#i'm addicted to excerpts
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To put the US position more directly: “Almost everyone is going to get COVID [...] we have the tools to ensure that people [...] work.”
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Joel Miller: Marked Me Like a Bloodstain
Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader (afab; she/her)
Excerpt: "Wait," you whispered, "let go."
He did, and you laid him down flat on his back before leaning down on his middle and pressing a soft kiss to the scar. You traced it again, sketching designs of stars and infinity signs around it.
"I'm sorry you went through that," you whispered, and kissed it again, "but I'm glad you're here."
He kept eye contact with you as you did this, and although he'd never admit it, a slight mist lined his eyes. "Me too, baby. Me too."
Warnings: all fluff, Joel's insecure (what's new), descriptions of blood and getting impaled (also what's new), kissing, references to oral sex, major descriptions of scars, please think before you read.
A/N: title feel familiar to anyone else? (I made this title before the breakup rumors I'm so sorry)
Word Count: 1.5k
Pedro Masterlist
If you'd like to leave a like, comment, ask, or reblog, it would be much appreciated <3
(Gif credit to owner)
The rise and fall of Joel's chest was even underneath your cheek, but the rhythm of his heart was not. With each drag of your nail across his sternum, pecks, and stomach, his heart would escalate and cascade, in perfect tempo with your fingertips. It was like a song, it never ceased to follow, and you couldn't help but smile into his warm skin after a particularly apparent inflation.
A flush of heat on his neck told you he noticed too.
"Somethin' funny," he asked with a chuckle, causing you to only giggle louder into his neck.
"Yes,' you whispered against his pulse point, pecking it slightly.
“I ain’t even gonna try to play it off," he replied, "your fingers are drivin' me nuts."
You placed your free hand on his scruff-dusted cheek and pulled his pouty lips to yours, making him groan delectably as his pointer finger continued its task of tracing over any and every inch of your exposed back.
You were never going to leave his bed.
Your nude body was warm against his own--a mix of the warm meal the two of you had shared and the slowly cooling summer night--as he kissed you back. Usually, on a night like this, you would taste each other until the sun rose, and do it once more for good measure, but not tonight.
Tonight was a jewel, an artifact, a golden crown. It was one of the rare nights that all Joel wanted to do was lie next to you, talk about anything and everything, and just be.
You pulled away and pecked his nose before tucking yourself back into his chest, sighing with relief, but never removing your eyes from his face. These nights were your favorites, purely because you could stare at him endlessly, and memorize him enough that, even in your old age, you would still be able to picture every detail of his face.
The sharpness of his jaw, the streaks of grey in his dark brown hair, the patchiness of his stubble, the exact arch of his nose, the slight wooden hint in his scent, and the drips of honey in his eyes when the setting sun hit them just right.
Naked, in every sense of the word. Your addiction to it would surely be the death of you.
Your fingers continued their mission to feel every part of him as you stared up at him, and he stared down at you, likely committing every bit of you to memory the same way you were for him. You couldn't deny the flood of warmth that bloomed across your chest at the thought.
Your fingers continued their mission to feel every speck of skin on Joel Miller as they traveled lower and lower, and no matter how many nights you had done this, felt as much of him as you could, Joel always stiffened up when you did. Always. And this time was no different.
You had found that words never seemed to help him shred himself of his insecurities, no matter how poetic the prayers that fell from your lips.
It's me, Joel, only me.
Please, don't hide from me, baby.
I love you. Let me know you.
Nothing. It was when your lips were used for other purposes that Joel's body began to meld into the mattress.
As your fingers traced every mole, mark from the sun, freckle, and scar, your lips pressed a kiss onto his chest, bicep, neck, and face, alternating between them all. He exhaled, finally letting go, as his eyes fluttered shut.
"I love you," he whispered, eyes still closed but lips parted in rhapsody, "I love you."
You didn't respond with your words, only another kiss.
His deep breaths filled the air as your fingers made their way down, down, down to his lower stomach. They made it to the two moles above his belly button, one of your favorite places to admire on him, but as they made their way further and further to his left side, the muscles on his abdomen began to tighten, and his breaths shallowed.
You removed your lips from his collarbone at the feeling. "Joel--"
"No," he whispered huskily, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he said, "Keep goin'."
You nodded, and he pressed kiss after kiss to your hairline as your fingertips went from soft skin to a long stretch of indented, deeply textured skin. It was wide, and rugged, and old. You felt over every inch of it, noting how it felt deeper towards the center, but more soft on the edges.
You propped yourself up slightly to look at it; its stretch across his abdomen, its darkened tone, and how it was slightly raised from the rest of his tanned skin.
It was the biggest scar you had ever seen on his body, and in your life.
"How have I--" you began, looking back at his solemn face, "--how have I never noticed this before?"
"I never let you," he responded, his tone full of both disappointment and relief, "never wanted you to see it."
You couldn't help the tears that lined your eyes as you asked, "What happened?"
And he told you. Every detail. How it felt when the pipe entered his body, how it felt pushed up against his organs, and how it felt coming out. He described everything from that point on as hazed and muffled, except for the look of fear in Ellie's dark eyes.
"That's what kept me walking," he said, wiping the tears from your cheekbones as he spoke quietly, "her eyes. Her need for my heart to keep beatin'."
He described the next few months as dream-like, like he never really knew when he was awake or not, unaware what was real or figments of his imagination.
"It was hell," he said, "but she stayed with me through it all, and she's the reason I'm alive."
You nodded, understanding that in order to keep himself sane, he had to focus on Ellie's role in it, not his own.
Still, you couldn't hold your tongue as you said, "I'm sorry you had to go through that."
He shook his head at your tears and kissed your forehead once again. "S'alright, got some of the best sleep of my life."
You laughed breathily into his chest as he held you close, once again running his hands up and down your naked back as he did. He exhaled deeply, like he had finally gotten a heavy weight off of his chest, and you pressed a kiss to the middle of his sternum.
But you weren't done yet.
"Wait," you whispered, "let go."
He did, and you laid him down flat on his back before leaning down on his middle and pressing a soft kiss to the scar. You traced it again, sketching designs of stars and infinity signs around it.
"I'm sorry you went through that," you whispered, and kissed it again, "but I'm glad you're here."
He kept eye contact with you as you did this, and although he'd never admit it, a slight mist lined his eyes. "Me too, baby. Me too."
You laid down on top of him, completely letting your body weight onto his, and tucked yourself into his neck once again. You always loved how well it fit there. His hands went up into your hair to massage your scalp, and you practically hummed.
"I don't mind bein' scarred," he said into your hair after a few beats of silence, "means I'm still survivin', and that means I'm still with you."
You smiled against him, and the unique silence of understanding between two people who know each other better than anyone else was the only thing that filled the room. These moments, this silence, was priceless.
"Besides," Joel said suddenly, carving through the silence huskily, "marks are good, means it meant something."
You nodded, murmuring a small "mhm" as you did. Your eyes were beginning to grow heavy, and the depth of his voice was only lulling you more.
"You've marked me, in a way," he said against your face, and your eyebrows came together in confusion.
"Yeah, not in a scar way though," he said, and brought your hand to his beating chest, "but just as permanent. More like in a...a bloodstain way--a good bloodstain--in here. You've marked my heart with it."
Your eyes met his own, and it didn't take you thirty seconds before you both started laughing in perfect symphony.
"A 'good bloodstain'," you said through your laughter, feeling a tear drip onto your face once more, "I never took you for a poet, Miller."
"Well, I ain't," he said in reply, his face beginning to flush, "that's why that was so terrible."
Through the both of your smiles you were still able to kiss him, whispering against his lips, "I know what you meant."
Because you did. You had marked each other, internally, in a way that could never be removed, and as you kissed him one last time before falling asleep wrapped in warmth and love, you couldn't help but agree with him.
Tag list: (if you'd like to be added please let me know!)
@leahkenobi @untitledarea @avengersfan25 @lexloon @aninnai @darling-murdock @daphne-turner @ellesvoid
#joel tlou#joel x reader#joel and ellie#joel#joel the last of us#joel miller#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller smut#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#the last of us hbo#pedro pascal#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal fanfiction#din djarin#triple frontier#star wars fanfiction
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I wonder how Lacy would react if Eddie ever read her journal 👀 Like if he ever happened upon it accidentally. I'm picturing a full on nuclear explosion. Scorched earth. That kind of thing.
ANON YOU BETTER FUCKING---!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
oh, it's the end of the goddamn world, as far as she's concerned.
like, she's comfortable enough with him that she eventually leaves it sort of kind of lying around right-- except for, not really, eddie does pinch it out of her bag. he does a really good job of sneaking excerpts when she's out of the room, and that shit gets addictive.
starts like this-- she's researching something (shit, maybe it's even hellfire club, who knows, not me) for the streak and eddie's like, "what the hell is she even scribbling about in here all the time..."
first of all, she's got imperceptibly tiny spy-level cursive that he feels like he needs a magnifying glass to read properly but with a little squinting and a little spirit, he's getting places.
and the places. are. crazy.
"what the fuck are you doing."
he hears her voice from the door of the drama room, and it is like he's been caught red handed with his first stolen copy of penthouse all over again (i'll let you guess who caught him-- because it wasn't wayne and it wasn't al, but she does live in forest hills trailer park). heart hammering, brain scrambling.
lacy, for her part, is red hot tip to toe. curiosity killed the cat, right, but she is going to skin eddie munson and make a coat out of him.
"lacy-- now, lacy, let's not--"
"asked you a question. i asked you a question, munson."
she moves fast but he's faster (used to scampering; he has rat blood).
"i have questions for the author!"
"i have a bullet with your name on it!"
"it says here that steve harrington is the kind of guy that would proclaim to love pussy as a pushback to his chauvinistic past, but would keep fingering you in the wrong hole-- care to comment!"
"i was bitter-- it doesn't fucking matter! give it back!"
"nancy wheeler has the intellectual stamina of an american girl doll with a particularly starchy backstory, but at the very least--fuck--at the very least, it means she won't end up like her mother, who almost definitely cashed in on the last of her souring good looks--stop fucking screaming!--to assist in the spread of billy hargrove's petri dish of sexually transmitted diseases! lacy!"
"what?!"
"it's like you've written fucking hawkins babylon!"
she shrieks, because he only knows about hollywood babylon because of her! don't you dare use a woman's cultural touchstones against her!
eddie just about dodges a d20 that's been flung at him with eerie precision.
"okay, that almost got me in the eyeball!"
"good! all the better to not read my fucking journal with, you provincial pigfucker piece of shit!"
"no, no no," eddie says, and he's like up on a table now because the guy loves to be up on a fucking table, holding that journal waaaay above his head, waaaay above where lacy can reach it (short, evil), "i need you to hear my favorite part."
he doesn't even need to read this part from the cursed tome, because it's memorized.
"al munson probably has no bearing on the way eddie munson lives his life, because he's a deadbeat the way his son is destined to be a deadbeat. but the mere genetic suggestion of that piece of shit--you said piece of shit, right?"
lacy stops. stomach dropping.
"--is enough for you to want to cut the brakes in his little boy's van."
a beat. the silence is, like. heavy. eddie stares down at her and she can't meet eddie's eyes. like. at all. she feels-- really bad. mouth all dry. steps off the chair she'd been standing on.
eddie crouches to face her. maybe his ripped jeans strain a little more at the knees, i don't know. he uses the journal to tilt her chin up, to look at him, to face what she's written about him, in paper and ink. (fancy ink. fountain pen ink. paper's not too shabby either.)
her heart is hammering out her chest, body not quite sure how to process guilt like it processes anger or resentment or annoyance or (more recently) laughter.
"lacy," he says, voice husky and serious. "i just have one question."
"... yeah?"
"why didn't you cut my brake lines and kill me when you had the chance?"
and the way the smile breaks over his face (sunrise after months of gloomy winter, yadda yadda yadda), she almost wishes she did.
almost.
"can i hazard a guess?" he's gonna hazard a guess. he flicks to one of the most recent entries and lacy, weakly, tries to slam her hand over the page. this one he's had to read a couple more times to get the gist of it. because this one is really scandalous.
"dear reader," god, what is this? is this his lacy impression? it's awful, "it has taken you less than five weeks to become incapable of imagining your life without--"
"don't," and lacy actually snatches the journal from him this time, clutching it tight to her chest. "if your ego gets any bigger, it'll become cancerous."
or y'know somethin like that
#powder room talk#Anonymous#NONNY IM SO NORMAL ABOUT THIS.......#hai brainrot#eddie munson x reader#e. munson by powder#l. doevski by powder
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Hey, I was curious, I read the Toby Roger’s personality analysis and was wondering what you think some of his voice lines would be… like the when hunting victims, being annoyed, anything, just something to help visualize what he would be like in a conversation. Thanks!
TOBY ROGERS
Hello :)
My fanfiction portrays Toby in a “realistic” / “canon” way, I use reference to his real personality. So I took these excerpts from it so you can better understand how I see him acting and talking in conversations!
If you want to read it here is the link. Let me know your opinions on it!! I’m still working on more chapters.
1.
"I've disembowelled a bunch of people," he said casually.
"You get a knife and slit their stomach," he explained, as he mimed the action with his hand as if he was a live Tv cooking host demonstrating how to accurately fillet your salmon.
”Top to bottom!,” he looked at you every so often making sure you were listening.
”This parts a bit wet and squishy but, then you put your hand in-,”
He was cut off by Jack, who had abruptly spoken up.
2.
"What?" Toby said in response, giggling in a manic way that sent chills down your spine.
"Scared?" He laughed again, and you sighed in exasperation as you sat down on a log, wanting nothing more than for someone to come clean and explain exactly what was going on.
3.
”Fast food tonight Jack?” The voice responded, it’s maniacal laughter filling your ears.
You stepped back and bumped into a brunette young man who was of the same height as you.
4.
"Is it cause you wanna write about me in your shitty news article?" Toby suddenly laughed, his smile growing even wider.
”Twitchy bastard murders hundreds?” he squeezed you close to his side.
5.
"We're all fucked up, what cliche trauma did you face? Daddy left, abused you maybe? Did Mommy die or is she a drug addict?" Toby rambled.
His joking tone was completely gone, replaced by a more serious and almost agitated demeanour. "You'll get nowhere with this stupid f*cking investigating," he continued.
6.
“Don’t think I wouldn’t kill you right here and hang you from a lamp post” he whispered menacingly his tics getting worse as his emotions increased.
But before you could utter a word, Toby spoke up, his manic grin returning as he laughed loudly.
"Cheer up buttercup, I'm just kidding nothing personal," he said with a chuckle, his demeanour changing to a more laid-back and jovial manner.
7.
“Fancy seeing you f-fuckers he-re.” A sudden voice yelled down from above you, which made you jump and let out a loud cry, Jack jumped to his feet in reaction to you.
8. My favourite one lmao
“I may be delusional but I have f-fucking ey-eyes” Toby said through gritted teeth.
#ticci toby headcanons#toby rogers#hcs#creepypasta#creepypasta fandom#realistic#alternate universe#headcanons requests#moon responds#fanfic#quotev
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— TEASER —
Material is subject to change in post editing.
“SIREN, BE BOUND TO ME”
Read it here!
A/N: Ahhh ha ha... demie did a wee oopie?? WHAT?! I love pirates and the whole golden age of piracy - I'm just a period piece addict - okaaay? So here's a teaser for it because I don't have enough Bucky stuff, he's just got a series happening right now, in which, part 2 is in the works, our beloved mafia Bucket Bucky hasn't been abandoned!
P.S: if you recognise that the writing style is a bit different, it's because I have moments where I write like this and then... it switches off. So I'm trying to get into the habit of keeping it consistent.
Semi-dark! Pirate! Bucky Barnes x Siren! Female Reader
— READER DISCRETION —
Nothing majorly triggering? — Pirate. Bucky. — possessive Bucky elements — light hinting of reader being a sort of fuck toy — pet names! ("little Siren") — Wanda's got magic in this au — FYI, reader is wearing a robe, so she ain't butt naked for the crew — I think that's it?
Enjoy the excerpt!
—- not my gif, credit to original poster! -—
Your gaze drops to the limb of his remaining flesh hand, the other limb itself brings an uncomfortable yet hazy familiarity, you dare not to look at it up close when in the awoken presence of his intimidating stature. Often you would question its being there and admire its raw and uniquely - strangely mystical - materials, when your captain lay beside you fast asleep.
Wrapped tightly over and under the callousness of his palm, the golden chain twinkles in the pale moonlight, the larger pearl at its centre holstered by binding gold and tinier pearls, beneath the gilded net a more refined shape of a pearl dances on its hook.
However, your mesmerised pupils flicker in an instant, brought to the attention of your captain awaiting your obedient answer. A noise is pitched in your throat with the answer but it dies swiftly before its deliverance.
��Your vision focuses behind him, up near the ship’s helm, her fingers lace slowly in their hypnotic movement as the fabric of her scarlet magic is weaved together. A warning. You do your best to hide the distressed visage of fear, batting your eyelashes and brushing aside the death of your verbal response, you bow your body forward submissively to his that towers over you.
When your lips touch his, he almost instantly devours yours in a hungry kiss, the soft caress of your fingers tracing the curves of his chest brings pride and lust to possessively reel you into him, your nude front colliding against the hardened wall of his own.
Your hands run their course of exploration up the swollen bulk of his arms until they find purchase and entangle themselves in his dark locks. His own hands ravage your body, kneading the flesh and slim muscle of your hips.
He groans when you submit to his overpowering will, mouth parting to his eager tongue that shoots forward like a fired cannon, aimed to dominate you in every sense of the word. Your soft whimpers beneath him bring him unimaginable pleasure, the sort that drives him to seek it evermore, with no seeming end to his insatiable hunger for what is you; your entire being. Wolves are known to be ravenous beasts. It’s why he’s known by the moniker as the White Wolf.
His tongue fiercely dances over yours, swirling and his bottom teeth tease you by nipping your lip, earning a high pitched squeal from you. He chuckles, the sound rich and dark in its intention. Your core comes alight, burning hotly and the once cool air dissipates as heat courses through every vein and nerve in your body, your mind swimming in the ocean pools of his eyes. Eyes that at times are the only thing you need to be connected to the sea.
The prominent tent of his erected endowment presses against your stomach and lower abdomen. You finally pull away, however, in his caging embrace it’s not very far you’re able to move back.
“Wait for me in my cabin, little Siren,” he orders gruffly. Your mouth falls agape and you sputter in your rattled confusion.
TREEHOUSE TAGLIST
@identity2212 @sebastianstansqueen @openup-yourmind @kandis-mom @calwitch @cjand10 @ashdoctor @missmarvelophilic
#female reader#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes#bucky x reader#bucky x you#james bucky buchanan barnes#bucky fanfic#pirate au#pirate bucky#siren reader#teaser#dem's updates#oneshot
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Remember when Friday night was X-Files night?
Crowley remembers!
You can find out just how much he loves the show, and his journey with Muriel to solve the mystery of the missing archangel in Pass the Remote, Angel. (Rated M).
This one is an oldie, but a goodie. Well...I think it's a goodie, but then again, I wrote it, so I'm biased. 😆
I posted it today on @goodomensafterdark for the first time, to spread the paranormal love. Summary and excerpt below.
Summary:
Aziraphale has returned to Heaven, leaving Crowley a tv binge-watching wreck. However, healing can come from the most unlikeliest of places. While Muriel has been instructed to provide daily reports of the demon’s emotional state, they find that sharing time together, even by watching a scary show, can be the catalyst that builds friendships. And they’d probably both be couch potatoes by now if the Supreme Archangel hadn’t just gone missing.
Excerpt:
In the first week following Aziraphale’s return to Heaven, Crowley had experienced multiple stages of grief. When he stood by his car, he was in denial. When he stole Aziraphale’s tartan blanket from the bookshop, he was in the throes of anger. And for the several days that he sat in his chair trying to talk to a God that never listens, he engaged in bargaining.
Now he was in the sad-TV-binge-watching stage. And when you’re an occult being that has just broken up with an angel you never technically dated, you binge the X-Files.
It had been one of Crowley’s favorite shows during the 90s after the Golden Girls went off the air. He had found most of the tales preposterous, but he had become rather invested in Mulder and Scully’s relationship. It was clear the two humans wanted each other and the sexual tension was excruciating to watch, all of which made the show maddening and addictive. His emotional attachment to the paranormal crime fighting duo’s relationship used to bother him, but back then he could never put his finger on exactly why.
And now here he was, over twenty years later, lying on the couch with his fourth bottle of Merlot and watching season three, having an epiphany that transcended the manifestation of Jesus.
“I’m Mulder.”
Mulder. Passionate, intuitive, tall. Slightly unhinged, but reasonably paranoid. Always trying to convince the stubborn Agent Scully of the Truth and failing even when the Truth is staring directly in her face in the form of a giant galactic spaceship. And he was “spooky.” Crowley liked spooky.
And then there was Scully. Kind, intelligent, a bit short. Often pouty, but adorably cute. Always so sure of her faith in God. And clearly pining for Mulder while pushing him away for years because she didn’t think she could ever have a real future with him.
F**king Scully.
He considered throwing what was left of the bottle of merlot at the television.
Continue reading on Ao3.
#GOAD writers guild#good omens fanfic#good omens fanfiction#aziraphale#crowley#muriel#x files#good omens after dark#aziracrow#good omens 2#ao3 fanfic
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Hey, sweetie!
I just saw your post about your brain screaming new stories at you... And I love your brain for that! I've been reading your stuff these days, and I'm completely addicted to your writing style, so I would love one more series. Besides, I think that the feeling of reading a story and waiting for the conclusion of it is a big pro of reading ongoing fics. The wait makes me think about the plot and imagine possible endings, what results in me obsessing over the story (and always checking your blog for any updates 🙈).
Please, do things at your own pace!
Also, I would love an excerpt of your new story!
Kindly,
Your reader.
This was the kindest message! Thank you so much for your sweet words 🥰🥺
I really appreciate you for taking the time to read my work!
The new fic will be darker than my previous works but I *think* it has a lot of potential and I will also be including one of my favorite ACOTAR theories into the story.
Inspired by a song that I loved growing up and the song I chose my Tumblr/pen name from - the story will be Azriel x Reader and called:
Wicked Felina (The Girl That I Love)
WARNINGS: Mention of suicide.
Felina looked up to him with black, pleading eyes.
“Azriel.”
And despite the peril of the moment, the fact that he clearly misread the situation, his name rolling off those pretty red lips made it all worth it.
Until the moment hit him. He’d never told her his name. “How?”
“Az….” Her voice cracked, the slightest bit of silver lined her eyes before darkness began radiating from her, rage filling those deeper than night eyes. Her voice became cold, deadly. “I told you that curiosity was dangerous.”
Shouts from bystanders rang out, causing panic.
“You need to go now. They’ll recognize you.”
He paused, mouth gaping as she looked to him. He knew what she was saying but remained frozen in place.
“Azriel, please!” She cried.
There it was. His name again. Had she been as taken by him as he was by her? Had she sought him out too?
It was then that she unsheathed a dagger and held it to her own throat. “If you don’t leave, I will end it all right now.”
If he’d have looked closely, he would have seen the way her hand shook, the way she couldn’t quite touch the blade to her pale skin.
“I will find you again, Felina.” He vowed - threatened - Don’t even think about escaping me. You’re mine.
“Go.” She mouthed.
#acotar#sarah j maas#azriel#a court of thorns and roses#a court of silver flames#a court of frost and starlight#a court of mist and fury#a court of wings and ruin#azriel shadowsinger#azriel x reader
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Fresh Pining from Harrington Farms
Written for @stitchdfox
So, I'm finally getting the last chapters of this work posted after over inundating myself this past December. Here's the share! I will argue that this fic goes light on the Holiday (despite Steve owning a tree farm). Feel free to read outside of the season!
prompt: Smutty Holiday Exchange Steddie Fic | AO3: link | wc: 10,000+ | rating: E | cw: none | tags: holidays, secret identity, angst fluff and smut, happy ending
Summary:
Steve owns and operates a tree farm out in Hawkins, but every December he sets up a decent sized stand in the city to sell Christmas trees and greenery.
Eddie Munson is a guitarist in a band with enough of a following that it is his day job. He looks forward to flirting with ‘the’ Harrington of Harrington Farms.
This year both men plan to do something about the attraction, but will hidden secrets bring them closer or end their budding romance? Either way this story is bound to have scenes too graphic for the Hallmark channel.
Short Excerpt Below the Cut
Excerpt:
“Hiyah there Harrington.”
Why am I so nervous? I barely know him… no pressure. I shoot my shot and worst case scenario I stop thinking about the ‘what ifs' involving Eddie Munson in the new year. “Come on, you know better than that.” Steve laughed at Eddie who raised one quizzical eyebrow at him. “Just call me Steve.”
Eddie bit his lip and put a hand under his chin in an overly dramatic mime of ‘thinking.’ “Now that you say it I could've sworn we decided 'Steve' was too bland for you.”
Steve grinned, feeling the blush warm his cheeks. “If I remember it was a lot of puns? Like, ‘the Douglas Fir-minator.'”
Eddie beamed at him. “That's right! Spruce Willis?”
“Chris -mas Pine?”
“Christ,” Eddie groaned. “Well those didn't improve over the last year.” His gorgeous brown eyes flashed back up, staring into Steve's again. The intensity was addictive. Steve felt bubbled in the realm of Eddie Munson's interest. Anything could be happening around him but he didn't mind. He was trying to get the most out of the moment. Then an odd sensation came over Steve. It was as though, for a brief moment, Eddie eyed him wolfishly, like Steve was someone he wanted to eat up.
“I'll take any of them so long as you don't call me just ‘Harrington.'”
Eddie pulled a lock of hair up to his lips, a cute, little, bashful habit Steve had noticed over the years and adored. “You know I had some thoughts about that.” Eddie dropped the hair revealing a crooked, nervous grin. “How would you feel about ‘sweetheart?’”
#steddie#steddie fanfiction#ao3 fanfic#holiday exchange#eddie munson#steve harrington#Harrington Farms#Farmer Steve Harrington#Corroded Coffin#Rockstar Eddie Munson#getting together#smut#also maybe werewolves#found family#no a/b/o#gift fic#i write things
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❤️👻🎁??
❤️ What is your favorite line that you’ve written in a fic?
“Mankind cannot grow wings, so they fly kites instead, and tell themselves that they are soaring.” -Ganondorf being a broody bitch to his kid
(I write a lot about kites it's...probably something I should unpack at some point)
👻 What is your wildest headcanon?
My wildest headcanon? Probably that Ganondorf is really terrified of clowns. I just googled it and it's called Coulrophobia. It's partially why, when I write Ganondorf interacting with Ghirahim that he tries to dismiss him immediately from his presence because Ghirahim sort of reminds him of clowns. He will use him as needed but that doesn't mean he has to tolerate him.
🎁 Have a piece of a WIP you want to share?
I'm currently very interested in ways that Ganondorf can antagonize Rauru without really trying so hard because he knows that Rauru, just like him, does enjoy having power. Here is an excerpt:
Rauru had more control than this.
He should have had more control than this.
However, it had become an addictive feeling. This ability to have this man, who he knew to be evil, who he knew had ulterior motives, under his control. He was not foolish enough to believe that Ganondorf felt any true sense of fealty towards him and his kingdom. In fact, he was well aware that the Gerudo chief had his eye on the secret stone. Too often did the man let his gaze linger over them for a moment too long, betraying his desire to acquire such power. Such were the desires of warmongering surface dwellers, Rauru had long surmised. So long as the power of the Zonai remained in his hands and out of the Gerudo chief’s reach, he would continue to remain under his control.
Ganondorf, however, seemed to play just as dangerous a game as Rauru. He knew the man was coaxing him, goading him into exercising his power as king of Hyrule over him. It was as if the Gerudo chief was testing him, attempting to see how far he was willing to go with the power of a monarch in his hands.
The king’s tent was set at the edge of Hyrule Field, where one of the larger chasms the Zonai had opened was located. The monsters that lived in the Depths had been crawling out, causing chaos across the land he had vowed to set right, to bring peace to. Naturally, having Ganondorf as his right hand man, he dispatched him to help the Hyrulean forces get rid of the menaces. In that moment, as Rauru observed their efforts from his vantage point, he knew deep in his heart that he was way in over his head keeping Ganondorf as close as he did. The man fought like a vicious whirlwind, cutting down as many enemies as several of his men did in one go. He could see the malicious grin on the Gerudo chief’s face, relishing battle and bloodshed as he mowed through monsters as if they were mere annoyances as opposed to being an actual threat. On the battlefield Ganondorf showed his true nature, that of a warmongering warlord that relished his own prowess and bloodshed.
Rauru should have him imprisoned, he knows that. However, he could not justify imprisoning a man who had not outwardly done anything wrong, and had, for all intents and purposes, been agreeable to their treaty thus far. It would make him out to be a tyrant, someone who would not accept anyone who posed a threat to his throne. He was not that type of king.
He just had to keep Ganondorf in line, was that not right? So long as he kept the Gerudo chief close, so long as his eye was always on him, Ganondorf could not do anything.
And that was why he insisted that the Gerudo chief stay in his tent. After all, his right hand man deserved as much protection as the king himself, the Gerudo chief being a king in his own right.
(Not that it seemed like he needed any, given the skill he put on display in battle).
As Rauru poured over the map on his makeshift desk, marking the territories they had covered, he could not help the prickle he kept feeling at the back of his neck. Ganondorf’s presence was hard to ignore; he knew the man was watching him intently, most likely donning the infuriating smirk that seemed natural on his weathered face. It was unnerving how capable Ganondorf was of sitting still for hours on end, simply watching, obviously scheming, never uttering a word when Rauru was busy with the affairs of his kingdom.
Could the man not look somewhere else for once?
Rauru looked up, meeting the Gerudo chief’s gaze with a frown.
“Is there something you wish to say, Ganondorf?”
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because i'm emo about fitfwt in the us and canada, and i won't make people read that long ass diary post i made, this is an excerpt (and more) i want to bring attention to:
eternal gratitude to emmu (@londonfoginacup) and sus (@lululawrence) for being driven by the same thing i felt: “where. is. the. damn. pride!” at the beginning of tour and starting the @rainbowmegamix and spreading it and being so generous.
i get teary eyed thinking about what we've accomplished, and my heart gets so full because... it felt like we really got back on track a bit, didn't we? the sense of safety and community that was so important in last year's tour was felt again. so thank you, thank you, thank you! it meant so much to me, to you and to so many people! thank you to the volunteers that were up for going around the venue giving out flags (addicting, eh?). thank you to the people that were willing to hide flag sticks in their clothing so they wouldn't be taken away by security at some venues. thank you to the people still waving their stick-less flags. thank you to the people that contributed and brought even more flags to distribute at the shows. thank you to staff at some venues being happy about seeing so much pride. mini thank you to the people also waving their flags during other songs outside of the megamix (when the gay spirit strikes, it does!).
there are so many new fans, and some of them aren't really paying attention to louis' music and are just there to see that guy from one direction they barely remember when they were 7 years old and maybe get a viral video for tiktok about a sign interaction. so... if this project, at every show, even made ONE (1) of those new fans wonder why there were so many pride flags, and maybe dig a little deeper and maybe get interested in who louis really is, watch some old interviews, listen to him, get to know him, see how he's changed over the years... then i'll count that as a win. and i hope everyone felt welcome and safe in that environment, regardless.
we said "bring rainbows back to louis' shows!", and... WE BROUGHT RAINBOWS BACK!
alright... united states and canada out. over to you, europe! 🌈💚
#rainbow megamix#thank you from the bottom of my heart#i will never forget these moments#we brought rainbows back!!!
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My touch starved, ego centric ass has absolutely been summoned by this concept. Please give us wind boy addicted to our touch. I’d kill for Venti to be addicted to touching me and being in my presence. Getting off to the mere thought of pleasing me. Just corrupting him…
I just- him!!
love him! too much!
Are you me? Are we the same person??? Did an alternate universe version of myself send this?????
The amount of time this concept occupies my thoughts is probably slightly unhealthy, but it's frankly addicting
It hits like every single box for me
Corruption kink? Yep. Obsession with clingy needy characters? Absolutely. Worship kink? Duh. Desire to be wanted/needed in literally any way? Obviously.
And do you have any idea how many quotes I have written out for this concept alone that I have accumulated over the past two years whenever inspiration strikes, a lot of them are a bit vague and exaggerated in order to leave wiggle room for when I have to alter them to fit a certain character's persona, but it's a lot
I would release that list in full, but realistically, if I continue writing for this, I'm going to be using a lot of them, so it would kind of get rid of some of the mystery and that's not very fun
I will, however, give you an excerpt that didn't make it into that one work I did on it, when I was still planning on making it more nsfw
-
"Venti, what are you doing?" You asked, a gentle tone filled with only soft confusion as he looked up with those eyes you so adored, the same ones that shone with both desperate unfiltered want and quiet amusement.
"Touching you, of course." He said it as if it was the most natural thing in the world, on par with breathing.
"I want to make sure I give you the happiness that you deserve, I want you to feel exactly how I do right now, and I want to be the only one making you feel that way."
His expression then noticeably darkened, taking on a more anxious look, the previous confidence being stripped back slightly.
"Just... don't stop touching me, ok?"
You weren't able to get out another word before he grabbed your hand from where it was previously resting, bringing it to his lips and placing a gentle kiss to the back, continuing to look up at you without breaking eye contact for a second.
-
There you go, a small crumb of what could have been 😔
But yes, I agree with you 100℅, also this is absolutely an open invitation for any writer to just take this concept and run, go and create, it would be an honor to be a source of inspiration
However I am begging literally anybody who makes content based off of this to tag me, solely because I also want to read it, certainly not a necessity or anything but I would appreciate it deeply
#genshin impact#sagau#genshin venti#venti x reader#genshin x reader#brainrot#my love for this concept knows no bounds
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on mental health, autism and my life lately
Contentedly, Patience settled to her knitting, glad to have the hardest part of the day over. Now all she had to fight was complicated patterns, and cables that didn’t really want to work exactly how they were supposed to. Much easier than people.
*points* autism
Anyway this is. I originally put the rest of this in the tags and then I typed it up here again because no, it has to be part of the post, actually.
So two weeks ago I was completely convinced that I would die in a matter of days. By my own hand. I was severely suicidal, at an eight on the Emmengard scale, except for the frequent times it tipped up to nine. It was hell. I had a friend overseas who the entire year so far, I didn't think I'd see again because I would have killed myself before she got home. It was that bad.
And she's got home, and barring accident, I will see her again. I've been on the brink of suicide for more than two months, and now, that's changed. Truly I didn't realise how bad it was, really, until I was delivered from it.
This might seem completely separated from the original excerpt, but bear with me. I was realising just now that if I'd written Patience, Changing a year ago, it wouldn't be half so good. So far I'm up to 18k, and it's good. It has a lot of stuff to work on, of course, and I'm still distilling the true centre of it. It'll take a few drafts, but it's good. Patience is autistic, and I knew that a year ago. But I didn't know I was autistic, not then. Now, I understand myself a great deal more, and I understand her because of that. She's me, to some extent, including aspects of me that I didn't even realise were a thing until recently. Because I know me more, I now lean into the aspects in which we are similar, and relish the ones in which we're different. She has one good, close friend in a way I just don't have, not precisely like that. (Look, I love and cherish my friends, truly, but Patience and Nathan's friendship is just Different. And I certainly didn't have anyone like that at her age. Maybe if I had things would have been different for me.)
My heart is full of love today; I can't stop thinking, Patience, we made it. We both made it. We had patience (ha!) and we MADE it. We got here, and for now that's enough. I did an artwork once that was featured in my university's mental health exhibition, about how today is enough, sometimes.
Anyway, the reason I've been so much better (and written about 20k in the last week alone, unheard of for months because of severe depression) is anxiety medication. My doctor put me on medication for anxiety, as a last-ditch attempt before hospitalisation for suicide concern as well as self harm. They're highly addictive, and thus he doesn't want me on them for much longer, so I might be singing a different tune in a few days when he tells me to stop taking them or something, but even so. For now, this is enough. Sure, I'm still depressed. But barely. I've been on the line of severe/extremely severe for both depression and anxiety for ages, and whether it's the anxiety med alone or that it gives the antidepressant I've been on a while space to actually work, the difference is drastic.
So I'm drafting Patience, Changing. And having enormous fun. I'm planning all sorts of things. (Check my tumblr blog, @l-e-morgan-author for more fun and exciting things I get up to.) I'm even planning to hit 25k tomorrow on Patience, Changing, and I'm on 56k total draft for all the Patience things, including fluff prompts that will turn into a novella, and the existing novella The Patience of Hope.
So this might be a short-term thing, but guys. We made it. We made it. And I talked to my grandmother today about being autistic, and told her I think she's autistic, and she was fascinated by that, and was very autistic about it, and she asked all sorts of lovely questions.
And I debated something with someone who doesn't share my faith, and I failed in the debate because I didn't know enough to answer their arguments, but hey. That's okay.
That's okay. I'm okay. I'm planning for uni already. Gonna be a difficult semester, but even so. I'm excited for it. Excited! Something I haven't been, not really, for months and maybe years.
I leave you, then, with this excerpt from later on in the chapter:
You are whole, said the anonymous letter. You are whole, Patience, you are not broken.
this post was published on my blog, with minor edits.
Patience taglist:
@pilgrimsofworship
@stealingmyplaceinthesun
@noisette-tornade
@graycedelfin
@choasuqeen
#patience changing#patience shepherd#actually autistic#we made it guys. we had patience and we MADE IT
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I'm fairly sure you've done a post about this before but I couldn't find it scrolling down your blog so do you have any info on autism and executive dysfunction? Thank you!
Hi there,
I found a few sources you can look at. I’ll leave excerpts below:
Executive dysfunction is a behavioral symptom that disrupts a person’s ability to manage their own thoughts, emotions and actions. It’s most common with certain mental health conditions, especially addictions, behavioral disorders, brain development disorders and mood disorders.
Executive dysfunction is a term used to describe faults or weaknesses in the cognitive process that organizes thoughts and activities, prioritizes tasks, manages time efficiently, and makes decisions. Executive function skills are used to establish structures and strategies for managing projects and to determine the actions required to move each project forward. Children and adults with executive dysfunction often struggle to organize materials, regulate emotions, set schedules and stick with tasks. They misplace papers, reports, and other school materials. They might have similar problems keeping track of their personal items or keeping their bedroom organized.
Hopefully these help. Thanks for the inbox. I hope you have a wonderful day/night. ♥️
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About the PR thing, didn't Wes Vause team up with ML's PR lady to form a new PR company a while back, with Blake as his first client? I can't think of her name. It's like a weird name starting with E or something. Can Wes really be trusted, since he used to work for ML and is now partners with her PR person? Seems sus to me. I hope he is actually loyal to Blake and doesn't share info, but from the little I have seen of him, I don't trust him much. Also about ML's copycat addiction, after she released a song last year, someone in Blake's tag on twitter said that it resembled We Can Reach the Stars. Can anyone confirm that is true? I don't remember the name of the song, have never heard one of her songs and I'm not about to start. If true though, that would be the ultimate psycho move - always trying to leech off others ideas. It reminds me of the interview back in 2010 with CMT when Blake said that he had written Delilah and when ML came back and heard it, she tried to weasel her way into the writer's credits, and I was so happy when he stood firm and didn't give her writing credit, especially since he wrote it completely by himself and she had NOTHING to do with it. Can you believe a person would do that? I heard that Morgan Wallen said the same thing about ML, that she got her friend Nicole Gallyon to get her into a writing session with them so she could add a word and get writing credit on one of his songs. Anyway, here is the excerpt from Blake's interview. I am so proud of him for standing his ground and not letting her manipulate him. I just wish he had done the same for The House That Built Me (her fake tears in the truck while they listened to it - cuz she knows what a softy he is) and Over You (her rushing him to decide about it since her album was coming out - like I know it's about your dead brother, but my album is coming out so I need to know now if I can put it on there, like wut? If he hadn't decided by that point on his own to give it to her, she should have just let it go instead of forcing him to decide just for her own benefit.)
CMT.com (March 19th 2010)
What was Miranda’s reaction when she heard “Delilah”?
Miranda’s first reaction was to weasel her way onto the song as a writer. She heard the song just a few hours after I wrote it. I wrote it very quickly one day about the fact that her dog was ignoring me when I was supposed to be babysitting it... I’ve joked before that if her dog is in the highway and I’m right there next to it and a semi is coming, I know who she’s going to save. It’s going to be her dog. She loves the song, but I’m the only writer on it.
====
Also, I forgot to mention, how sad is it that B knew that ML cared more about her DOG than him?????? makes me wanna cry. There is truth in every one of his jokes. Once when he was interviewed after 2011, they asked him if ML would be a good mother, and he said that if she treats the kid like she treats her dogs, then the kid will be golden...i remember thinking what a weird thing to say...like does she treat him so badly that he can't even use that as an example for how she would treat a kid?
.
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tagged by miss @bettyfrommars
“A wee game I thought would be fun: choose an excerpt from one of your posted fics, 600 words or less, that will make people curious for more. Share it with the title of your fic and little to no context.”
**from Open Arms: Chapter 3 - Every Now and Then I Fall Apart
tw: text alluding to addiction, forced relationships, depression, self hatred. 780 words whoops 😬
Rick had passed out next to you, his naked body slung over yours in some lame attempt of cuddling. You didn’t know how many lines you had done, or the number of shots you took, before stumbling in here.
Didn’t remember the lick of his tongue in your mouth, the feel of his hands on your curves, your was body numb from the drugs and to him. All you remember is right now, waking in a puddle of tears, the taste of blood on your lips, your nose full of it.
Peeling Rick’s limp form from you, you make for the bathroom connected to his master bedroom. Your reflection was horrific. blood dripped from your nostrils and coated your teeth, eyeliner dragged down your face like a halloween mask gone wrong. Your body, stark naked except for a purpling hickey on your collar bone, and white residue between your cleavage.
You look away in disgust, hatred for the eyes that stared back from the mirror.
It wasn’t uncommon for you to wake up like this. Having spent the better half of every night for the last seven years the same way. Reaching for his hand, watching him slip through your fingers. Voice hoarse from crying, yelling, screaming his name.
Reaching for the plush hand towel Karen kept, you plop it into the sink and turn the faucet to hot, wetting it completely.
“So I'm a stranger now huh?”
Eddie’s words from early stuck with you long after you had left. Eddie fucking Munson. Seven years…No high or amount of time could ever make you forget his face.
The pain was always there. You were only able to paint over it with each new high you could conjure. But no matter the number of brush strokes, no matter the opaqueness of the paint color, Eddie always showed through. Like a ghost in the background of a photo.
The sink was nearly overflowing before you pulled the towel covering the drain, wringing the scalding water from it as you sat on the toilet lid and draped it over your face. The heated temperature having your skin raw and burning, a welcomed kind of pain.
Seven years and here he was, waltzing back into town like he hadn’t left you in shambles. Although him being back brought forth memories you wished would stop, seeing him alive and in the flesh settled a sore in your soul.
It also dug up anger. And under the wet towel you saw red.
Answers. That’s what you needed from him. You were just a kid then, you couldn’t understand, and maybe you still didn’t want to know why. But you craved to know, your mind gnawing at your skull to make sense of why he would decide to leave.
You had adapted to your surroundings, learned how to survive. He couldn’t. He was weak and spineless, that’s what everyone had said, and after a while you believed it too.
Stronger than Eddie Munson had ever been, you kept going. Living this god forsaken life because you didn’t have a choice.
You had your own place, a cute little two bedroom apartment. One you decorated to your liking. You had a job that paid your bills. You had someone that loved…someone that took care of you in ways you didn’t know were possible.
You were different, and so was he. What did he have? Nothing. No one.
The towel dripped water onto your bare thighs, and you concentrated on that little tick rhythm until it picked up, sending water down in almost a wave.
Maybe that’s how he wanted his life to be, maybe that was why he left in the first place. Maybe you were standing in his way the whole time like a roadblock.
You didn’t realize the heave of your chest, how your breathing was uneven and shallow, choking off.
Then you heard it. The gut wrenching sobs coming from yourself.
It didn’t work anymore. Quite frankly you wondered if it ever had.
Pretending Eddie was an asshole and that you were better without him was the only way for you to deal with him leaving in ‘82.
The lies you continued to tell yourself about Eddie were falling flat. Your brain could be fooled, but the space he lived in your chest couldn’t be coerced that easily. He was inescapable, nightmares or not, you yearned for the hours when he would visit you.
In your dreams he was real. Still in Hawkins.
Your sobs turned hysteric. Lungs burning with no reprieve as you felt the same loss and emptiness that burrowed in your chest seven years ago.
Why? How could he leave without you?
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Oh, I would love to delve into discourse about the Stanley family. I'm not really a fan of them either, but I have empathy for their side of things. And from everything I gathered, I think both they and Elvis would've been better off not knowing each other, lol.
warning: talk of addiction, abuse of prescription medication, and use of illegal recreational drugs
thank you so much for sending this in and oh my gosh I completely agree with you: “I think both they and Elvis would’ve been better off not knowing each other” truer words have never been spoken !!!
to be honest I didn’t have much empathy for the Stanleys boys until I read this quote below for the first time ⬇️
LAMAR FIKE: “In defense of the Stanley boys, it’s well to remember that they didn’t ask to be there. And Elvis was stuck with having stepbrothers, so he made the best of it. I’m very partial toward David because I raised him from the time he was three years old. Or I feel like I did. Those boys have had it hard. What you have to remember is that they were corrupted by Elvis Presley. All of them were. Absolutely. No doubt about it”
excerpt from “Elvis and the Memphis Mafia” by Alanna Nash
It by no means cancels out some of the things that they have said about Elvis, like David and his accusations about Elvis’ death, however it did make me realize that they truly had no choice in being stepbrothers to someone as famous as Elvis, they were quite literally the only people on Earth who could say they had that kind of relationship with him, and I imagine it was one that was difficult to manage
However… I hold absolutely no empathy for Dee 🤧
Dee has always been predatory in her actions imo, and I’m not surprised he never liked/trusted her. She first tried to hit on Elvis, who was of course not interested, and when that failed, she chose to go after his father, who was likely vulnerable and starved for female attention after Gladys' passing. Dee Stanley was still married while she and Vernon were dating in Germany, which was just a terrible situation to subject her three young sons too
LAMAR FIKE: “Vernon and I were having breakfast in the restaurant, and this blonde came up in a white coat. Vernon introduced himself and said Elvis had been called away. So she made her moves on Vernon. Boy, she stalked him like prize game”
MARTY LACKER: “Elvis didn’t like Dee from the start. He questioned her sincerity, you might say”
BILLY SMITH: “The “Dee thing” turned Elvis away from his daddy. Vernon had been seeing younger women, and it was too damn quick after Gladys’s death. Elvis resented the hell out of it”
excerpts from “Elvis and the Memphis Mafia” by Alanna Nash
And then, years after Elvis’ passing, Dee came forward with a new book about Elvis (one of several that she wrote for $$) that made accusations such as Gladys and Elvis were in a inc*stual relationship. What is possibly more disgusting than the baseless accusation itself is that Dee only used persons who had already passed away to corroborate her claim like Vernon Presley, Minnie Mae Presley, and Alberta who worked for the Presleys and was very close with Gladys and Elvis
So not only did she disrespect the memory of Gladys and Elvis, but she used people who were no longer alive as her sources because she knew they weren’t here to say otherwise…Whew that woman was unbelievably nasty and the fact that even her own sons wanted nothing to do with that book speaks volumes ⬇️
And like you mentioned, I truly believe that both Elvis and the Stanley boys would have been better off if their relationship ended in the 60s. It is so sad to see what their relationship devolved too (being dependent on one another for drugs) and how all four of them became victim to addiction ⬇️
Billy smith: “Later on, Elvis kept them around for one reason and one reason only. And I hate to say this, but it’s true. To get drugs for him. Ricky and David were on the street. And Elvis, in essence, put them there”
Marty Lacker: “Towards the end the Stanley boys were there for three reasons: One, to procure drugs for him. Two, they would listen to him. And three, Elvis would preach to them and think he was teaching them stuff”
excerpts from “Elvis and the Memphis Mafia” by Alanna Nash
It’s hard to accept but I don’t disagree with Lamar Fike saying that Elvis and his lifestyle more or less “corrupted” the Stanley boys. I can’t say that Elvis was fully to blame for everything they did but he was asking them to procure drugs, both prescription and illegal, and that in turn led to them having to take the fall for Elvis, even going as far as getting arrested in some cases ⬇️
excerpts from “Elvis and the Memphis Mafia” by Alanna Nash
And since they were procuring drugs for Elvis, they often indulged in the same kinds that Elvis was using and because of their shared addiction, they became very dependent on one another as almost everyone else in the group was against using “street drugs” like cocaine ⬇️
JOE ESPOSITO: “For a brief time, Elvis even dabbled in illegal hard drugs. One day, I discovered that despite his professed concern for his stepbrother’s drug habit, Elvis had sent Ricky to Nashville to buy cocaine. “I want to see you,” I told Ricky when he returned. I hustled him into a private corner of Graceland, “Give me that bottle,” I said. “I can’t,” he whined, “Elvis will be mad”
excerpt from “Good Rockin’ Tonight” by Joe Esposito
excerpt from “Elvis and the Memphis Mafia” by Alanna Nash
excerpt from “My brother Elvis” by David Stanley
excerpt from “Elvis: my brother” by Billy Stanley
Them being around each other was just a recipe for disaster in terms of their drug use, Elvis simply couldn’t keep up with them and his health suffered as a result. And so long as the Stanley boys worked for him, Elvis would have access to more prescriptions than what was actually prescribed to him, and I don’t believe that they would have ever told him no or tried to stop him as they suffered from addiction as well. So how could have Elvis gotten better when they were always there to get him what he wanted? Infact it was Ricky Stanley who gave Elvis his final pill packet the early morning of his passing
One of the biggest disasters Elvis’ dependency on them caused was the incident where Dave Hebler and Red West threatened to assault Ricky Stanley for supplying cocaine to Elvis. Dave and Red saw how Elvis was becoming more and more erratic because of it, and decided they had to go to the source to stop it
This incident ended up being one of the reasons that they got fired alongside Sonny West as they were trying to stop Elvis, who was in active addiction, from doing what he wanted which of course didn’t bode well ⬇️
MARTY LACKER: “When Ricky started bringing cocaine to Elvis in Vegas, the sparks started flying. He got it from some of the guys in the vocal group. I think they got it from some pusher in Nashville. And Red and Sonny found out about it, and they told Dave Hebler. Dave went to Ricky and said, “If you bring it to Elvis one more time, I’m going to break both your fuckin’ legs.” And Red went in and said the same thing to the guys in the vocal group. So what did Ricky do? He went back and told Elvis. The next day, Red tried to talk to Elvis about trying to get off pills. This was up in the suite. Red was sitting up at the bar. Elvis was at the bar, too, and somehow the conversation got on that. Red said, “Elvis, this stuff is really bad for you. I wish you’d stop doing it and go get cured. I can tell it’s really getting to you.” Elvis sat there, and he said, “Yeah, yeah. I know what you’re saying. But don’t worry about it.” He was real calm. Well, a few minutes later, Elvis went to bed. And “he said, “Yeah, yeah. I know what you’re saying. But don’t worry about it.” He was real calm. Well, a few minutes later, Elvis went to bed. And brooded about it all night long. When he got up the next afternoon, Elvis came out of that room screaming. He just went nuts. If I’m not mistaken, he pulled an AK–47 [automatic weapon] on Red and threatened to shoot him. Sonny was there, too, standing right next to him. Elvis screamed, “Goddamn, Red, mind your own fuckin’ business! Telling me how to run my life!”Everybody always says, “If you guys really cared about him, you could have done something about him.” These people have no idea what went on. They have no idea of how Elvis was”
excerpt from “Elvis and the Memphis Mafia” by Alanna Nash
This quote from Marty is why I try to have sympathy for everybody in Elvis’ group, they were put into an impossible situation as they either had to watch their friend suffer or try to put it a stop to it, which often led to Elvis having an outburst and threatening to fire them. Essentially they were damned if they did, and damned if they didn’t ⬇️
JOE ESPOSITO: “Even the the Memphis Mafia occasionally tried to intercept drug shipments from various doctors. One night Red West accidentally broke a delivery boy’s toe, he threatened to break the kid’s entire body if he didn’t quit delivering to Elvis, but Elvis heard about it. He called me, Red, and Sonny into his bedroom, “I need it,” Elvis finally said with a piteous look. If anyone pushed to hard Elvis’ stock response was “If you don’t like it, there’s the door! Get the hell out of here! I don’t need you!”. He was manipulating us and we let him. “God, I’m going to straighten out my life but I need this right now,” he would intone fervently, his blue eyes wide and sincere, and we believed him”
excerpt from “Good Rockin Tonight” by Joe Esposito
Addiction takes no prisoners and I think it’s important to remember that those who suffer from it are victims themselves. My heart breaks for Elvis, for the Stanley boys, and everyone who loved them during this time, it’s an impossibly difficult situation to deal with
To finish this I want to include a quote that really shows how addiction can destroy a person, and make them become someone they aren’t. I think Dave Hebler, who was fired alongside Red and Sonny West, captures it perfectly ⬇️
excerpt from “The Elvis Experience” by Dave Hebler
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