what she's done haha
As we can see in this next scene Lucy is a lying liar who lies. We cut to Tim looking fine af in a TIGHT red t-shirt. Sweet baby James those guns should be illegal. Look at his bicep as he opens that locker. My god. Walking thirst trap and I'm here for it. He’s all happy walking up to his locker. Then he opens it and finds her note with a bunch of small boots LOL It’s amazing and glorious. His face kills me. I love her knowing the combination to his lock in first place to plant these. Ahh the work flirts between these two never cease to amaze. Pranking is one of their love languages hehe
Tim enters Grey’s office to officially get his Sergeant’s badge for Mid Wilshire. He’s so excited it's adorable to watch. Telling Grey he won’t let him down. Wade says he will. Tim looks crushed poor love. Grey telling him he’s going to fail just as much as he succeeds. Interesting to watch Tim stumble off the blocks a bit with this. The entire episode is him feeling out being a Sergeant for the first time. Naturally he’s a little cocky. He's always puffing his chest out more around others that aren't Lucy heh
Tim is thinking he can just apply his T.O. Tactics to this and Wade isn’t about it. The little wink above. Have mercy sir ... Learned all that sass from being around his girl haha Grey is not amused. Tells him he can easily remove those strips HA I love it. So much growth to be had in this new role of his. Always love watching him stretch himself. Grey tells Tim he’s going to be leading roll call today. He is so amped. I love this sfm.
Grey announces Tim being the station's newest sergeant and Lucy is aglow with pride. Look at her. She is so damn excited and proud of him. She's been on this journey with him since day one. Ready to make a big deal and celebrate him. Even when he won’t. Especially when he won’t. This reaction is proud wifey status right here. Her pre clap is so cute. She is ready to celebrate him and his achievement before anyone else is. Lucy notice's no one else is as excited as her and has to rein herself back in LOL The minute it's announced she is filled with pride and glee. It's written all over her body language and her need to want to clap for him before it's time. You know he made eye contact with her for that little smirk. I love them.
Also let’s talk about the heart eyes/little eye sex Lucy is giving Tim during his first roll call he's leading Look at her in the beginning. Keep it in your pants Officer Chen LMAO You are in public madam. Tim is shocking everyone but Lucy with his rant. Just a normal day for her when he talks like this. It's too funny. He is shocking everyone else though. Even Grey is thrown back by his words. Not his girl though. There’s nothing he can say that’ll throw her. Look at her smile as she leaves the roll call room. She is bemused he just went on a 'Tim Rant' in his first roll call. I love it so much.
We rejoin Lucy with Nolan in their shop. She is asking about wallpaper and what he thinks? Nolan pokes the bear one more time. Saying she’s the most insightful person he knows. Lucy has to see why she is delaying picking out a color. That Tamara can never accept the room as her's till Lucy moves on from it being Jackson’s. Before she can answer a car races by them. They pull them over immediately.
Nolan asks if he can practice being a T.O. With her? Lucy gives him some crap then says yeah show me what you got. He calls her boot and lives to regret it so very much. I love the absolute sass in her body language alone. Like you best walk that back LOL She barely let Tim call her that let alone you Nolan haha
Grey and Tim are riding together today. Wade going over not arriving to a scene right away. How it hurts the officer's confidence when you do. You can see Tim squirming in his seat with all this haha It's the very opposite of being a training officer. This is where this position makes him grow. It’s forcing him to do things he normally wouldn’t. Honestly riding with Lucy prepped him for this in a way he doesn’t understand just yet. Taught him all the things he needs to be a good supervisor.
Doesn’t mean he won’t have growing pains along the way though LOL Before he can reply Nolan contacts them about the driver he’s pulled over. Nolan ran her ID and finds out she is a white whale. Claire Ivy. Been suspected in multiple heists dating back 20 years. How Lopez almost caught her in 2016. Grey tells him to cite her and let her go. To inform her she’s on their radar though. To leave town ASAP.
Nolan returns to Lucy and Claire. She is a complete bad ass. Not taking Nolan’s warnings seriously at all. She even winks at Lucy before taking off. Nolan asking her what she thinks? Lucy having the funniest reply. Saying she has a girl crush haha I love Lucy so much.
Tim and Wade show up to Nyla’s scene. Her first call with Aaron is a murder. Grey asks her where her rookie is? She point to him on the sidewalk sitting. Looking pretty shaken up. Tim asks if he puked with a smile. Heh you’re terrible you handsome devil. She says yes but it’s more than the gore. That he was having some PTSD. Then tells Grey it’s almost like he shouldn’t be a cop…. Harper was so harsh with Aaron in the beginning. Grey notes it’s a good thing he has the best T.O. In the business to help him then.
Tim needing to give Nyla a hard time says his line above. I love the constant teasing between these two. It’s so funny and a delight to watch how they’ve developed. Her face is everything haha The rivalry between them is the absolute best. Wade tells Tim to stay on task.... Tim tries to canvass and Grey stops him. Saying he’s there to supervise not canvas. Poor Tim its a default gear for him. So he tells Harper to take her rookie and do as such. She gives him a smile saying 'Yes sir.' hehe
Lucy gets home and has a heart to heart with Tamara. She knows she can't avoid having it any longer. It makes me emotional to watch Lucy struggle with talking about him. Then Tamara gets emotional as well. Getting me right in the feels ladies. Lucy apologizing for being so manic about the color. That when they do this it'll make all this real. Even months later she will have to face that fact that he's never coming home to this room. Which is rough for both of them to deal with. I mean Tamara is feeling guilt for even taking the room let alone altering it. Lucy is struggling changing it as well for her own reasons.
Tamara feeling hesitant to make it her own. Because anytime she changes anything feels like she erasing him. Ugh my heart. This is such a good scene for them though. I love Lucy telling her Jackson would’ve loved her staying here. He would've wanted something good to come out of this. This is Lucy’s official moving on moment. Not letting this weigh her down any longer. So Tamara too can move on and not feel guilty making this room her own. Guess Nolan was right. Even a blind squirrel finds a nut every once in awhile eh?
We find Lucy and Nolan next day camping outside Claire's hotel. They're talking about his date with Bailey and her breaking up with him via text. Before they delve any further Tim calls in asking for a status update. Lucy lets him know no activity on their end but what about the rest of her team? I love this mini moment of theirs. Their banter over the radio. Them talking this situation out. Like Nolan isn’t even there. Theorizing together like they’re in the same car. Their work chemistry isn't missing a beat in this scene. Also lets admire his bicep in this scene. Straining against that sleeve.*fans self* It's like he wants me to comment like this LMFAO
Tim telling Lucy his thoughts is my fav part. Being vulnerable with her saying he’s nervous. Only Lucy gets this side of him even when they’re not in the same space I love it sfm. There is growth in this moment. Normally he would just say or direct an OP like this. Wouldn’t need anyone else’s input. But now he’s post-Lucy being his rookie. We see the impact she’s had on him. How he’s relying on her thoughts and relaying his own. Doesn’t seem like a big moment in grand scheme of things. When we know the cuteness at the end of this episode. But I love underrated moments and this is one of them.
Grey finds out Tim was apart of the OP who took down Claire and her team. He is none too happy about it. Tim is confused saying he used his skills in the best way possible. Wade calls him out for it. Telling him no. He just couldn’t trust anyone else to get it done right. That control freaks don’t make good sergeants. It’s a rough first go for Tim. He has a lot to learn about stepping back and his need to control. To trust those around him. It’s something we will see him grow in this season.
But we can’t appreciate such growth unless we see him start at square one. Just like with S1 Tim. If we didn’t see him at his lowest how could we truly appreciate the depth of his growth when it happened? It’s the same with his new role as sergeant. He does stand his ground saying he needs to find his own way as a sergeant. He asks Grey if there is anything else? He adds on praise is important. An 'Atta-Boy' from the boss goes a long way.
Lucy is trying to sneak more booties into Tim’s locker when he catches her. Tim acting like he’s shocked but I don’t think he really is haha Asking her what she's doing? Lucy telling him how she’s paying him back. That word haunts her LOL She has to remind him he is a 'Boot' now. Getting immense joy out of teasing him. They are so married in this scene it’s unreal. Naturally he has to chastise her doing the same prank twice. Wouldn’t be him if he didn’t. His way of flirting right back. These two idiots in love.
Lucy hands him the booties and says she’s going to leave him to it then. Not expecting more out of this moment than this mini banter. Tim doesn’t let her get too far before giving her that compliment. He's so uncomfortable about saying it you know she is soaking this up. Enjoying him being uncomfortable so much.
Lucy is also stunned he’s giving her praise so freely when he finally gets it out. Her face says everything about her disbelief. Tim sees it instantly and tells her Grey suggested he do so. Like it's such a hardship to praise her like this heh. Lucy seeing he’s trying to grow and thanks him with that cocky smirk we know he loves so much.
Although Lucy can’t pass up the opportunity to push his buttons. Has to see if she can’t get him to spill more since he is in a sharing mood. About her specifically of course haha One of her love languages is receiving those words of affirmation and praise from him. She laps it up like a thirsty dog hehe She’s comfortable enough ‘Push her luck’ as Tim states above. Tim of course stops Lucy in her tracks. Knowing exactly what she is up to.
I love her awkward exit when she knows she has pressed her luck. The pointing and backing out is so adorable I can not stand it. We know he loves her goofy dorkiness. It's that dorky sunshine he falls in love with in the first place. You know he misses riding with her so much in this moment. He holds his ‘serious’ face till she leaves. Shakes his head so bemused by her actions.
Then when she’s out of sight his true colors come into play. Look at this man. Tim looks down at the boots with a happy smirk. He is so smitten and happy she did this prank. Why you ask? Because it meant she was thinking of him. Thought of his special day and did something to commemorate it. You know he actually loves how thoughtful she is. How she always makes him #1. Makes him feel like he’s #1 in her book. Something that is so very foreign to him.
Just like Lucy adores his praise. He soaks up her affection and putting him and his accomplishments on the front burner. Never lets Tim pass by with anything less than a Lucy worthy celebration. Like I said earlier pranking is a love language of their's. This is her way of saying she cares. Does it in a way he can handle but knows her intention. Tim has never had someone like her before. He is very smitten and that wall of his is damn near rubble at this point. We’re not there yet but it’s on it's way to utter ruin. Thank you Lucy Chen haha
Tamara finally finishes up her room. She’s nervous to show Lucy. It’s so cute. I love what she did with it. So very her and I love it. Lucy giving her stamp approval is just what she needed. This is such a cute moment. I love their chosen sisterhood so much. Gives me warm fuzzies for days. How far they’ve come from Tamara stealing Lucy’s car heh Tamara finally having her own safe space and having it with Lucy is the best part.
Cute little episode for them as we enter full into this season. I always love when we get little work flirts with them. They’re dating and have idea about and that’s the best part of the the whole dynamic.
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Side notes non chenford-
The introduction of Aaron. I wasn’t sure about him at first but ended up adoring him. He won me over fairly quickly.
Wes and Angela spending the only time Jack sleeps theorizing about Aaron’s case instead of sleeping LOL I love them sfm.
Thank you as always to those who continuously like, comment and reblog these reviews. Makes my heart so happy. Shall see you all in 4x03 :)
#Caitlin Rewatches The Rookie#chenford#chenford hiatus#waiting on s6#winter rewatch#s4#4x02 Five Minutes#the rookie 4x02#otp: doing my job#otp: you know me so well. too well#otp: some things matter more#otp: you did good#tim x lucy#tim bradford#lucy chen#lucy x tim#the rookie#eric winter#melissa o'neil#tim bradford x lucy chen
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FIRST IMPRESSIONS
warnings: none - !sfw
summary: y/n is a volleyball star who's teammate happens to be obsessed with a certain team's striker. For her friends birthday, she decides to get her a signed jersey but ends up trending because of a specific "encounter".
note: fem!reader x nagi seishiro / (f/v) = favorite vehicle / not proofread
'I can't believe I'm fucking doing this...'
Yet here I was, driving myself in my (F/V) to a football stadium which I swore I would never step foot in since the age of 12.
Despite my better judgement, I didn't really have a choice since I already had a #11 football jersey that need to be signed and a bought ticket which is probably worth my rent right now. I wish I was joking.
"Holy crap- there's barely any parking."
I step out of my vehicle with my (F/C) sweatshirt, sunglasses and black biker shorts as well as my (F/C) sneakers to match. My hood and sunglasses where on to hide as much of my identity as possible, the last thing I need was my face trending all over twitter about me going to a football stadium despite my open dislike for the sport.
I walk in, submit my ticket, enter the actual stadium and finally take my seat in the best row possible. The jersey was in my leather, black backpack which had a volley ball charm and random cartoon character keychains and stickers all over it from carnival prizes. I sit with my arms crossed as I wait for the players to make their entrance. A large cup of (F/D) and a bucket of popcorn by my side to numb my misery for the next 90 mins, it's not like I hate the sport with every fibre of my being, It's actually the fans. If you ask me basketball is definitely superior, second to volleyball, but that's not a conversation people will ever be ready to talk about.
The football players start to walk into he field as the stadium gets noisier by the second. People cheering and chanting as I simply sit down and munch on my buttered popcorn.
'Thank goodness that these people aren't in my line of vision.'
Amongst the teams fileing in, I notice a tall (like really tall) white haired man make their way onto the pitch. I lift my sunglass up slightly and narrow my eyes just to make sure I'm seeing things clearly. He has large gray eyes that you would expect to be full of expression but hold literally not a hint of interest in them. I look down at his uniform and notice the #11 written in large on the back of his jersey, my mouth drops as I realize that my friend might actually be on to something.
"He's actually beautiful, wtf."
I mumble low enough so no one else could here. I quickly snap out of my trance as the voices of the crowd screaming snap me back to reality. A sudden pit of nervousness could be felt in my stomach as my eyes continue to follow his every move. For a split second, I notice him looking towards my direction as I pull the drawstrings of my hoodie to hide myself from embarrassment.
'Ok.. so maybe this might be A LOT harder to do than I thought. Should of just bought a signed jersey on Amazon.'
The match finally ends with the screaming of fans from my side of the stadium as the counter finally hits 90:00. My mouth dropped, TO. THE. GROUND. As I try to process wtf just happened. A specific athlete managed to score the winning goal within the last 3 min, made 4 goals beforehand and manages to look as if what he did was normal. Anyone could tell that I was visibly shaking from all the adrenaline coursing through my veins simply by watching.
'THAT WAS SO- THAT WAS SO-'
I didn't know if it was my speechlessness or the running of a bunch of fans, trying to get a closer look at the winning team, that caused me to stutter so much. I blink a few times before I grab all my things and run just as quickly as them towards the same direction. The set up was like the one you would see in concerts, silver railing that reached just above my torso and many others to prevent fans from getting any closer.
I quickly grab the jersey from the safety of my backpack as I noticed a specific player about to enter my line of sight.
'I will get this signature, EVEN IF ITS KILLS ME!!'
But as if my motivation was some sort of sin, one of the many fans begins to constantly nudge me in the shoulder with her elbow as another does the same on the other side of where I stood. I lightly curse to myself as I begin to nudge them back. The nudging escalated until I was shoved forward harshly, causing the cheap railing to break, my hood and glasses falling off in the process as well. I close my eyes shut as I await to be greeted by the cold, hard floor. But to my surprise, (probably not yours lol) I don't. And it scares the shit out of me more.
I quickly cling to the piece of fabric shielding my face from a very toned chest as I feel a gentle set of arms wrap around my shoulders. I internally shudder at the sudden context as I mentally curse myself out, the grip on the jersey long gone as I finally find the courage to look up at the person who saved me from becoming the next meme of the month.
I'm met with a pair of gorgeous grey eyes, opened wide probably because of the sudden reveal of my identity or the quality of the railing.
'Kill me now.'
I give him a nervous close-eyed smile as his eyes casts over to the now wrinkled #11 jersey on the floor, his brows furrowed in the process.
"Haha, you wouldn't mind signing that right? It for a friend yk..."
@feizon
#nagi seishiro#nagi x reader#nagi seishiro x reader#nagi x you#fem reader#blue lock#blue lock x reader#nagi fluff#fluff#nagi x y/n
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I saw that in the tags of my post about Bariss and Ahsoka you said you think Ahsoka should've been the bomber. So, out of curiosity how would you have had the Wrong Jedi arc play out with this premise in mind?
I've actually already written it and the tag for it is darksider Ahsoka AU.
Basically, Ahsoka is pushed so far in her guidance under Anakin that she just gets fed up with the Order (same general motivations as they gave Barriss in canon, it just makes more sense when it's Ahsoka) and she tries to frame ANAKIN for it so that the Order turns on him and he has to leave. Except that Anakin is better at proving his own innocence than Ahsoka is and it doesn't go well. Anakin figures out it's her but instead of getting caught and sent to prison, he just refuses to leave with her and then basically lets her run and she spends the next 15 years or so just kinda being a loner out in the galaxy, having to hide her connections to the Jedi. I imagine she winds up having to take jobs like bounty hunting sometimes because she just needs the money and work and she's got the requisite skills.
Eventually, she meets up with the Ghost crew during the Rebels timeline and it's the first time she's interacting with a Jedi since the Temple bombing and it hits her HARD (she's been a selfish person kind-of languishing in darkness for a while, but the part of her that used to be a Jedi ACHED when Order 66 happened and has mourned that loss the entire time but she's refused to acknowledge it as such and so it's basically a steadily bleeding wound that never heals). She can't help but keep coming back to them when opportunity allows, even though she's always kind-of an asshole and pretends like she doesn't like them. Ultimately they all end up on Malachor together and Ahsoka has to see Anakin as Vader, but she's SUCH a different person that she doesn't try to stay with him. She's ANGRY when she sees this truth, caught between fury that he only left the Order AFTER she did, that she wasn't ENOUGH for him to leave the Order for, and horror at what he did to the Jedi and what he's still doing to the galaxy. She ultimately just leaves with Kanan and Ezra rather than staying on Malachor and then comes back with them to Chopper Base where she joins the Rebellion on a probationary basis.
This is also the AU where I just roleswapped Barriss and Ahsoka, so Barriss ends up becoming the Rebel spy who comes into the Rebels storyline around season 2. I believe I called her Pyrite instead of Fulcrum, though. She also is WITH Luminara when Order 66 happens and so Luminara is never captured by the Empire and used to lure other Jedi to their doom. I'm fairly certain I ended up having Luminara and Barriss discover and rescue Reva and Trilla from the Inquisitors and took them on as apprentices of sorts, so Reva and Trilla are ALSO Jedi by the time Rebels is happening.
This means that Barriss is around when Ahsoka joins the Rebellion and it ended up a Barrissoka AU eventually.
It's an AU I came back to a lot to kind-of explore how a bunch of different characters are impacted by this change and what their thoughts are on Ahsoka (and Anakin) within this new universe. I haven't come back to it in a while, and things sort-of evolved as I kept thinking on it, so it may not be super coherent, but the bare bones concept is still one I like a lot.
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i've had no love like your love
summary: both you and professor presley would like to forget about the incident between you two and you do while still occasionally falling into each other's arms when spending time with one another. the two of you finally reach a breaking point.
fandom: elvis presley | elvis ( 2022 )
rating: m
pairing: professor! elvis presley ( big daddy flavor ) x student! female reader
word count: 9487. i got a little carried away.
warnings: big daddy elvis. elvis using a walking stick/cane. implied praise kink. student and professor relationship ( everyone are of legal age ). religious talk. elvis being ill enough to miss class. unrequited love that would be requited if people just opened up their mouths. oral ( f receiving ). use of psalms in inappropriate ways. bunch of tears. mention of physical abuse/hitting/being kicked out of houses. use of the nickname belle for the reader. use of the derogatory name jezebel. mentions and beginning of impersonal sex like in my hearts already sinned. thigh riding.
author's note: so i'll warn you ahead of time you've got to get through a lot of words of sadness to get to their happiness in this but it's worth it. i'm honestly super glad this got the reception it did since when i posted the little teaser/trailer as my last kinktober piece i thought this was hella niche and didn't think anyone would like it since it's big daddy elvis and it's a professor au. but y'all have seemed to absolutely adore it and it makes me happy. this is not the end of them since i've got an epilogue ( purely happy, i promise ) and honestly, if anyone ever wants me to write more of them ( case in point, the ask i got about a movie night with him and belle ) or i have an urge to i probably will.
and y'all know the drill, pick your elvis poison, this is written with real elvis in mind but you can imagine austin elvis.
and previous parts are here to be read in order: 1 and 2.
There's one thought- or a series of thoughts- his mind keeps cycling back to, that keeps rolling over and over in his head as he looks at the door you just left out of. Gossip isn't something he normally cares about but when he heard your name, he couldn't help but listen in properly because when it came to you he couldn't help it, he never has been able to help it.
"She's going for Presley? That religious- he won't give her the time of day like that. She's too impure for him."
"I've heard that's why she wants him because come on man, you know he never has gone for a student. Why not have the Tour Guide show him what he's been missing? Besides she's already spending all that time in his office and wearing his jacket half the time. Bet she's gonna fuck him before Thanksgiving break. Then she'll be free."
"Two in one semester-" The calculus professor whistles. "Next semester she'll be begging for an orgy at this rate."
He's not dumb, contrary to what his teachers back in the day might have thought. No, he's not dumb but sometimes he prefers to see the best in people, sees the parts that other people might overlook. Maybe it's just from his upbringing or maybe it's from how he was treated in the music industry but he likes to think himself a good judge of the character people might otherwise keep hidden. And with you he had thought- he had thought there was something there. Something you had hidden away amongst your conquests as ill advised as they might have been. You were- you felt like the sort of person who could be taken care of while still taking care of him. You felt like coming home or like God himself had dropped an angel in his lap. The idea that he was just another man- another professor in your long line of them stung. He knows he's not a great catch any more, that he's not nearly as pretty as he was even two years ago, let alone when he used to perform on stage or was in the movie picture business but you didn't seem to mind. You seemed to enjoy him, unless he had read everything wrong, had read your lingering glances wrong. Unless he had read your reactions to his very presence wrong or how you would smile just so in a way he recognizes from some women.
If he hadn't have read this situation wrong and you had actually enjoyed his company and cared about him at least in some small part the way he cared about you, why had you answered yes to his test. Why in God's green Earth had you told him that you just wanted him to be another professor you fucked? The answer should have been that you wanted to fuck him as a person and not just- him because he was your professor. You didn't need to charm him like this- to worm your way so comfortably into his heart in a way Priscilla had and how Linda had as short as their relationship was. It's- you didn't need to play with him like this- you didn't need to be cruel.
Maybe the best thing for both of you would be to pretend none of this happened. Pretend that everything was normal and that he hadn't seen how your pussy looked in underwear that was barely there. Pretend he hadn't seen you arch your back for him. Just pretend he hadn't had you against the desk in a way that was so far from how he planned. That's- that should be what he does. You were still perhaps that good girl, that wonderful woman he thought you were, you just needed to be reminded of it continuously. Maybe he just wants to be selfish and have you in his life in whatever way he can. God, he was getting to be stupid and silly as he got older, wasn't he?
Love makes you do stupid things, you've realized this more than anything with El- Professor Presley. With other men, with other professors your brain and your heart seemed to actually be in line with one another, seemed to remember that these were flings and while their outcomes led so much to be desired you could file them away as business transactions. Business transactions that allowed you to avoid worrying about your grades if you were sick or if you had too much going on at one time. You figure it's your own fault for taking the challenge Noelle had offered you. Figure that you brought this on yourself despite knowing that you had seen the man for years now from afar and thought that he was the most attractive man you've ever laid eyes on. Thought his waistline- much as it occasionally fluctuated was perfect at damn near any size but you had a special place in your heart for his size now. You should have known your heart would believe one thing- would feel one thing while your brain would try and remind you that this- this couldn't ever be more than whatever it was. You hadn't even needed to do it, hadn't needed to take the chance on sleeping with him because you were fine when it came to his class, never missing a class or a discussion or anything that had him lowering your grades. Yet, you had to be selfish, had to ruin the relationship- the friendship you and him had with each other. You had to ruin him as a person, didn't you?
The man who had sex with you against his desk that day wasn't Elvis Presley, Professor Presley, whatever you wanted to call him. He wasn't the person you had fallen so deeply in love with that your heart ached and twisted and threatened to fall right out of your chest at the mere idea of losing him for good. He was something- someone else entirely, someone who you didn't recognize in the slightest but maybe that's who he always had been, maybe that was the man you had fallen completely in love with over the semester. Your brain hadn't bothered to entertain the idea of a life beyond this semester but you think- no, you know- that your heart had other plans. Your heart dreamed of a life with you at his side at Graceland during the summer and on the breaks at night. It dreamed of a life with you in his lap and his head in yours. You just dreamed of a life with him come whatever may be.
That dream is still in your heart as much as your brain knows it's stupid and silly and a forgone conclusion at this point. Yet, you can't stop yourself from still wanting it from pining for the mere idea of it. You can't stop yourself from taking his jacket you still have and wrapping yourself in it after you come home from that day- that absolute mess of an emotional day because that mere idea of a life with him. A life where he comforts you and wraps his arms around you when you find that life is too much or when he finds that life is too much.
Maybe that's why you don't back away, maybe that's why you let yourself continue on debasing yourself in a way that you're practically mortified to realize. Or maybe it's because after that day things go back to normal. He acts like the man you fell for, acts like the man you could see some form of a future with and could dream of living the rest of his days with. Still, you choose to believe that it's worth it, that this is all you're ever going to have of Elvis. God you wish your brain could just call him Professor Presley or Mr. Presley but when you're in his office talking about what had happened in class or the lesson plans he had for the next one he always insists on you calling him Elvis and it feels so natural rolling off your tongue. It feels like it's meant to leave your mouth in sighs as he brings you pleasure and with fondness that you can only have with someone you love to the ends of the Earth.
You should have known better, you should have known better because you might be strong, you might be the sort of person who can hold herself up with or without praise that Elvis sprinkles into your life. You're the sort of person who shouldn't do this, who wouldn't do this for anyone else if it wasn't him. You should break it off, should give yourself a clean break but he's always there and he's right there saying the words you want to hear. He's there acting like he's supposed to and you find you can't even grieve for the loss of him because he's not gone, is he? No, he's right there in front of you, almost mocking you in his actions and how they conflict when you're up against his desk, his cock sliding in and out of you with such obscene squelching and squishing because he knows how to touch you in just the right way that has you groaning against the coolness of the desk. He knows how to touch you in just the right way that has you so aroused you make a mess of whatever you touch. The times you're just on his thigh because he can't get it up- not for lack of want, but because of his body betraying him like everything else seems to- those times always end in him with a suspicious wet spot that makes him glad he's got on black pants to hide the stain you've put there from riding him.
Things feel so impersonal, such a stark contrast to the actions of both of you around the times you do these things. You're adults and yet the concept of talking about what happens- talking about how you two fall into some natural rhythm of companionship only to have it stripped away the moment one of you climbs on top of the other or the moment he pats his thigh for you to straddle- is so alien to either one of you. When you've fooled around with the other professors even when it came to the worst exits you were still able to look at them, still have that element of attachment when you would be with them up until the point where you were kicked out and where you were slapped and yelled at and chased out windows that had you breaking your ankle. With Elvis it should be the same, you want it to be the same because maybe if it was you could- it would be easier for the two of you to talk. It would be easier to not feel like this is a business transaction and that as much as he'll be the man you started to love before and after it, he won't be that man during the act. You'd say you felt used but how can you be used if you're also using him. It's silly and embarrassing and it wears you down after each time even though you always crave it just a little bit because it's all you feel like you can get of him like that. You want more than his companionship, his praise and his subtle touches on your shoulder and his laughter. You want every single bit of him you can have. You're grasping at whatever you feel you can get and you don't realize he's doing much the same thing.
It has to be impersonal because if he looks at you he doesn't trust himself to not fall to your knees and worship you like the angel sent from on high he believes you to be. He calls you Jezebel because that reminds him how you wrenched his heart from his chest and twisted it in your hands. Staying away from you isn't an option because outside of when you two fall into each other's arms you feel like his- feel like third time is truly the charm on women he adores to the ends of the Earth and that you could be the one he spends the rest of his life with- however long that may be.
However long that may be is always on his mind the more his stomach gives him issues or his body feels like it's breaking down more and more. Should try and get everything in check, try and cut out some things maybe but he's never been the most disciplined in anything that isn't religion and even then he knows he falls off that wagon on occasion. He has to miss two more classes and on one of the nights he can't sleep, his stomach contorting in on itself and his bones feeling an ache he can't shake he wishes you were there. Your presence that one night, curled up against him after he had woken up and found you on the couch only to carry you to his bed had been some of the best sleep he'd had in such a long time. You might not have healed all his ills but you served to be a balm he couldn't help but crave on this night.
The thing about him missing is that he can't know- he doesn't know that you notice the second it's Joe up at the front of your class again and you swear you want to throw up. Your stomach drops so far out of your body that it might as well be in the core of the Earth. Elvis wasn't here again which meant something- some part of his body was acting up again. Maybe you shouldn't have been on his thigh after the last class, maybe you should have just let it be one of those times when you just talked and relaxed with one another and not let it turn sexual. No- No, it would have happened regardless, after all, the last time he had missed you and him hadn't even done anything other than talk. That was before- you wouldn't dwell on it, if this was anything like the last time he'd be back come next class a little more worn down and needing perhaps more company and a bit of help but he would be fine. He's always been so larger than life and so strong that there was nothing to worry about.
Except- he doesn't come back after that first class and he misses another one and you had been lulled into a false sense of security thinking he was alright when no one including Joe was there early. No, instead you had Jerry coming in almost five minutes late telling everyone that class was canceled since anyone who would take over for EP was a little occupied and as nice as he's heard everyone was- he's a business professor- an economics one- not a religious studies kind of guy. You don't expect people to be loitering outside of the class, figuring that much like any college students they'd be rushing to the library to study or to their dorms or apartments to sleep. You wish people had done that, wished the two people you come upon would have done that.
"He's gonna be dead in a year if that, man." The student- James you think- says, rolling his eyes. "My brother had him last year and he missed one class, we're on what, our third?"
"Third and the Tour Guide wearing his jacket. Maybe that's why- she's drained him." The other laughs quietly.
"She hasn't worn it since the middle of October, no, she's already moved on. Wouldn't be surprised if he passed her along to his little Mafia." James pauses. "Whatever the case- he's dead next year. If he even gets through the semester. Sucks, man, he wasn't the worst professor."
There's a part of you that wants to hear what they have to say, hear how they want to blame you for Professor- Elvis not being here but you can feel your heartbeat rushing in your ears and feel your eyes welling up with tears you can't- you refuse- to shed in front of people and find yourself pushing past them, your boots thumping on floor as both of them laugh just a little realizing you had been listening to them the whole time.
They had to be wrong, they had to be wrong because as sick as maybe Elvis was he wasn't- he couldn't be that sick. No, they were just- joking around, they had to have been. Maybe they knew you were there the whole time and just said it to mock you, after all, you know it's truly no secret that you are his favorite student and were even before- the incident. If they were right though, that meant-that meant after this semester he was gone. You'd never hear a story about how stupid some of your classmates were or about hear him sing like he had that one night again. You'd never share another set of snacks and a drink with him. He'd be gone and you'd be- He'd be gone and the world would feel a little bit dimmer.
The idea of a world without Professor Presley, a world without Elvis swirls in your mind that weekend as you force yourself to do your schoolwork. Ignoring it would be so easy and you could just curl up with his jacket and with your favorite book or in front of the little television and just pretend you hadn't heard any of that. Any time you think of doing that, though, you hear a voice that sounds suspiciously like his with a little backing of a voice that sounds like yours in your mind reminding you that you should do your work. So you do and you eat and you do everything you're supposed to that weekend as you try to avoid thinking of what the other students had said. It's hard but you manage well enough. Monday comes sooner than you'd like and you find yourself dreading entering Elvis's- Professor Presley's class. You sit down in your normal spot though, your eyes shut as you try to relax and burrow yourself into his jacket as you do.
His cane taps against the floor and a breath you hadn't realized that you were holding comes out of your mouth in a rush. He's here, he's alive and he's going to be teaching class today. You bite your lower lip as you hear the taps stop right behind you and feel Elvis's hand grasp your shoulder, just as warm as it always is. You hear his voice rumbling, even with so much exhaustion coloring the tone about how he's glad to see you where you’re supposed to be and you look up at him to see something in his eyes, something that feels like a spark of the man you've fallen for completely this semester. Maybe- no, you don't dare hope fully.
Class feels like a blur and while there is a debate as per his usual it's much more subdued with you barely offering input and him still feeling a little too rough to really force some excitement into it. A part of you wants to just head straight to your other class and not entertain the idea of going to Elvis's office but as you start to leave you hear the tap of his cane following you and hear his voice.
"Y/N." He starts, his eyes roaming your top half and settling on his jacket. "Gonna see ya in five minutes?"
The word no is on the tip of your tongue, you should say no but you've been so worried about him that you nod slowly, adjusting the straps on your bag and it earns a small smile from him as he walks off slower than normal but still seeming just as strong as normal with the tap of the cane. It takes you a little longer than five minutes to reach him, almost as if you're too nervous to really go to his office but when you get there the door is wide open and you see two drinks on the desk and you settle yourself onto the couch.
Talking- even with everything- comes so naturally to the two of you that you hardly realize how you both shift closer to the other as you talk. You hardly realize how you're close enough that you can feel his body heat against your side and that he feels the same thing. This is how it always seems to start since the Incident, with you two moving closer and closer until you're in his lap and today is no exception. Except, maybe it is because you're wearing his jacket and you saw a glimmer of something in his eyes that tell you maybe there's something there. That maybe the person you want to spend all your time with is still there underneath everything. You don't know when you decide to hook your leg over his thigh, thanking every god you know that he has a tendency to spread his legs even if there's no reason to and you hike up your skirt just a hair as you start to grind against his thigh, facing him as you do. Your hands move to try and cup his face, try and pull him closer to you before you feel his hands on your hips manhandling you to face that opposite way.
No. This- no, this isn't- you want him but not like this any more. God you can't- why was it so hard for him to let you just look at him when you do things like this. He was gone for two classes and you were so worried but he won't look at you. You're wearing his jacket and he noticed and he won't let you look at him. Your body can't help itself, still grinding a bit as you try and maneuver yourself back to facing him only to be stopped time and time again by his grip. It's not punishing and it's not going to bruise- you hope- but he won't let you turn. He won't let you turn and his mouth starts to spew words that make you want to curl up in on yourself.
His mouth hisses into your ear. "The Jezebel doesn't want it this way? Doesn't want my thigh today? Too good for me?"
You snarl, tears starting to form in your eyes out of sheer frustration and anguish rolled into one. "I never- I'm not saying that, I just- Elvis, please, let me look at you." Your body starts to contort in positions you didn't think were possible as you continue to try and face him only to be brushed aside.
Words are leaving his mouth, you hear them faintly but you finally just launch yourself off his thigh, chest heaving and eyes fiery as can be. Your legs shake at the sudden loss of his thigh that had supported you up until now but you stand your ground as best as you can. "No, I'm not- We're not doing this, not like this, I- What have I even done to deserve this? This- God, I don't even know what to call it. This joke? This playing with me like this?"
"Playing with ya like this?" He barks, heaving his body off of the couch and moving to stand in front of you, his blue eyes stormy as anything you've ever seen in your life. "That's goddamn rich comin' from ya. Lil Miss Jezebel. The Tour Guide. The Harlot who-"
"Don't!" You shout, not even caring if anyone outside in the hallways can hear you. "Stop calling me that! I'm not- You wouldn't call me a good girl if I was any of those things!"
"They're- They don't hafta be seperate, darlin'!" His emphasis on the nickname is punctuated by him inching even closer to you, his words getting lower as he starts to hiss them. "Because you're most certainly a Jezebel, climbin' on me every chance ya get. Actin' like your God's gift to men wit' the others. Tell me, that new professor, t'one in the math department-"
"What other- Is this about-" Your thoughts jumble as they try to catch up with what he's saying. He's calling you a complete Jezebel and asking about someone who doesn't even exist to you. Your chest heaves as you push yourself into the little bit of space between you, your pointer finger pointing at his chest. "The new professor? The one I had to ask for help for because he's the only math professor who hasn't tried to come onto me?"
"Do- Do I look stupid to you, Jezebel?" He asks, almost as if he's afraid to say your name. "I heard from the other professors-"
"You could have asked me!" The words are spit out of your mouth and you can even see a bit of spittle flying onto his face. It brings you a sick sense of satisfaction to see how his already angry face slides between pure shock and more anger. "I thought we were friendly enough to do that! I've been to your house, Elvis!"
The noise that comes out of him before he can even get words out is truly defined as a snarl and a growl in the truest sense of the words. If you hadn't known any better you'd have thought you were arguing with a wild animal. It startles you to the point where you back away just a bit, not because you're worried he'll hurt you- no he's never been that type even with everything- but just because it's your natural instinct in the face of something like that. Despite that, he follows you, moves closer again even as his voice roars leaving his mouth. "You've been in my bed, Y/N! My goddamn bed! Curled up next t'me like ya belonged there!"
You duck away from him, almost as if to escape feeling very much like a cornered animal. He's not going to hurt you- he won't because he's not like- he's not like the rest of them but you can't defend yourself if he pins you down with his body or his words. His eyes follow you like a predator stalking prey even if you both know you've never truly been prey to him or perhaps anyone else. "That's exactly my point! Why wouldn't you just ask me?"
"'Cuz ya'd have lied!" His answer is slurred, the anger truly getting the better of him as he moves to cage you against the wall, only to have you slide away again.
"Not to you, Elvis!" How could he even think you'd lie to him about something like that? That you'd truly lie to him in general? "I've never lied to you!" You hadn't told him things but you had never lied, not a true and honest lie.
"Haven't ya?" He doesn't move this time, instead choosing to stare you down. "Tell me, Jezebel. Did ya just wanna fuck me so ya could tell everyone ya did? How ya got me when I haven't fooled around with a student in all my years and I haven't fooled around with anyone going on at least a year? Or was this just ya bein' sweet on the fat ol' man?"
The flinch that comes from you is unexpected and you look down at your body wondering if he shot you or slapped you and you didn't realize. There isn't a mark on you, no blood showing, no handprint making a mark on you. There is just you wishing he would have slapped you or injured you in some way because maybe it would hurt less than the words he had just said. It would hurt less than the accusation he's just thrown your way. You do not cry in front of people, you refuse to, knowing tears never make things better when you're caged and yet you feel your lower lip starting to jut and your nose starting to run before you shake your head. It's- he's not- he is wrong and you need to prove that to him.
"Just being sweet on the fat old man." You can't help but laugh, the cacophony of emotions threatening to tear you apart at the seams. "Do you- Do you hear yourself? I- What is it, Elvis? Am I your Jezebel sent to what ruin your little God Fearing self? Or am I just some Jezebel who's sweet on you? Or are you going to tell me I'm both? That I'm not good enough for you? Too used?"
You see his jaw tighten and you worry if you've said the wrong thing. You worry that he's seen how you look like you're about to cry and something is going to go wrong but he just takes a step closer to you, his cane tapping on the floor just once. His head tilts just slightly to the side. "I know what I said, lil Jezebel. I know that you've been actin' all sweet, actin' like you're worthy of the nickname Belle. Worryin' 'bout me. Comin' to my house, gettin' me into bed but when I worry 'bout ya, put ya in my bed next to me, ya leave me alone. Then I hear t'boys. Hear what the lil professors you'll eventually fuck gotta say about ya. Ya just playin' a lil game wit' me, ain't ya?"
You bite your lower lip as an answer before you take a deep breath as you start to head to the door, trying to open it only to realize at some point he's locked it. You could unlock it but you feel the need to turn around and defend yourself. "That's- Elvis. No. No- I- I wouldn't- I honestly like you!" You don't dare say love because if he thinks this low of you he's not going to want to hear it. "I care about you! I- You haven't been here for almost a week in actual days counted and I've been worried. They're making jokes about you dying and that idea terrifies-"
He cuts you off as he takes another step and you hear another tap of that goddamn cane as you find yourself moving up against the wall, realizing you can't move. "Stop. Lyin'."
"I'm not- Elvis- I'm not! Why can't you- I'm I wouldn't lie to you about something like this. I wouldn't lie to anyone like this." You want to be strong, you want to fight more but it's as if he's saying everything exactly to hurt you in just the right way. He's saying everything that just cuts through any defense you have for it.
It finally starts to weigh on you, finally starts to drag you down into the depths you were trying so hard not to fall into. He- he won't understand either because of his own choices and stubbornness or because the idea is foreign to him. The idea that you were terrified- you the girl who is so strong that you've taken something that should be an insult and wear it with a bit of pride or at least wear it in a way that lessens its effect- is so foreign it truly refuses to penetrate his brain. At last that's the only thing that crosses your own mind as you feel cornered. You feel trapped and like- you feel like something is finally breaking within you. That this, out of everything you've had thrown at you is what's broken you. The wall behind you reminds you of his solid form except it's all wrong, it's so cold that it can't be him. He's standing in front of you, blue eyes raging like a hurricane and his body coiled like a tight spring, his cane holding up his leg as he moves forward to cage you in again and that's it.
Your body sags against the wall, using it to remain somewhat upright as you slunk down to the floor, unshed tears congealing in a hard mass in your throat. You try and swallow only to have something again to a low groan or small whine escape your lips. This- he's broken you, you've been so strong only to let this stupid man who you shouldn't have even gone for in the first place break you. This stupid man who was- who felt so different and like he held every promise for happiness in the words he spoke. In the praise he gave you. In the way his body felt like it was made to hold you and touch you in ways you yearned for.
"Jesus-" His voice sounds crushed above you and for some reason there's a part of you that feels a victorious delight in the fact that you've made him sound like that. Made him sound as anguished as he's made you feel for weeks. As anguished as you feel thinking of him dead. “Y/N- Get up- Ya g-gotta stand up darlin’.”
No you don’t, hell you don’t even trust that your legs would let you stand up at this point, as much as you feel them minutely shaking. No, you’re quite content to stay on the floor, feeling almost catatonic in the way your mind is focusing on everything about the past semester. You try to close your eyes as if that will make the tears that are threatening to fall go away when all it does is make them slide out the corner of your eyes. That's the final dam bursting as more follow even as you don't want them to. All that’s in your mind is every moment he’s touched you, every moment you’ve walked next to him, every moment when his eyes were like sapphires glittering as he looked at you laughing over a bottle of Pepsi while you waved your hands talking. You remember every hint of praise that had your mind going a little fuzzy and had you shiver for a want of more.
"Anyone ever tell ya how insightful ya are?" No because even if you paid attention during class and did the readings and made the grades they didn't care.
"Ya ever thought about teachin'? Though the debate was a goner till ya put it back on track." That was nothing, just you wanting to make sure no one lost the point Elvis was trying to teach.
"You've been makin' this semester a goddamn breeze."
Perhaps you had but for what? For him to be missing class and looking half strung out or exhausted when he came back? In all the time you had spent together he hadn't even hadn't even told you what the problem was- what took him away from you and from a job he loved. Maybe everyone was right, maybe this might be his last semester teaching and look what you’ve done- you’ve made it so his last hurrah is being known as your last fling or just another fling in your series. The thought makes your stomach roil at doing that to him- doing that to a man that God help you- you had fallen head over heels for to the point that you wanted him at any cost and in any way you could get him.
"You're- darlin'- you shouldn't b-be-" He has to stop himself from talking, feeling an old stutter starting to rear its ugly head. His breath comes out shakily as he tries to focus on you, focus on how your shoulders are shaking with tears and how he did this to you. How he's done something that's irrevocably harmed you. He hadn't wanted this, not even at his most angry has he wanted this. "Don't- don't cry. Goddammit, calm down. God, why'd ya hafta get on the ground."
You look up and for a brief moment there’s a flash of fire in your eyes, a pang of pure annoyance at what he says. "I'm sorry to inconvenience you once again! Make the great Elvis Presley have to get down on the ground. Put him at the Jezebel's level. Leave me down here where I apparently deserve to be."
"Ya know I didn't mean it like that! Goddammit Belle, jus' meant my knees-" He has to take a deep breath, slow and steady and shut his eyes as he gets down to your level before he opens them and cups your cheek, trying to be gentle even as you flinch a little and shake your head. "This- you s-shouldn't be cryin' like this." Not over him and what he's done. Over everything that's been done from the very start. "Ain't worth it."
More accurately he ain't worth it.
"I don't know anything when it comes to you, Mr. Presley." You pull away as your tears start to fall even faster. "I am crying like this over a man who thinks I'm- Don't call me Belle, don't call me that like you did when I was leaving you in your bed. Don't act like you care." After all, he doesn't, he can't because who would care for you and feel the way he does about you. Believe the things he does about you without giving you a chance to explain. "I'm just a harlot. I'm the Tour Guide of the school who now even you get to say you've slept with. You've still got it."
"Darlin'." His voice is pitched lower, almost as if he's trying to talk to a skittish animal. As if he's scared if he talks any louder he'll spook you and that you'll run away for good. "I-I never said I didn't care. W-Wouldn't've put ya in my bed that night if I didn't. Ya looked- ya looked freezin' 'n i couldn't stand it." He pauses, his features darkening for a moment. "Then ya left in the mornin' 'fore I even woke up."
You had left in the morning. You had left that morning because every time you stay at someone's house, some professor's house it's always ended so poorly. The way his face darkens as he tells you that makes your body shiver even as his jacket- that for some ungodly reason you still have, that for some ungodly reason you couldn't get rid of- tries to keep you warm. The anger he has makes you think you were right to avoid him that morning- he- but if he cared, if he meant to put you in there- then you should have stayed. He wanted to wake up to you, wanted to have you burrowed into his side. It makes you freeze.
Elvis looks at you and sees how your body tenses up, sees how you're frozen in place and he frowns as you start to speak. "When I stay in the morning, it's not pretty, Elvis. I- I didn't want you to be the same."
His hand clenches into a fist as he shuts his eyes. His breaths are slow and measured for what feels like an eternity before you see him unclench his fist and look at you. "Ya mean how the Chemistry professor's wife would have beaten ya black and blue if she had gotten a real proper hand on ya? 'Stead of the shiner ya had for a week? Or how ya busted yer ankle hoppin' outta tha' one history professor's window. Ya want me to go on?"
Something blooms in your chest at him telling you about those times. You hadn't even met him when any of those times happened. Sure, you had seen him around campus but he didn't- couldn't have even known your name. You open your mouth, tears still falling but slower as your body tries to calm you down. "You- You shouldn't know about-"
"'ve got eyes don't I?" He responds, as if that explains everything. "Y/N- Belle- I noticed ya before ya ever stepped foot in my class. And they talk, darlin', oh do they talk."
It's then that you look away, almost ashamed at knowing that he's always known about you actions. It is absolutely no wonder that he called you what he did, why he believes you to be what he's called you. You have to pause before you speak, trying to gather your thoughts, rubbing at your eyes as you do. "And that's- that's why you've been- if you've heard all the stories and do know about me then I guess you're not wrong in calling me Jezebel. Just adding you to my long list. But- you- when that's what happens when I don't leave- why do you think-"
His voice takes on an edge of frustration you think, or maybe it's genuine hurt. "Ya really think I'd've done any of that to ya? Ya think I'd do any of that t' someone 've been callin' Belle in my mind 'cause I sometimes look at ya n' I can only think of that damn word in French?" He moves to stand up, his knees and other joints cracking just a bit. "Get up, darlin'. I- just trust me this once and get up."
A stubborn part of you wants to stay on the ground, just sit there and stew in your tears and feelings but when you look up at him with blurry eyes you can't help but heave yourself off the floor and plant yourself just close enough to him that you're looking into each other's eyes if you look up through your lashes. "I- Elvis-" You start to speak only to have him cup your face and the warmth of his hand juxtaposed with the calluses on his fingertips has your eyes fluttering shut against your will. He's not supposed to be this soft, not to someone- not to the person he doesn't care about, the person he's only roughly fucked while pretending it didn't happen afterward. "Don't."
When you say that word he pulls away his hand and you think he's listening to you, think that he's doing what you're asking him to do only to hear the next words that come out of his mouth. "Blow your nose, Belle." His hand that hand left your face, had left your cheeks came back with a handkerchief, monogrammed with a cursive EP. He doesn't necessarily shove it under your nose but it's a near miss even as he kisses your forehead. "I'm not moving it from under here till ya do, Belle."
"I'm not a-" You start before looking up at him and realizing despite his comforting air no part of him is doing this because he thinks you're a kid. No, he knows you're a grown woman- you're a grown woman he wants to be with until his dying breath. "I can hold my own handkerchief."
His lips stop in the middle of attempting to give you another peck on your cheek a slight chuckle escaping him. "Would ya quit bein' stubborn? Tryin' to comfort ya and you're tellin' me ya can hold your own handkerchief. 've been a goddamn asshole let me show ya 'm really a good southern gentleman at heart."
"Southern gentleman don't act the way you did." You shakily exhale, realizing that he's trying to comfort you, trying to place small kisses on your face as if that is solving anything. You shake your head. "Southern gentleman don't play with people like that."
"Darlin', trust me, the older we get, the more every single Southern gentleman does." He pauses to look down at you, his blue eyes narrowed. "I try t'be a gentleman but Lord knows 've got a temper wit' a wrath that rivals God himself. 'N I think I took that out on ya. I- I'm- Ya wounded my pride, alright? Sayin' what you said when I asked if ya wanted me t'fuck ya. I know- I know I can get a woman, but I don't- It's usually more of one night stand or somethin' that's lackin'-" He rubs at his neck. "Care. Doesn't have that tender lovin' care I need nowadays more than I did when I was younger."
Care. Oh, you had been so- you both had been so stupid. Your eyes flit up and you notice how vulnerable he looks just in this moment and you swear it takes your breath away. "Elvis. I didn't- I thought you were trying to make me beg." A pause. "I was trying to what I thought you liked. I didn't- You've never been- No one else has made me feel like you make me feel."
So loved, so proud of, so everything under the sun. There's a reason your heart and your brain had wanted to spend the rest of his life and your life together. Being with him felt right when you stripped away everything that's been happening.
Elvis is silent for a moment, almost as if he's debating his next words or actions even as he still places another kiss to the crown of your head and uses his thumb to wipe away tears that keep falling and holding the handkerchief by your nose. He finally puts the handkerchief away, freeing that hand and using it to cup your chin. He tilts your head up just a hair so that you can see his eyes shining with what you think might be unshed tears as his voice becomes so gentle it twists your heart. "What d'ya want from me?"
"Everything." You choke out your answer, your voice scratching and sounding so raw when you do that you almost want to hide. "I want to be with you after this semester. I want to dance with you like we did that night. I- God- I want to wake up with you every day until one of us dies. I just want to be yours."
At your last words the tears start falling in earnest again and it breaks something in Elvis a little, seeing you cry after that confession. He doesn't waste a second before pulling you into a soft kiss, using his grip on your chin to make it easier. You want more but he's pulling away and placing kisses on your forehead and your cheeks, chasing after the tears in a way that's so gentle you'd think it's fatherly but it's not- it's just him allowing you to be a human again. Allowing you to be more than just the harlot or the Jezebel. Seeing you as the person he's always thought you have been before the Incident and even after the Incident.
"Ya mean it?" There's a small part of him that curses how he sounds asking that but he needs to hear it from you. Hear that you're being honest and truthful with him about what you want. "If ya gonna change ya mind I need t'know right now."
You sniffle and shake your head. "I mean it! I want to be with you and only you. I've only been with you since that day. Haven't flirted or anything. I want to do my work on your desk, want to curl up on your couch with you just- I want you. I want you, my Elvis, my Big Daddy because you're- You're the only one who's ever treated me like more." You pause, taking a deep breath. "Like I'm worth getting to know beyond just my pussy. I can't- I don't want to go back to a world where I don't have you. Where I'm not able to kiss you and be with you in whatever way I can. Where I can't fill your house with-" You stop yourself, because that's too much, that's not something you're admitting to him right now. "I just I want you. I'm not changing my mind, if I was going to I would have the second you didn't give me back my panties, Elvis. When you were so mean and hurtful and-"
He cuts you off with another kiss, this time a little less gentle but still nothing compared to what he wants to do to you. His teeth nip at your lower lip just a bit and you can't help the whimper that escapes you as he pulls away your mouth trying to follow his. Looking in his eyes, you see something different, you see the overwhelming lust, the blown pupils threatening to overwhelm his blue eyes but more than that you see a man who looks so in love with you he might as well keel over with the sheer force of it.
"Feel like an idiot for missin' out on that. Gonna keep kissin you like that for as long as i can. Ya realize that." He pauses as his eyes rake over your form. "Get on the desk, Y/N. My sweet Belle." His emphasis on the nickname, Belle versus Jezebel is the only thing that reassures you he's not planning on doing anything rough. That he has a plan for you to look at him while he does- whatever it is. You take a minute to hop up, sniffling once again as you rub at your eyes. Your emotions are still a mess but you can- this helps, you think.
Elvis grunts, using the cane and a grip on your knee to help ease him onto the ground right in front of your legs, right in between your legs as his hands dance up your thighs. His gaze is on you, full of promise and want as his hands inch further up and up until he reaches between your legs, one hand moving to cup your pussy while the other grabs your hip and pulls you a little closer to the edge of the desk.
"You been payin' attention in class?" He asks as you can't help but whimper a little at the feel of his hand covering you like that. "Specifically this one? What we talked 'bout at the beginning?"
Your head nods slowly as you shiver, feeling the fabric of your underwear being pulled lower and lower down your legs. "You mean psalm 51? What about it, Elvis?"
"Think ya can recite it by memory?" The words of his question are punctuated by kisses up your legs, starting with your calves before moving to knees and then to your thighs. He bites softly causing you to clench them together around his head before he mumbles a no. "While I'm here between your legs."
It feels like a challenge and it causes a curl of arousal to shoot directly between your legs as your vagina clenches around nothing. His hand feels the movement and you can feel the smirk of his lips against your skin before you answer as he puts one singular finger inside of you. "I can." You sigh out your answer as he curls that one finger your arousal making it easy for him to.
Hard doesn't even begin to explain how it is to try and speak- to try and remember the psalm as you feel his tongue flick against your clit once, twice, before moving down to your folds. Another finger has joined the first and you can feel them inside of you, following where his tongue traces. His licks and strokes are leisurely done, almost as if he wants to drag this out, wants to go at the pace that you're speaking when all you want to do is have your orgasm that you can feel brewing but when you stop to take a breath, so does he. It's infuriating right until the midway point when you say "grant me a willing spirit, to sustain me" his mouth wraps around your clit, sucking and even giving you a small nip as his fingers curl against your g-spot. It shouldn't be enough to help you cum, it shouldn't and yet you feel your toes curling and your thighs tightening around his head as he hums in satisfaction. Your body shakes, grinding against his mouth even as his free hand tries to keep your hips from moving. Your thighs don't unclench until he taps at your leg and even then they still shake as he pulls away, mouth glistening with your release as you try and pull him up for a kiss only to have him continue his attack on your cunt.
You keep reciting, feeling as if that's what he wants you to do despite how your voice shakes and how you whimper the more sensitive everything becomes. You cum again by the end of your first full recitation, panting with your chest heaving. There is a thought in your mind to tell Elvis to stop, that you need a break but even though you are starting to feel over stimulated, the way he's looking up at you as his mouth does sinful things to you, as he teases your swollen clit with his fingers and his mouth more and more stops you. His free hand moves to lock fingers with the one of your hands that isn't winding through his hair, yanking and earning growls the more you speak. The intimacy of it all has you nearly sobbing tears of joy this time, not the tears of sadness you had been experiencing. You feel yourself cumming in a way that's unfamiliar as you stutter out the words "my tongue will sing of your righteousness" and Elvis has to pull away, a chuckle escaping him as you see his whole face might as well be covered in your release. It takes him a moment to recover but you swear you hear him talking about squirting when he kisses his way up your thigh and back to his task at hand. When you finally finish the psalm the second time your body is shaking and his tongue and fingers and everything are so overwhelming that when you attempt to start the psalm for a third time you say the first words five times.
"Daddy please, let me cum. Please, I've been good." The words are whimpers when they leave your mouth as you try and grind and get to that edge.
"I know, Belle, been so good, taste even better." He mutters against your clit.
That does it, that has your hand clenching his and your other pulling his hair as you grind on his face, practically smothering him as you cum. The sheer intensity of it has you thumping backward on the desk, trying to catch your breath as your legs shake and you hear him speaking against your thigh. You catch bits of the word holy and jezebel and God and you feel a warmth settle in your body that you can't quite explain. You use your hand to pull him away enough that you can understand him before you ask.
"Are- Are you talking to God- thanking God for me?" The concept boggles your mind but it's so touching at the same time that your heart threatens to burst at the idea.
"Think 've been thankin' God for ya since I first saw ya, but 'specially since I saw ya in my class. My holy- My sweet holy Belle." He winces at the crack his knees make when he gets up and leans both on the cane on the desk when he finally stands up. "None of 'em deserved ya 'n I'm not too sure I do but- 'll try to deserve ya."
Your hands move to cup his face, marveling in how he nuzzles up against your palm before you smile, pulling him in for a soft kiss. "Trust me, Elvis, I think you're the only one who ever has." You nuzzle at his nose before pulling away. "How about you let this pretty little sinner, this harlot, this Jezebel take care of you. I don't have a class and-"
Elvis cuts you off with another kiss before he nods. "Only if Big Daddy-" He looks at you, reminding you that yes, your nickname you have for him snuck out. "Gets to take care of his pretty lil sinner, his Belle, and help her wash away all those sins."
The light in the smile you give him could power the whole of the campus for months if you could bottle it up. You slide off the desk a little less gracefully than you mean to before nodding. "Lead the way, Elvis." A pause. "I love you."
"Ain't I the luckiest man for it too." He adjusts himself in his pants, hoping you don't notice that there's a bit of a wet spot on them where his cock should be. "Love ya too. Come on now, never did get to show ya Graceland's shower in my room."
taglist: @elvisgirl35, @butlersluvbott, @lokis-right-femur, @godlypresley, @steph-speaks, @lindszeppelin, @eliseinmemphiss, @thatbanditqueen, @venus-haze, @lrd98, @ab4eva, @blurredcolour, @butlersxbirdy, @notstefaniepresley, @holyastronauts, @vintageshanny, @powerofelvis and @ellie-24 and i think that's it? i don't know and apologies if you got tagged twice, i trusted a copy/paste.
#elvis presley#elvis presley x reader#elvis presley fanfic#elvis presley smut#elvis presley angst#austin butler elvis#elvis presley x y/n#elvis presley x you#elvis presley fanfiction#austin butler elvis x reader#austin elvis x reader#austin elvis smut#austin butler elvis smut#big daddy elvis#ally writes#elvis x you#austin elvis x you#austin elvis x y/n
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June 25th, 2023 - Chapter 2 Progress DevBlog
I'm pretty disappointed with my progress this week but I had to work late a lot. I started working at a start-up a couple months ago and I really like it but it's been crazy busy. Anyway...
Progress with writing was pretty slow last week. Because the game was beta tested this past week (thank you to those who assisted!), I spent most of my time fixing a bunch of coding errors since I suck. lol. Here's what I did coding-wise (you'll see these changes when chapter 2 comes out):
fixed a bunch of conditional errors and a couple javascript ones where I accidentally added a period (RIP);
re-did some of the color schemes...again. It should be easier to read and I feel like I got the light/dark themes to a better place;
you can now change the font size and you can now choose OpenDyslexic as a font type.
okay, that doesn't sound like a lot. See screenshots at the end for a glimpse!
I wrote 3,293 words... I'm planning to write every day for at least 2-3 hours this week to catch up. Ideally, I would write 2K words a day.
I think there are about 20,000 more words to finish chapter 2? Just my estimate though.
Here is where things stand for Chapter 2...
Word Count (includes some code):
Current demo word count: 59,479
Current word count for just ch 2: 82,920
Total game word count (including ch2): 142,399 and counting...
Next, here's the scene order and what's written/coded/in progress:
Scene 1 - completely written and coded
Scene 2 - completely written and coded
Scene 3 - completely written and coded
Scene 4 - completely written and coded
Scene 5 - completely written and coded
Scene 6 - completely written and coded
Scene 7 - completely written and coded
Scene 8 - completely written and coded
Scene 9 - completely written and coded
Scene 10 - partially written and partially coded (sorry no percentage, I hate math)
Scene 11 - in progress (4 main branches)
Scene 12 - completely written and coded
Scene 13 - completely written and coded
Additionally, because I was so busy, I forgot to log in to Patreon and pause it. I've had it paused for a couple of months because I don't have time to do extra content and I don't want anyone to pay for no reason! However, I slipped up, so I went ahead and left it open right now and uploaded the current build with the incomplete chapter 2. I don't recommend anyone subscribe just to play it since it's not done but it's there in case someone wants to or is already subscribed. I anticipate adding a couple more scene variations next week.
Below are a few screenshots of what the game looks like. There's even a snippet of a scene from Ch2. It's not super different! But I think it looks better?
Oh, if you want to read a couple beta tester thoughts, keep looking, otherwise, thanks for taking the time to read!
Thank you and I hope you all have a great week <3
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I am literally so stressed right now since school is starting up again. I was just scrolling through your posts and I absolutely adore your opinions and thoughts. If you’re still up to the ships asks, I have a few.
For some reason, I have been thinking about age-gap relationships that wouldn’t be quite possible…and added with my love of Severus Snape… 👀👀
Abraxas Malfoy/Severus Snape - I don’t know if you’ve done Lucius/Severus but I just took it a generation back.
Romulus Augustus Lestrange/Severus Snape - I remember you mentioning in Scylla and Charybdis that the two were kindred spirits (?) since they were both killed by Voldemort.
Bellatrix Lestrange/Severus Snape - maybe a bunch of sexual tension during missions? Bellatrix’s attitude toward Severus was mainly suspicion but I feel like she meant it in a ha-ha-I’m-jealous-you’re-the-favorite way, not in a oh-wait-he-actually-is-a-traitor way.
Marlene McKinnon/Severus Snape - I love your take that she was a seasoned veteran in the First Wizarding War. It never made sense to me that everyone in the First Order were all children. Majority, maybe. But all of them being Gryffindors and out-of-school never stuck to me.
Frank Longbottom/Severus Snape - I’ve read a few works for this and I like the few takes there are.
And I already know your thoughts on Lord Voldemort/Severus Snape (it’s a favorite).
I’ve also been thinking about time-travel fix-it’s in general too. How do you think Severus would react if he found himself in Tom Riddle’s era? There’s the take on him being older and aware and absolutely done with his life, and Lord Voldemort (few years out of school or maybe in his 30s to level the age in a way) whose intrigued by the sour man (and maybe gets impressed by his knowledge of the Dark Arts?). Then there’s also student Severus meeting student Tom and getting further radicalized by this young handsome man. There’s so many to explore but at this point, if I don’t get my head out of this rabbit hole, I may never be able to pass school. 😭😭
This turned out to be longer than expected, but I love reading your posts! It’s always so entertaining, especially with your interpretation of Severus Snape. I can rarely ever talk about Severus without being attacked by Marauders fans online.
thank you very much for the ask, pal! i hope this term goes well for you - and that your extremely chic recent interest in snape-related age gap relationships endures.
let's see what we have here...
abraxas malfoy/severus snape romulus lestrange/severus snape
i'm going to take these two together - since romulus is an original character who exists nowhere other than my own head - because they occupy essentially the same role in relation to snape.
i've written before about how i really like the idea of voldemort having three distinct impacts across three separate generations - the knights of walpurgis/the original death eaters, who know the proto-voldemort of the 1940s and 1950s, with his muggle name and his retail job; these men's sons, who know the unassailably powerful voldemort of the 1970s; and these men's sons, who know the paranoid and volatile voldemort of the 1990s.
so you have abraxas - lucius - draco in each of those categories [or, romulus - rodolphus - n/a...]
snape is - of course - part of lucius and rodolphus' generation, and the voldemort he encounters when he becomes a death eater is the unstoppable political force who appears to be made of pure magic - which, naturally, makes snapemort have a very different power dynamic to something like tombraxas.
but it's also clear that snape is someone voldemort takes an interest in because he recognises so much of his former self in him - the slightly feral vibes, the poverty, the disappointing muggle father, the feeling of being an outcast surrounded by posh kids and the desire to bend those same kids to your will.
this is the reason for voldemort arranging things in scylla and charybdis so that snape can lord it over mulciber and avery, and it's also the reason why he's so insistent that abraxas and romulus [and other senior death eaters he knew at school] are nice to him - he's basically enjoying reliving his youth by, once again, making his minions obey someone who is technically their social inferior.
snape lacks the teenage tom riddle's charm [and looks], of course, which means that there's far more condescension inherent in any relationship - platonic or otherwise - that either of these two would have with him than there was in their early relationship with voldemort.
but they also have a fondness for spindly lads with an obsession with magic and regional accents, which means that i'm sure that something can come out of the fireside chats voldemort's compelling them to have with snape while they're forced to host him in their houses...
bellatrix lestrange/severus snape
i am very, very fond of this as a pairing - and, indeed, have something in the works on the topic - and bellatrix's rampant jealousy of snape is exactly why.
one of my preferred ways of exploring snape's position within the death eaters is to think of him as voldemort's exception in terms of social class - that is, that he is the only marked death eater who doesn't come from an elite, quasi-aristocratic background; and that voldemort's supporters who are from lower social classes are kept, like fenrir greyback in the rank-and-file and not permitted to take the mark.
[this is why, in my writing, i always make the carrows a similar level of posh to the malfoys and lestranges - canonically they're rather one-note working-class stereotypes, but i don't think this makes sense given what we know about voldemort's structuring of his organisation during the first war. it's also why i think that peter pettigrew doesn't receive a dark mark until he returns to voldemort post-prisoner of azkaban.]
bellatrix - on the other hand - is voldemort's exception in terms of gender [and another thing i'm wedded to thinking is that alecto carrow also doesn't receive the dark mark until the second war.]
these means, of course, that both she and snape depend on voldemort's favour - especially in the first war, when he still trusts his death eaters sufficiently highly to delegate things to them - much more than the elite male death eaters do.
i think it's reasonable to assume, for example, that rodolphus may object to his wife behaving in a way which defies the gendered conventions elite pureblood women are clearly subject to - and that it's only voldemort's authority that prevents him voicing an objection publicly. or that lucius malfoy - like sirius - conceives of snape as his "lapdog", and it's only voldemort's authority which forces him to treat him as a peer.
which means, of course, that snape and bellatrix are in competition with each other for voldemort's attention in ways which the other death eaters never have to be - which explains their vibe in canon, in which bellatrix finds snape's elevation in voldemort's good books after she falls from grace after the cock-up in the department of mysteries so infuriating.
[it also gives a really interesting dimension to her being completely fucking right about snape's loyalties, but being in the wrong position in voldemort's eyes for her opinion to be trusted by him. you just know she was pissed when she got to the afterlife.]
and - from a shipping perspective - having to be constantly jealous of and obsessed with each other is a very effective way of lighting a spark...
marlene mckinnon/severus snape
i do always like snape with an older woman, because i think it fits his whole vibe, so he goes very nicely with my preferred vision of marlene as a fifty-year-old hard-nosed ministry bitch who fucking loathes mad-eye moody.
the meet-cute? well, spies have to have handlers, don't they? dumbledore passing over his new turncoat death eater to one of his senior lieutenants - particularly given the fact that she's unlikely to be thrilled about this - is something i can get on board with.
frank longbottom/severus snape
frank and alice are other ones i don't enjoy seeing written as part of the marauders' generation - for them to be well-established aurors by the time the lestranges attack them, i think it's reasonable to assume that they're around molly and arthur's age [that is, around ten years old than snape et al.]
so i think we're repeating the same scenario as above - frank needs to debrief the order's new spy. if you know what i mean...
time-travelling snape!
i think that the teenage tom riddle would fucking hate the teenage snape, to be honest. the teen snape we meet in canon is someone who really obviously refuses to play along with the social conventions which govern an institution as elite as hogwarts - and he clearly stands out more for his grubby, feral demeanour, his uncouth manners, his way of speaking, and his refusal to be deferential to his social superiors than he does for his name and blood-status.
[indeed, he's one of the only really visibly working-class students we ever meet in canon - to the extent that i am increasingly convinced that hogwarts is a selective school...]
the young voldemort, in contrast, happily plays along with these social conventions for his own ends - simpering through slug club meetings and sending slughorn pineapple and doing all he can to be viewed as a suitable candidate for head boy, in order both to provide a cover for his wrongdoing and as a way to soothe the chip on his shoulder by beating the posh at their own game.
he's going to think snape's as common as muck, and snape's going to think he's a pretentious cunt.
a post-1981 snape going back in time and finding himself entangled with the young-adult voldemort, in contrast, i think could be rather compelling. it's very interesting that the teenage voldemort's willingness to play-act a fondness for the class system doesn't extend to being prepared to grit his teeth and suffer through a ministry internship slughorn procures for him - and his decision to go off and work in a shop has a slightly bolshy "fuck you, sir" side to it we don't otherwise really see from him.
this voldemort would, i think, be slightly more open to snape's whole vibe, and they could get cracking on all the things which make snapemort a hot ship - the shared love of magical experimentation, the dubious morality, the fact that voldemort's clearly responsible for snape's aesthetic, and so on - several decades early.
one question, though, is whether snape would know who he was.
i go back and forth on how widely voldemort's birth name is known - and whether it's ever connected to him following his return to britain in the mid-1960s.
on the one hand, i think dumbledore's secrecy surrounding it is nonsensical - a substantial proportion of the death eaters were clearly at school with voldemort, and those who weren't are still usually related to these men in some way [i always think, for example, that it's much more plausible to assume that the diary horcrux was given to abraxas malfoy, and that lucius was well aware that his father and voldemort had been at school together] - but on the other, i do wonder whether snape, who comes into voldemort's orbit as - as i've said - an exception would be made privy to the information about voldemort's background which was probably an open secret among the elite male death eaters.
[which also provides an explanation for why bellatrix is so shocked to hear harry say voldemort's a half-blood in order of the phoenix, while lucius malfoy doesn't bat an eyelid.]
which is to say, i am much more taken by the idea of snape - destroyed with grief over lily's death - rocketing backwards three decades, landing in the knockturn alley of 1951, and having no idea until he's in far too deep who the softly-spoken shop-boy who offers him a cuppa will turn out to be...
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