#the best part of this show to me is the fandom interaction but that doesn’t mean i don’t also take issue with certain fans
Text
The Chain Meets You, His Partner || 3/3
Part 1 || Part 2
Pairing: Time, Wild, Four x GN! Reader
Requested by @temporarilyablog: i see requests are open still so im coming to you with a thought i had recently:how about a Link from the Chain interacting with the reader, another Link’s s/o from their original adventures, when *their* Link isn’t around. i can see some teasing another Link with the reader that they’ve only known through little stories here and here, or others grilling the reader relentlessly because another Link was so shy about their relationship and partner, and wants to know how that Link is like around someone he allows himself to relax.its kinda like when the Chain met Malon for the first time and interacted with her for stories about old man Timeand as always stay awesome, i love your writing!
Zelda Masterlist 💙Fandom Masterlist
Concerningly delighted or eerily eager - the Chain can’t quite agree on which descriptor best described their teammate the best once he realized they had all landed in his Hyrule. Bubbling with excitement ever since while maintaining a pace some of the other boys have to jog after, Link doesn’t waste breath saying where he’s leading them, although that giddy smile upon his face - as much as he tries to hide it - is plenty for the wiser heroes to get the hint…
The Chain already knew about you - Well, they knew the Old Man was hitched. To exactly who, he'd never say for his lips were always sealed with a mischievous smirk that kept the boys betting against each other.
Some insisted that their leader's mystery lover must be Princess Zelda, but Twilight felt that was a preposterous assumption. He tended to agree with Legend's guess that they had to be someone simple; someone who could make an extraordinary man feel ordinary in the best way possible...which was the correct prediction, of course.
As it would turn out, you are, in fact, not a noble or royal princess. Instead, you're an average farmhand living a calm life on your friend's ranch where you miss your husband greatly after many months of him being gone, so please excuse the passionate kiss shared between you both once finally reuniting at the front of the property.
Time isn't at all shy to show you off. Having been married for so many years, it's only natural for his arm to feel most comfortable wrapped around your waist, keeping you close to his side where he can easily connect kisses to your forehead and cheek. If the boys have a problem with it, it's best not to spoil the mood. Perhaps one day they'll understand the intoxicating love that is felt whenever in the presence of their most beloved.
"You just missed Malon and Talon. They went into town for a few deliveries and won't be back until tomorrow afternoon," You explain to your husband while leading the boys to the house. He hums thoughtfully and you don't miss the way he 'subtly' tugs you even closer.
"It’s good timing on our part then. 'wouldn't want to leave you stuck doing all the chores on your own."
"Now Link, you've been off on the road for months. Rest and I'll -"
"- Is there anything I could help with?" A young man from the group pipes in shyly from behind, "I grew up on a ranch myself, so it wouldn't be any bother."
"Oh, no. You boys are our guests. I'd hate to -" You begin, turning to face him with an appreciative smile, however Time is quick to object.
"- Nonsense. They're all capable young men and boys. A little work won't kill them, darling."
"- But -"
"- And it won't kill me, either," He takes your hand, lifting it to his lips where he places a gentle kiss upon your knuckles, "If anything, we could all use the distraction."
"...Well, in that case..."
There is plenty to be done around the farm and you only have two hands of your own, so, aware that you wouldn't win an argument against your husband anyways, you take him up on his offer. The other heroes do seem more than willing, happy to provide their services for tasks that don't involve risking their lives against cruel monsters, you know, minus the cuccos.
Time and you each take four of the boys with yourselves. While he directs his half to the animals they'll be tending to, you lead yours to the barn, making sure to point out the layout of the ranch along the way so that none get lost when left on their own.
You're happy to find that they're all very polite, particularly the young man from earlier who remains close on your heels throughout each step. He seems adorably eager to engage in conversation with you, asking many questions and adding comments to whatever you say. It makes sense, you suppose, since he certainly does look to be the small homestead-type based upon his build and knowledge of ranch life.
"You said this is your friend’s ranch. How long have you lived here yourself?”
"Gosh, 'seems like forever. At least since I was ten. It wasn't long before I met Link, I know that."
"You guys have really known each other for that long?"
"Uh-huh...but of course, it doesn't feel that long," You sigh fondly, "'seems like just yesterday we were sitting out there in that pasture as he told me about his home in the forest and all his adventures…Funny how time flies when you're havin' fun."
Speaking of the devil, you spot your husband at the pasture's fence, clearly waiting for you to finish up. Inviting the boys to find you if they have any questions, you leave them to work on the chores they've been assigned while you, yourself, head to join Time.
"Did they give you any trouble?"
"None at all. By the way you made it sound in your letters, I thought they'd be far more troublesome," You cross your arms over the fence, raising an eyebrow with a teasing grin, "But maybe you’ve just been too harsh on them."
"You've only spent a few hours with them. Give ‘em a chance and you'll start going gray, too," He rolls his eye, his lack of amusement towards your playful accusation telling you that those boys really must be a handful sometimes. Either way, deny it as he might, you know that look in his eye. Even as he leans here on the fence next to you, he watches the boys work with a softness hidden in his expression. He certainly cares for them.
"...You know, one of them is a descendant of ours," Time mentions casually, breaking you away from your straying thoughts.
"What?" When you look at him, he's still facing the distance, "...You're joking?"
He just smirks, only glancing at you through the corner of his eye.
"You're serious...?" You blink in disbelief before quickly pushing yourself off the fence, "Which one?!"
"Isn't it obvious?"
You place your hands upon your hips, making your own lack of amusement clear now, "There's eight of them. At least give me a hint."
Time pretends to consider your request, but ultimately shakes his head, "...No, I don’t think so. That would ruin the fun of having you guess."
"Liiinnk..." You whine, although even your pout proves ineffective. Your husband merely chuckles as he pushes himself off the fence and begins walking away to resume his chores, "You better not be lying to me!”
"I would never lie to you, my love. I know better than that~"
"I'm going to find out which one it is even if I have to interrogate them all!" You shout after him, huffing when he doesn't reply.
Part of you is tempted to do exactly as you said by confronting each boy until you receive a proper answer, but you also promised the Champion you'd show him the kitchen to start dinner soon. You'd hate to keep him and everyone else waiting with rumbling stomachs, especially if one of them is your descent in question.
Now truthfully, you do already have a guess in mind - or more so a hope - however it's too early to decide. You'll just have to keep a close eye on them until this evening and if no one sticks out then, you'll be left to force it out of your husband who should really know better than to mess with you like this.
"Hey, I'm back!" It doesn't matter how long he's been away - days, weeks, months - those three words always seem to take a massive amount of weight off of Wild's chest every time, washing over him with a sense of belonging and domestic bliss that replaces all the strict expectations set for being a 'hero'.
"Link!" This feeling is easily reinforced after one look at you. Your glowing smile as you appear at the railing upstairs, his name sounding like honey from your lips…It's automatic for him to drop his heavy bags and weapons beside the door before opening his arms at the bottom of the steps just in time for you to jump over those last few right into his embrace which you’ve both missed so much.
"...Welcome home..." Sometimes that whisper in his ear is enough to make Wild cry. It's such a pleasant sound and reminder that he does, in fact, have a home because as much as he loves sleeping under the stars or following his heart across the vast kingdom of Hyrule, there will never be a day where it doesn't yearn to be beside you.
It's a cute scene to witness - two lovers reunited after so long apart - although the Chain does have a few questions swirling in their minds, namely who the heck are you? A pretty face just casually leaping into the Champion's arms before sharing a heartfelt kiss? They'd be happy for the guy if not for the fact that he has never once mentioned having a lover and you seem far too well acquainted to be a random friend.
"O-Oh, um, hi," You finally take notice of your audience, breaking away from Wild to send them all an awkward smile which they return, some with a few small waves.
“Oh, these are the guys I’ve been traveling with,” Wild explains, which seems to put you more at ease.
“Nice to meet you all,” You give the group a bashful nod before introducing yourself. Your name does sound vaguely familiar - perhaps having been mentioned in mere passing at some point or another - but the Chain still can’t say they recall Wild ever identifying you as a partner.
“And are you guys…Um…?” Sky gestures between you both, trying to keep his smile from seeming too surprised. He’d hate to offend either of you.
“We’re dating,” You confirm comfortably, looking at Wild with a smile he mirrors as your hands interlock.
“Dating? As in romantically involved, right?” Four raises an eyebrow, his question catching you off guard.
“Y-Yes, well, I believe that’s what dating entails -”
“- How’d you manage that?” Legend interrupts, the question directed at Wild while pointing to you with a look of disbelief upon his face. Apparently he doesn’t share Sky’s concern towards delivering any offense…
“What’s that supposed to mean?!”
“It’s just - You never mentioned being in a relationship,” Hyrule mumbles.
Wild is quick to blush and duck his head in embarrassment, his words defensive, “It’s not like any of you asked! I - I just never thought it was important to bring up! It never seemed relevant!”
“He mentioned it to me,” Twilight admits, taking everyone’s attention off the flustered Champion, but only temporarily.
“See! I could’ve said something and you just didn’t listen! Did you think of that?”
“Or you only told the rancher. You two are always sharing dirty little secrets and leaving the rest of us in the dark.”
This…goes on for a good moment. Rest assured, the argument does eventually subside after Time knocks their heads together allowing you a chance to swiftly change the subject by inviting the boys fully inside your lovely home. From there, you offer to get started on lunch, figuring it will be an excellent opportunity for you to get to know the other heroes better and spend some quality time with your boyfriend who is always quick to relax in the kitchen.
You begin chopping some vegetables while he gets the soup base shimmering, the two of you humming quietly amongst yourselves as you work. Your tranquil smiles and practiced teamwork is enough to make anyone feel jealous of such a strong relationship, although it’s all in good spirits. The other boys hold no resentment towards their friend, instead reflecting his joy as they eagerly tell you stories about their shared adventures in return for some information about yourself.
As it turns out, you’ve grown up in Hateno your whole life and had met Wild rather early in the beginning of his quest to defeat Calamity Ganon. He must’ve made quite the first impression - that or perhaps you took a lot of pity upon his confused state - because you willingly left your small village to help him navigate an unfamiliar Hyrule. Over the course of your journey, you grew close and never really found a good reason to leave each other’s sides even after the kingdom was saved, thus you’ve been together ever since.
“This house had been abandoned for years before we bought it. It’s nice because it’s still a part of Hateno, so we’re close to other people and my family, but far enough back to have our own peace and quiet,” You explain in a dreamy sigh as you turn to look over your home and admire the work you’ve done to this old place.
“What’s with the construction back there?” Four asks, nodding his head towards the many boxes and tools that block the wall under the staircase.
“We’re adding another room,” Wild answers simply, not taking his attention away from the soup broth that he frowns at because it’s certainly missing something. More salt rock? Maybe a dash of Hylian herb?
Legend scoffs, leaning back against his chair at the table, “How much space do two people really need?”
Wild and you pause, glancing over your shoulders to meet each other’s eyes before going back to your work with flustered smiles. Clearing your throat, you give a shrug, “...Well, the plan is for it to not just be the two of us forever.”
Many of the boys raise eyebrows at this comment, the realization slowly but surely daunting on them. Their faces explode in shades of red once it does.
Time coughs into his fist, the first to break the silence, "...We'll be sure not to keep the Champion away from you for too long then."
Wild nearly gives himself whiplash looking back at Time with what can only be described as a modified expression of betrayal, his face beet red and mouth agape in shock. You'd be lying to say your own face doesn't feel awfully warm, too, although you humor the Old Man’s promise with a laugh, "You better not. This kingdom’s already demanded too much of his time away from home.”
Four has never been one for unnecessary fanfare, especially not in regards to his personal life. With that said, while he doesn’t mind discussing the intimate details of who he is outside of his role as a hero, he also doesn’t typically go out of his way to spill his guts about it either which is precisely why it took the Chain so long to find out about you.
Their friend had been rather vague as to where he was leading them after arriving in his Hyrule. They had already met his grandfather and even spent some time helping with chores, but Four insisted there was at least one more stop he wished to make before hitting the road again so that he could - get this - drop off a book for ‘someone’...
Now, being entirely honest, the Chain did internally judge his priorities just a bit, but they also weren’t about to kick up a fuss over it. Although Four failed to specify the identity of this mysterious ‘someone’, the other heroes simply assumed them to be an old friend, the gifted book acting as a mere excuse for Four to see them again. It’s only natural for a Link to begin missing his loved ones after adventuring for so long, and their resident smith must reeeally love you if that kiss you share is any indication.
It happens so quickly that the other boys can barely process what their eyes bear witness to. One moment Four had been standing at the doorstep, book in hand as he assured everyone once again that his visit wasn’t going to take long. Then the door opened to an attractive stranger and next thing anyone knew, their Smithy was standing on his toes locking lips with said stranger - And with no hesitation whatsoever!
“Link! It’s good to see you…Are these your friends?” You ask the question in such a casual manner as if it’s just an everyday occurrence for your boyfriend to randomly return with a whole new entourage behind him after months of being away.
“Yes. I’d tell you their names, but you know them already,” Four replies with a similarly calm demeanor, although his smile is now much more pronounced than it had been on the walk over, “Everyone here is named ‘Link’.”
“Easy enough to remember,” Even that information doesn’t seem to faze you beyond an intrigued eyebrow raise.
You’re quick to introduce yourself, not only by name, but also by the important title of being Four’s partner. Again, there’s no hesitation towards this establishment and he doesn’t so much as blink at hearing it, showing that this definitely isn’t a recent development for either of you. That little shit’s been dating you for a while, hasn’t he?! They should’ve known something was up seeing how annoyed he got following some of the other boys’ attempts at setting him up with a flirtatious local in the last visited town!
“It’s nice to meet you all. Link - Well, my Link has mentioned you in his letters before, so I was curious if our paths would ever cross.”
“Really? Cause he didn’t mention you at all…” Legend mumbles before getting elbowed roughly by Twilight.
“Will you all be staying? I can make tea or something -”
“- No. We’re only passing by so that I could give you this,” Four turns down your offer while handing you the book he’s been carrying around practically all day. How easily he’s able to do this surprises the Chain further, after all, most would jump at the chance to spend more time with their beloved. Surely just a few measly minutes can’t be enough to fill his quarter around you, can it?
“Ah, come on! You’re just going to introduce us and leave? That’s no way to treat a lover,” Warrior shames through a mischievous smirk.
“We have a job to do. I wouldn’t want to delay us any longer than needed,” Four narrows his eyes at the Captain in return, yet that doesn’t stop the rest of the Chain from looking to Time who eventually sighs under the pressure of their gazes.
“...It would be rude to simply leave as suddenly as we came. I suppose there’s no harm in staying a short while - only if we are welcomed, of course.”
“Wonderful! I’ll get started on that tea then!” Four grimaces while the Chain cheers and enters your home without needing any more of an invite. Noticing his dampened mood, you place a hand on his shoulder and frown, “Do you not want to stay? I wouldn’t be upset -”
“- Of course, I want to stay,” He sighs, his hand quickly placing itself over your own, “I’ve missed you, I just don’t want them embarrassing me. They can be a bit…much sometimes.”
You chuckle, gently leading him inside, “They can’t be that bad, can they?”
“Hey Smithy! Why didn’t you say anything about having a lover before? After all we’ve been through together, too; we should be hurt!”
“...Can they?” Four deflates, and your smile turns more sympathetic.
“Was it supposed to be a big secret?” Hyrule asks innocently, followed by Warrior’s scoff.
“I hope you aren't ashamed of them now.”
Four huffs in offense at that last comment, crossing his arms while shifting his weight to one side, “No, I’m not ashamed of them, and it was never a secret, it’s just that none of you ever asked. What was I supposed to do? Randomly start going on and on about my love life as we all ate around the campfire?”
“The Captain has no problem doing it,” Wild mocks, earning an insulted glare.
Hooking his arm around your waist and pulling you closer, Four rolls his eyes sarcastically, “This is my partner and I love them…There, you guys know now. Happy?”
“But we still don’t know any details!” Shy whines, “Like, how’d you guys meet? How long have you been together?”
“Are you married? Do you want to be?”
…Dear Hylia, Four can already feel a headache coming on. Seeing his plight, you go ahead and answer the questions for yourself, “I’m afraid it’s not that interesting of a story. We grew up together and were always close until one day, we simply decided our relationship was more romantic than platonic. That was about a year or so ago. Not sure if we’re going to get married anytime soon since we’re still pretty young…but it’s a nice thought for the future.”
“You seem to have a very comfortable life here,” Time acknowledges, having a look around your home which is cozy and filled with books, many having been gifts from your boyfriend who has always made a point of bringing at least one back after each of his adventures.
“Laidback and uneventful in the best way possible,” Is how someone else describes it, “We can see why you’d like our Smith then.”
“True,” You snort before sharing an amused smirk with Four, “Although he can be quite the handful sometimes.”
The boys raise their eyebrows, not certain what you're alluding to. The Smith a handful? Are you certain you're talking about the same guy now, or does he have a secret polar-opposite twin hiding around here somewhere? Now that’s an actual secret he won’t be telling them anytime soon.
#link x reader#linked universe x reader#linked universe#legend of zelda#lu time x reader#lu wild x reader#lu four x reader
106 notes
·
View notes
Text
something i feel responders to pjo criticisms are not getting is book accuracy is important.
rick riordan created this project to be a book accurate adaptation on the screen. it doesn’t matter if annabeth is white and blonde, those people who are mad about that are wrong and their “criticisms” should be just thrown out. no, i’m talking real criticism. because being upset a series whose reason for existing is to be a faithful adaptation isn’t? not stupid. if you can enjoy the series—in my opinion not all the changes are objectively bad, but many, from a storytelling angle? from pure craftsmanship? are objectively bad—regardless, i’m happy for you. truly, if you feel the joy and magic the original series gave me while watching this show, i am overjoyed someone feels the magic. that’s more magical to me, worth more, than the show itself. but if you then insult me for not enjoying the show? tell me i must not love the story as much as you? tell me i am simply looking to hate the newest next thing, and not that i adore this series so much it pains me to see it so? that i don’t wish to see it succeed regardless of the betrayal i feel?
silly me, i thought our shared love of something meant we could all express it, even in different ways. but i guess not. i guess many of the series’ fans are just keen to discuss the show with the same bad faith it was made in.
#once again. does not apply to all enjoyers of the show or those defending it.#literally one of my points is i’m infuriated by these generalizations of character#do not put words in my mouth#the best part of this show to me is the fandom interaction but that doesn’t mean i don’t also take issue with certain fans#even people in my personal life who have asked me for a full debrief of my thoughts and then been. annoyed??#when that includes what i didn’t like?#acting as if i have this responsibility to not share my true thoughts because it ruins the mood? kills your excitement? when you ASKED ME??#that’s my own personal gripe but i feel like a similar thing is happening across the fandom space#don’t tell me i can talk about the show but only if i have nice things to say#percy jackson and the olympians#pjo show crit#pjo show#percy jackson show#pjo#percy jackson tv show#ris raves
81 notes
·
View notes
Text
How to perpetrate and sabotage your own kidnapping: A guide for dummies.
- The creation of the board (and its subsequent discovery)
Summary: Step One: host a brainstorming session with your teammates on how best to kidnap your future abductee. Step Two: have said abductee show up half an hour into the session and begin correcting your entire plan. Step Three: realise at the beginning of their impromptu presentation the target has absolutely no idea that they’re the target. Step Four: fail anyway.
Pairing: Dark!Poly!Task Force 141 x fem!Reader
Word count: 1.8k
Content tags: Dark content - Discussions around kidnapping, tense situations. If this is not your cup of tea, please go and find something different might better suited your palate. This is an 18+ fic meaning minors do not interact with this work. No one has permission from me to repost, copy or translate my work. No one has my permission to put my work into any AI source.
Notes: This is my first foray into the COD fandom and will be the first part in a dark comedy series. Please let me know what you think. Not proofread very well, sorry for any mistakes! Thanks for the motivation @live-love-be-unique !
Link to Task Force 141 masterlist / Link to COD masterlist
Captain John Price likes to think he knows his men well enough to trust them when his back is turned. Now that itself doesn’t necessarily mean knowing each and every one of their dirty secrets - he definitely wouldn’t come out smelling like fresh daisies if any number of his were revealed - but it does mean that he has the awareness to recognise that they all share one particular secret.
He sees it in the way Lieutenant Riley’s body language shifts when you give him his medical forms to look over, your consideration at offering him the option to disclose only certain personal information making the reserved soldier relax just enough to offer you a low thanks, accompanied with a stare that stretches on for a few moments longer than considered socially polite.
It’s also so amazingly obvious with Sergeant MacTavish. John’s surprised everyone else misses the way Soap’s smile takes a little longer to fade after departing for yet another mission, your swift congratulations on completing yet another physiotherapy appointment - “ Keep it up the good work big guy” - leaving the Scotsman floating on cloud nine damn near until the plane lands.
And how could he forget Sergeant Garrick? The man’s quick to change his tune and focus up, but the captain has observed Kyle absentmindedly rubbing his shoulder, thumb gingerly stroking the spot where your palm was only moments before, your figure long gone as you retreat down the corridor to where you came from.
No, Jonathan Price doesn’t miss a thing about his men. And it only takes two weeks and a long chat in the corner booth of the bar one quiet night - sans you or Laswell - before somehow his place becomes the meeting point for an unusual, though not unwelcome, topic - you.
More specifically, how to keep you.
The wooden shit box of a sports bar was where the first two facts were confirmed amongst them: 1. Every single one of the 141 men wanted you for themselves, but they weren’t above sharing. 2. You weren’t worth killing each other over, not when there was a much easier solution staring them in the face.
John’s house became the go-to place to discuss fact number three - They needed a plan.
It was Gaz who initially suggested the whiteboard after numerous interjections from Ghost and John; from everything to how to keep this from Laswell, to deciding which of your usual hangouts would provide them with the best opportunity to commence your “relocation”, to how to delicately but firmly explain said "relocation" to you once it was complete. Kyle loves his brothers in arms and never regrets a moment where his life is on the line if it means saving any one of them, but his patience began to wear thin when Soap got bored and started using goddamn paper planes instead of words to get his point across. At that Price finally relented and bought the damn thing.
Now, John was expecting you to pop by his place on Wednesday night to drop some papers off. A perfect opportunity, were it not for the fact that the gentlemen were still disagreeing on where to relocate you. However, it’ll allow you to grow more comfortable with him while he has some alone time with you, your presence like a balm on a wound - soothing and necessary (at least to him).
He had been looking forward to seeing you… tomorrow. So when you turn up not just on the doorstep but in the middle of the bloody hallway in his own bloody home halfway through the 141 “guys night”, his secondary action of shitting bricks quickly overrides his primary instinct to eliminate the threat.
He’s on his way back from the bathroom when he sees you standing, familiar folders firm in your grasp - fucking hell, is that his spare key too? - and a sour expression on your pretty face.
Your eyes narrow further when you spot him, striding over with fury rolling off you in small waves. “Captain Price, I know you did not leave these dossiers on my desk just before the end of my work day with a note stating they all need to be completed by the end of the work day.”
John’s senses are briefly overwhelmed by you being so close to him, the sight of you angry having a different effect on him than what you had originally intended. He’s never seen it before, and his hand twitches when you’re less than a foot away - fluctuating adrenaline or the desire to reach out and hold you, he’s not sure which is more prevalent.
He always forgets to not be so obvious around you, but it isn’t as though you usually notice. (He’s not sure if the thought should make him feel sad or grateful.)
The sounds of his men arguing in the background, merely the next room over, are enough to bring reality crashing down hard.
His voice is deliberately loud and stalwart when replies. “You can’t be here.”
“Tough shit. Your lads night can wait.” You lean past him to the origin of what your gut was telling you was the sounds of the remaining 141 members quarreling. It’s easy to slip past Captain Price once your mind is set, the push of files against his chest preventing him from reacting for a few seconds - all the time you need to move down the hallway to where everyone else is bound to be.
John is quick to rush behind you, the arguing noises having swiftly changed to near cartoon-like crashes just moments before you enter the room.
Ghost has migrated to the corner of the sitting area, standing as stiff as a fucking nutcracker, a mountain of crumpled notes and paper planes spilling out from between his arms. (His mask is still on thank god because it’ll hide exactly how caught out he feels, and if there’s one thing Simon Riley cannot stand it’s feeling like a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar). His eyes instinctually watch your every move, waiting for your reaction.
Both of your gazes drift to the other side of the room, with neither of you failing to notice how the couch cushions are strewn widely across the space, (with one being stuck on top of a bookshelf for some odd reason) to find not one, but two soldiers gecko’d to the standing whiteboard.
Their demolitions expert is currently splayed out on the left side of the board and desperately grabbing the top of its metal frame, his stomach pressed into the cold porcelain and a left leg hitched up in a poor attempt to conceal the incriminating writing.
Price’s protégé is in a similar state. Dear Gaz has his back against the right side, with his arms outstretched to - much like Johnny - cover as much of their group planning as possible, a coloured marker clasped in each fist.
Two deers in headlights.
The sight of his task force is enough to bring back flashbacks of his original conversation with Kate about bringing these men together because Jesus H. Christ, what the fuck was he thinking?
There are a few moments when nobody moves or dares to breathe…
… except for you, of course.
You waste no time walking over to the two youngest members of the 141 as you attempt to shove them off the board. “Move,” you demand, palms pushing firmly against their sides. “I want to know what’s so important to everyone.” When they refuse, you do your best to stare at them, pleading with a pleasantly soft, “Please.”
Yeah, they both do what you say with ease when they hear that, giving you enough space to take in the somewhat smudged scribbles.
You miss the signal John gives Simon, the Ghost moving closer to your position as John quietly locks the door, and when your attention is drawn back to the board after the other two move you also miss all of the knowing looks shared behind your back. This was very far from ideal, but how can they recover from this?
They hope you understand that whatever comes next, they didn’t plan for it to start this way.
Kyle and John call your name but you ignore them, still processing the information written in front of you.
Johnny flexes his hands, preparing for the worst as you step back and say, “This is… bullshit.”
Every single member stops. That was not the reaction they were expecting.
Turning to face the group, you scoff. “I’m not even kidding. Firstly, you’re using guys' night to work, which is horrible for your mental and emotional health. And you should all know better.”
Four sets of brows furrow in united confusion. You don’t let that deter you from continuing, your arms gesturing haphazardly at the whiteboard. “Secondly, this is hands-down one of the worst brainstorms I have ever seen. This is not cohesive in the fucking slightest. Garrick, mark me.”
Kyle chokes on his spit, his brain short-circuiting before he sees your fingers wiggling at one of the markers he’s holding. The sergeant promptly gives it to you.
Your free hand takes turns pointing at everyone else in the room, a verbal command of, “sit down” directed at each man also. Dumbly and cautiously they all do. Ghost places himself at the end of the couch nearest the entrance, John strategically chooses a spot between yourself and the kitchen, and Soap and Gaz sit closest to you, where the two of them can hear you muttering under your breath as you draw what appears to be a massive cloud shape in the middle of the board.
Once completed, you fill your shape in with the word ‘TARGET’ and slam your free hand against the board. No one flinches, but if one were to look closely there would be some eyes widening in response. Johnny swears he sees one of your eyelids twitch.
“So,” you call out, “what do we know about the target?”
There are not only wide eyes looking at you, there are full glances exchanged between your audience.
“Seeing as you had the nerve to not invite me in your little meeting while keeping me on overtime” - Kyle and John squirm at that, and your finger makes a little circle - “we are going to be working on this project together. With all due respect, I’m not asking.”
Surely not…
And it’s when Captain John Price reviews the writing left over from the others that he realises Kyle and Johnny did one thing right during their clusterfuck of a coverup.
They managed to erase your name.
… you have absolutely no idea you are the target.
A piece of writing far in the coroner catches your attention, and your shoulders slump. “The target likes knitting and ‘The Karate Kid’. In another life we would have been the best of friends.” A dramatic sigh leaves you, “Oh well, at least I’ll be able to give you some insight into the mindset of this individual. Any questions?”
Four hands shoot up.
Rubbing your hands together with glee, a maniac smile grows on your face. “Excellent.”
#dark!141#poly 141#darkfic#task force 141 x reader#dark task force 141 x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#john price x reader#johnny mactavish x reader#sergeant kyle gaz garrick x reader#cod x female reader#female reader#cloudypariah writes
468 notes
·
View notes
Text
Kinkmas 12
🔞Minors Do Not Interact🔞
A/N: I decided to use this opportunity to make a part 2 to my Accidental Stimulation prompt from Kinktober. Everybody was asking for more of it and I wanted to do more of it. Let's be real, we need more kuru play in this fandom. So I'm happy to provide! I hope you like it! All characters are aged up!
Kinkmas Masterlist
Pairing: Neteyam x Fem!Human!Reader
Warnings: Kuru Play, Fingering, Dry Humping, Scenting
Neteyam has been acting strange.
When you would come out to the village, he would be stuck to your side more than usual. Not to mention, it seemed like he was coming to the lab more often which was extremely out of character for him. It’s not that you minded, though. He was your best friend so you were happy for any extra time you could spend with him. It was still odd behavior though.
Even right now, you’re laying on your bed and he has his head resting on your chest while you stroke the top of his head and he’s purring peacefully. He’s never been so touchy before.
“Hey Teyam?”
“Hm?” he hums in response without moving from his spot.
“What does tsaheylu feel like?” while you talk, your hand is still mindlessly rubbing his head. Unintentionally, your hand runs along the base of his kuru making him hiss lightly and let out a shuddering breath.
You quickly retreat your hand, “Sorry! Sorry.”
“No, no, it’s fine. I just wasn’t expecting it….um tsaheylu is kind of difficult to explain. But it’s the deepest connection you can ever experience. You don’t feel like just yourself anymore. Suddenly, you’re sharing your existence.” he does his best to explain.
“So, it feels good?” you ask timidly.
A small smile spreads on Neteyam’s lips as he takes your hand in one of his. “Here, let me show you.” he says taking his kuru in his other hand. He silently invites you to touch the tendrils at the end. You’re hesitant because of how it went the last time you touched it. “It’s fine, paskalin. Trust me.” Your fingers tentatively reach out for the end of his kuru and the small tendrils wrap back around your fingers just as eagerly as they did before.
Neteyam’s pupils dilate to twice their normal size and his breathing grows heavy in his chest. Your eyes study his face and his body trying to gauge his reaction. “I-Is this okay?”
He takes a few more steadying breaths before just uttering one word. “More.”
The quizzical look on your face is clear.
“I want you to touch it more. I want to feel you more…” Neteyam’s head is starting to feel foggy and so is his judgment. He almost doesn’t even notice that he’s starting to climb over you, making you lie on your back.
The confusion on your face is quickly replaced with a deep red color on your cheeks. He’s so close that his braids are tickling the edges of your face. His breath fans your face and his eyes are bouncing between your eyes and your lips. Your breath hitches in your throat when you feel his large hand start to slide up your stomach and under your shirt.
“Teaym~...” his name is a hushed moan on your lips and it makes his ears swivel on his head. He’s never touched you this way before, but your body still readily submits to him and his advances. His larger frame slots into place between your thighs and his hand firmly grasps at your breast. When your hand flinches, the tendrils grip tighter onto you and Neteyam sucks in a sharp breath. You would’ve sworn you saw his eyes roll back into his head in that moment.
Neteyam haphazardly crashes his lips into yours, taking you by surprise, but you give into him in an instant. You sigh into the kiss and he starts to grind his aching length into the mattress trying to relieve some of the tension building inside of himself. His hand on your chest trails your body lower and lower until he’s passing the waistband of your shorts and feeling you directly. Your back arches at the contact and your thighs spread a little more to accommodate the size of him. You whine against him and Neteyam takes the opportunity to let his tongue pass your lips. Your hands tangle in his braids and you can practically feel the erratic beating of his heart through his kuru. A growl rumbles deep in his chest when you tug on the base of his hair and his finger slips inside of you. Your head falls back, breaking the kiss as a moan passes, feeling the stretch of his finger in your walls.
Neteyam doesn’t need to make tsaheylu with you to feel how your body is begging for more of his touch. His nose prods and lingers at your neck while he scents you. When your hand strokes the base of his kuru, his brows scrunch together trying his best to not make a mess of his tewng while he continues to roll his hips into your mattress. It’s no good, though. Not when you keep making those sweet sounds.
“Ahn~...Neteyam! I-I’m going to–”
“Do it. Cum for me, tanhì”
His long finger strokes carefully in and out of you, trying desperately to get you to that same peak that he’s approaching himself. He imagines that the soft material of the mattress is the plush of your ass instead. Sliding his thick cock between your cheeks before he finally takes you and tirelessly fills you over and over. The thought has his hips stuttering and his finger twitching against the spot you need most.
Your body shakes under the rush of your orgasm. The euphoria floods your body, starting deep in your core. Neteyam continues to finger fuck you through your own release and his. It’s only when both of your bodies go slack that his kuru finally releases your fingers. Neteyam feels his brain fog clear a bit and he climbs off of you to properly lay down on the bed next to you.
Your chests heave with gasping breaths and he watches your face intently trying to will himself to read your mind. But when a wide smile appears on your lips, he breathes a sigh of relief that he didn’t even realize he was holding.
Staring up at the ceiling, you laugh and say, “Thanks for the demonstration.”
Taglist: @minnory @sussybaka10 @celess0 @funkyflamingo01 @itchaboi-itchyboy @loaksulluyswife @myloveforyouisforever @neteyams-wh0re @the-mourning-moon @wakanda-forever-andotherfandoms @zafrinaxyz @neteyamsyawntu @pandoraslxna @xylianasblog @hotdsworld @teyamsatan @sulieykte @neteyamsoare @neteyamswillow @cryinginthemoonpool @plooto @eywaite @quaritchsluts @jakexneytiri @luvv4j4ybe11 @eywascall
#avatar12daysofkinkmas#avatar#avatar the way of water#neteyam#neteyam sully#neteyam x reader#avatar fic#awow#neteyam x na'vi!reader#atwow#atwow neteyam#avatar twow#avatar neteyam#neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan#avatar smut#neteyam smut
428 notes
·
View notes
Note
Do you think that the gaang atla movie might make casual fans realize bryke are not the best writers? Like Everywhere they get praised but honestly if the writing in the movie is at the levels of the comics I could maybe see ppl turn on them a bit ( it also sucks bc I doubt katara and zuko will even interact in the movie)
Hi anon! I think people will almost certainly be disappointed in the new Avatar Studios movie, because nothing has even come close to the quality of ATLA after the original show ended. However, from what I’ve observed in the fandom, there’s always someone other than Bryke to blame. For example, when people rag on Korra, they blame Nickelodeon. When they rag on the comics, they blame Gene Yang (and incidentally I’ve actually seen a K/ataang shipper say that the reason the comics are so bad is because Gene Yang is a Zutara shipper — as if a grown ass professional would compromise his contract / reputation for a ship war). And when they rag on the first live action movie, they rag on M. Night. I’m not saying that Bryke are completely at fault for the shortcomings for these projects — collaborative creative pursuits are wonderful, magical things and it’s hard to know where credit and blame go when the whole point is that collaboration is beyond the sum of its parts — but the bottom line is that when certain fans are hellbent on not blaming Bryke, there are always other scapegoats.
I’m friends with many casual fans, and they were the ones who got me into the show. Honestly, I don’t think they even gave a second thought to Bryke until they left the Netflix production, which is convenient because now people can credit Bryke for the ingenuity of ATLA and blame Netflix for driving them away. I’m not sure casual fans will turn on Bryke for making a mediocre movie…BUT: if Zuko undergoes a character regression similar to his comics arc, people will probably get mad. Zuko’s redemption arc is widely considered one of the best on TV. You cannot find a Reddit thread about “best redemption arcs of all time” without Zuko being one of the top answers. From Bryke’s interviews, it kind of feels like they don’t really understand his appeal, and if they butcher his character in the absence of writers who got him more…well, I think people will be real mad about that. I mean, people got so mad about NATLA Katara, and she’s nowhere near as beloved as Zuko b/c misogyny and racism and many people found her annoying but that’s a whole other thing
And on a related note, I agree that Katara and Zuko will probably barely interact in the new movie, and it will seem kind of stilted and awkward. I remember an interview with Aaron Ehasz where he said that he’s not really a shipper and he doesn’t write stories with shipping in mind: what matters more is letting the narrative drive itself. That POV, undoubtedly shared by others in the writers’ room (including MVP Elizabeth Welch), is what was responsible for the development of the Katara - Zuko friendship in the original show in the first place. It’s very, very stifling to prioritize a ship war over the actual story. Antis claim Zutara shippers create convoluted fanfic plots where other characters and relationships are downplayed in favour of their ship, but that’s exactly what happens in the canon comics wrt K/ataang. I don’t know if it’ll seem so transparent to the casual viewer, but even if the motivations aren’t obvious, the decline in quality sure will be. For the sake of my love for all Gaang-related shenanigans I hope Bryke won’t go down that road for the new movie, but…well, they’ve done pettier things.
Thanks for your question anon, and please share any of your further thoughts!
105 notes
·
View notes
Text
Into Cursed Pixie Dust
Fandom: MCU
Characters/Pairings: Winter Soldier x female!Reader
Word Count: 8.9K
Summary: “He's credited over two dozen assassinations in the last fifty years…” but you don’t know that. You run into him once, then again, again, again. Destiny draws you together, and neither of you can deny the pull. And yet though he never ages, you do.
Warnings: SMUT, morally grey Winter Soldier, cheating (don’t read/complain if you don’t want it), penetrative sex, sex while pregnant, fingering, WS doesn’t stalk reader but territorially has his eyes on her/is aware of her when she’s in his orbit? Minors do not interact.
Additional Notes: First LENGTHY fic here. This idea crept up on me somewhat inspired by the feeling and some of the lyrics of Mazzy Star’s Into Dust, elements of Peter Pan folklore as he never ages and Winter Soldier also has that unconventional relationship with time, and the concept that he could keep encountering the same person – not every time he’s sent on a mission, but a few times, enough for it to be significant. Part of me also liked the challenge of trying to tie him to nefarious deeds/political intrigue/etc and going down some Google and Wikipedia rabbit holes to spin the timeline of encounters together (you can see the notes/significance/context for each date at the end of the fic).
July 1961 – St. Tropez, France
You are rushing as fast as your short heels would allow down to the docks. Your parents had left the house late for their weekend away to Cannes, which meant you were late sneaking out to Hank’s boat party, but you knew you could still make it if you kept a quick enough pace. You couldn’t run and show up in a huff of sweat and disheveled hair, but swift strides should still serve to get you there before Hank gave word to pull away from shore. Hank usually ran a little late himself, but you still needed to make good time.
Hank was the oldest of the Stanton siblings, and it was his youngest sister and your best friend Helen who was your connection to this social circle. It wasn’t going to be an excessively large party, but Hank hadn’t put a stop to any of the rumors of the various summer St. Tropez social elites that could be confirmed on his guest list. Brigette Bardot was among those names, but you were angling to catch Hudson Stanton’s eye – middle son of the Stantons and recently unattached and thus newly eligible bachelor.
You don’t give more than a glance as you approach the next street and made to cross, hearing no engines around this part of the town, and so swift is your pace that you are knocked clean off your feet as someone else appears from around the corner, colliding with your path.
You let out a small scream as you fall, not out of fear, but frustration.
“Are you alright?”
Your pride is smashed for the moment, and you can already feel that your right hip, right elbow, and the heel of your right hand would be very tender and sore, if not bruised, but you didn’t seem to be bleeding, thank goodness.
You frown but reach to take the hand of the offender, who’d leaned closer to help you get up. “You should be more careful and watch where you’re going!” you huff as he hoists you up almost effortlessly. You know you should have been looking more closely yourself, but it was definitely him, too.
After smoothing the fabric of your dress, you lift your face up to look at him, and your breath catches in your throat.
The stranger is tall and dressed in a black dinner jacket, with short brown hair, piercing blue eyes, and a firm jaw. “My apologies,” he said.
You take half a step back, pulling your hand out of his gloved hand, and smooth it over your dress again, looking down to see if it has torn or been soiled. “Is my dress alright?” you ask, looking back up to his face and turning slightly.
His eyes scan your figure, and suddenly you wish you hadn’t asked, heat rising up your neck and across your cheeks under the man’s intense gaze.
He reaches out and straightens part of your sleeve. “There. Good now.”
“Thank you.”
“Where are you going in such a hurry?” he asks.
“The docks; a boat party is leaving soon.”
“A young dame like you shouldn’t be walking through this part of the city alone.”
You frown at him. “I’m twenty-one and perfectly capable of getting somewhere on my own, thank you very much.”
The corner of his mouth twitches up. “I’d feel better if I could walk you there after our little incident.”
Maybe it would be good to have an escort for a few more minutes. “Fine, but only because you’re insisting, and only until we get to the docks. I can’t sneak you into the party.” And you didn’t want anyone to see this man walking you straight up to Hank’s boat. There were more than enough nosy Nellies that would immediately ask about him and spread that circulate the rumors like lightning.
With a nod of his head, he takes your hand and tucks it in the crook of his elbow, his gloved hand covering your fingers, a silent indication to keep hold of his arm.
“This way?” he asks, inclining his head to the left. You nod, and he whisks you away immediately.
He asks short, leading questions designed to keep words tumbling out of your mouth so he could stay focused on completing his mission, but of course you don’t know that. He’s too good at what he does for you to even question. You assume the kindness of a gallant, tall, dark, and handsome stranger. To him you’ve become the convenient cover as he puts distance between himself and the restaurant where three still bodies bleed out. Anyone looking for him won’t consider what looks like a young couple in love as they comb the streets for an assassin.
He’s walked you nearly all the way to the docks when tires screech as a car up at the corner ahead takes the sharp turn and begins coming your way, and no less suddenly, your escort has flung you up against the wall, a hand over your mouth before you can make a sound. You are breathless as your turn your head slightly to look at him. The two of you are not entirely in the shadows, and your bodies aren’t totally flush against each other, but the right half of his body has you pinned up against the wall, one leg planted between yours. You’ve shared a few kisses with some suitors, but this is the closest a man has ever been to you, complete contact from hips to shoulders. One hand is still hovering over your mouth, and the other has come up to brace your shoulder. He inclines his head down slightly to hover next to your ear, and the whisper of a breath you feel on your neck makes you shiver.
“Just a moment,” he promises.
It’s intoxicating.
The car passes. You both hear another car speeding down the road from the opposite direction, and he continues to hold you in what looks to anyone else like an intimate daliance.
Once the second car has passed, he steps away, and you can only blink at him for a few seconds before you recover.
He slips your hand into his arm again and tugs you back along the street.
He doesn’t usher you back into conversation, but it’s only another block before the buildings come to an end to give way to the network of St. Tropez docks.
He removes your hand from his arm and says, “Stay out of trouble,” before stepping back away from you and disappearing into the shadows, heading down another alley.
You shake your head and turn around, not knowing whether you really expect to see him or where he went. Ahead you hear another car pass, but this one has music playing loudly, and you smile and remember where you’re going. The more steps you take toward the docks, the more the music and then loud voices and laughter pull you in and push out the thoughts surrounding the man you just encountered. Helen calls your name, jumping and waving at the end of a small yacht, and then a smile beams across your face, and you forget the stranger almost completely.
November 21, 1963 – Dallas, Texas, United States
You didn’t think of him again until you see him across the way at the hotel bar, a small glass of something in front of him that looks untouched, his eyes on you. You bite your lip and incline your head to the side slightly. He gives a single small nod in response.
Suddenly Helen is arriving in a huff next to you, explaining the chaos of the last hour she’s had getting ready, the unexpected call from her soon-to-be mother-in-law, and the handful of other excuses that made her late meeting you here. Once she’s settled and ordering her drink, you look back across the bar, but your forgotten memory of a man is nowhere to be seen, the now empty glass the only indication you hadn’t made it up entirely.
You and Helen have a cocktail each before it’s time to head across the street to the restaurant to meet your respective fiancés for dinner.
The reason you hadn’t thought of that whirlwind encounter again was because that night on the yacht had exceeded your own expectations, catching Hudson Stanton’s eye early in the evening, laughing over dinner, dancing, watching the stars alone on the top deck, sharing your first kiss, and then, and then, and endless letters while you were apart, summers and holidays and weekends together while you finished school, and now an engagement ring on your finger, and you in Dallas this weekend to look at a house as Hudson’s firm has transferred him to head up their first office in the great state of Texas, your big New Year’s Day wedding less than six weeks away.
Dinner with Hudson, Helen, and Jack is just as you expected. Helen and Jack beg the pair of you to go dancing with them, but Hudson maintains he’s got to turn in early since he has to pick up his boss from the airport in the morning, Helen and Jack don’t press too hard, and you don’t expect to see Helen return to your hotel room that night, suspecting she’ll end up with Jack all night instead.
Hudson walks you back to your hotel and kisses you goodnight before you go inside. He won’t even walk you to the elevator because you both know if you get him that far, he won’t be able to refuse just the ride up, and then just walking you to your door, and…
You love and loathe how much of a gentleman he is.
Your thoughts are still sweetly lingering on Hudson as you walk through the hotel lobby. It’s busy tonight, music spilling out from the ballroom, and you start humming along with the familiar tune the band is playing.
You’re reaching to press the button for the elevator when a hand catches yours, and you whip your head to find it’s the stranger from the bar, the mystery man from that night in St. Tropez.
“You!” Your rockets into your throat.
“Come with me,” he insists.
His hand is warm, and your eyes are locked, and that intoxicating feeling you’d felt with your back pressed up against the wall floods back over you because even just the gaze from his intense blue eyes is too much. He’s not real. He can’t be.
But you nod, and he pulls you swiftly through the bodies milling about the lobby and into the ballroom. Once inside, he continues further into the room, and sweeps you into the swirl of bodies dancing in the middle. It’s darker here, but you can see every detail of his face, suddenly so close to yours again. There are too many questions you could ask, so you ask none. Your bones are melting as he holds your body flush against his, totally caught up in the movement and the music as he leads you around the dance floor.
You’re blissfully unaware that you have become an invisibility cloak to him again, this time an instrument to get close enough to his targets to verify them and register their voices in his head. He could have done this without you, but he ignores that. Using you as a cover make this easier, and his superiors don’t care how an assignment is completed if it’s done efficiently and without any trouble to clean up.
The first song you dance to is jaunty and keeps you smiling and feeling breathless. You don’t look at him much, your eyes moving around the room, taking everything in. He leads well, but the pace is so quick that you’re looking around as well to make sure you don’t bump into anyone. The next song is slow, a sweet Sinatra standard. You don’t know if he pulls you in or if you push your body closer to him, but within moments of the shift of the tone on the dance floor, you’re moving as one. His right hand has dropped to the small of your back and is not merely resting there, but intently holding you against him.
This was never part of his training, but his body knows how to move around the ballroom without a second thought. As you sway slowly together, he maneuvers you to a darker corner of the dance floor. Your head is inclined slightly, placing your cheek closer to his, and he presses his face to yours briefly. Then the two of you are in an alcove, hidden from nearly everyone, and your back is against the wall again. His lips brush your cheek, and you turn your head up to look at him. He keeps his right hand at the small of your back, but his left hand drops your hand and comes to the side of your neck, his thumb brushing softly over your jawline, his eyes searching yours. You nod, and his mouth captures yours.
The kiss is heated and hungry, he will devour you, and in this moment you don’t care. You cling to him, one hand snaking up his back to hold desperately to his shoulder as you pull closer to him, and the other clutching at his chest where you feel some sort of armored metal near his heart for a moment. He nips at your bottom lip, and you gasp and open your mouth to him. His tongue plunges in to stroke yours, to taste you.
He’s on an entirely different mission now, and his lips move from your mouth to trail along your jaw to that spot behind your ear, and you moan. You can feel an answering rumble in his chest, and his lips continue down the side of your neck, to your collarbone, making you gasp. You long to whimper his name but realize you can’t.
“Wait, wait,” you whisper, and his lips trail back up your throat.
“Do you want me to stop?” he asks, his breath hot as it ghosts over your ear.
“No, just–” you fight to coherently string your words together, “What’s your name?”
He pulls away slightly to look into your eyes, and you think you see a flash of uncertainty, but then it’s gone, and his lips move back to burrow in the crook of your neck, and he murmurs, “You don’t need to know that.”
“But I want to know,” you press, your fingers softly playing with his bowtie.
“We don’t always get what we want,” he says firmly, and suddenly there’s all kinds of space between you. He’s retreating, and you reach your hand out to touch his face, but he shakes his head, and then he disappears around the corner.
You stomach has plummeted, and so it takes you too long to step forward and look around the corner and back into the crowd. There’s no sign of him, so there’s no point in following, you know that. You fall back into the alcove and press up against the wall, hands clutched to your chest, heaving from the heated moment but also now from the fight to keep from crying.
You wait until you’re calm enough to step out of the shadows again, smoothing your dress and your hair. You keep along the edges of the party, careful not to draw anyone’s attention, then move across the lobby and to the elevator. You keep your eyes focused up on the arrow above the sliding doors that moves slowly from left to right as the lift rises to your floor, dinging when it hits the ten. Once you’re in your room, you close the door behind you, and rest back against it, letting your head fall back, eyes stinging again, but you bite your lip and shake your head and push away from the door.
As you move further into your room, your breath catches as you see an enormous display of more white and pink roses and peonies than you can count. You step quickly forward and snatch the card that is sticking out of the arrangement.
All my love, Holden
You smile and press the card to your chest, letting your other hand drift to touch the soft petals. With reluctance you set down the card and step away from the flowers to kick your shoes off and start to get ready for bed. Your eyes are drawn back to the flowers frequently as you move around the room and in and out of the bathroom.
The phone rings, and you pick up after the second ring.
“Hello?”
“Darling, did you get the flowers?”
“Yes, they’re perfect,” you sigh and sit on the bed.
The longer you talk, the more you’re glad you shared nothing more than a few kisses with your stranger, and the sting of shock and his sudden abandonment drift further and further away. Holden’s voice is a balm to your soul. You settle more comfortably into the bed, and you two talk until you fall asleep.
You wake again at some point not long after midnight to the beeping of the phone being off the hook, place it back on its cradle, and properly crawl under the covers, finding sleep again almost instantly.
Planning for a wedding and a move to a new home out of state would have been enough to occupy your thoughts and push the stranger and his intense blue eyes and heated kisses out of your mind, but added to that the following day in Dallas, minutes after you stood and waved at the presidential motorcade with Holden and Helen and Jack, you and the rest of the country and the rest of the world receive the horrifying news that John F. Kennedy has been shot, and then the news escalates from a shooting to the assassination of the American president. Trivial thoughts are long gone.
March 14, 1972 – Milan, Italy
You’re on a business trip with Hudson. Well, sometimes. Mostly you’re on a trip where you’re scheduled and bustled around with fifteen of the other office wives. You don’t usually mind, but there was no way you wanted to spend two hours on a bus to and then another two hours back from today’s excursion, and the women don’t fuss over you making your excuses to stay behind since you haven’t made them often on this trip, and you have ample valid excuses to draw from at the drop of a hat in your condition.
Today you wanted the day to yourself, just one day away from Marjorie, the middle-aged queen bee of all the wives. One day to do as you please.
You stay in bed just a little later than usual, eat breakfast on the patio of the hotel restaurant, then slowly amble around some of the tourist points of the city that your hired guides had whipped through in a frenzy the first few days with you and the other wives.
You think you see him first during your long lunch, but it’s across the street, and it’s probably not him anyway.
But it is him, and you didn’t see him first. You don’t know he saw you yesterday.
After you meander back to your hotel room, you draw a bath, intending to read for the rest of the afternoon. You twist your hair up, then sink into the tub. You read until the water’s lost its heat, then you wrap up in a silk robe and move out to the chaise lounge chair. You ring down to have afternoon tea service brought up to your room. It’s been years since you’ve had this kind of time – husband and house and two children already traipsing around your home while preparing for a third and the Junior League meetings and social and work functions. It’s been eight days in Italy, and half of you misses the hustle of home, but half of you wants to stay here away from the bustle like this forever.
A quarter of an hour later, there’s a quick trio of knocks, and you stretch and set your book down before rising to answer the door.
“Come in,” you offer, pulling the door open wide so the tea cart can be pushed in, and you quickly walk toward the small balcony and slide the glass door open to indicate that’s where you’d like them to leave your tea.
The tea cart has not been pushed along behind you though. It’s only been pushed a few feet into the room from the door, which the man, who is not hotel staff, is closing quietly.
He removes the uniform hat, places it on the corner of the tea cart, and runs a hand through his hair as he turns to look at you. His hair is a longer than it was in Dallas almost ten years earlier, but those impossibly blue eyes lock onto yours with the same intensity they did back then.
“It was you earlier today.”
He nods.
You stand motionless, but he strides across the room, not quickly, but not slowly either.
“What are you doing here?”
He does not answer with words, but with a kiss that pulls your soul from your chest up into your throat. Your hands come to his chest, and the natural inclination is to pull him closer, but somehow your brain registers that you should push him away. You can’t seem to put the effort into pushing against him, but you do hold him at bay and manage to turn away from him.
“I’m married,” you say.
“I don’t care that you’re married,” he responds, his hand brushing up your arm to your shoulder, then across to the base of your neck, drawing a shiver from you. “Unless he’s a bastard,” he adds.
“Why do you care at all?” It’s not a bitter question, just honest curiosity from you.
“I shouldn’t, but our paths have crossed too many times not to. We must belong to each other.”
He steps closer, and you feel the heat of him against your back. His hand moves to skim over your right collar bone, then down across your chest, slipping so easily into your silk robe, and palming your left breast. You moan sinfully, your right hand coming up to cover his, your fingers twining together.
Then another flash in your mind and you pull his hand away and turn back to face him.
“I’m married,” you repeat again, and you draw his hand down to the very new baby bump that is still mostly undetectable to others.
His eyes drop to your stomach, where your hands are resting together. The calculations are happening quickly, you can see it on his face. His eyes dart back up to yours, hand moving from your stomach to your hip.
“I came to claim what’s mine.”
He’s so close, and he’s looking at you with so much heat.
“I–“
You lose your ability to continue thinking clearly when both of his hands come up to capture either side of your neck.
“You,” he insists, his lips descending on yours, cutting off any more protest. “You’re mine.”
The kiss is demanding, and his hands don’t move from where they frame your neck until he can feel the moment you surrender to the kiss and to him. It’s a small sigh falling from your mouth that you can’t hold back, parting your lips, and his tongue slips in. Both of his hands from your neck across your clavicle to your shoulders, purposefully slipping beneath the silk robe, pushing it off. He easily releases the tie at your waist, and you don’t stop the robe from falling away completely, pooling on the floor.
His kisses are relentless, but his lips move to your jaw, and then your neck. Your head falls back, and he draws a moan from you when he pauses to tongue the sensitive spot where your neck and collarbone meet.
Then his mouth descends to your breasts, kissing along the curve of your left breast, then moving to the right. His right hand moves up to palm and gently squeeze one breast while he licks and sucks the nipple of the other. Finally powerless to fight anymore, your hands thread through his hair, urging him to continue. He easily scoops you up into his arms, bringing you into his chest, and your legs wrap around him, lips meeting each other again. He walks you over to the bed and tosses you onto the mattress.
You’re breathless, but so is he, standing above you at the edge of the bed. His blue eyes have blown with the lust he won’t deny, the lust he demands. He’s only looking at you, but the scorching heat of his eyes as they move over your nearly naked body have you burning in a way that you’ve never felt before. It’s overwhelming, and yet not unwelcome.
Before your head and your heart can catch up with your core, he reaches for your ankles and draws your body down to the edge of the mattress. He is quick in removing the last bit of clothing from your body, tossing the panties behind him without another thought.
Your arms are down by your sides, hands grasping at the sheets, watching as he undoes his pants, pushing them down around his thighs with his underwear in one go. His cock is hard and ready. Your eyes follow his hands now, and his right hand grazes along your inner thigh, coming to rest on top of your mound. He brushes his thumb over your folds and releases a deep satisfied hum, finding you hot and wet. You bite your lip as you look back up into his face. His thumb pushes inside you, and the small whimper that escapes you betrays what you were trying desperately to deny from him and from yourself.
He leans down over you, using his left arm to brace himself above you, removes his thumb from your entrance and slips in two long fingers, drawing a sigh from you.
“Just this moment,” he says, “this afternoon.” His lips seek yours again.
“Just this,” you agree and then continue the feverish kiss.
“Just you,” he murmurs against your cheek. He moves his hand and presses his cock warmly against you, teasing the tip in and out of your folds.
You look down to see where your bodies are connecting as he slides his into your cunt. Slowly he pulls back out, guiding the head of his penis over your clit, causing your hips to buck up into him at the sensation. You can feel him watching your face, taking in your reaction. You close your eyes as he slides into you again, and the exquisite fullness draws a moan from your lips.
He draws back out, then pushes in again, then another slow draw out, and back in till you take his length completely. Your breath comes in short gasps as you adjust to his size, and you clutch at the front of his uniform jacket. He brushes his right hand over your cheek, and you turn your head slightly to kiss his palm, a silent assurance that you’re okay.
He pulls your leg up to rest over his shoulder, and it seats him more deeply inside of you. The sound you make is one you’ve never made before as he starts thrusting again with this new angle. While his left hand stays planted at your side on the bed, his right hand freely explores your body, drifting up and down your neck, palming your breast, squeezing at your waist, brushing along your thigh, gripping your hips, threading into your hair to pull you in for another kiss, skimming over your shoulder. It’s a starved, hungry touch, and your body sings everywhere his fingers seek out.
Once he finds his rhythm, he is relentless, pumping more quickly. That he’s still mostly clothed while you’re naked beneath him is maddening but reassuring – you feel vulnerable beneath him, but if it was skin to skin with every inch of your bones pressing into his, it would be too intimate, completely undeniable. The single barrier keeps you from being consumed by this enigma, and since you know he’s going to disappear, you need that.
Both of you are breathing in heavy pants, and while he’s still drawing moans and whimpers from you, he’s been maddeningly silent. He adjusts his hips slightly so he can move his hand between you, fingers seeking out your aching clit, rubbing concentrated, furious circles over the bud. The band within you is pulling tighter and tighter, until and he achieves his goal in pushing you over the edge. You bite back a scream, and his mouth covers yours once again with a kiss to stifle the noise and possibly steal a bit of your soul – at least that’s how it feels as he fucks you through your climax, chasing his own end. You roll your hips slightly beneath him, and the shift makes his breath hitch. Two more powerful thrusts, and he stops, spilling his seed inside you, the low groan escaping him as gratifying to your ears as the feel of him sinking against you, pumping in and out of you slowly a few more times. Then he stills, and time seems to stop, the two of you just holding onto each other.
Satisfied.
He kisses the side of your neck again, and you hum contentedly. Your fingers brush gently through his hair. He squeezes your hip again, then suddenly rolls off you and moves from the bed. You want to reach for him, pull him back for more, but you don’t. He must disappear again.
After pulling up his trousers, he retrieves your robe and panties from the floor and sets them on the bed next to you. He does lean in for one final kiss, and you arch up to meet his lips. When he can feel you begin to melt again, he draws away, looking back only once when he reaches the door. You will remember that hint of a smile for years.
He disappears like a shadow.
December 16, 1991 – suburban area of Washington, D.C., United States
You sigh and drum your fingers against the steering wheel. You’ve just dropped your youngest off at high school and been to the grocery store. The traffic isn’t terrible, but it seems to be more congested and moving more slowly through this part of town than normal, and you’re bored and impatient. Suddenly you hear a commotion above the sounds of your radio, and you roll your window down and look around. There are cars honking, screeching of tires, and shouts in the street, but you can’t see clearly what’s happening as you crane your head to look all around. Only a few other drivers seem to be noticing the strangeness as well. You give up for a moment as the light changes and you pass through the intersection and then into the next block, but then you’re stopped again, waiting at another light, and the sounds grow softer, more distant. You look around again and still can’t seem to see any clue as to what’s going on, but you do see a man all in black with almost shoulder length hair walking incredibly fast down the sidewalk, moving quickly past the pedestrians around him. He is on the left side of the road, but walking your way, so it’s easy for you to follow his progress. He looks up and scans his surroundings, eyes naturally glancing your way, but when he does a doubletake your jaw drops because you know those eyes, that face, though the hair is longer.
His eyes now locked on you. He quickly but casually begins to cross the two lanes of traffic that separated you. “Let me in,” he says when he’s close enough before crossing in front of your car. You reach to unlock the passenger side door, and he slips in just before the light at the next intersection changes and the line of cars you were waiting behind begins to move again.
He sees a dark blue baseball cap left on the backseat by your son and quickly reaches for it, putting it on his own head. “Just drive like normal,” he says, “keep heading north or east.”
You nod and keep going, glancing over briefly to look at his face. He’s watching the streets.
The sound of sirens begins blaring behind you, and a glance in the rearview mirror shows a Chevy Blazer speeding through the quaint traffic, the cops in pursuit right behind. You and the cars around you move to the right and stop as quickly as you can as you’re supposed to – and to get out of the way – and you give your companion a quizzical look.
He shrugs, but there’s a hint of a smirk at the corner of his mouth.
“So, hello,” you finally say after the commotion speeds past and normal traffic has resumes.
“Hello,” he responds.
You tuck your hair behind your ear, then glance at him again. It’s been almost twenty years since that afternoon in your hotel room in Milan. Before you slept together in Italy, you’d been so blissfully and happily married to Hudson. After sex with this stranger, you remained happily married to Hudson – you had certainly reeled from the realization of what had occurred between you two, but you genuinely didn’t have a desire for anything in your life to change. You never told a soul what happened, and after years it finally faded from your conscience.
With this man in your car, however, all the heat and memories from every encounter have flooded back immediately, vivid and undeniable. Part of your core aches. And you try to concentrate on your driving and keeping your breath even. All of that seems like a lifetime ago, almost made up like a fairytale, and yet he’s here, beside you again today, hardly a foot away.
And now he’s looking at you.
“Are you alright?”
His gaze is as intense as it always has been.
Everything about him is the same as it always has been.
But that can’t possibly be true, can it?
“You haven’t changed at all.” The words tumble so quickly out of your mouth, after you finally think of something to say. “What are you… some kind of Peter Pan?”
“If you want.”
“Well, you’ve never given me any other name.”
And just how much he hasn’t changed magnifies in your own mind how much you feel you’ve changed. You’ve aged, with lines around your eyes, five children rounding out your body, elbows the only true angle you feel your figure still has to boast, you know the grey in your hair has started to become more prominent despite your efforts to cover it up. You didn’t do all your make up today, only the essentials, and you’d only tossed on a sweater and jeans for what was supposed to be a typical Monday.
After another few minutes, you’re outside of the town and driving down a stretch of wooded highway.
“When you want to pull over and let me out, anywhere is good, I can make it where I need to go.”
You nod but don’t know exactly how to respond. There’s not an immediately convenient place to pull off, but your mind recalls some of the turn offs up ahead that you’ve passed a few hundred times. You don’t notice you nervously biting your bottom lip.
But he does, his eyes on you more than they are on the road.
“Or we can drive for a while.”
You glance back over at him, then turn your attention back to the road, tapping your thumbs anxiously on the steering wheel, your hands diligently gripping the ten and two position, the speed a little ahead of whatever is playing over the radio because you’re not even aware of the music at this point.
“Are you alright?” he asks again.
You huff out a breath you’ve been holding in. “You make me nervous.”
“You know I will never hurt you, don’t you?”
“Not that kind of nervous.”
The last time you were this close to each other, this man thoroughly fucked you into a mattress, and two decades later your body can’t deny the memories.
Finally, you reach a turnoff for a relatively unimportant road, flanked by forest on both sides. You drive a fair distance from the main road before you finally stop. Then you turn off the car, and return your hand to the wheel, needing that grounding to turn and face those blue eyes.
“I don’t understand. How can you look almost the same? The only thing that’s changed is your hair, some stubble, a new leather jacket.” You turn your head back to look out the windshield at the empty road before you. “You even look at me the same way you did back then, but I’m in no way the same young woman you came across a lifetime ago!”
Hudson still loves and adores you, but he hasn’t looked at you the way this man does in years – with this much heat, so intensely you can hardly breathe.
He never buckled in, so he easily angles his body to face you. Slowly, he reaches across the short space between you, brushing the fingers of his right hand tentatively over your fingers, giving you time to react or stop him, before he eases your hand off the wheel, letting your hand gently fall to rest in your lap. His eyes move to your face, and you close your eyes, holding your breath. His hands move down to unbuckle your seatbelt, and you let your left hand release from its grip on the wheel and shift out of the strap, drawing your hand to your chest. You nervously inhale and exhale. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest.
Then suddenly the slow hesitation is abandoned, and he turns your head towards him to receive his kiss. Lips and tongue urging you to surrender immediately, and you do, mouth opening to him, and he angles your head to deepen the kiss further. The kisses are hungry, those of a starved man. Your hands come up to hold helplessly onto his wrists as he continues to hold your face in his grasp, the overwhelming desire he won’t hold back any longer sweeping you away with him to a neverland where nothing else exists.
After a few moments or a few minutes, you really don’t know, his hands drop down and quickly find the button and zipper of your jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping eagerly. Swiftly his left hand pushes your legs apart, his right hand slips down the front of your panties, and your breath hitches as his middle finger purposefully strokes from your clit down your slit, finding you very wet – all for him now. He continues to trace back and forth across your folds, but not quite back up to your clit.
When he finally slides that single long finger inside your heat, you moan, dropping your head back against the headrest. His lips move to your neck, pressing heated kisses slowly up and down the column of your throat, each press of his lips matching the rhythm of his finger moving in and out of you. You press your left hand up to the roof of your car, and the other clutches his forearm. He starts to draw his hand away, but you push him back, your hand sliding now over the back of his, holding him there, and now he slips in a second finger, curling deliciously into your core.
He pulls his head back to watch your face when he moves his thumb to start circling your clit while he continues pumping his fingers, seemingly fascinated by the whimpers and keens he’s pulling from you as he plays your core with expert touch, stroking that spongy spot that deliciously tightens the coil tighter and tighter within you. Your cheeks are totally flushed, and you feel like you’re flying as he pulls you closer to the edge.
“Please,” you rasp desperately, hips rocking into his hand.
He quickens his motions while applying more pressure, giving you what you ask for, and watches your face as you come undone with a breathy, wordless shout, body shaking, your other hand grasping his bicep, curling forward as he slows but continues stroking your clenching walls through the immediate comedown, slowly and more slowly until your breathing finally evens out.
“Look at me,” he says in a low voice that makes your stomach flip again, and you open your eyes. His face is still so close to you.
He withdraws his hand from your core and slips just the tip of his index finger into your open and panting mouth, urging you to taste yourself on him. You suck without thinking, but he only allows you a moment before drawing his hand away and then sucking each of his fingers clean. He wants you to see him enjoy the taste of you on his lips, and when he’s done, he licks his lips, reaches down and gathers more slick from your release on his index finger and then licks it off again, and you can only whimper as you watch, overcome by the still unsatiated level of his lust.
He places slow deliberate kisses up along your jaw, and when he reaches your ear, he whispers, “That’s how I still see you,” and licks the shell of your ear, making you shiver and melt back against the seat.
Then suddenly he withdraws from your personal space, and in the next second opens and closes the passenger side door and you only register the sound quickly enough to see him disappear into the trees.
October 11, 2001 – Seattle, Washington, United States
You are with Hudson in Seattle. Over the years you have been with him on many business trips, but this was a trip from one coast to the other to see a new grandbaby. The other grandparents have just arrived, so the two of you decided to go to dinner on your own.
As you’re led through the restaurant to your table, you think you see his familiar face far across the dining room, eyes catching briefly, but it’s likely not him.
An hour later you are taking one of the last bites of the dessert you shared with Hudson when the waiter returns. “Is there anything else I can get for you this evening?” he asks.
“Oh, no,” Hudson responds, “just the check, please.”
“It’s already been taken care of, sir.”
“What?” you both ask.
“I was told to say it’s compliments of someone who admires your relationship.”
Hudson reaches across the table to take your hand and says something to the waiter, but you don’t pay attention to his words.
You have no idea how to feel, but you know it had to be him.
2014
You have seen him a lot this year, but it’s been on the television screen. First as a piece in a storm of news and revelations the day S.H.I.E.L.D. launched and sank three hellicarriers in Washington D.C. and Captain America exposed the remnants of HYDRA that had burrowed within the organization – HYDRA and their “fist,” the Winter Soldier. Then there was the Senate investigation into what went on that day, preceded and followed by many news specials. Now you know more about him than you ever did before, and so much about him makes sense to you, though you imagine you will never know the whole story. Even now, so much that has been pieced together by the media and further sketched out by you is fractured, pieces missing, conjectures tying gaps together.
That he’s resurfaced in your life at this point is perhaps just as it should be. Though not physically present, he provides a consuming something else to think about in the new stage of your life where the other man who has been at the center of your life is also no longer physically present, as you awake and remember with a fresh wave of grief each day.
You’re not consumed by grief, there are still children, and grandchildren, friends, errands, hobbies, dreams, social obligations, but the person who was your constant is gone, and it’s always an ache.
You and Hudson had celebrated your fiftieth wedding anniversary at the beginning of the year, a stroke taking him one afternoon unexpectedly in the early spring. He was your best friend, and the two of you had certainly built a life together. It was not a fairytale perfect marriage, but pretty damn near close, and Hudson was the love of your life despite the man you now know was the Winter Soldier dropping incidents of indiscretion into your history. Over the years you had never spoken of the other man to anyone, reckoning with the incongruence on your own, knowing that the ties to both men existed but who your home was.
Nobody needs to know, all of that merely moments, unconnected to your true life.
Spring 2016 – Bucharest, Romania
You see him one last time as you lay in a hospital bed. He hovers just outside your door wearing the medical scrubs of the other nurses.
“Jane?” You draw your granddaughter’s attention from her book as she’s curled up in what can only be a moderately comfortable chair at your bedside.
“Yes, Gran?”
“Be a dear and go get me a real cup tea? You said there’s a good café just down at the corner, right?”
She stands and smiles. “I did. And if you’re craving tea, you must be feeling a little better.”
“Mhmm,” you hum. “It will be good for you to stretch your legs, too.”
“Alright, I’ll be back soon.”
“I’ll just wait here.”
She grins and shakes her head. “You better. No adventures without me.”
She slips her jacket on and slips out of your room.
A moment later, he enters.
“Hello, Sergeant Barnes.”
He smirks. “You know who I actually am.”
You nod. “How did you know I was here?”
“I saw you collapse this morning in the museum.”
You shake your head. “It’s nothing serious,” you say as he reaches for your charts.
“Cardiac arrhythmias.”
“Heart palpitations. Light fainting spell this morning. It hasn’t happened for a few years, and I hadn’t been eating properly the last few days. They’re keeping me for observation for twenty-four hours and then they’ll let me go if my heart behaves.”
“Good, you should have a good few years ahead of you still,” he says, almost admonishingly.
He stands at the side of your bed, but at the very foot of it seemingly trying to keep his distance, as if he doesn’t trust himself around others. Now that you know his story, his current behavior makes sense – especially why he was guarded but never hesitant before but keeps that buffer of distance now.
“She looks like you.”
“Jane? She’s a beautiful and brilliant young woman,” you say, a warm smile spreading across your face. “I’ll never admit aloud that she’s my favorite grandchild though.”
He doesn’t respond but gives you a tight-lipped smile.
“She’s my traveling companion for a grand adventure around Europe.”
“It’s only the two of you here in Bucharest?”
You hesitate before answering. “Yes.”
This ageless Peter Pan could capture her easily into his orbit. She’s twenty-one, the same age you were when you first ran into the Winter Soldier. He must suspect that’s what you’re thinking.
“I’ll make sure she stays safe.”
“She’s young.”
“No younger than you were when we met.”
The heat rises in your cheeks. “It’s different.”
He nods and you notice his face soften slightly. “It is. I’m ancient.”
“Come sit by me, old man.” You motion to the chair next to your bed, and he comes forward and takes a seat, perching on the edge, back ramrod straight.
“You said you saw us at the museum. Why do I have the feeling you’ve been watching us since before today?”
He regards you for just a split second before answering. “I stay near the train station, close enough to leave town quickly if I need to. I saw you arrive two nights ago when I was walking back to my place.”
“How often did you see me before I saw you?”
“Every time. There were times you never knew I was there.”
“Were you checking up on me?”
He shook his head. “Not at first. St. Tropez, Dallas, Milan, DC, and Seattle were purely circumstantial, but after DC I did check on where you were when I could.”
“But how did you remember me when they took so much else away from you?”
His face churns out a wry, bitter smile. “Yeah, they took away a lot of who I was, tried to overwrite my memories and what I knew before they took me, but after the initial programming,” his tone with that particular word is more vitriolic than the rest, ”they thought it was good for me to have context and history for the missions they sent me on, the new skills I learned, knowledge I acquired. Wiping was messy, and they had to know what to wipe. You were never an interference of any kind all those years and part of the Winter Soldier – part of me – I think never gave them a hint of your existence because I knew they knew everything else about me, had control over everything, and I didn’t want to risk losing this one piece I had found outside of what they made me. The Winter Soldier wanted the secret and thank God for that because If they’d ever found out about you...”
He doesn’t need to finish the sentence. He studies the pattern of the hospital bedding, and it gives you a moment to study his face – you’re sure he knows this, allows it.
After a moment, you say, “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk so much in all our meetings over the years.”
“I didn’t converse much as the Winter Soldier,” he replies, his eyes meeting yours again, his entire presence softening just a degree. “It’s still not something I’m used to yet.”
“I know so much about you now, and I thought I’d have a hundred questions to ask if I ever saw you again, but…”
“But?”
“But I imagine you are still searching and want answers about your own more than I do.” You move your hand to the edge of the bed and offer him your palm. “So just sit with me.”
You almost thought he would refuse, but he removes the glove from his right hand and then carefully puts his hand in yours, his gaze returning to your face.
“Just this afternoon.”
“Just us.”
You brush your thumb over the back of his hand. There isn’t heat between you today, but there’s still a closeness that is only the two of you.
2026
The next and last time he sees you is from a distance, laid to rest in a beautifully polished wooden casket covered in an abundant spray of white flowers, surrounded in a sea of people in black. He recognizes Jane among them, as well. Though the Winter Soldier had claimed a piece of you belonged to him, destiny entwining your paths too many times in those early years, he could see now and had always been glad to know you had a full life outside your scattered encounters. He sends his goodbye silently across the cemetery from where he watches unseen, and finally slips away.
↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest
If you want to see more of this, anything else I'm working on, or chat about anything about my stories, MY ASKBOX IS ALWAYS OPEN!
VERY INFORMAL HISTORICAL/TIMELINE NOTES:
St. Tropez 1961 = St. Tropez was a big port for shipping at the time, so these deaths were two problematic traders making moving things in and out of the port difficult for Hydra.
Dallas 1963 = Assassination of President John F. Kennedy
Milan 1972 = From Wikipedia: Giangiacomo Feltrinelli (45), who had during the 1950s published the smuggled manuscript of Boris Pasternak's novel Doctor Zhivago, but later became a left-wing militant during Italy's Years of Lead, was found dead at the base of a power-line transmission tower outside Segrate, near his native Milan, on 15 March 1972. It was believed that he had died when a bomb he was attempting to plant on the tower went off, and later testimony by other members of the Red Brigades supported this. However, the death was always viewed suspiciously, and in the 2010s forensic reports surfaced that suggested he had been tied to the tower before the bomb went off, with various intelligence agencies inside and outside of Italy suspected of responsibility.
…sounds like the Winter Soldier to me.
Washington 1991 = Howard and Maria Stark and the acquisition of the newly developed super soldier serum.
Seattle 2001 = Unsolved murder of former US Attorney General Thomas Crane Wales, announced by the FBI in 2018 to likely have been the work of a paid hitman – or the Winter Soldier.
2014 = Aftermath of Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Romania 2016 = Theoretically just before the events of Captain America: Civil War.
2026 = arbitrary future date, Bucky just came to pay his respects, no mission or happenstance connected
#bucky x yn#bucky x female reader#bucky barnes fanfic#bucky x reader#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes#bucky x you#the winter soldier#winter soldier#winter soldier x y/n#winter soldier x you#winter soldier x reader#winter soldier x female reader#winter soldier smut#bucky barnes smut#smut#peter pan influence#aspen wrote something#female reader
972 notes
·
View notes
Text
It’s been made pretty clear by the fandom, not just Buddie Shippers, that we aren’t really fans of who Buck and Eddie end up with in the finale.
The biggest issue I have with the pairings is that they weren’t worked up, they kind of just showed up and we have no reason to care about them.
If these women are supposed to be endgame, at least give us ample reason to support the choice.
Natalia: They really screwed up her character because there was so much potential in making her interesting and someone we would like to get to know. She’s a death dula and Buck died. Instead of having her tell Buck that it’s so “cool” that he died they could of had her play an active role in having him process his death. I mean they still have the opportunity to do that but after they gave us a cringe date, a recycled story line, but with less depth, they gave us too many reasons to dislike her as a character for me to even see that play out.
They made the same mistake they made with Lucy. Instead of having Natalia be a friend to Buck they force her to be a love interest which adds nothing new to bucks character.
But imagine Buck’s character development if Natalia was a friend. He would have gone from Buck 1.0 ( The guy who only does hook ups), to Buck 2.0 (the guy who just ends up in relationships) to Buck 3.0 (the guy who chooses himself and is able to be friends with a woman).
We can also address the fact that there is a lack of chemistry between Buck and Natalia. The kiss in the finale was awkward and not in a cute endearing way. I will say, I love that she doesn’t look like she could be related to Buck. I’m willing to see their relationship play out during season 7, but I just can’t see it being the end game.
Marisol: Where did she come from. What do you mean this is the girl that has Eddie acting like a middle schooler. She came out of nowhere and we know almost nothing about her, besides the fact that she fixes her brother’s mistakes.
I rewatched Season 6, Episode 5: Home Invasion, where we are first introduced to Marisol and after watching the episode, I believe the fan theory that her brother’s rescue was originally written as a boyfriend being rescued. But after the scenes where already filmed, the writers decided she’d be the love interest so they re-recorded the audio of the scene. I’m serious go back and watch her emergency, there is something off about it.
Marisol to me feels like another Ana. No substance, no reason for me to care about her. They both barely interacted, so their phone call makes less sense the more you think about it.
The same episode where Eddie is told he can’t look for love, he finds what he’s “been looking for”. This feels like Eddie is again only doing what he thinks he is supposed to do. Instead of processing his feelings of loneliness, he’s doing what he thinks the world expects him to do and date someone. He married Shannon because he felt like he had to. He stayed with Ana because he thought it was best for Christopher. And he’s settling for Marisol because he doesn’t want to be alone. None of those reasons are good reasons to pursue someone for a serious relationship.
It’s one thing to have Eddie date because he wants to be outside his comfort zone, meet people, and have fun. It’s a completely other thing to have him date because he feels like he needs to.
The only way to make Marisol a good character is by having her be a person that helps Eddie figure that out. She helps him realize that it’s not just about the end game, but his ability to just enjoy her company and not so worried about what the end result. She can just be someone he dates because she was fun to date. A relationship that shows him that you can have someone be an important part of your journey, but not your end game. Like a summer fling.
Given the fact that the actress who plays Marisol recently reposted a transphobic meme and couldn’t even attempt a sincere apology, I hope we don’t get to see her at all in season 7. She can be explained away by Eddie mentioning her once and just saying it felt promising but she just wasn’t the one. I have no interest in see their relationship play out.
Buddie: In my opinion, the best match for Buck and Eddie will always be each other. The writers have their relationship set up as the perfect slow burn, friends to lover scenario. And even though they screwed up the finale a bit, they can easily correct their wrongs. Buck and Eddie’s chemistry is undeniable and having them end up together would play into their individual story lines so perfectly.
I need this relationship that has developed organically to flourish in Season 7.
I will continue to manifest Buddie and let me use this moment to state couch theory is not dead. Buck will just need to get rid of another couch.
#911 fox#evan buck buckely#buddie#911 abc#eddie diaz#911 season 6#buck x eddie#buckley diaz family#911 spoilers#911onfox#911 show#911 season finale#the gay firefighter show#couch theory
252 notes
·
View notes
Text
Pink Scarf - PART 17 (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x Reader)
Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)
Requested: kinda
(Read more here--Pink Scarf Series Masterlist!)
Prompt: You are part of Elvis Presley's coveted inner circle, and the currently-disgruntled wife of one of the members of Elvis' famous entourage, the Memphis Mafia. After Elvis' dynamite first performance in Vegas, you find yourself in deep water when his magnetism finally gets to you after all these years. [ Fem!Reader ]
TW: SEXXX. Verbal Abuse. Assault, both sexual and physical. Blood. Violence. ANGST. Cussing. Infidelity. Historical inaccuracies in the Vegas timeline. Priscilla doesn't exist in this timeline.
Rating: Explicit/Mature (NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact) || Word Count: 10k
A/N: PREPARE YOURSELVES, cuz this is an INTENSE roller coaster ride, y'all. Also, PLEASE READ THE TRIGGER WARNINGS. I'm not gonna say much else, other than this is a beast and I cannot wait to hear the unhinged responses after. And thank you for your patience!
As always, to all my babies, honeys, and lil' mamas supporting me out there, YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL and your reactions, reblogs, messages, asks, and comments you've given me have been a blessing beyond expression. You all are the best community a writer could ask for! Thank you so much for your support. I am loving getting to know y'all better! I love every single reaction and comment and ask, and I'm sorry if I don't get back to them all as soon as I'd like but know that I love you all and am so excited to be making new friends! And a big "Hey, Y'all!" to our friends from Elvis Twitter, Elvis Discord, and Elvis Instagram--I see and appreciate you coming over to join us! 👀💋
If you feel so moved, please let me know what you think or how you're feeling (or send me asks)! I think I put everyone on the taglist who requested it, but please let me know if there are any issues or if I missed anyone. There seem to be some issues with tagging that I can't seem to fix, so please know I'm not leaving you out intentionally! Also, if you comment on a previous part that you want to be tagged, I might not always see it, so feel free to message me if I miss you!
I imagined this with Elvis in mind, but Austin!Elvis works here, too, whatever floats your boat!
Apologies in advance if there are any grammatical errors or TW that I didn't catch.
(I did start cross-posting Pink Scarf to my long-neglected AO3 account (which some of you already discovered!), so if you are so inclined, you can check it out over there!)
“You need me?” you question him, honestly taken aback by the sentiment, even though he has said it before. It’s just still so hard for you to believe that a man like this needs a woman like you. Running your fingers through the soft, damp hair at the nape of his neck, you look at him with wide eyes.
“Yeah, baby, I do. I really do,” Elvis says, wrapping his arms tight around you and pulling you close. His head buries in your neck, in your hair, breathing you in.
“Show me,” you whisper in his ear, surprised by your own boldness. But his declarations have you some kind of way and that coil is still like hot coals smoldering in your belly. You feel his body stiffen against you, knowing that he is even more stubborn than you and doesn’t want to give in to you just yet.
You run your hands over his exposed chest and under the deep V of the fabric, grazing over his nipple with your fingernails. He twitches and jumps under your touch, despite his efforts to stay neutral.
“I need you,” you breathe, pitching your voice up the slightest bit as you look into his eyes. And you do. You desperately need him, in every way. If you could crawl inside of him, you would. You need to believe his promises are true, that he will take care of you and be everything you need. You need him to show you.
This must read on your face, because he cannot seem to mask his response this time, his azure eyes widening and pupils dilating.
“Take care of me,” you say, your voice nearly a whine.
That’s the ticket. “Fuck, okay…yeah, let me take care of ya,” Elvis breathes in your mouth as his lips find yours, your sins forgotten for the moment, if not forgiven completely. His lips devour yours and your hands can’t get enough of him, starved from before when he had you tied up. They roam over his chest, wind around his neck and into his hair before scraping down his back and clawing at his waist.
Elvis pulls back for a moment and surveys the space in the room. You can see his wheels turning, then how his lips curve up in a smile as he figures out how he wants you. He leaves you hanging for a moment as he pulls a chair right in front of a huge, floor length mirror. Sitting in the chair, his legs spread wide, he beckons you to him.
“Come sit on my lap, baby,” he purrs at you, and you immediately obey, settling on one of his strong thighs and burying your head into that deliciously long neck of his. The salt of his sweat stains your lips. His strong scent surrounds you, magnifying your need for him. You suddenly feel very small in his arms in addition to that need. He seems to sense this, letting you first cuddle into him a bit before winding his large hand below your jaw and peppering kisses down your neck.
“Gonna be a good girl and do as I tell ya?” Elvis asks, his voice low and gravely as he grabs your chin.
You nod. He truly fucked the fight right out of you before, over there against the wall.
“That’s my girl. Now turn and face the mirror for me,” he says, guiding your hips to swivel in his lap. He pulls your dress up and over your waist, leaving you in your lacy panties. You feel a little self-conscious looking at yourself perched on his lap like this, your cheeks a flaming shade of red. You are very close to the mirror, too close. But you watch as your eyes go wide when he grabs your inner thighs, spreading them open with his large hands while sliding his strong thighs in between to keep yours apart.
The lacy fabric of your already-soaked underwear strains as he massages your legs from your knees to your hips. The groping shoots fire through you and you press back into his lap, encouraging him to continue. When he ghosts over your core, it steals your breath away, and you are so incredibly ready for whatever he has to give you.
“Let get these off,” he says, tapping your clit over your panties and causing you to jump with the sensation. Nearly frantic, you shuck them down and off with lightning speed, along with your heels. Elvis chuckles, spreading you open even further when you sit back in his lap. Your muscles strain with the stretch, but you don’t care.
“Be a good girl and put your feet up on the mirror for me,” he instructs, and albeit confused, you do as you’re told. “Nice and wide for me, honey. Yeah, just like that.” He scoots your hips down a bit as you adjust and cradles your upper body with his, his head resting over your shoulder, looking at you both in the mirror. You are completely exposed and utterly vulnerable before him once again.
“Now look at that,” he breathes almost reverently, “You’re stunning, in every way.” You both watch in the mirror as he runs his fingers down your face, your jaw, then over your body. You shiver in his lap, earning his famous lopsided smile in return.
Elvis gets more serious as his fingers reach your core. “But ain’t this the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen,” he whispers in your ear, running his pointer finger ever-so-lightly over your folds as you watch. The combination of sensation and the visual you are not used to seeing has you squirming in his lap, aching. He locks his other arm around your pelvis, pressing you against him and immobilizing you.
“Be good, baby. You promised,” he says in your ear, and you watch yourself nod furiously, stilling. He commences his lecture. “I wantcha to see what I see, baby. Look at how pretty and red you are for me like this, all slick and swollen and needy,” he says, watching intently, hungrily, as his finger grazes your lower lips, up one side and down the other. You whine and grip his arm for purchase, feeling like he is calling all the blood in your body to gather in your cunt. It feels heavy and pulsing, burning with need for him.
Elvis brushes up to your clit. “Hmm, one of my favorite little spots,” he hums, circling it softly, making you keen as you lean back into him. Then, obscenely, he uses his first two fingers to spread your lips apart. “Christ, baby, look at that,” he says, voice filled with lust and awe, “You’re fuckin’ weeping for me.”
Your eyes travel down to your exposed hole, and sure enough, you are literally dripping with arousal, both yours and his. It glistens as it gathers, a slow, eager little drop sliding out. You cannot stifle the low moan that escapes your lips at the erotic nature of this little show, your pussy buzzing with heat and want, on display for all to see.
Elvis senses you need more, and he lets your folds wrap around his long middle finger, dragging it up and down through your slick as you watch.
“Oh, god,” you sigh, thankful for the friction, your hips automatically rolling for him.
“Touch yourself, baby. Don’t worry, I’ll help you,” he says, moving your hand over your mound and guiding your fingers in slow circles over your clit before he returns to rubbing in between your slick lower lips. The wonderful combination makes your eyes flutter closed and your head fall back onto his shoulder.
“Nuh uh! Eyes open!” Elvis nudges you, and your eyes pop open. “I want you to watch yourself come, baby. I need you to see what I see.” He smiles, and it’s almost boyish in its mischievousness.
It’s not going to take much, considering how primed that coil was before you even sat down, and how strangely erotic this whole scene is. How it’s making you feel lightheaded and buzzy and hot all over. You begin to work your clit furiously, watching as Elvis runs his fingers over then through your sopping, swollen folds. When he dips one long finger, then another into your weeping hole while you watch, the string of curses that leaves your lips is utterly filthy.
Your senses are overloading, which you imagine was his intention. The sight of you swallowing his fingers so needily, so readily, your arousal shining, the wet suckling sound coming from your cunt as he expertly works his fingers in and out of you pushes you headlong to the edge. Coupled with this and your barrage on your clit, you hit your climax hard with a loud cry, pressing your heels into the mirror with such force, you’re afraid you might crack it.
“Look, look, look, baby,” he pants, forcing your focus back to him, back to what he’s doing to you. “Look at how you flutter around me!” He’s right; you watch, mesmerized as your hole clenches at his fingers through your orgasm, and fuck if that isn’t amazingly hot.
You whimper at the sight, shuddering and panting at the exertion. He chooses that moment to curl his fingers, pressing that special spot inside you that is only his, and another wave of pleasure shoots through you so strongly that you lose your breath. You crest the hill again, stars shooting through you, forgetting that you ever came here to break this off, to run away from him.
There is a wild, desperate look in your eyes that you’ve never seen before as you writhe against him in your ecstasy, keeping you fucking down onto his fingers even though you are sore from before. You can’t stop the waves that keep crashing over you, engulfing every inch of you as you watch it happen before your eyes.
And Elvis looks gorgeous, those blue eyes flashing with his magnetic sexual energy, his pouty lips open and pink and panting right along with you. He is hard again, his length pressing into your spine through his suit as you furiously roll on his fingers, and you can feel him begin to shudder underneath you. You know he gets off on watching and this is quite the show. You rock your hips more deliberately now, feeling the length of him slide between your ass cheeks, and he groans.
“Am I gonna make you come in your pants, E? Gonna make a mess for me?” you mewl seductively, wanting to push him over the edge, too. “You like watching me get off on your fingers, don’t you?”
“Jesus, baby, yes,” he moans, “but I need to watch you come again. Come with me, honey.”
You’re not sure you can. You are overstimulated and over stretched and near hysterical with pleasure. Your heart is thrumming so fast you can barely breathe.
“You can do it. I’ve got you. Let me take care of you, baby. Watch me take care of you,” he pants heavy in your ear, his eyes glassy, unable to take his eyes off your pussy. He moves his hips in tandem with yours now, then without warning, slides a third finger inside you.
Your eyes are glued to the mirror, seeing just how well you take him. You automatically adjust to him, and he works you as only he knows how. You work your clit and grit your teeth as you feel that coil poised to spring again.
“E-El-El-vis…F-f-fuckkk!” you cry breathlessly, coming completely undone around him again.
“Oh, fuck, honey…GodDAMN!” he groans into you simultaneously as he slams his hips up with a violent shudder that matches your own. You can feel the heat pulse under you, dampening the fabric of his suit.
But you continue to shake and shiver on top of him, your orgasm ripping through you, stealing everything you have left, draining every ounce of energy from your reserves, which isn’t much considering the insanity of the last 24 hours. You sense much too late that your body cannot keep up. Your heart is too fast, your breathing too labored, and your muscles too weak.
You shouldn’t be surprised, then, when your body goes limp, the blood drains from your head with a cold rush, and the world goes dim and then black.
*
“Y/n! Y/n! Jesus, Satnin, c-come on baby, w-w-wake up!” you hear Elvis’ panicked voice from far away, but you are so very tired and just want to sleep, thinking maybe it’s a dream.
…no, no! Oh, God, don’t—please don’t go. I-I lo…The faraway echo of long-ago words in this too familiar panicked voice fades away like a dream. You slip back into darkness.
It’s the piercing fear in his voice when he calls your name again that has you finally coming back into yourself. You blink a few times, willing the world to come back into focus, confused.
“O-oh, shit. Oh, t-thank God,” Elvis breathes. He is right above you, his eyes bright and flooded with fear, near tears.
“Wh—what happened?” you murmur, feeling buzzy and strange, and like things aren’t moving fast enough.
“You scared the shit outta me is w-what happened!” he looks down at you, now placed on the couch, his eyes quickly shifting from fear to anger. “You—you just fuckin’ collapsed!”
Your eyebrows furrow as you try to remember what happened. You’d come here to break up with him, to tell him you were leaving…then you argued. Then you fucked. The mirror.
Oh, god, had you passed out from coming too hard?
You start to giggle at that, uncontrollably.
“Baby, what the fuck? It’s not fuckin’ funny!” Elvis fumes, leaning over you.
That just makes you laugh more. “I came…s-so h-hard I p-passed out!” you hiccup out.
“That’s not normal!” he cries, throwing his hands up in the air.
Another peal of laughter at the absurdity of it rolls through you. He’s not wrong, but whatever is happening to you seems to be overpowering your sense of self-control.
“Are you on something?” he asks suddenly, grabbing your jaw to get you to focus. He looks over you carefully and then a flash of horror comes over him at what you assume is the thought that he’s somehow taken advantage of you.
“N-no, of course not,” you finally manage to get out. You are shivering now though, and suddenly freezing. “S-something’s not r-right,” you finally chatter out.
“No shit,” Elvis mumbles, eyes narrowed, obviously trying to figure out what’s wrong with you. “Baby, when was the last time you ate?” he asks.
You blink at that, trying to run through the last day in your mind, but all the days have been running together. You honestly don’t know.
“I-It’s been at least a day, I think,” you finally eek out. “Maybe l-longer?”
“’Maybe longer?’ Goddammit, y/n, you can’t just go without fuckin’ eating!” he yells, getting up from the couch and storming over to the phone at the other end of the room. You hear him ordering someone to bring food immediately as you attempt to sit up, but your dizziness has you lying back down quickly.
Yeah, well, maybe if I wasn’t in a constant swarm of emotional and physical upheaval for the last week, I would remember to eat, but who’s fault is that?
Elvis slams down the phone and paces back over to you. “When was the last time you slept, y/n?” he angrily asks now, his eyes a churning gray-blue, as he pulls your dress down modestly and throws one of his plush robes over you.
“Um, on the r-roof,” you get out.
“Christ, that was barely sleep,” he mumbles, obviously frustrated as he continues to pace the room. “You have to take better care of yourself, y/n!” he erupts.
You recoil a bit but are touched by his anger, knowing it is fueled by concern. But you are also annoyed because it isn’t all your fault.
“Well, I’ve been a b-bit busy,” you manage.
“Not that fuckin’ busy!”
He’s not getting it. You shake your head, tears coming to your eyes.
“Th-this is part of the problem, E. I’ve been burning the candle at both ends, I’ve been so s-stressed, I don’t know which way is up…” you shiver out.
He halts. Your words must be sinking in because the blood drains from his face and you’re suddenly afraid he might pass out.
“This is because of me,” he finally says. The way he phrases it, you’re not sure if it’s a question or statement.
“It’s not—” you start, not wanting him to spiral more than he already is.
“Goddammit, you’ve been tellin’ me you’re strugglin’, and I been yammerin’ at you to trust me to take care of you and then I did the opposite. Shit,” he curses. “I’m so sorry, baby.” Elvis deflates onto the couch next to you and pulls you into his arms, kissing your forehead, your cheeks, your eyelids.
You are too tired to respond other than to brush the errant tear that runs down his cheek with your thumb. You wish you could see this sensitive side of him more often.
“Okay, here’s what’s gonna happen: I’m gonna get some food in ya, then I’m sending Jerry with you upstairs so you can rest—”
You open your mouth to argue.
“There’ll be none of that,” he hushes you. “There’s no way you’re doin’ the show tonight. And Jerry’ll get you woken up before we come up after the show, and everybody’ll be none the wiser.” He gives you a stern look.
There’s no point in fighting him or telling him how his plan could go wrong. You’re still confused exactly how things with Jack are going to be handled or if anything Elvis said while fucking your brains out earlier was going to come to fruition, but you’re not in the frame of mind to try and solve that this minute. So instead you just nod.
The food comes, somehow all of your favorites. He knows my favorite foods? runs through your mind, but you are too hungry to dwell on it. Then, as he instructed, you head upstairs with Jerry, who without judgement, sends you into Elvis’ suite to rest. You think your mind won’t possibly let you sleep, but between the food and your exhaustion, you drift off before your head hits the pillow.
*
Circle G Ranch, February 1967
You wake up early, your eyes blinking out the dull winter morning light streaming through the window. Well, it’s not early for normal standards, but in Elvis’ world, most haven’t even gone to bed yet, you think, looking at the clock. You being awake now is likely due to the fact you couldn’t keep up with the partying last night and had excused yourself much sooner than usual to go to bed.
It takes you a moment to realize where you are. Being at Elvis’ newly acquired ranch in Mississippi has been a welcome change of scenery yet is still a little disorienting. You are used to Memphis, and even occasionally California, but this place is new for you all.
Completely dissatisfied and not having any semblance of control with his career, Elvis recently decided that he wanted a place in the country, a place where they could all come to relax and ride the horses he’d bought for all the men and their wives. A place where they could work the land and have a little fun. And you wonder if he just wanted to feel a little normal for once, thinking that a ranch would do that for him, that it could give him the control he so desperately craved. That maybe it might bring him some of that happiness and zest for life that had been bled out of him for all these years, turning him into someone you barely recognized.
So, Circle G Ranch was purchased, and you’d all arrived to take in its splendor and fresh air. And it was working. Elvis seemed happier here than he’d been in a very long time, the sparkle beginning to return in those expressive eyes of his. And when Elvis was happy, everyone else was allowed to be happy too, theoretically.
You think maybe all that horseback riding and fresh air is part of the reason you were so tired last night. Turning over, you notice that Jack hasn’t come to bed. Your heart sinks, though out here in the middle of the country, it’s not like he can get in too much trouble. It’s just likely the guys are still awake.
Either way, there is an emptiness in your chest that misses your husband. Each time he leaves with Elvis, less of the man you knew returns. You are hoping that some leisure time on the ranch will help him, too. There is less temptation out here, and more opportunities for you two to spend time together.
Unfortunately, he has not been very receptive to that so far, opting to hang with the guys more than you. But considering that he has been drinking more, part of you is glad for it. If the last couple of years have shown you anything, it’s that Jack is a mean drunk, just like his father.
With that thought, you decide to get up instead of dwelling on things you cannot change. As you get dressed, you hear the door of the trailer slam.
“Jack? Is that you?”
“Who else would it be?” he replies belligerently. The tone of his voice tells you immediately all you need to know. Your heart speeds up as a warning discomfort blooms in your chest. You steel yourself before walking out into the living area.
“Morning, sweetie. Want me to make you some breakfast?” you ask in a light and easy voice. If nothing else, food might help sober him some.
Jack’s response is a grunt in the affirmative, and then he shoots you a glare, his brown eyes dull but cutting all the same. You have no idea what you may have done to upset him, but he is obviously not happy with you. The tightness in your chest increases and you force a smile, not wanting to set him off. If you act like everything is fine, he might forget what is bothering him. It happens that way sometimes and is generally the best-case scenario when he’s like this.
“Okay, I’ll get that started,” you smile, and he settles with a huff on the couch. Scurrying off to the kitchen, your smile falls and you get to cooking as quickly as possible. Steak and eggs, you think. That’s his favorite and will help clear his head.
Your mind races as you cook, trying to find a reason for his ire. You dissect every moment from the day and night before but cannot pinpoint anything in particular that you might have done to make him upset. This has you feeling uneasy, on eggshells. If you knew what you’d done, you could apologize and make up for it before things get out of hand, but it occurs to you that he might be too far gone for that anyway.
Lost in your thoughts, it takes until you smell the meat smoking to realize you may have cooked it too long. You are hoping he is too drunk to notice. With renewed focus, you plate your breakfasts and walk to the tiny table.
“Soup’s on, babe!” you say in a cheerful sing-song voice. Part of you cringes inside to hear yourself like this.
He grunts off the sofa and stumbles to the table, plopping down with a screech of the chair. You keep yourself from wincing at the sound, wanting to stay as sunny as possible as you begin to cut into the meat. You’re unable to keep from looking up at him to check his body language, his affect, as he begins shoveling eggs and toast into his mouth without so much as a word to you.
You pick at your own breakfast, your appetite low because you feel so on edge. You can sense the tension in the room and know better than to speak at this point.
“What the fuck is this?” Jack grumbles, throwing his knife and fork clattering onto the plate.
You look up quickly, your heartbeat skipping. He’s fuming now, his eyes bloodshot and narrowed at you, his scar an angry red with the flush on his cheeks. You don’t have time to piece together whatever has happened before he continues, his voice shaking low with anger.
“First, you embarrass me by taking off in the middle of everyone having a good time last night. Everybody asking, ‘What’s wrong with her, is she okay?’ blah, blah, blah,” he says with a mocking venom that sends a chill right down your spine. “And now you can’t even make me a decent breakfast. Can’t even get that right,” he growls, pounding on the table.
The table rattles and you start to shake a little, frozen to the spot. You realize that maybe Jack is more than just drunk, that maybe he took something on top of it that has him worse than usual.
“I…I’m sorry, I was just tired from all the activity yesterday, and I can make you a new—” you sputter out quickly, but still unable to move, trapped in his furious gaze.
“I don’t wanna hear your fuckin’ excuses, you stupid bitch!” he screams, exploding out of his seat, the chair toppling over behind him with a clatter. “What I want is a fuckin’ steak that’s not cooked to death!” he roars, then picks up his plate and hurls it over the table near your head. You barely have time to register what’s happening, leaning out of the way at the last second on pure instinct, and the plate careens into the wall behind you with a crash, sending food and ceramic flying everywhere.
Your brain misfires and your heart leaps to your throat, the terror in your veins pulsing through you so intensely that all you can do is turn and run. You have to escape because you don’t know what he’s gonna do, he’s never thrown anything at you before, and he’s yelled, yes, but not done anything to hurt you, and oh, god, you have to get out, get out, GET OUT.
You fly past Jack, his rage too consuming and his senses too dull to catch you as you go, and you are out the door of the trailer in a flash, not stopping to see if he’s following you. No, all you can think is you have to get away, you have to escape, and you fly through the rows of trailers housing the other men and their wives. Your heart slams against your ribcage, fueling your body forward as you sprint down the dirt road towards the barn in the distance. Your socks stick to the cold ground as you run but you don’t care—all you need is to get to the horses. You’re not sure why, but you just know that if you can get to the horses, you’ll be safe.
You run and run, only hearing the crash of the plate in your ear, feeling the splatter as it shatters behind you. Only hearing Jack’s screams, “You stupid bitch! You stupid bitch!” You don’t even register the tears burning down your cheeks as you finally reach the barn, flinging open the door with what little strength you have left and frantically looking in the stalls for the horse that Elvis gave you.
Moonbeam. You finally see her near the other end of the barn, her gray and white coloring standing out in the sea of darker equines. You skid to a stop in front of her. Knowingly, as if she can sense your distress and your need for her large, calming presence, she turns and pokes her head out of the stall, nuzzling your tear-stained face.
“Oh. Oh,” you gasp, completely out of breath from the exertion. You cling onto Moonbeam’s strong neck, her coat soft and warm under your shaking arms. Your chest heaves, desperately trying to take in air. If you could, you would jump right on Moonbeam’s back and ride as fast and as far as you can, but she is not saddled, and you have no idea how to get her ready.
The light tap on your shoulder sends you flailing into the stall door with a shriek.
He’s found me he’s found me he’s found me, is all that runs through your head, though if you were anywhere near logical, you’d know that Jack was in no state to chase you all the way to the barn.
“Hey! Hey, y/n, it’s okay! Honey, it’s just me!” You turn toward the warm, familiar voice and are met with concerned deep blue eyes, a far cry from Jack’s bloodshot and brown glaring ones.
“Oh,” is all you can manage to huff out as you look at Elvis, your muscles starting to burn and shake. Your heart is still beating too fast.
“Are you okay? What the hell happened?” Elvis says worriedly but gently, looking over you, seeming to sense how on edge you are. He goes to touch your shoulder, but you reflexively shirk backwards, knocking your elbow into the door with a thud. He quickly backs away a step, putting his hands up in a non-threatening way.
You suddenly slam into the present moment, realizing that you must look insane. Your hair is windblown, you are makeup-less with tears streaking down your face. It’s the dead of winter and you are without a coat or shoes, your socks dirty and torn and bloody from your sprint. You have food splattered down your left side, and you are gasping for air like you’re drowning.
“Y/n, I need you to tell me if you’re okay,” Elvis says, quiet and calm, as if talking to a spooked horse.
You glance over his shoulder, suddenly afraid that Jack could stumble through the barn door at any moment. Wide-eyed and frantic, you look back at Elvis. You realize he’s between you and the door and that gives you some comfort. Jack would have to get through Elvis to get to you, and while you know you’re not in your right mind, you are completely certain that Elvis wouldn’t let Jack hurt you.
With this relieving thought and your adrenaline beginning to wane, you suddenly feel extraordinarily tired as well as embarrassed that Elvis is seeing you like this. You realize he’s waiting for an answer, but you cannot speak. You don’t want to bother Elvis with any of this, so you nod your head, bobbing it up and down quickly.
Elvis tilts his head and looks at you perceptively. Of course you’re not okay, and Elvis reads it all over your face and appearance. You finally give up under his watchful gaze, shaking your head. It falls back against the door behind you, and you choke back a sob. Your exhausted body shakes with cold and the remnants of your fear, and you slide down the door, unable to support yourself any longer.
“Oh, shit, okay. Honey, it’s okay,” Elvis coos at you, stepping quickly to your side but not wanting to touch you and invade your space, lest you freak out again. Instead, he slides down the door with you, letting you lean into him for support. And you do. As you reach the cold, straw-covered ground, you lean your head onto his shoulder, his warmth radiating comfortingly into your side. You begin to shiver.
“Here, baby,” he says, taking off his thick coat and wrapping it around your shoulders. Immediately, you feel calmer, as the heat and his distinctly Elvis scent of musk and Old Spice, coupled with the woodsmoke from last night’s campfire surrounds you like a blanket.
You both sit in silence for a while as your body comes back down from the fear of Jack’s outburst. He’s yelled at you before, even called you names, but he’d never gotten so close to actually physically hurting you.
He must’ve been on something, you think. Jack would never hurt me.
I should’ve been more careful with the breakfast. I should’ve paid more attention. I should’ve stayed up last night with him. The thoughts run through your head, as though if you examine them enough, you can possibly avoid setting him off in the future.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Elvis asks quietly, sensing the wheels turning in your head as only he can.
Humiliated, you shake your head vehemently. Elvis does not need to know the specifics of your marriage. He does not need to know of your failures.
But part of you wants to tell him he’s created a monster.
Without Elvis, Jack might never have gone into the bottle. Without Elvis, he wouldn’t be taking other shit that makes him fly off the handle at any moment. Without Elvis, without Elvis, without Elvis…
You are too exhausted for blame and anger right now, though, so you bury it instead. It is what it is.
Elvis doesn’t push you, though you can tell he wants to know everything. You can practically feel that he’s quelling some deep instinct to protect you, his muscles tensing and releasing, his jaw working. But maybe he begins to piece it all together himself because he remains quiet. You are safe now, and that’s what matters, right?
And perhaps it is your heightened emotions, but you suddenly crave the nearness of the man who used to be your best friend. The man that, for reasons you don’t entirely understand, time and circumstance somehow stole from you when you weren’t looking.
So you lean into him, into his strength and sensitivity and his unique power to draw you to him, even when part of you wants to blame him for everything. Even after all these years of confusing behavior and emotional distance, you can’t begin to imagine your world without Elvis Presley in it.
And now you sit here on the cold floor of a horse barn in the middle of the Mississippi countryside in the dead of winter, wondering how in the hell your life became this.
*
Jerry wakes you gently with a whisper and a poke on your shoulder but you startle anyway, pulled out of the dream violently with a gasp.
“Sorry, y/n, but everyone is on their way up soon. EP told me to wake you,” he says apologetically.
The room is dark, and you are still exhausted, but you are somewhat grateful to be pulled out of that dream-memory. It leaves a bad taste in your mouth and a sick feeling in your stomach. You can’t help but chastise yourself for letting Jack grovel the way he did after he’d sobered up that day, for how you forgave him so easily because it certainly was not the last time he went crazy like that on you.
“Thank you, Jerry. I’ll be right out,” you say blearily. You blink the sleep from your eyes and stagger into the bathroom to make yourself presentable.
Anger at Jack festers like an open wound, but the dream has also reminded you of your anger towards Elvis about all of it. That makes you feel uneasy, especially coupled with that nagging feeling that he is hiding something from you. You don’t want to feel angry at Elvis, but some of his actions over the years have contributed to your overall dissatisfaction with your life.
You didn’t fully realize until now how upset it had made you that he just stopped being your best friend one day. You still don’t understand all of it, though you feel like these unearthed memories are trying to get you there. But it doesn’t change the fact that both he and Jack abandoned you in different ways. And this pisses you off.
Fucking men, you think, touching up your makeup and straightening your dress. Your unease deepens when you realize you are going to face the group very soon and you have absolutely no idea what Elvis is going to do or even if he will do anything. Is he just going to pull you to his side and tell Jack to go fuck himself? Is he going to act like it never happened at all? You’re not sure which is worse.
Your stomach churns and you desperately need to talk to Elvis before he does something stupid. Panic rises, but you slam it back down, willing yourself to just be normal for the time being.
Be normal. What a laugh. As if any of this is remotely normal.
Steeling yourself, you head out to the living room just as people start walking through the door. Sandy finds you immediately, giving you a concerned and questioning look. You can’t tell if she’s surprised to see you or not, but you turn from her, still annoyed that she ratted you out (even if it was in an attempt to help you).
As the room fills and bustles, something is itching at you, poking at the corners of your mind. You think maybe it is paranoia. It feels as though Red keeps shooting knowing, snide looks your way. You can’t help but examine everyone around you, searching for signs that they know. You squirm in your skin, unable to get comfortable.
It doesn’t help that Jack slides in behind you when you aren’t looking, wrapping his arms around you a little too tight. He reeks of whiskey and cigar smoke so badly you choke. “Where you been, treasure?” Jack asks a little too pointedly, suspiciously, as if he knows something is up. Your heart plummets and you resist the urge to push him away but can’t help but try to worm your way out of his clutches as Elvis strolls in the room.
Elvis’ intense eyes find you immediately, and you watch his jaw clench as he keeps himself in check. You manage to slip out of Jack’s grasp and Elvis relaxes a bit, distracted by one of the guys. It seems like he doesn’t want to make a scene over the two of you in front of the group, which has you breathing a sigh of relief.
What doesn’t have you relieved is that Jack is once again all over you as everyone finds a seat. You feel trapped as the conversation begins to flow, wanting nothing more than to go hide in Elvis’ room, far away from the fumbling hands of your husband. His hands are heavy on you, creeping up your thigh, drawing circles on your shoulder with his fingertips. It used to be a comforting gesture, but now it feels possessive.
He knows. Maybe Red already told him, you panic. Your heart gallops in your chest and you try not to lose it.
No, don’t be an idiot. He wouldn’t be this quiet if he knew, right? Jack is a few drinks in at this point, and the more he drinks, the louder he generally gets. Though based on his hands, you think that he is feeling something else altogether.
You can feel Elvis’ jealous eyes bore on you as Jack touches you, but you are caught between a rock and a hard place. If you shirk your husband’s advances to obviously, it will seem strange and garner attention, but if you don’t, you fear Elvis will give you both away. And you aren’t ready for that, not before the two of you come up with a cohesive plan.
If you are going to leave Jack (no, when you leave Jack, you remind yourself), you certainly don’t want to do it in the middle of an afterparty with the whole gang listening in.
“I’m going to get something to drink,” you finally whisper, excusing yourself with a forced smile, needing to escape Jack’s clutches. “You need anything?” you ask.
“Oh, I need something alright,” Jack breathes sloppily in your ear, attempting to be seductive and failing. But it has an edge to it that worries you.
“You’re hilarious, babe,” you say as sweet as you can while standing to make your escape. Jack takes the moment to grope your ass and you can almost feel the wave of irritation coming off Elvis from across the room. “I’ll get you a drink,” you sputter out, sliding out of Jack’s grasp, shooting Elvis a quick, warning glance to not do anything stupid. Then you scurry away as fast as you can without seeming strange.
Instead of heading to the kitchen, you make a beeline for the bathroom, desperately needing a moment away from all the eyes you feel are on you tonight, wanting things from you that you cannot give.
Fucking men, you think again, closing the door behind you.
To your shock, it doesn’t close. Jack pushes in and your heart drops into your stomach. The look in his dark and muddled eyes bodes nothing good.
“Hey, treasure,” he slurs with that disturbing edge to his voice, grabbing your waist and pulling you in for a sloppy, whisky-tinged kiss. You try rather unsuccessfully to not cringe at the feel of his lips on yours.
Maybe he’s too drunk to notice, you hope.
“I thought you were going to get drinks,” Jack says suspiciously. He locks the door behind you, warning bells exploding in your brain for a multitude of reasons, one being Elvis breaking the door down, another being whatever Jack expects of you.
“I had to pee first, babe,” you say as evenly as possible, “Now get so I can!” You playfully swat him on the shoulder, as you’ve done a million times before in your life together, but this time is different. This time, Jack’s chocolate eyes blacken as he grabs your wrist.
Your breath catches, and your heart starts to speed up as Jack’s hand tightens. “Honey, you’re hurting me. Let go,” you whisper.
His dark eyes rake over your body with what you think is lust, but it is tainted with something frightening. “Oh, I think you came in here because you wanted something else,” he says, backing you into the vanity. “You know, some of the guys are saying that you’re stepping out on me. Can you believe that?” His head buries in your neck, his lips dragging roughly against your skin.
Fucking Red.
“W-What? That’s ridiculous,” you manage to eek out, trying to lean away from his touch, but there is nowhere for you to go. Your heart is in your throat, but before you can say anything else in your defense, he’s changing the subject.
“You’re wearing this scarf again?” Jack questions because it impedes his barrage of his mouth on your neck. He unties it and you watch the pink and black silk flutter to the floor.
“It goes with my outfit,” you reply. You attempt to push him away but get nowhere, his broad chest stubbornly immobile. “Seriously, Jack, I need to pee,” you whine now, hoping that will do the trick. Every nerve in your body is on alert as he kisses your skin, as he presses into you. You can feel the bulge in his pants growing, poking into your pelvis.
Every fiber of your being wants out of this enclosed space, a space that only a moment ago felt like a refuge but now feels like a prison. You don’t want this, and if Elvis finds out, there will be hell to pay. But Jack is too far gone to listen and too strong for you to move.
Jack picks you up easily and places you on the counter, his hands pushing the unyielding fabric of your dress up your thighs so he can spread them open and step between them. It feels cold—nothing like the warmth and passion you felt when Elvis did the same thing earlier.
“I told ‘em, ‘Not my treasure. She knows her place. Besides, who else would want her anyway?’” he laughs cruelly, grinding into you. The words cut, as he intended, and you become fully aware that you are in trouble. Your stomach rolls, nausea consuming you.
“Jack, seriously, stop it. I don’t want to do this right now. You’re too drunk,” you protest, pushing your palms into his chest to try and put space between you.
But he seems to take your protests as being coy, or perhaps he just doesn’t care, and chuckles darkly into your neck. “Didn’t stop you from sucking my dick the other night.” He lathes his tongue against your collarbone, causing an icy shiver down your spine that he interprets as positive, smiling on your skin. His hands roam to your back and unzip your dress.
You squirm, but it only serves to assist in his attempt to undress you, his hands roughly pulling down your sleeves and bra straps.
He stops abruptly, to your relief. “What are those?” Jack asks, suddenly on edge, his tone changing completely. He pulls back from you and for that you are grateful but confused.
“What’s what?” you reply as he stares at your chest, his eyes narrowing, the lust being replaced fully by anger.
Jack is on you in a flash, too fast for you to register what’s happening and then he’s yanking down the front of your dress, your bra, exposing your breast.
“Jesus Jack! What are you doing?!” you shriek, trying to pull away as he manhandles you, but you have nowhere to go.
“What the fuck are those?” He pulls you roughly off the counter and spins you around to the mirror, pointing to the series of purple welts on your breasts.
Oh, fuck.
“I…uh…I…,” you sputter incoherently. Your brain misfires, too panicked to think of anything clever or even anything at all. There’s no logical explanation for the dark bruises other than them being what they are. Your mind flashes back to the other night, how Elvis had claimed you, his pouty mouth suckling your skin roughly as he’d fucked you into oblivion on the couch.
You hadn’t even thought to cover them with makeup, since Jack hadn’t seen you naked in eons.
“You stupid fucking slut! Who are you screwing?!” Jack screams, ballistic, swinging you back around to face him.
You’ve never seen him this angry, his face and scar turning beet red, his eyes like daggers. But this reaction is rich coming from him, which triggers your own anger as much as your fear.
“Really, Jack? You barely come home and when you do you smell of cheap perfume, but me, I’m the slut?!” you yell back at him, your body shaking all over, as you pull up your bra and dress. You certainly hadn’t planned to do this here, now, but you’d known in your heart for days that this was coming.
The vein in his forehead pulses dangerously, and he looks like he truly wants to hurt you. He grabs your wrists painfully as you try and zip up your dress. You’ve never seen him look at you this way, even in his worst moments, and it send a shudder of fear through you. “You’re my goddamn wife! Nobody touches my wife!” he yells, his spit flying in your face, ignoring your reasoning completely, too far gone.
Then, he unlocks the door and yanks it open so hard it slams into the wall with a crash, and then pulls you into the hallway, dragging you behind him.
“Jack, stop. You’re hurting me!” you say, trying to wrench out of his iron grasp. “What’re you doing? This isn’t the place for this,” you hiss frantically, scared of what he might do or say next.
Jack manhandles you into the living area where people are conversing and laughing at someone’s jokes, and roughly pushes you into the middle of the room.
The laughter dies out quickly as all eyes turn towards you.
Your heart pounds in your chest and heat burns your cheeks. You are furious and scared and now embarrassed, the back of your dress undone in front of everyone. You watch as Sandy’s eyes widen, immediately gleaning what’s happening, and she starts to stand, but Jerry grabs her arm to stop her.
You rub at your raw wrists, but you don’t turn to look at Elvis, who is behind you. That would give it all away, and for now you at least have control over that.
“Who is it, huh? Who are you fucking? All of them?” Jack shouts at you in front of the group, pointing aimlessly at the men. There are confused and alarmed glances on most faces, though Sandy, Jerry, and Red all attempt to cover their knowledge with surprise. Some are better than others at concealing it, but Jack is too busy looking at you to see them.
“Hey, man, cool it,” Elvis says from behind you, trying to be nonchalant and deescalate the situation, but you can hear in his voice the effort it’s taking him to be calm.
Jack whirls you around roughly by the arm to face Elvis, as though he’s trying to shame you at court in front of the king. Elvis looks at you, unable to hide his concern and budding fury completely, and you shake your head the smallest amount, for only him to see, telling him to lay low and not give himself away. You may be fucked, but this can still be contained, at least until Jack has calmed down and not everyone is watching.
“This ain’t your problem, EP!” Jack yells. It’s as though the most obvious has escaped Jack’s rage-addled mind, since he’s not even considering Elvis when he’s the biggest threat of all.
But one doesn’t yell at Elvis. Not without repercussions.
“The hell it isn’t, not when you come in here drunk and hot like this, fixin’ to ruin everyone’s mood,” Elvis warns, standing slowly. He’s not yelling yet, but his eyes are starting to turn hard and dark. Elvis can be incredibly patient, but if his temper turns, it won’t be pretty. And he was already done with Jack before this wretched display. The tension in the room thickens to a heightened degree, leaving everyone on edge.
So hot with fear and embarrassment and anger, you think you might burst into flames right here. Your heart is thundering against your ribcage and you can barely breathe. Your legs itch to run, but you are surrounded by prying eyes, trapped between the two most important men in your life.
Jack is incensed, fuming, and not backing down. He’s gearing up for a fight, which is bad. His grip on your arm tightens and you can’t help but wince. You watch as Elvis takes a step towards you both and you shoot him a look to stay put.
“Jack, stop this,” you say as calmly as you can. “Let’s just take a breath and talk somewhere else and let the party go on.”
Jack’s chest heaves and he turns on you. “Shut the fuck up, you whore!” he snarls.
Then his fist brutally collides with your face.
Everything feels like it’s moving in slow motion after that. The pain is instant, radiating through your cheek and your jaw, up into your eye socket. The metal of his rings snag at the corner of your mouth and scrape your face. Shock and disbelief course through you as the air rushes out of your lungs and hot tears spring to your eyes. The momentum of his strike sends you careening to the floor, and you manage to throw your hands out to catch yourself just before you hit the carpet.
A stunned silence falls over the group.
He hit me. He fucking hit me, you think in disbelief, through the pain, through the ringing in your ears.Jack had never, ever laid a hand on you before. You reach your hand up to your face, and it comes away bright red, bloody, your lip split. You can’t hold back the choked, shaking sob that escapes your lips.
Everything explodes at once.
The roar that comes from Elvis is like nothing you’ve heard before. The anger he’d shown you is but a fraction of what you see now as he crosses the room, a menacing bull after a matador. He strides so quickly and fiercely with those long legs of his that Jack barely has time to register what is happening before Elvis punches him square in the jaw, then rapidly again right in the nose. You can hear the sickening break of it which turns your stomach. Or maybe it’s your own pain doing that, you’re not sure at this point.
Elvis doesn’t even say anything, so blacked out with rage that he can’t even speak. You watch from the floor as Jack stumbles back and his eyes widen in shock, then confusion.
“EP? What the—?” Jack starts to say, holding his nose as it starts to bleed down his face, but before he can get it out, Elvis has him by the throat. Those long fingers wrap around and begin to squeeze as Elvis walks Jack back into the wall. Shocked, you watch from the floor as Jack’s face begins to turn red and he begins to sputter, clawing at Elvis’ hand and arm. True fear begins to play over Jack’s features.
Suddenly, the guys are all yelling and rushing around you. Sandy’s hands yank you up and back out of the fray, and you feel dizzy, swaying on your feet. You’re not sure how, but she manages to get you on the couch, zipping up your dress in a flash, and then examines your injuries.
“Are you okay? Y/n, are you okay?” she asks frantically, but with the commotion in the room and the fuzzy white noise in your head, she feels a million miles away. Your eyes are locked on the insane sight in front of you, freezing you with shock.
The guys are desperately trying to pull Elvis off Jack, but his hand is like a vise around Jack’s throat. He’s strangling him, truly choking him because you can see Jack’s face start to go purple and his eyes begin to roll back.
Three of the guys are on Elvis’ back now while Red chops at his arms, trying to break his hold on Jack’s throat unsuccessfully.
Oh my god, if Elvis kills him, I’ll lose them both and it’ll be all my fault, you realize.
You rise to your feet, ignoring Sandy’s protests, ignoring the dizziness and throbbing in your head, and you somehow, through pure will, push yourself through the throng of men to Elvis’ side.
“Elvis! Elvis, you have to stop this,” you say firmly, staring into his beautiful, terrifying face. His eyes are black and unyielding, almost unrecognizable. His jaw is so clenched in his murderous fury that you think he’ll crack his teeth. You’re not even sure if he can hear you because he doesn’t give any indication that he can, but you have to get him to stop.
“Baby, you can’t do this. You’re killing him. You can’t kill him. Satnin, I can’t lose you and if you do this, we’ll both be lost,” you murmur, pleading in his ear for only him to hear, hoping against hope it gets through to him.
You watch Elvis blink a few times, as if waking briefly from his trance, his shoulders relaxing just enough that when Red slams down on his arms again, they give way. Jerry pulls you backwards with a yelp, as Jack coughs, sucking in deep, rattling breaths as he slumps down the wall.
You do not go to him.
Elvis’ lapse in rage is short lived, for he sees Red and turns on him quickly with another roar, throwing brutal punches. You see on Red’s face that he knows exactly why Elvis is coming for him. A few punches land hard, and you hear more of the crack of flesh on flesh. You can’t help but smile a little inside at Red getting what’s coming to him, but horrified at yourself, you push that thought right out of your brain.
But there is a reason Red is Elvis’ bodyguard. He’s tough and scrappy and much more prepared for a fight than Jack was. You can see he doesn’t want to hurt Elvis but blocks and dodges some of his punches more readily. Four of the Mafia surround Elvis now, grabbing his arms, his waist, holding him back from Red, holding him down.
Elvis struggles against them and lets out one last terrifying primal cry before they get him subdued, pushing him to his knees. His chest heaves as they continue to hold his arms, his chin lowered, those lethal blue eyes peering out from under the black hair falling in his face. They still home in on Jack and Red, who are licking their wounds at the other end of the living room.
Adrenaline courses through you, your heart threatening to pound through your ribs, the blood rushing in your ears, as you watch four men have to hold down the man you love to keep him from killing the men that hurt you. And you aren’t entirely sure how to feel about that. A small part of you is frightened by this side of Elvis, how he is gone so deep into his rage that the man you know is barely there at all. And you can’t help but feel responsible for this turn in him.
But another part of you feels vindicated and relieved and almost proud of his defense of you. Part of you swells with so much love for him that you want to fall to your knees and kiss him as if your life depended on it.
“You sonofabitch. You fucking wife-stealing asshole,” Jack rasps out bitterly at Elvis, cowering on the floor with Red and a couple of the other men surrounding him.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” some of the guys cry, having to hold Elvis back from going ballistic again. His glare at Jack is so fierce, you think the look alone might kill him from across the room.
But you don’t stop to find out because you wrench out of Jerry’s grasp and somehow make it over to Jack before your brain catches up with your body. You don’t even have time to think twice before your hand pulls back and slaps open-handed across Jack’s cheek, the smack reverberating in your ears and stinging through your hand and up your arm.
But you don’t care.
Silence falls over the room once more. Jack stares up at you wide-eyed, with shocked indignation.
“Shut the fuck up, Jack,” you seethe, now fully infuriated that the man you once loved had hurt you so badly, in so many ways. “You lost me a long time ago, and Elvis had nothing to do with it, you cheating, lying, drunken bastard!” You lean over into his face, your voice low and biting, “And don’t you ever, ever, lay your hands on me again, or next time I won’t stop him from tearing you apart.”
You watch the mixture of surprise and contempt and fear play over Jack’s features for a moment before stepping back. You look back at Elvis and see his lip curl into a sly grin.
And then it all hits you at once. All your mistakes. Everyone staring at you in shock. Your dirty laundry aired out for all to see. The blood and pain bruising on your face, your head pounding, your vision hazy. The mortifying violence that has occurred in your name. Your lover almost murdering your husband.
Oh, god.
Suddenly, vertigo hits you hard and you are so dizzy that the room swims and sways in front of you. The bile rises so quickly that you don’t even have time to process what is happening before you are hurling your dinner onto the shag carpet.
Something is quite wrong, you realize. All your anger and doubts and regrets and love drain from you with a tingling coolness, and everything and everyone feels very far away, their cries muffled by the pain in your head. Then you fall into a dark oblivion, leaving the pain and consequences of your actions far, far behind, and you wonder fleetingly if it was all worth it.
Taglist:
@atombombbibunny @yesimwriting @uselessbutinteresting @mirandastuckinthe80s @dark-as-love
@domaniquessidehoe @im-lame-irl @allybrooke05 @hangmanswhore
@jazmin2211 @kvcssghbjbcd @coldonexx @dudinhahoff @whatstruthgottodowithit @tiredbuthappy @amiets2 @saintmagx
@kvcssghbjbcd @butlersluvbot @babydollie43 @vainbimbo @meladollsims @wstelandbaby @dre6ming @normatural @ash-omalley @xcallmetaniax @galvz-42 @thejezebel @fullmetal-falcon @robinismywife @dre6ming @seaweedbrain00 @amiets2 @mslizziesblog @heisatroubleinapinksuit @calusussss @dont-feel-so-good-peter @rainydayz101 @pizzaisrelationshipgoals
@liaaacantwrite @kittenlittle24 @kaitaesupremacy @butler-trouble @eliseinmemphis @russian-soft-bitch @tattywood
@sassanoe @re3kin @thella @suspiciousmidge @hiddlepiddlediddlewiddle @carolinesbookworld @juggernort @aesthetic-lyss @stitchattacks @donnamarie23 @ab4eva
@fic-over-cannon @lacyluver
Reblogs, likes, comments + feedback are extremely appreciated! Please help support your content creators!
#Pink Scarf#Pink Scarf Part 17#elvis#elvis presley#if you’re looking for trouble#you came to the right place#elvis 2022#elvis movie#elvis presley x reader#elvis x reader#austin butler elvis#elvis smut#elvis fic#elvis presley smut#elvis imagine#elvis presley imagine#austin!elvis x reader#austin!elvis smut#austin!elvis x y/n#austin!elvis imagine#elvis x y/n#elvis x you#elvis presley x y/n#elvis presley x you#elvis presley fanfiction#austin butler
554 notes
·
View notes
Note
What’s up. I too have gotten hooked on Black Butler. After 3 years of not being in the fandom anymore. I have a fanfic idea for you.It’s a Ciel x reader so it’s going to be more on the angst side but still fluffy and funny if you look at it from an angle. It’s Ciel. C’mon.
So basically the reader is very similar to him. Being that she also has intense trauma and is extremely stoic and cold. On the other hand she’s also considered eerie and ominous looking. Soon Ciel after a while starts having feeling for the reader, he sees her as someone who understands him completely and fully. Ciel starts showing that he’s interested in being in a more intimate relationship with the reader other then just being partners. The reader of course rejects all these moves even though she also likes him, not only because he’s engaged but because she knows he’s a manipulator. After a long time of driving Sebastian insane with the pinning and rejecting, Lizzy finds out about Ciel’s feelings for the reader and confronts both of them. She’s lightly bitterly and is crying at first but she does want Ciel to be happy and is good friends with the reader (and she’s an Angel) so she doesn’t hold him back. Now the reader and Ciel are in a situation where they can show there feeling for each other freely but have no idea where to start.
Just so that you have a small reference to what I mean by a stoic and eerie looking reader I have a drawing of my Black Butler OC that you can take notes from (you don’t have to just here if you want lmfao)
Thank you, hopefully it’s not too long or complicated. You don’t have to write this if you don’t feel comfortable enough just tell me if you’re not going to write it or not. Have a good day!
Troubled Love - Ciel Phantomhive
A/N: I’m so sorry this took so long! This is a long one that I wanted to take time on and work on when I felt like I could write this to the best of my ability. First of all, your drawing is ABSOLUTELY GORGEOUS!!! I’m literally in love with it! I hope this turned out ok! I also completely skipped over the part where the reader is an angel and didn’t see it until I finished this, so I hope it’s ok that I left that bit out. Let me know if you’d like me to rewrite this properly <3
Warning/s: mentions of night terrors, mentions of panic attacks (no descriptions)
You had met the Earl Phantomhive around the time his parents had passed. You had met the Phantomhive through the grapevine of the Queen’s ‘guard dogs’, and didn’t really get to know the young boy until he returned, demon butler by his side. It was then the two of you were paired for missions. The Queen saw similarities between the two of you, and thought it would be well for you to become friends with the Earl.
You see, due to your past, you weren’t the most sociable person out there. You preferred to keep to yourself, and refrained from interacting with others as much as you could. It played in your favor that most feared you, both due to your reputation with the queen as well as the way you presented yourself. It was almost as if no one could touch you.
Until you officially met Ciel. The two of you worked well together. What you lacked in skill and intelligence, he made up for, and vice versa. It also helped that Sebastian was there. In fact, the demon butler and his master took a liking to you, even going as far as inviting you to stay at the Estate when they learned that you didn’t have an official residence. You agreed hesitantly. While you were comfortable around the two, you couldn’t bear the thought of being vulnerable around them. You were traumatized at a young age, leaving you plagued with nightmares and flashbacks from time to time. Opening yourself up to Ciel was a huge step for you, one you were unsure how to handle.
Ciel, on the other hand, was ecstatic. He’d never admit it, partially due to his personality and partially due to his engagement to Lizzy, but the Earl had begun developing feelings for you. It was more than a petty middle school crush that other boys his age experienced. He had been feeling this way for quite some time now, and couldn’t quite name his emotions until he spoke of it with Sebastian. It was worth the endless teasing that lasted weeks, but Ciel had now finally realized how much he truly loved you. And now you’re going to be living with him.
Ciel was unsure of how to show his love for you without a) making it obvious, and b) letting Lizzy know. Don’t get him wrong, Ciel truly did like Lizzy and he didn’t want to do anything to hurt her, but he loved you more than her. The boy opted to spend time with you doing small things, such as reading together or just simply sitting in the same room as you as the two of you worked separately. You were hesitant of all this at first, because you were used to being alone so often, but over time you became more comfortable.
This time spent between the two of you went from silence to small chatter. Ciel would ask how your day has been, and you’d answer then return the question. It took months of living together and getting accustomed to each other’s emotions to begin discussing deeper topics. You were both severely traumatized children who never learned how to cope with said trauma. Sure, Ciel had Sebastian, but he was a demon and therefore was incapable of feeling human emotions. So he tried talking to you.
Ciel wouldn’t ever say much about the death of his family or the events that came afterwards, but he wanted to be vulnerable around you. The boy hoped that this would bring the two of you even closer, and then he’d be comfortable enough to confess his love for you. Except every time he tried to have a deep conversation, you would turn him down almost immediately. There was one week in particular when you were having vivid night terrors, causing you to get only a few hours of sleep a night. You would wake up screaming until you couldn’t anymore, and often suffered intense panic attacks afterwards. Usually Sebastian would try and help but you would only push him away, barely muttering about how you were alright and didn’t need any help.
These night terrors always woke Ciel, and after the third night he came bursting into your room in the place of Sebastian. He desperately tried to calm you down, to try and talk to you, but you refused his help. It broke his heart to see you this way, and to know that you were unwilling to accept his help hurt him even more. How could the two of you be together if you wouldn’t let him help you?
The next day during breakfast, Ciel offered to let you speak to him anytime about anything you needed. Whether it be to get something off of your chest, or just to rant about anything, he would be there for you. You weren’t sure how you felt about his offer, so you only nodded and took a bite of your food.
The Earl Phantomhive invited you on an afternoon walk after dinner. At first you hesitantly agreed, only because Sebastian would be following closely. Yet once you saw the extravagant clothing the boy was wearing, you quickly retreated back to your room and feigned illness. It took some convincing, but Ciel finally left you to ‘recover’. In reality, you curled up on the floor, leaning against the door as you silently cried to yourself.
You were so torn between your emotions. It was blatantly obvious that Ciel saw you as more than just a friend, and he wanted to take your relationship to the next level. You wondered if your own emotions were just as easy to see. You wouldn’t admit it just yet, but you were beginning to fall for Ciel yourself. Although you hadn’t opened up much to the boy, it was easy to feel comfortable and see him. The two of you shared similar pasts, and you hadn’t met anyone else that made you feel as safe and comfortable as the Earl did.
Despite your feelings for the boy, there was one major red flag following closely behind him. Ciel was a master manipulator. It was clear as day that Ciel knew just how to act to get what he wanted, knew what to say to get his way. You weren’t even sure if he had manipulated you at some point, he was that good. Oh, and he’s also engaged.
You wanted to take Ciel up on all of his romantic gestures. You wanted to go on late night walks with him, go to balls (even though neither of you particularly enjoyed them), or even just spend the evening together almost every night of the week. Yet you couldn’t bring yourself to give in to the urge.
This carried on for months. Ciel would ‘discreetly’ ask you out on small dates, and you would turn him down and most commonly retreat to your room. Once you left, Ciel’s small smile would fall and he would immediately turn to Sebastian with downcast eyes.
Sebastian was the only one Ciel could confess to at this point. He couldn’t go to Izzy, obviously, and he couldn’t go to you, so he was left with his demon butler. It was a part of their bedtime routine now. Sebastian would dress Ciel for bed, asking him about his day and his plans for the next. Ciel would grumble about paperwork before quickly changing the subject to his failed attempts of asking you out. He’d seek advice from the demon before turning in for the night.
It wasn’t until six months after Ciel’s first attempt to ask you out that Lizzy was caught in the crossfire. It wasn’t intentional, and Ciel would have never said anything if he were aware of her presence.
Lizzy had planned another surprise visit and stay at the Phantomhive Manor. She had arrived later than expected due to an extreme thunderstorm causing a delay in travel. Upon arriving at the manor, she let herself in and immediately ran to where she assumed Ciel would be in his study as her maid carried in her baggage. Lizzy quickly but silently ran to Ciel’s study, throwing open the door.
“Ciel!” she squealed in the highest pitch her voice could achieve. “Supri– oh.” Lizzy frowned slightly when she noticed the empty room. It looked as though Ciel hadn’t been there in a while. Shaking her head, the girl grinned widely yet again when she could hear faint voices coming from down the hall. Upon further expectation, she realized the voices were coming from the library.
Elizabeth wasted no time in bursting into the room rather loudly, causing you and Ciel to quite literally jump out of your seats with fear. Ciel’s hand even ghosted over the firearm he had tucked into his boot.
“Ciel!” Lizzy squeals again. She runs over to the two of you, about to tackle the poor boy in a hug before realizing what was going on between the two of you.
You had to admit, this wasn’t the ideal position to see your fiance and your best friend in. It wasn't anything too terrible, but it could definitely raise some questions. You were practically laying in Ciel’s lap, your legs draped over his as your head rested against his shoulder. A book rested against your legs where Ciel was reading to you a mere moment ago. You both were dressed in your night clothes, and overall this was a very rare sight of Ciel.
Lizzy’s smile immediately dropped to a deep frown, her bright green eyes welling with tears. “Y/N? Ciel? What’s going on?”
You jumped out of Ciel’s lap and to the other side of the couch. Your heart was beating out of your chest, fear coursing through your veins. This is exactly why you never wanted to act on your feelings for Ciel, for fear of ruining not only his relationship with Lizzy, but also your own.
“Lizzy,” Ciel says quickly, standing and tossing the forgotten book onto the couch. He tried to reach out to the girl but she only took a step back and wiped at her eyes.
“I should have seen it coming,” she chokes through a broken cry. “I knew this day would come.” It takes a moment for Lizzy to calm herself down, but she wipes the last of her tears away as Ciel tries to comfort her.
“It’s ok,” she cuts him off from his senseless babbling, pushing his outstretched arms away. “I’ve known for a long time that this day would come.” Glossy green eyes met your e/c ones as she smiled softly. “I can see how much the two of you love each other,” she confesses. “And as much as I love the two of you, I can’t bear knowing I am what is keeping you from being together.” Lizzy’s gaze shifted to her fiance. “I love you Ciel. So much that I want you to be happy.” Her warm hands slowly reached for his own, giving them a gentle squeeze. “So I’m ending our engagement.” Pressing one last kiss against Ciel’s cheek, Lizzy let go.
“I can only hope the best for the two of you.” Just like that, she was gone.
You and Ciel couldn’t bear to look at each other, let alone speak. You weren’t sure how to feel. You finally had the freedom to be with the man you were learning to love, yet at what cost? Did you just lose your best friend? What do you know? Ciel was asking himself the same questions. But it didn’t take long for him to drop beside you back on the couch, slowly turning to you.
“What do we do now?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.
“I don’t know,” Ciel confessed. “To be honest, I think I need some time to process this.”
You nodded, then stood quickly. “Of course, I understand.” You retreated back to your bedroom as soon as possible, diving under the covers and staring at the ceiling. You were finally free to express your love for Ciel, yet unsure what the next steps were. It was going to take time to figure out your relationship status with the Earl, and what to do next, but it will be worth the wait.
#ciel#ciel phantomhive#ciel x reader#ciel phantomhive x reader#black butler x reader#kuroshitsuji#blabk cutler#black butler ciel#black butler ciel phantomhive#lizzy midford#sebastian michaelis#comfort#platonic#x reader#black butler fanfiction#black butler sebastian#black butler#ciel fantomhive#ciel phantomhive x reader comfort#ciel phamtonhive
123 notes
·
View notes
Text
I love 9-1-1 so much!
I have fallen in love with tv shows before, watching episodes religiously as they aired weekly. 9-1-1 has been different for me though, it’s become more like an obsession. In some ways that’s bad, it’s consuming my mind a lot of times and it’s distracting me from other things I need to get done. However, really getting into the fandom of this show has also been wonderful for me, it’s made me so happy, actually getting involved with other fans and talking to people the last couple months has been so fun! You all are amazing, funny, talented people and I’m truly grateful that I’ve been able to interact with you!
Now, I’ve heard about some toxicity within the fandom, Buddie and BuckTommy shippers turning against each other and fighting about what’s best for the characters. (Which btw, isn’t really up to us anyway)
I personally haven’t seen a lot of that, who knows, maybe I’m just ignoring it because I don’t want to see it. Either way I always try to keep a very open and and neutral stance when it comes to shipping. I let myself enjoy the stories, the edits, the fan art, and the speculation. However, I also try to stay grounded in the reality of what’s happening in the movie/book/tv show.
When it comes to 9-1-1 right now, between Buddie and BuckTommy I’m not picking sides. I like both ships the same, and I don’t think that’s gonna change any time soon. I really, really enjoy both ships! (Plus the fan fiction for both are amazing, so I’m LIVING)
Buddie is part of the reason that I started watching in the first place, Buck and Eddie are my favorite characters. I love them both to death, and regardless of their relationship status they have something special, no one can deny that! Their friendship is beautiful and deep, they do truly love each other, they’re family, they will always be there for each other whether or not they end up in a romantic relationship. I’m honestly just happy to see them together in any capacity. And yes, I will happy, overjoyed even, if they decide to make Buddie cannon, but I’ll also be happy if their relationship remains as it is.
As far as Buck and Tommy go I was surprised when the kiss happened, but OH MY GOD… I was totally there for it! I’m actually really happy with this storyline so far, (even if the second hand embarrassment nearly killed me during the first date)I think that they’ll be great together, I really can’t wait to see them getting to know each other more! Wherever this goes, I’m here for it! I’m excited to see Buck explore his bisexuality with Tommy, and learn about himself through this relationship. I’m also excited to learn more about Tommy! And if they don’t end up being very long term, I really hope that they stay friends.
I’m really enjoying being into a ship that’s canon for once, it makes me really happy. I don’t think there’s ever been a ship (apart from these ones) that I’ve been into that have even had a remote chance of becoming cannon (Stucky… my first love!)
Anyway, I digress, the writers and the actors KNOW these characters, we know that if something felt off it the story, they’d want to do right by the characters. We know for a fact how much Oliver and Ryan love Buck and Eddie, and if it feels right and true to them Buddie will happen. If it doesn’t feel right to put them in a romantic relationship, to me, it’s fine because regardless we have these two men with an absolutely beautiful and meaningful friendship, and I’m always here for that!
All of this to say, all this fighting about “who’s right for who” isn’t doing anyone any good. I mean we’re all in this fandom because we love this show RIGHT!? Being on platforms like this is meant to bring us TOGETHER!
SO WHY THE HELL ARE SOME OF US TRYING TO RIP EACH OTHER APART BECAUSE WE HAVE DIFFERENT OPINIONS ON A DAMN SHIP!?
Everyone is entitled to their own opinions after all… so yeah, share your opinion, just don’t be rude about it. Putting someone down because they disagree with you doesn’t make you right… it just makes you mean. It scares people away, maybe makes them feel like they’re not safe in this community. I’ve seen it a couple times too, with myself and others, being afraid to make a post because of the possibility of hate.
In my experience you’re meant to feel safe in a fandom, in a community because you’re sharing your love for something with others who love it just as much as you do! We should love each other like we love these characters!
To conclude, all I need is for our boys to be happy, that’s really all we should care about here anyway. It shouldn’t necessarily matter who’s dating who, as long as they’re HAPPY! I’m really just along for the ride, I’m here for whatever they decide to do with Buddie and/or BuckTommy in the future. Buck and Eddie are my loves, and we barely know Tommy, but I’m starting to like him already, as long as they’re happy, I am too!
Thank you for reading my TedTalk…
Sorry if it doesn’t sound completely coherent, stringing words together isn’t always my strong suit…🫠
#911 abc#9-1-1#buddie#bucktommy#tevan#eddie diaz#evan buckley#tommy kinard#time to rant#buck and eddie#I really love this show
23 notes
·
View notes
Note
Can you do some more comics with Francis mosses
I can, but the problem is
That I’m pretty much out of ideas and I’m progressively getting tired of tnmn fandom
Ppl who look at my tags probably noticed that 😓
More of my thoughts under read more for curious ppl
(short answer maybe I will do more, but I desperately need a break from tnmn)
! Just a general warning: this came out kinda long + sort of venty
Originally I planned to do 1 comic drop and move on, but got stuck bc ppl liked tnmn comics and kept asking for more (and still do-)
Generally I don’t mind doing more if the ideas are there, but I want to address this: I’m tired
I know blowing up is usually a good thing and I appreciate people enjoying my stuff
But it’s exhausting to see that tnmn is the only type of content which is relevant, to the point that my own projects or stuff I enjoy are just kinda.. ignored
It’s fair – again my blog is heavily fandom based
(+Tsp were and still is kinda the focus)
But with tnmn fandom it’s a bit… different
Maybe I’m biased and it’s just my negative experience with tiktok comments
Remember this art?
cleaning up transphobic comments was.. um tough
Again, I get that you can’t be in that neat bubble completely sheltered from negativity
Humans are just assholes by nature really/j
So I was expecting the backlash, but not that much
I think maybe tsp fandom spoiled me a bit (in a good way), bc I got a feeling that everyone in tsp was positive of any lgbt+ headcanons and just generally more supportive
(don’t get me wrong, there ARE problems in tsp community too, taking narrators design controversy into account as one of the examples)
Obviously every fandom always has it’s own issues, show me at least one fandom that didn’t have some sort of meaningless controversy or some sort of problematic people in it
It happens
But it leaves a bad taste in your mouth sometimes
And for me personally it only added to not so pleasant experience
The thing I also noticed, when I interacted with other fandoms
Ppl wrote positive stuff first and foremost, not really asking for anything
Here it’s just “hey more. I want more. Do more. Do this character. Do this. Do more.”
The only reason I kept doing more, because likes, reblogs, views – these comics get a ton of attention
there is a audience to please alright
But this thing comes with a pressure tho
and it shows
so let me illustrate
This bookcase
Is my shame
Because I was so rushing, I just copied and colour corrected this bookcase from my diploma comic and pasted it here in hopes for the best
💥IT LOOKS HORRIBLE OKAY💥
Usually it’s normal to take materials used in other projects
the not so normal part is
to leave it like that because your stress reducing tea doesn’t work and you don’t really have time to redraw it
my m en ta l s t a t e i s f i n e ah ah h ah ah
Ok but jokes aside: it’s really tempting, to just abandon everything and produce content like some sort of content farm
But I don’t want to, I’m forcing myself and it makes my art worse
Yes it’s subtle, new people won’t even see this
But I’m not improving
And I don’t enjoy just anxiously popping out comics because everyone keeps asking
I can give it my all to something when I’m passionate, but just “hey I’m getting attention” is not the best motivator
Attention like that does get to my head, I know that I will probably give in again and do more, bc I will compare my posts engagement
But what’s the point of recognition, when you feel.. so numb about it…
Sorry for a mountain of text and thank you for ppl who actually took their time to read it
It’s been building up for a while and I feel like people need to know the reason why I’m not so enthusiastic about making “more”
I’m not necessarily completely abandoning this fandom
I still plan to do ask/suggestions event for STP (I’m just making sure I can dedicate my time to it, that’s why it’s taking so long) and I can add tnmn to the mix
Like STP+tnmn kind of deal
But for now – I need a break
At least for a little bit
#bear answers#vent post#nothing serious just a bunch not so positive thoughts#tnmn#that’s not my neighbor#tnmn fandom#thoughts#fandom thoughts#apologies for possible mistakes/typos
30 notes
·
View notes
Text
begging twitter to stop showing me tweets of people with no reading comprehension misrepresenting things I said but since i was going to make this more in-depth post Anyway .
when i say imogen is better read as a metaphor for generational trauma than she is a metaphor for queerness or chronic pain, i’m not talking about legitimate traits she has as a character. obviously she is queer. obviously she experiences some form of chronic pain (though i would argue her magic better suits chronic illness not pain because she states that it’s Not always painful, but it does always influence how she lives her life).
when i talk about how well she’s understood as a metaphor, i’m talking about when i’m looking at her as a part of a story, as an arc that i am witnessing rather than in the more typical fandom way of this is a fictional person who interacts with exandria as real people do. and that is a fun way to interact with characters, i enjoy it a lot! but when i say imogen (to me, as i for some reason have to clarify on my own blog which implies that these are my own opinions and not absolute fact that needs to be accepted by people on the internet with different experience and opinions than me) is best read as a metaphor for generational trauma, it isn’t a dismissal of her queerness or her illness, it’s just me thinking looking at her from that angle is more compelling.
imogen has been one of my favourite characters and least favourite characters in campaign 3 because i tend to analyse her through a lens of generational trauma and she ends up looking extremely familiar to me as someone with a family that carries their’s heavily which is as comforting as it is frustrating.
for me the main thing that looking at imogen through a queer lens of literary analysis fails to account for is harm. on the one hand - the harm that imogen experiences, not because of how people treat her for who she is, but that exists simply as a factor of her being ruidusborn. on the other hand a the harm that imogen causes. not to say that she is some malicious villain waiting for her chance to harm others, but that there are things about being ruidusborn that very much do incline her towards violence in a way that she might not otherwise be - i think about the conversation after she went nuclear and chet brought up people being scared of her connecting that to her father keeping distance. the only harm that queerness provides comes from society, and that isn’t the case in exandria. even metaphorically, the thing that society fears in ruidusborn people (while it has certainly been exacerbated by centuries of superstition and practices like we saw in zephrah) is a tangible threat. imogen’s magic when not controlled can wipe out a city block, but queerness poses no threat.
that’s why i’m not compelled by imogen’s backstory as a queer metaphor. not because i’m some imodna anti (i very emphatically am not but this fandom kinda makes me wish i was sometimes) or because i think exandria’s lack of homophobia/transphobia means that characters can’t be viewed through a queer lens or that critical role doesn’t contain some of the most compelling queer metaphor i’ve encountered. imogen just isn’t one of those characters, not because she isn’t queer, or because i think her story shouldn’t resonate with queer people, just because i find the generational trauma angle more consistent.
it’s similar with the chronic illness angle, which i will refer to as illness but you’re welcome to emphasise pain, we all have different vocabularies for the experiences we face. but just to give context i’m running off laura’s comparison of imogen’s powers to her own sensory issues and anxiety which while often Lead to pain, fall more into chronic illness in imogen’s context to me. and i do think there’s substantial comparison for imogen’s story as a metaphor for chronic illness, but i think that was much more true earlier in the campaign than it is looking at her from the current context. her beginning motivation being her search for knowledge about her powers really resonated with me as similar to someone experiencing symptoms of chronic illness but who could neither figure out how to treat them or what they were caused by.
but then imogen got more information, specifically about her mother, and her priority became not understanding her powers but understanding her current state as a person - how had she become the person she is, inclusive of her powers but very much emphasising her lack of a mother who became more and more present in the unweaving web of ruidusborn lore. that’s when i was less compelled by the chronic illness reading and more compelled by viewing her as a metaphor for generational trauma. had that not been enough on its own, imogen’s visit to relvin and her recent thoughts on her mother would be enough to convince me.
the part that makes me hesitant about this post is that generational trauma is so intensely linked to the contexts under which it is created and perpetuated. so i can’t really point to specific scenes as evidence of specific things that prove generational trauma is the most compelling and i don’t really want to unload that much of my own experience to clarify my thoughts on a character. but vaguely, i will say that imogen’s relationship with her parents is obviously the clearest source for my reading her as a metaphor for generational trauma. the fact that relvin, the only person in her family without the thing that draws society’s ire, is also the person that she has the most willing anger at is also indicative of this to me. in general, imogen’s rage that so easily transitions into sadness and vice versa comes out a lot in conversations about parents. most recently, i think about ashton’s lovely speech about found family and his distrust about parents and how as they were speaking, laura seemed to be playing imogen as sadly in thought versus months ago when fearnes parents showed up with striking similarities to liliana and imogen’s words of wisdom were let’s hurt them all.
and like. to me that angersadnessvengeancegrief is particularly evocative of the feelings that arise when you are in a family with generational trauma, especially when you are aware of it. because imogen can and has followed the logical steps that have led her and her family to where they are. early on when recounting her relationship with her dad she seemed wistful but understanding of the distance between them. in nearly every encountered with a parental figure imogen seems to be some level of distrusting for the most part, but she’s still holding out hope that her mother will see the good side. and further, there’s the complication of how dire her losing her powers seems to be, and how inextricable her powers are from every aspect of her life. she’s also southern and from a blue collar family. this means nothing except it also means a whole lot.
this is messy and not well organised but if you want a good essay you’re gonna have to pay me money for it but tldr: i say things i believe on my This Is My Opinion Blog and i don’t think i need to explain my thoughts to strangers on the internet but this was already half written in my drafts and if people are gonna shit on my opinions please at least do it in good faith and shit on my actual opinions not the ones you’ve decided i have.
#it’s just the. your mother leaves and you know nothing you don’t even know that she Chose to leave you just know she’s gone#and your father is there in every way he can be which isn’t Enough#and then. you do the same thing your mom did and you find the answers she found but. you’re finding a way out of it . not Completely .#and not Perfectly. but enough that you’re angry that the world wasn’t kind enough to her to give her a way out#and you’re angry that she probably wouldn’t have taken a way out if she found it#and you’re just. getting hurt by her over and over and you’re putting your life and friends at risk over and over in the thin Hope#that this time when she hears you out she’ll actually Hear you#also . just in general. i do not worship the ground of the mn campaign for anyone to accuse me of thinking cr characters can’t be queercoded#i’m stronger than you . i see the queerness of fjorester which only people with real reading comprehension understand .#anyway this is all light hearted if i was actually like . Mad this would be like. one sentence long#imogen temult#cr3#critical role#the temults#cr meta#listen man. imogen is personal to me i hate her i love her i want to hit her i want to hug her i can’t look at her i wanna study her#my posts
90 notes
·
View notes
Text
Hanako VS The World
Nuance and critical thinking are two things that are very important when it comes to analyzing a character, especially when they’re written to be and portrayed as morally ambiguous. Along with that, main relationships aren’t always good or healthy. Bias is always taken towards a main character or fan-favorite, and that can lead to a very big lack of the aforementioned nuance and critical thinking. What does that matter? Well I’ll tell you what!
When it comes to fan bias no other character gets mischaracterized, excused, or completely misunderstood more than Hanako when it comes to the Tbhk fandom as a whole. And I think that it’s important to -I don’t know- understand the title character of the manga at least a little, because understanding him can really help with understanding everything else. So here’s that.
Selfishness
To start off, Hanako is very similar to the rest of the cast, in the sense that he is extremely selfish. Selfishness as a whole isn’t always malicious, in the cases of Kou and Yashiro that should be pretty obvious. With Aoi & Akane their selfishness manifests into parasitic and mutually destructive behaviors. And someone like Teru it’s selfishness caused by forced maturity and obligation, causing him to isolate and only trust himself and his ideals. Hanako comparatively is selfish for unidentified reasons, but it’s to be assumed it stems from Amane. Amane being depicted as lonely, self-interested, and generally antisocial, but all of this behavior isn’t dangerous is it? In the hands of someone like Amane, who is just a child, he can’t do anything outrageous (other than murder). Hanako on the other hand is capable of a lot, and with such capabilities, he does almost everything in his own self-interest and to the detriment of those around him.
Severance
Back to comparing characters, the fact that Teru and Akane’s interaction is shown right next to Nene and Hanako’s I think is a good point for comparing self interest. Teru throughout the boundary doesn’t tell Akane that Aoi isn’t returning, Aoi knows this (assumedly), Akane doesn’t, and Teru doesn’t tell him until they go past the point of no return. This isn’t entirely a selfish act on Teru’s part, Akane most likely would’ve died had he been told and stayed back, and Aoi didn’t say anything either. But it is still that, selfish. But see Hanako’s side in the same chapter, he doesn’t tell Nene anything either, he specifically doesn’t assure her that he isn’t disappearing permanently, he instead intentionally misleads her into thinking the opposite. And it’s not the first time he’s done something like this before either.
Everything for you for me
In the Picture Perfect arc, he forces Nene into a fake reality (along with Kou but he’s not important right now) and tries to make her stay. He pretends to not know what’s happening, and only breaks once he knows the illusion is fully broken, and then he just kidnaps her. If this really were an act of love or respect for Nene, He wouldn’t have been so forceful, he does everything in his power to make sure she doesn’t leave. And when he’s finally convinced, he switches to a different idea. When Nene said she wanted to live forever, Hanako instead of realizing Nene didn’t want unwanted help, he then went on to sacrifice her best friend so she could live. As he says himself, he values Nene over Aoi, which -and I can’t believe people think it is- is the most non romantic and messed up thing he could’ve done. He wants what he wants for Nene, not what she wants for herself, and that should show people that he does most everything in his own self interest.
Now, is he doing it maliciously or is he just doing what he thinks is best. Both, but that’s not exactly an excuse. He refuses to change, doing the same thing over and over again, always taking his beliefs seriously and disregarding what anyone else has to say because he thinks he knows best.
Ending notes
This isn’t to say Hanako is a bad character, he’s incredibly well written and it does take a little stepping back to first realize his actions are flawed. But taking that step is incredibly important when it comes to understanding Tbhk as a whole. Every character is flawed, every character does good and bad things, and understanding and not justifying the bad just because you like them is baseline for liking a character completely. Tbhk is also a comedy! And I actually do enjoy a good chunk of Hanako outside the drama, he is the title character, so you kindof have to find some part of him to like so you don’t drop it completely. And just remember I’m not a genius and this all just me saying whatever shit I think, I’m not a foolproof source of toilet knowledge, I’m just a guy who reads sometimes.
Idk how to end this uuhhhh ninja out *kickflip
#hot cheese#jibaku shounen hanako kun#jshk#tbhk#toilet bound hanako kun#akane aoi#aoi akane#kou minamoto#minamoto teru#teru minamoto#tbhk hanako#amane yugi#yashiro nene#nene yashiro#FUck I hate tagging are any of these characters even prominent enough to tag???#just pretend#that I’m doing this right#my self esteem can’t take another hit I won’t survive#not really but I will feel stupid
34 notes
·
View notes
Note
A couple ways to get hurt this week:
The Hostage series, by @kybercrystals94
https://www.tumblr.com/kybercrystals94/746217418255384576/the-hostage-part-5
Listen - Kyber doesn’t go easy in their fics, so you can basically expect to get your heart shattered. But this little series has me on the edge of my seat, with the worry and anxiety of TBB after Omega is taken hostage. I can’t wait to see where this one goes!!
The Last Word by @ariadnes-red-thread
https://www.tumblr.com/ariadnes-red-thread/705732688009691136/chapter-one-burn-with-laughter-series
18+! I re-read the first chapter of this fic and I absolutely adore the way they wrote this awkward morning-after-drunk sex encounter between OC Mal and Fives. The “oh shit what did I do” morphs into some panty-combusting memories. The best part is that we see the memories from both sides and I tell you - the heat is THERE. 🔥🔥 The way she writes Fives is cocky, but also self-deprecating and perfect. ❤️ Love her version so much and intrigued by Mal. Again - can’t wait to see where this one goes!
Finally, Freeze Thaw by AnEchoInHere
https://archiveofourown.org/works/49683310?view_adult=true
This one is about Echo almost dying on a mission and therefore heavy on the Echo Whump. Honestly it’s Wrecker’s guilt that does me in every time. Bring the tissues. ❤️❤️
OOOOH I love all of these. I've read The Last Word, and I LOOOOVE where Aria is going with it. Mal is FANTASTIC and I love how Aria writes Fives and his interactions with Mal. And The Hostage and Freeze Thaw both seem like PHENOMENALLY angsty fics that are going to curb-stomp my emotions. I KNOW WHAT I'M ABOUT. Thanks so much for sending this list in!
Participate in Fandom Friday to show your favorite creators from this week some love! :)
#FANDOM FRIDAY#creator appreciation#fic rec#fanfiction#fan fic#star wars#the clone wars#tcw#the bad batch#tbb#nsft#lemon#lemony lemon#hunter#wrecker#echo#omega#tech#crosshair#whump#angst#arc trooper fives#fives x oc#OC Mal Darroch#hurt/comfort
14 notes
·
View notes
Text
Strangers in the Crowd pt. 9
(Elvis/Austin!Elvis × reader)
Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)
Request: No, just another one of my delusional fantasies.
Prompt: You and your best friend are on are annual girls trip and go to see Elvis at the International. Little did you know this would be a show you'll never forget. [Fem!Reader]
TW: ANGST, cussing, SMUTTT, fingering (f. receiving) teasing/ tension, the usual really dirty stuff.
Rating: Explicit/Mature (NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact)
Word Count: 8.4K
A/N: Hello everyone! I am so so excited for you all the read this! This is my longest chapter I’ve ever written and just could not stop! I thought about splitting this up into two parts but since it is the one year anniversary of the Elvis movie premiering, I thought you deserve a long juicy part 😉Get ready for a bit of a rollercoaster but I think you’ll like where this is headed. Sorry for any spelling mistakes or overall goofs.
Feel free to message me or comment what you think!💕
His hands roam your soft flesh, leaving goosebumps behind. You whimper out for him, wanting him to come closer and put his body on yours. He lifts you up and you wrap your legs around his waist, feeling his hard bulge press up against your core. You let out a soft sigh, loving how you can finally be so close to him. He holds you against him firmly, ravaging your neck with kisses and biting the spot only he knows you like. He swiftly turns to the wall and pins you there, continuing to envelop your exposed skin with his lips.
Both of your breathing becomes scattered and he is in a rush to take you. He uses one of his hands to reach underneath your dress and pulls your panties to the side. Gliding his fingers between your folds, he cusses when he discovers how wet you are.
He moves his hand down to unbutton his pants and slides down the zipper to pull his hard cock out. He presses his tip up to your entrance and places his hand back under your thigh, kissing you urgently before plunging his entire length inside you. You cry out for him, clawing at his back and holding onto him for dear life as he takes you rough, just how you wanted it.
“Oh, Elvis,” you moan.
Your eyes snap open and can hear your heart beating through your chest. Your eyes scan your room, expecting to see Elvis laying next to you. But your room is completely empty and your bed feels cold. The throbbing in your clit doesn’t go away and you squeeze your legs together and groan.
A wave of anger washes over you and cover your head with the pillow and grumble into it.
It’s been a month since you abruptly left Elvis but it feels so much longer. The days dragged and he never failed to pop into your mind. Just when you thought you were doing better, you’d hear his voice on the radio or see his face on a billboard and go spiraling back to how much you miss him. How much you need him. It was the most ridiculous thing to happen to you. But to be fair, these kinds of feelings have never happened to you so you didn’t know how to properly handle them or how to cope.
You hated how much your body missed him and these reoccurring dreams of him were not helping you get over him. You tried to rationalize it and say it’s because he was your first and it’s hard to just forget that. But your brain couldn’t fully believe that and you would continue to have these dreams. You’d catch yourself moaning his name when you’d touch yourself. Trying to learn to please yourself on your own, his fingers would end up being on the forefront of your mind and your orgasm would come crashing down on you.
There weren’t any words that could make sense of the situation. You don’t know why you thought he would change and be faithful to you. You just got swept up in the situation and believed every last thing he said to you. The events of that early morning kept replaying in your mind…
Your hair was a disheveled mess, your eyes puffy and swollen from the non-stop crying you did on the plane.
The silk pajamas he gave you suddenly feel suffocating on you and need to change immediately. You unbutton the top and crumple it on the floor along with the bottoms.
You turn to grab your robe when you catch a glimpse of your body in the mirror. There you see the purple bruises starting to form on your neck, down along your collarbone to your breasts. You place your fingertips along the sensitive patches and wince.
A knock on the door startles you and you quickly cover yourself up. You wipe the tears on your cheeks and clear your throat.
“Come in,” you say sheepishly.
Cicily comes in sleepy-eyed and squints her eyes to try to adjust to the bathroom lights.
“Y/n? W-what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be in Graceland?” She says confused.
Tears come pouring out of you and all you can do is nod your head. Cicily goes rushing to you to console you. You sob and hug her tight, thankful that she is here to help you in this emotional time. She lets you cry until you can’t cry anymore and leads you to the living room.
“Do you want to talk about what’s going on?” She asks carefully.
Elvis would try every day to call and Cicily would pick up saying you weren’t home. He obviously didn’t believe a word she said because he would try to recall in the next fifteen minutes. You didn’t talk to anyone else about it. You went to class and came straight home. Nothing really interested you and were just focused on finishing school. You only had 4 more weeks to graduate and had to stay focused.
Looking over at the clock, it was early but you were wide awake now and might as well start getting ready. You were pround of yourself for graduating with your master's degree. You worked really hard on it and were ready for the next chapter in your life and leave that chapter behind.
Your family and a couple of friends were attending the ceremony and were taking you out to dinner afterward and were looking forward to such a special night.
*
It’s your turn to cross the stage and you get a weird chill run through you. The kind of chill you would get when Elvis was looking at you intensely. You brush it off thinking it’s just you being paranoid. You hear your name get called and walk briskly to the university president standing in the middle of the stage with your diploma in his hand. With his hand reached out, you shake his hand and turn to the photographer waiting to take your picture. You scan the crowd and find your family waving manically at you and screaming your name. You can’t help but laugh and smile, waving back to them with just as much enthusiasm.
Suddenly, something else catches your eye. In the back of the auditorium, you see the most beautiful man to ever exist, staring at you with a coy smile and his jet-black hair sitting perfectly quaffed, his tan skin glowing underneath the buttoned jacket he was wearing. He quite literally takes your breath away, not only because of how good he looks, but the shock he’s here at your university.
You freeze and take a sharp breath in as your brain can’t make any sense of what he’s doing here or who told him you were graduating today. The boom of the next name over the speakers jolts you out of your thoughts and you quickly get off the stage. You scurry back to your seat in a panic and you feel the entire room spinning. Your chest begins to heave and the knot in your stomach makes you want to puke.
Cicily grabs ahold of your hand and squeezes it to get your attention. You shoot your worried eyes at her and try to calm yourself down.
“Y/n are you okay? Looks like you saw a ghost,” she says in a hushed tone.
You shake your head at her, “Elvis is here. How the fuck did he get here,” you say frazzled.
“Well, I don’t know if you want me to explain to you how a plane works…” she says smartly.
“Would you stop!” You snap, keeping your voice low, “Who the hell told him about this?”
She darts her eyes away and into her lap.
“Well uh… I’ve been talking to Jerry again, and well uhh… he might have asked me…” she says sheepishly.
“Goddamn it! You shouldn’t have said anything. It was just a way to get to me,” you say.
“It wouldn’t hurt to talk to him y/n, I can’t live with that phone ringing off the hook anymore,” she says sharply.
You sigh knowing she’s right, you should give him a chance to explain even though you don’t want him to.
The ceremony ends and in the sea of people, you find your family. They all bombard you with hugs and congratulations but you can’t help your wandering eyes that scan the crowd looking for Elvis. You pretend that nothing is bothering you but your parents can tell something is up. You assure them you’re just looking for a couple of your friends that you want to say goodbye to and take some pictures and they believe you.
They begin to leave and let you know they’ll meet you in the restaurant in an hour and give you a couple more kisses. You start to turn away, your eyes scanning the crowd once more, pushing through the sea of people when you feel a hand grab your forearm.
You gasp at the sudden pull and look up to see who it is.
Jerry’s face is welcoming but serious as he lets go of you and motions you to the side of the crowd.
“Hey, y/n, congratulations,” he says warmly. You shoot him a smile, “Thanks Jerry… what in gods name is he doing here?” You say flatly.
He takes a deep breath and puts his hands in his pockets.
“Listen, he’s been an absolute wreck since you left. He went out of his mind with you walking out in him,” he says emphatically.
“Oh, he was a wreck? What about me?! Did he even stop to think about how affected I was!?” You say harshly.
He squints his eyes together, your words hurtful but true.
“I’m sure you found out what happened. How can I just forget about that,” you say defeated.
“I did… I understand your anger. But if you can just talk to him for five minutes. He needs to see you,” he pleads.
You roll your eyes and sigh. Elvis and his need to have the last word.
“Where is he?” You say sharply.
“Follow me,” he says quietly and turns on his heels to head for the exit. You try to keep up with his pace, nerves rattling your bones as you try to figure out what exactly you’re going to say to him.
He leads you to the limo that is sitting a few blocks away from the parking lot. You check behind your shoulder to make sure no one is following you two. The tinted windows reflect your worried face and you smooth out your hair as you prepare to face Elvis.
Jerry opens the back door and whispers good luck to you before you step inside. The limo is dimly lit and you instantly recognize the smell lingering in the car. Your eyes dart to Elvis sitting on the far end seat with his back up against the partition. Your heart can’t help but flutter at the sight of him; his long legs spread open and stretched out, his hand placed on his pelvis, dangerously close to his bulge, and his other arm resting on the sill of the window.
His eyes light up when he sees you in your graduation gown draped over your linen white dress. He gives you a slight smirk when he sees your reaction to him sitting there. You nervously sit down on the seat parallel to the window and straighten out your dress.
You glance at him, unsure of what to say.
“Hi baby,” He says smoothly, his southern drawl tingling its way through your body.
You take a deep breath to try and collect yourself.
“Hi.” You say softly.
“Congratulations on everything honey. You deserve it. I’m so proud of you,” he says sweetly.
You bite the inside of your cheek to keep you from smiling and letting his ungodly amount of charm work on you.
“Mhmm, what are you doing here?” You say flatly. His eyes grow cold and he clears his throat.
“I wanted to be here, to congratulate you. I knew how much this day means to you,” he sputters.
You shake your head at him, annoyed at his words.
“Stop acting like you care so much,” you murmur.
“What?” He snaps.
“You heard me. Don’t act like I’m the most important person in the world when I know I’m not,” you spat at him with contempt in your voice.
“Y/n please don’t say that-,” he growls.
“I’m just saying the truth-,”
“Well, it’s not the truth! Far from it actually! If you would listen to me for five seconds I can explain myself!” He says sternly.
You let out a frustrated grunt, “I am tired of listening to you. All I ever do is listen to you! There’s not much you can do to fix what’s been already done,” you say defeated.
He covers his face in his hands and lets out a slow sigh, then darts his piercing eyes back at you. Your heart gallops at the way he looks at you. He could kill someone with those eyes easily. You have to look away before he says anything else.
“I know I hurt you. It crushed me. I wanted to talk to you and make this better but you wouldn’t even give me the chance.”
“Elvis, you have no idea how this hurt me. You keep telling me how much you want me and how much I mean to you, then I find those pictures and I can’t help but believe that’s all a lie.”
“It’s not a lie,” he says firmly.
You feel the tears well in your eyes as you become more frustrated.
“Stop saying that,” as you begin to sob. “You obviously want other women since you keep those pictures of them. Was I just another girl to add to the Polaroid collection or what?” You accuse.
He scoots to your side and goes to reach for you, but hesitates and pulls his hands away, and puts them on the tops of his thighs.
“It’s not like that I swear. I should have thrown those things out when I came home but I didn’t. I’m really sorry you found them in the way you did. I mean it when I say I want and need you in my life,” he professes.
“Elvis, I just don’t know if you can change…,” you say softly.
“It’s different with you-,”
“Stop saying that Elvis-,” you say annoyed.
“No, I won’t stop!” his voice booming in the small space causing you to jump and direct all of your attention back at him.
“It’s different with you. I don’t know how many times I have to explain it to you!” He says exasperatedly.
“I lost my goddamn mind when you left. And to see those pictures sprawled out on the bed when I got out of the shower… fuck I was so upset. I knew I lost you because I’m a fucking idiot,” he says sightly raising his voice, making your skin crawl. You look down into your lap, not able to look at him like this. You feel sick to your stomach hearing this and want to run out of the limo. He places his hands on your shoulders and makes you look at him, turning your body and stilling you. Your breathing quickens and you quiver at his touch.
“As you should have! You should have felt awful for making all these promises to me and just going out there when I had my back turned and fuck the next brunette that came your way!” You yell.
His jaw clenches and his eyes darken, looking into your soul almost, making you feel like you could pass out.
“Those pictures were old… they were from before I ever met you…“ he growls.
“Oh god,” your heart drops and you feel sick to your stomach. You search for something to say to him but the guilt eats at you instead.
“I umm… I thought you were…” you say lost in thought.
“Let me tell you something I’ve never told anyone before. Do you want to know why I fuck around so much hmm? It’s because there is a void inside of me and I think if I fuck enough women I’ll fill it and I’ll be okay. But that’s not how it works. I’m just dumb enough to actually think it works. This life I have is lonely. Everyone wants something from me and I can’t say no. But doing good for people isn’t enough. I still have this hole inside me. Do you know the only time I haven’t had that feeling?” he blurts out frustrated.
You shake your head and lower your eyes, too intimidated by him and the energy he is possessing right now and you don’t want to let him see the tears welling in your eyes.
“The only time has been with you. Only you. I saw you in that crowd and something drew me to you. Your charm, your beauty, the starry-eyed gleam you had. I wanted you so bad and I couldn’t figure out why,” he pauses briefly.
“Maybe it was fate or God putting you in my path but whatever it is, you make me feel different. Like I don’t need to do those things and want you only.” He says softly.
He carefully lifts your hand, almost like he’s afraid he’s going to break you, and holds it in his.
“That night you asked me, why I wanted you to stay the night again and what you were doing here, I was screaming in my head that you complete me. But I was in denial and couldn’t allow myself to fall that quickly. It took our separation for me to finally sit down with myself and figure out what I truly wanted. And my thoughts always came back to you. Always.”
More tears fall down your face and you breathe in deeply and exhale slowly. To hear him profess his feelings like this rattled you and you don’t know what to say. Everything you planned to say went out the window. You look back up at him and see tears rolling down his cheeks too. Your heart breaks for him. Why you never thought of him having this deep emotional side is kind of naive of you. You should have known he has those deep emotions.
“I didn’t know,” you whisper wiping away his tears. “I’m sorry.”
“No, I’m the one that needs to be sorry. I’m the one that needs to work on being better,” he admits, “I’ve missed you so much you don’t even know. I keep having dreams about you,” he says cutely. You smile and blush as the images of your dreams of him enter your head.
“Yeah… me too,” you grin.
“Oh? What were you dreaming about?” He asks inquisitively.
You shake your head, “I’ll tell you another time,” he throws you a confused look and lets the silence fall between you.
You both sit there for a while, just listening to the sound of your breathing, and your tears to finally subside. You found it crazy how his mood and energy could change yours too. Right now, sitting a few inches away, you want to bridge the gap between you and hug him.
You waiver and try to regroup yourself.
“I think I better go now,” you announce. The sorrow in his eyes grows and his posture straightens.
“Oh please stay longer,” he pleads.
“I have dinner to get to with my family. They’re waiting on me,” you disclose.
He nods his head, not protesting any further.
“I’d like to see you later if you’re not busy,” he whispers.
“Elvis, I-,”
“Please, honey? I missed you so much. I just want to catch up with you,” he confesses.
Your heart tears yet again for this fragile man. Your brain searches for an excuse but you have none to scribe up.
“Why don’t you come to dinner with me? If you can survive that, then maybe I’ll think about seeing you later,” you challenge.
He smiles and squeezes your hand, “sounds good to me.”
Little does he know that your parents detest him and the image he has created for himself. If he can survive dinner with your parents, I’m sure he can make it through anything with you.
*
You both walk into the restaurant side by side, leaving a comfortable space between you both. You get stares the moment you step into the restaurant, and people are in awe of him. You couldn’t lie, he looked damn good. He was in a dark blue suit, nothing on underneath the jacket, with a short blue silk scarf tied at his neck.
Finding the table in the back with your family, they stare at you wide-eyed and say nothing when you walk to the table.
“Mom, Dad, this is Elvis Presley. He’s going to have dinner with us tonight,” you say matter-of-factly. You find the open chair at the other end of the table and make a beeline for it. You leave him standing alone in front of the table with both of your parents giving him disgusted looks.
“Good evening, I’m Elvis Presley. It is a pleasure to meet you,” he says as he reaches out to shake your dad’s hand. Your dad looks at his ring-clad hands covered in gold and jewels and has the most disgusted look on his face. You want to sink into the dark and escape this horrifying situation.
Your dad finally raises his hand slowly to meet his and shakes it firmly.
Your mom on the other hand has a completely different look forming on her face. You can tell his charm is working effectively on her and the look of disgust is shaping into something smitten. He turns his hand towards her next and she raises it in a dream-like trance to meet his.
“Nice to meet you ma'am,” his southern inflection on the word makes you squirm.
He proceeds to shake everyone else’s hands on the way to sit next to you. Everyone is dead quiet as they watch him sit down next to you. Your knees touch and you jump at the contact with him, not used to it but still liking it.
No one says a word as minutes pass by and some waters get dropped off at the table for you two. Everyone tries to make pointless small talk but it just feeds the awkwardness of the room practically suffocating you. You order your meal but don’t really care what it is. You doubt you can eat anything with so tension between you, Elvis, and your family. You look over to your dad and it looks like there’s steam coming out of his ears.
“Dad, can you please stop that? Staring is rude,” you say snarkily.
“What are you doing with my daughter,” your dad says coldly to Elvis.
“I’m sorry sir I don’t think I understand your question,” Elvis says calmly.
“You are nothing but trouble. I don’t want you seeing my daughter,” he snaps at Elvis.
“Dad stop,” you fume.
“Sir I am not a threat to you or your daughter I assure you. Whatever predisposition you have of me is just not true.” He explains.
“I don’t buy it. I’ve heard about all the stuff you’ve done, all the women you’ve been involved with. You’re not going to make my daughter one of your playthings.” You had never heard your dad speak in such a tone. He was beyond upset and you knew Elvis also had a temper and did not want to see how this would clash into a disaster.
“Alright that’s enough,” you say firmly, standing up and throwing your napkin on the table.
You look at Elvis’ intense stare that he’s thrown at your dad, his jaw clenched, then he slowly releases it as he takes a deep breath before he’s about to speak again.
“Sir, with respect, that is not what I am here to do. I will not pretend that I am a perfect man by any means. But I am not this monster you have painted in your head. Your daughter means so much to me. I wouldn’t be here right now if that was not the case. She makes me want to be a better man,” he says sweetly, looking at you and smiling when he says this.
The table remains quiet as they process the words that just came out of Elvis Presley’s mouth.
You too are in shock and are overwhelmed by emotion. His words calm any doubt that may be roaming around in your head.
He’s unreal…
He can’t actually be falling for you…
But he’s ‘home’…
Fuck you’re in trouble.
Grabbing his bicep, you pull him up from his chair and drag him to the door. You hear your family’s cries not wanting you to leave but you can’t stand another second with them.
“No, I’m leaving. You couldn’t even give him a chance and just start acting like children. I’m done. This was supposed to be a nice celebratory dinner but now you’ve ruined it!”
You turn to leave and get judging looks from other customers in the restaurant but you didn’t care. The warm June air hits your face and you are grateful for the fresh air. The pit in your stomach grows and instantly regret taking Elvis here.
You see Jerry parked in the front and he runs out to get the car door for you. You quickly jump in the back seat and sit down, hugging your knees to your chest and letting the tears fall.
A few moments later the car door opens again and without looking up, you know it’s Elvis.
You continue to let the tears fall. This entire day has been such a rollercoaster you just need to let it all out.
You feel his hand on your shoulder and can feel yourself melt into him.
“Honey, I-I-I’m so sorry about all that. That was a lot,” he admits.
You nod your head in agreement and sniffle.
“Do you want to get something to eat with me?” He asks softly.
Wiping the remaining tears from your face, you agree and the car starts to drive away.
A few minutes pass by and you reach the hotel he’s staying at. It is one of the nicest in Austin and the nerves take over your body. The idea of being in a room alone with Elvis again doesn’t sit with you well but you know he won’t do anything you don’t want.
Elvis is a bit nervous too walking you up to his suite, looking over his shoulder to make sure you’re following him. He can’t stop playing with his rings and shaking his leg as the elevator cart takes a while to get to the top floor.
He grabs the phone and orders you two some food. He orders your favorite; waffles topped with strawberries with a side of crispy bacon, pesto pasta sprinkled with parmesan cheese, and apple pie.
He remembered your favorites…
Fuck, stop romanticizing every little thing he does.
You both eat in silence, for once you don’t mind it. You really needed to figure things out and what your next move is going to be.
Are you going to fully believe his words are genuine and start over and give this relationship a try?
You get lost in your own head, trying to figure out what the best path may be for you.
After finishing dinner, you move to the couch and wrap a blanket around yourself. Elvis goes to the other side of the couch and sits down, giving you your space.
“I just need a second to process everything, Elvis. Today was a lot,” you admit self consciously, “I’m sorry if things aren’t going to go back to how they were right away,”
“Please, don’t be sorry. Take all the time you need. I’ll be right here.”
You put on the tv to drown out some of your thoughts and put on an old western. Elvis was enamored with the movie and admitted how he loves these types of movies. You tried to pay attention to the movies but your head was everywhere else. You replayed all the things he said to you in the limo. Would things be different if you had waited for Elvis to get out of the shower that night? For him to explain himself how he truly felt? It's all too late for you to know the truth of what that path would have looked like.
It was getting late and your eyes started to get heavy.
“I think I’m going to go to bed now Elvis. I’m pretty tired.” He stands up and nods his head.
“Okay darlin, you’re taking my bed,” he says matter of factly.
“Oh no you don’t have to do that I’ll be fine right here,” you assure him.
He reaches out his hand for you, “No I can’t let that happen. You need a good night's rest,”
Too tired to argue anymore, you finally give in and take his hand as he leads you to the bedroom.
The large suite had a king-sized bed and a couch by the window. He pulls back the covers for you and steps to the side. A bit of anxiety fills you as the thought of him sleeping with you again makes you nervous. He sees this uneasy look in your eye and he backs away, “I’m going to sleep on the couch here, or I’ll sleep in the living room whatever you would like,” he says sweetly.
There was something comforting though having him in the same room while you slept and didn’t mind him at a distance.
“You can sleep in here. I don’t mind,” you say sheepishly. “Can I have something to sleep in?”
He searches through his drawers quickly and finally pulled out one of his pajama tops.
“I don’t have anything else other than this. It’ll probably be a night gown on you,” he notes.
“Thank you,” your voice in a hushed whisper and turn to go to the bathroom. He was right though, the top was long enough to be a night gown and almost reached your knees. Looking in the mirror, you notice the embroidered EP initials on the pocket on your left breast.
“Look at that, he’s marked you as his. He’s made you his again whether you like it or not,” your brain screams.
Shut up.
Going back into the bedroom, you also see Elvis has changed and is sitting down on the couch. You climb back into the huge bed and get the pillows situated with how you like them. You feel his eyes on you, inspecting every move of yours. You’re too scared to look into his eyes, too afraid you’ll give in to anything he wants.
You turn on your side facing away from him and take a deep breath.
“Goodnight, darlin’,” he says quietly.
You feel the tears well in your eyes and squeeze them shut, trying to block out the overwhelming events of the day and his voice luring you in to melt for him.
The Vegas light blind you, up in the 29th floor of the International, you make your way through the party, trying to find a familiar face. Suddenly, you feel a hand reach for your arm and pull you to the side of the crowd. The strong, powerful frame pulls you into their chest and wraps their arms around you and you can’t help but smile.
Finally, in your arms.
You pull away and see the face of the man holding you.
You look into the eyes of your ex boyfriend. But he’s different, he looks like a very different version of him in a way and you stand there confused. You push him away abruptly and stare at him wide eyed.
“There you are I’ve been looking all over for you,” he exclaims pulling you back into his arms.
You dart your eyes into the crowd, searching and scanning for Elvis. He’s nowhere to be found and you wiggle out of your ex’s arms.
“Where’s… where’s Elvis,” you mumble.
“Elvis?” He says confused. “Why do you care about Elvis? He’s probably just mingling with his girls. Thought you hated that guy.”
You shoot him a confused look, not grasping what is going on.
You push through the crowd, looking for a glimpse of him. Reaching the other side of the suite, you see the top of his head by the window sill. The closer you get, you feel your stomach drop when you see what he’s doing. He has a blonde in his lap, his mouth whispering sweet nothings in her ear and his hand stuck underneath her dress.
You stare, watching him make minuscule motions under her dress, like he did to you before.
Another punch in the gut.
He catches your gaze and his eyes grow cold.
“Can I help you with something,” he says shortly.
Your heart races and can’t form any coherent words.
“Elvis, I-I-I miss you,” you stutter.
“I don’t even know you, please leave me alone,” he snaps. He pulls the blonde in his arms closer and starts to kiss up and down her neck.
You feel bile start to form in your throat and have to take a few deep breaths to calm yourself down.
He doesn’t know me…
Oh god what is this…
You ruined everything…
Tears covered your face as you wake up gasping for breath. You sob uncontrollably, terrified of the thought of never having Elvis in your life. Your eyes scan the pitch black room, unaware of your surroundings. You feel a slight sweat cover your body and you kick the covers back with your feet.
The glimpse of your life if you had never met Elvis made you feel sick. It was an absolute nightmare. You realize how Elvis was a blessing to be put into your life and it would never be the same if he hadn’t seen you. If you and Cicily had never got the idea to go to Vegas, would that be what your life looked like now? Would you be that miserable?
“Darlin’ what’s going on?” You hear Elvis’ deep voice break the silence of the room. Your entire body jolts at the sound of him and can’t make out where his voice is coming from.
Suddenly the lamp switches on and gives the room a dim light. You turn and see Elvis’ worried face as he sits on the edge of the bed.
You wipe the tears rolling in your cheek and try to speak.
“I-I-I, oh God. It was terrible. Just awful,” you gap.
“Baby, take deep breaths. Tell me what’s wrong,” he says calmly.
You take a couple deep breaths from your nose and try to collect yourself.
“You didn’t know me, didn’t want me,” you stifle out.
“What? Honey I don’t understand,” he says gently.
“My dream, no it was like a nightmare. You didn’t want me. You were with another woman and I… oh God I was with my ex. Oh, it was awful Elvis. You didn’t know me. It was like we never met,” you sob into your hands.
Elvis squeezes his eyes shut and let’s out a slow distraught sigh. Your tears won’t seem to stop flowing and you reach out for his hand. He opens his eyes once again and pulls you into his arms. You let out a slight squeak with how firm he’s being but suddenly, you lose all your reservations and let your body melt into his.
You sigh, missing this kind of contact with him was so intense and you clutch onto his shoulders tighter like he’s going to fly away.
“Shh baby, I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere,” he coos. He runs his hand in your hair, soothing you and rubbing your back with his other hand. It feels so perfect. Like another dream but based on your heart rate and your tears falling in your face, you know this is real.
“Don’t leave me, please,” you plead in his ear.
He hums lightly, “I’m all yours baby. I promise,” he says low as his hands travel to your face and holds you there. His thumb wipes away the remaining tears on your face and you look into those perfect blue pools of eyes he has. They were mesmerizing. Almost like it’s the first time you’re seeing them and you were falling all over again.
His eyes look over your face, down from your forehead, to your nose, to your parted lips. His hand slips to the back of your neck and holding you there.
“I’m yours,” he whispers as he leans in and crashes his lips into yours.
You gasp but your lips are hungry for him and kiss him with a new fervor you haven’t experienced yet. You take ahold his face too and push him closer wanting him to kiss you more than what he’s giving you.
You start to become breathless again, each kiss becoming more and more passionate and your body buzzing with need. You feel a surge of boldness run through you and you slip your tongue into his mouth. Your tongues crash over each other and explore your needy mouth.
You feel a small growl come from his chest as his tongue goes deeper inside you. Your other hand trails down his back, wanting to rip his pajamas off as quickly as possible. You feel your core begin to throb and your wetness start to pool in your thin lace panties.
He pulls away slowly, trying to catch his breath too and looks at you with sincerity.
“Baby, baby we don’t have to do this. I’m sorry, I got carried away,” he admits. He takes his hands off of you and gets off the bed and walks toward the couch. He puts his hands on his hips and lets out a deep breath, looking out the window at the city before him.
You squeeze your legs together, trying to stop the impeding throbbing in your core.
“Elvis,” you whimper softly.
He looks back at you, his eyes soft and concerned.
He walks back toward you and your eyes trail down to see his hard cock straining in his pants.
Fuck how does he look this good.
You quickly look away and press your lips together.
“What baby?”
“I um… I want you. Make me yours,” you plead.
He takes a deep breath and his face is written full of conflicting emotions.
“Baby, no. I-I-I mean, you don’t have to. Really I don’t want to rush you.”
Your eyes plead for him, you want him to take care of every single need your body has.
“Elvis, please I need you,” you say and watch as his eyes light up.
“You need me…” he says in almost disbelief.
You nod your head, needing him more than anything to tame this need you have for him.
His chest begins to heave and leans his legs against the bed.
“More than anything baby, I need you. Remember the first night you saw me? How you wanted to fuck me against the window for everyone to watch. I want it like that,” you beg. His eyes widen and a small groan comes from his throat. He doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything but just looks at you speechless.
“Please baby, I want you to fuck me, show me how much you missed me,” you beg, reaching out and placing a hand on his hardened length and slowly start to rub him. His eyes become lust filled, seeing the need in you grow more. He give you a small smirk and leans in to your hand.
More wetness pooled in your panties and seep through, causing it to trickle down your leg. You grab his hand and have him feel the arousal leaking out of you.
“Oh fuck,” he murmurs.
“Okay gonna take real good care of you darlin’. Make you feel so good,” he growls. You moan with need and his hands trail over your chest.
He starts to unbutton each button on your shirt and pull it off your frame. You unintentionally shake at the feeling of his fingertips dancing upon your skin. He carefully leans you back onto the bed and kisses you intensely, lightly caressing your breasts in his hands making you moan by just his touch.
Elvis sinks to his knees and pulls your body to the edge of the bed. Your heart thumps wildly and you sit up on your elbows to watch what he’s doing to you. He peels off your soaked panties and he cusses when he sees how wet you’ve become.
“Fuck mama,” he mutters. Your legs continue to shake and he wraps his hands on the tops of your thighs, holding you still and spreading your legs open wider.
“I’m gonna take care of you honey, don’t you worry,” he assures you.
You let out a whimper and wait for him to take what he wants. In a swift motion, his mouth makes contact with your dripping cunt. His tongue licks and sucks feverishly, not giving you any time to get used to his mouth on you. He flattens his tongue through your folds, licking in a long hard strip, and moaning when he tastes you.
“Mmm, god,” he moans in you.
His grip on your thighs become tighter, pulling you closer to his eager mouth. He sucks on your throbbing clit, making your hips buck off the bed as you cry out for him. He sucks on it, then laps his tongue to your entrance and repeats the motions.
You missed his mouth on you, making you squirm with every lick and suck. The way he’s eating you is like he’s ever done it before. You would think he’s a starved man on a deserted island and you are his only source of replenishment. Your core continues to throb and ache for him to give you more.
His tongue enters your core and he groans deeply, moving it in and out you, lapping up all the wetness spilling out of you. Suddenly his tongue dips lower, licking your puckered hole then back up through your folds and on your clit.
“Elvissss, oh fuck,” you hiss.
He lets out a pleased sigh and looks up at you with a devilish glint in his eyes.
“Yes baby?,” he asks.
“Please do that again,” you plead.
He hums lightly and nods his head at you. He bends your legs up toward your chest and goes back to work. His tongue rolls and laps at your entrance, making your hips buck up into his face. His tongue goes lower and laps at your hole, causing you to groan and pull at his hair.
“Agh, yes, baby,” you moan.
He gets you right the edge, your body is shaking and pulsing with his tongue all over your most sensitive areas, licking through your swollen folds and throbbing clit, then down to your ass. He focuses on your sensitive bud, suckling with intensity making you cry out for him. He groans against you causing a nice vibration to form that makes you want to come apart on his face. Without you noticing, he carefully slips a finger in your entrance and pumps it in and out. His long finger reaches the spot you like the most and you push your hips forward, making yourself get closer to your orgasm. He slips in another finger, pumping it in and out of you faster and rubs your other hole with his thumb in slow circles.
“Oh no, Elvis,” you cry.
“What baby girl? You don’t like this?” He tantalizes, continuing to tease your holes.
“Oh God, it feels so good I-I-I’m gonna cum,” you gasp.
“Mmm yes let me see you cum,” he moans, giving your clit one last suck.
He looks at you with that classic mischievous grin on his face and curls his fingers deeper, hitting your G-spot where he knows you won’t be able to hold back from squirting. Your eyes roll in the back of your head and you let yourself enjoy this pleasure he’s giving you. This was the thing your body was wanting the most and you had no fight in you like before. You wanted him to take care of every last need you had. He groans watching your wetness spill out of your pussy and feels your walls throb. You writhe on the bed, feeling that familiar feeling come back to you and you can’t hold back any longer. A clear stream sprays out of you and onto his chest, he moans and continues to ravage you with his fingers. More squirts out of you and your body feels tingly from head to toe.
Elvis swiftly pulls his fingers out of you and stands up, looming over you with sexual charisma dripping off of him. He takes off his pajamas, wiping the wetness off his face and chest. He looks like absolute perfection and he is staring at you in awe too. He wraps his arm around your back and lifts you up. You instinctively wrap your legs around him and he carries you to the window.
You feel the coldness of the window hit your back and grunt with the sudden forcefulness. He presses himself against your body, his cock resting on your dripping heat. The window sill ledge that runs across the middle of the panel rests below your ass and he looks over you with your begging eyes. He takes his cock in his hand and lines it up to your entrance.
His beautiful blue eyes stare seductively into yours and he tightens his grip on your thighs.
“Elvis, please,” you whimper, scratching at his back, holding onto him for dear life.
He pushes his tip in, making both of you groan, not having this contact in so long you both can barely keep it together.
“Oh mama, fuck you feel so good already,” he says in your ear.
He starts to put more inside you slowly, inch by inch, making your dripping cunt squelch with each movement. He’s so controlled with how he moves his hips, still hitting the perfect spot inside you. The throbbing inside you hasn’t subsided and has only increased by the second.
You squeeze your eyes shut, letting all the sensations he’s giving you run through your body. Feeling how perfect he moves his hips makes you want to come apart any second now. The more he pushes his length into you, your eyes roll back and you turn your face away from him gasping for air. You suddenly feel his hand on your jaw, holding your chin too look at him directly in the eye.
“Look at me when I fuck you, honey. Let me see how much you like this,” he groans. You moan, unable to disobey his command. He starts to fuck you harder, plunging his entire length inside you with his jaw slacked, watching you moan for him.
“Is this what you wanted baby? You wanted my cock deep inside you?” he grunts. You whimper at him and can’t form any other words but nod your head at him.
“Such a good fucking slut. Such a good girl,” he praises as he bucks his hips into you hard and fast. You muffle a scream, pressing your lips together, holding back his name that is on the tip of your tongue.
“Let me hear you scream my name baby,” he growls possessively.
“Elvissss, oh god, Elvis,” you cry.
He puts his foot up on the window ledge as leverage and continues to pound his hips into you, almost knocking the breath out of you. Your walls began to flutter and he can feel you’re close. You scratch at his back, causing him to groan and fuck you faster.
“Cum for me baby,” he says breathlessly. You gasp and feel your orgasm wash over you, squeezing his hard length, feeling your arousal increase and deep out of you. He moans with you, keeping the same pace he’s set. You see stars when you squeeze your eyes shut, feeling like you’re on another planet with him. He watches your face get washed over with pleasure, moaning his name with each thrust.
You open your eyes again, looking into his and you pull at his hair causing him to grunt.
“Keep fucking me,” you moan.
“Aw hell baby,” he grunts.
He can’t last much longer, his pace is starting to become frantic and wants to chase the high with you.
You feel his length deep inside of you start to twitch and he holds onto you even tighter. He groans when he finally lets it all go and cums deep inside you. You both groan and hold onto each other. He pants in your ear, telling you how good this feels.
He picks you up away from the window, wrapping your legs around him and he turns back to the bed. He lays you down gently, covering you with kisses. You run your fingers through his hair, enjoying the closeness of him. He gently pulls out of you, and places his fingers on your swollen folds and moans. You jump at touch, too overstimulated by the entire night you just had.
“Fuck you’re perfect,” he coos, rubbing the arousals that are leaking out of you and plunging his fingers back into you. You cry out, arching your back against the bed and claw at his forearm.
He pulls his fingers out of you and hold his face in your hands, making him look at you.
“All yours honey,” you whisper. He hums pleased by your words.
“I’m so happy you’re here.” He says.
It feels like you both are laying there while the earth stops spinning. Just you and him. Everything feels perfect.
“Darlin’?” He says almost in a whisper.
“Hmm?”
“I love you.”
Your heart feels like it skipped a beat and you look into his eyes, seeing the soft, boyish charm washing over his face, so fragile and insecure.
He waits for your response, holding your face in his hand, feeling your heart beat out of your chest…
•
•
•
Tagging 🩵: @powerofelvis @plasticfantasticlOver @burninlovebutler @neptuneismysister @velvetelvis @ccab @presleyenterprise @elvispresleyxoxo
@prompted-wordsmith @sillybookmarks @dkayfixates @rosepresley @ellie-24 @rktismylife-blog @myradiaz @lookingforrainbows @elvispresleygf @tacozebra051 @thatbanditqueen
@18Ikpeters @flwrs4aust @emma181873 @austinswhitewolf @eliseinmemphis @everythingelvispresley @chasingwildflowers @idontwanttoputanything @ohjustpeachy' @elvisalltheway101 @austinsmutler @kingdomforapony
#elvis presley#elvis fanfic#70s elvis#elvis presely smut#elvis presley x reader#elvis presley imagine#elvis presley fanfiction#elvis presley x you#elvis presley x y/n#austin elvis smut#austin elvis imagine#austin elvis x reader#austin elvis fandom#samfangirls#strangers in the crowd#elvis fandom#elvis fanfiction
96 notes
·
View notes
Text
f1 rpf graphing & archive insights
intro & prior work
hello! if you're reading this, you may already be familiar with my previous post about graphing hockey rpf ships and visualizing some overarching archive insights (feel free to check it out if you aren't, or alternatively just stick around for this intro). i've been meaning to make an f1 version of that post for a while, especially since i've already done a decent amount of f1 rpf analysis in the past (i have a very rough post i wrote a year ago that can be read here, though fair warning that it really does not make any sense; while i've redone a few viz from it for this post i just figured i'd link it solely because there are other things i didn't bother to recalculate!)
f1 is quite different from many team sports because a large part of my process for hockey was discovering which ships exist in the first place—when there are thousands and thousands of players who have encountered one another at different phases of their careers, it's interesting to see how people are connected and it's what was personally interesting to me about making my hockey graphs. however, with f1's relative pursuit of "exclusivity," barriers to feeder success and a slower-to-change, restrictive grid of 20 drivers, it becomes generally expected that everyone has already interacted with one another in some fashion, or at least exists at most 2 degrees of separation from another driver. because of this, i was less interested in "what relationships between a large set of characters exist?" (as per my hockey post) and more so in "what do the relationships between a small set of characters look like?"
process
my methodology for collecting "ship fic" tries to answer the question: what does shippability really look like on ao3? (the following explanation is adapted from my hockey post:) a perceived limitation i have with character tagging numbers on ao3 is that they don’t exactly reflect holistic ship fic; that is, if lando is tagged as a character in a max/daniel fic, it gets attributed to his character tag but doesn’t actually say anything about how many Relationship Fics exist for him on a whole. my best solution for this was essentially uncovering most of a driver's relationships and summing their individual fic counts to create an approximate # of “relationship fics” for each player. so any kind of shippability graph going forward will use that metric.
i used ao3’s relationship tag search and filtered by canonical in the formula 1 rpf fandom and only pulled relationship* fics (“/” instead of “&”) with a min. of 5 works. ao3’s counts are… Not the most accurate, so my filtering may have fudged some things around or missed a few pairings on the cusp, which again is why all the visuals here are not meant to show everything in the most exact manner but function more so as a “general overview” of ficdom. although i did doublecheck the ship counts so the numbers themselves are accurate as of time of collection.
(*i excluded wag ships, reader ships, threesomes to make my life easier—although i know this affects numbers for certain drivers, team principal/trainer/engineer ships, and any otherwise non-driver ship. i left in a few ships with f2, fe, etc. drivers given that that one character was/is an f1 driver, but non-f1 drivers were obviously excluded from any viz about f1 driver details specifically. this filtering affected some big ships like felipe massa/rob smedley, ot3 combinations of twitch quartet and so on, which i recognize may lower the… accuracy? reliability??? of certain graphs, but i guess the real way to think of the "shippability metric" is as pertaining solely to ship fic with other drivers. although doing more analysis with engineers and principals later down the line could be cool)
also note that since i grouped and summed all fics for every single ship a driver has, and since one fic can be tagged as multiple ships, there will be inevitable overlap/inflation that also lessens the accuracy of the overall number. however, because there's no easy way to discern the presence and overlap of multiship fic for every single driver and every single ship they have, and attempting to do so for a stupid tumblr post would make this an even larger waste of time… just take everything here with a grain of salt!
data for archive overview viz was collected haphazardly over the past few days because i may have procrastinated finishing this post haha. but all ship data for section 2 was specifically collected april 22, 2023.
PART I. f1 rpf archive overview
before i get to ship graphing, here are a few overviews of f1 ficdom growth and where it measures relative to other sports fandoms, since i find the recent american marketability of f1 and its online fandom quite interesting.
first off, here's a graph that shows the cumulative growth of the top 8 sports rpf fandoms from 2011 until now (2023 is obviously incomplete since we're only in may). i've annotated it with some other details, but we can see that f1 experienced major growth after 2019, which is when the first episode of dts was released.
something that fascinated me when making this graph was the recent resurgence of men's football rpf in 2023; while the fandom has remained fairly consistent over the years, i had noticed that its yearly output was on the decline in my old post, and i was especially surprised to see it eclipse even f1 for 2023. turns out that a large driver behind these numbers is its c-fandom, and it reminded me that out of all the sports rpf fandoms, hockey rpf is fairly unpopular amongst chinese sports fans! i wanted to delve into this a little more and look at yearly output trends for the top sports fandoms since 2018, only this time filtered to exclusively english works (a poor approximation for "western" fandom, i know, but a majority of sports fandom on tumblr does create content in english).
another thing i've long been curious about with f1 specifically is—because of how accessible dts and f1 driver marketing are to fans online, does f1 rpf and shipping culture skew a bit more "public" than other fandoms? i'd initially graphed the ratio of public fic on ao3 for hockey because i also wanted to see whether it was on the rise (again, apologies for how many callbacks and references there are in this post to hockey rpf... it's just easy for me to contextualize two familiar sports ficdoms together *__*), but i was surprised to see that it's actually been steadily trending downward for many years now. f1 fic, on the other hand, has steadily been becoming more public since 2016.
another note is that c-ficdom follows different fic-posting etiquette on ao3, and thus chinese-heavy sports rpf fandoms (think table tennis and speed skating) will feature a majority public fic—here's another old graph. since f1 fandom has a relatively larger representation of chinese writers than hockey does, its public ratio falls a little bit if you filter to english-only works, but as of 2023 it remains significantly higher than hockey's!
anyway, onto the actual ship graphing.
my ship collection process yielded 164 ships with 57 drivers, 46 of which have been in f1. all 20 current active f1 drivers have at least one ship with min. 5 fics, though not all of them had a ship that connected them to the 2023 grid. specifically, nyck de vries' only ship at time of collection was with stoffel vandoorne at 56 works.
once again because f1 is so strongly connected, i initially struggled a lot with how i wanted to graph all the ships i'd aggregated—visualizing all of them was just a mess of a million different overlapping edges, not the sprawling tree that branched out more smoothly from players like in hockey. this made me wonder whether it even made sense to graph anything at all... and tbh the jury is still out on whether these are interesting, but regardless here's a visualization of how the current grid is connected (color-coded by team)! i graphed a circular layout and then a "grid-like" layout just for variety lol.
of course, i still wanted to explore how ships with ex-f1 drivers have branched out and show where they connect to drivers on the current grid, especially because not too long ago seb was very much the center of the ficdom ecosystem, and the (based purely on the numbers) segue to today's max/charles split didn't really come to fruition until the dts days. so here's a network of f1 ships with a minimum of 75 works on ao3:
before i go into ship breakdowns, i also have a quick overview of the most "shippable" drivers, aka the drivers with the highest sum of fic from all their respective ships. the second bar chart is color-coded by the count of their unique ships to encapsulate who is more prone to being multi-shipped.
PART II. ship insights
first let's take a look at the most popular f1 ships on ao3, again filtered to driver-only ships.
here's another graph filtered to the current grid only, and then one that shows the 15 ships where one driver isn't and has never been an f1 driver:
for this section, i ended up combining my ship data with a big f1 driver dataset that gave me information on each driver's birth year, points, wins, seasons in f1, nationality... etc., so that's what i'll be using in the rest of the post. disclaimer that i did have to tweak a few things and the data doesn't reflect the most recent races, so please note there might be some slight discrepancies in my visualizations.
anyway—in my hockey post i did a lot of set analysis because i was interested in figuring out what made the players who were part of the ship network different from the general population. with f1, since almost Every Driver has at least one ship and it's a much more representative group, doing a lot of set distributions wasn't that interesting and so i stuck more to pure ship analysis. still, the set isn't completely representative, which i noted by checking the ratios of driver nationalities in my dataset and then in the large database of f1 drivers i merged with (though filtered to debut year >= 2000 to maintain i guess the same "dimensions").
while british and german drivers have been the most common nationalities in f1 since 2000, both in general and in my ship data, it seems that ficdom slightly overrepresents/overships them and then underrepresents brazilian drivers. i was also curious to see the distribution of ships by nationality combination (which is actually quite diverse), and though it once again wasn't surprising that uk/germany was the most common combination given that we've just established the commonality of their driver groups, i found it somewhat interesting to realize just how many ships fall under this umbrella.
i then once again wanted to see what the distribution of age differences looked across ships. the ships i graphed yielded a range of 25 years, with the oldest age difference being 25 years between piastri and webber. tbh, something that's interesting to me about f1 ships is not just how connected current drivers are but also how there is a very strong aspect of cyclicality, wherein long careers in combination with well-established celebrity culture and post-retirement pivots to punditry & mentorship position drivers perfectly to still be easily shipped with any variety of upcoming drivers, hence why we encounter a relatively significant variety of age differences.
of the ships with two f1 drivers, 38% were within 2 years of each other, while 44% had an age difference of 5 years or more.
more experimentally (basically i wanted to use these performance metrics for something!), i tried graphing driver metrics against "shippability" to see whether i could uncover any trends, normalizing to percentile to make it more visually comprehensible.
one thing that was interesting to me is that there is a strong correlation between a driver's points per entry and their number of ship fic; really, this isn't surprising at all because it's basically a reflection of whether they've driven for a big 3 team, and we know that the most popular drivers are from big 3 teams, but then i guess it does become a bit of a chicken and egg question... which is something i'm continuously fascinated by when discussing success and talent in sports fandom, especially in a sport like f1 where there is so little parity and thus "points" do not always quantifiably translate to "talent," making it difficult to gauge why and when a driver's skill becomes consciously appealing to an audience. i don't know but here's that scatterplot.
similarly, i also wanted to look at years active vs. fic to gauge which drivers have a High Number Of Ship Fic relative to how long they've actually been in f1, basically a rough rework of the "shippability above expected" metric i'd tried exploring in my old f1 post haha. because the set i merged with attributed 1 "year active" to a driver just like, filling in as reserve for a single race, and it also included drivers who maybe raced one season and then never raced again, but then i still wanted to include current rookies in their first season to show where their Potential lies... i settled on filtering to drivers who were or have been active for at least 5 seasons OR who debuted recently and thus have a bit of rookie leeway. there's a decent amount of correlation here, which is again... in f1, the underlying argument for remaining active for many years is that you have to be good enough to keep your seat, so it's expected that if drivers stay on the grid for a long time they will eventually accrue more fandom interest and thus ship fic. still, we can see some drivers who underperform a little relative to their establishedness—bot and per, interestingly also below the trend line in the points/entry graph–and then those who overperform a decent amount, like nor and lec.
this is somewhat interesting to me because i'd tried to make a similar scatterplot with my hockey set and found that there was... basically nooo correlation at all, but i also had to make do with draft year and not gp which i think might move the needle a little bit. regardless, it's just interesting to think about these things in the context of league/grid exclusivity and then other further nuances like the possibilities of making your niche in, for example, the nhl as a 4th line grinder or f1 as a de facto but reliable #2 driver for years down the stretch, and then how all of that impacts or shapes your fandom stock and shippability.
moving on, here's a look at the current top 20 f1 ships and how much of their fic is tagged as fluff or angst! out of all their fic, kimi/seb have the highest fluff ratio at 38.44%, while lewis/nico hold the throne for angst at 34.74%.
lewis/nico are also the most "holistically" tragic ship when you subtract their fluff and angst percentages (by a large margin as well), while jenson/seb are the fluffiest with a difference of 17.38%. really makes you think.
and finally this is a dumb iteration from my old f1 post but i thought this was kind of funny haha so: basically what if teammate point share h2h but the points are their shippability on ao3.
closing thoughts
that's really all i have! again, i don't know whether any of these graphs make sense or are interesting to anyone, but i had fun trying to adapt some of my hockey methodology to f1 and also revisiting the old f1 graphs i'd made last year and getting to recalculate/design them. i know there's a lot more i could have done in examining drivers' old teams since many ships are based on drivers being ex-teammates and not the current grid matchups, but it would have been too much of a headache to figure out so... this is the best i've got. thanks for reading :)
#*m#stats#f1#kept forgetting i wanted to finish this but i was clearing out my windows going why on earth do i still have tableau open...#i know this is not even remotely interesting but i did my best!
123 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
regardsandregrets
Im just doin my own thing :D
freefolkfightorflight
Revolution
birdiesimsyt
BIRDIE
mugenteki
. . .
pantypond10
无标题