#unpersuadability
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Help! Am I responsible for teaching my children how to act in public??????
Carolyn Hax, Washington Post, 12 April 2024:
Dear Carolyn: On a recent vacation, our family (including two teenagers) was at a restaurant for lunch. We had not had any food yet when I noticed dried food on my water glass. After the server brought our ordered drinks, I calmly noted the food on my glass and asked for a clean one. No drama, and the server was a pro — no hesitation, brought a new glass and comped us a bottle of water.
The hiccup? My teenagers were appalled and embarrassed, basically implying I’m a Karen for first failing to just live with the dirty glass and second not apologizing profusely before asking for a clean one. I tried to explain that part of being served includes clean everything, but they were unpersuaded.
Did I miss something? Is this a generational thing? Literally made no fuss at all and did not suggest anything be comped. But I’m feeling defensive. How to communicate that it’s okay to politely ask for corrections when things are amiss? — Anonymous
Dear Anonymous —
This is a generational thing and there's nothing you as a parent can do to improve your children's behavior now, nor was there anything you ever could have done to shape the way they act in the world, their understanding of social norms, their expectations, or how they treat other people.
Kids turn out the way they are because of the generation they were born into, which doesn't have anything to do with the people who raised them or who created the society they live in.
Take heart: you're one of many millions of parents of Gen Z-ers whose offspring are just really into drinking out of dirty glasses. We'll never know why. It's one of the great mysteries of our time, but the good news is that this isn't your problem. There's absolutely no way to teach this particular generation of young people how to order food at restaurants, and even if there were, it wouldn't be on you as their parent to do it. Kids these days just love filthy dishware.
#parenting#advice#bad advice#teens#mortified#carolyn hax#dining#dining etiquette#manners#restaurants
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Poly!marauders with a reader who has a hard time explaining (or expressing how she feels) thing??? Like, she knows what to say but she stumbles over her words a lot??
You dont gotta write this obviously, have an amazing day!!!!! <3
Thanks for requesting sweetheart! Hope you had an amazing day too :)
poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 784 words
You’re feeling a bit cramped. You’ve got your back to the couch’s armrest and your knees are pressed tight to your chest, feet all but tucked under you to avoid touching James’ thigh. Remus lounges casually on his other side, Sirius sprawled with his legs over the opposite armrest and his head in Remus’ lap. They all look perfectly laidback, spread out and limbs overlapping as they chat about the upcoming quidditch match between Hufflepuff and Slytherin. Meanwhile, you’re afraid to breathe too deeply lest you take up any more space.
“They’ve been having a great season,” James says, but Sirius only scoffs.
“Yeah, but they’ll never work up the guts to play as dirty as Slytherin does,” he argues. “There’s no winning against them if you’re not willing to meet them where they are.”
“We never have, and—here, love, that can’t be comfortable—” James takes you by the ankles, encouraging your legs to lie across his lap. You hold your breath, not daring to move a muscle but allowing him to maneuver you as he likes. “—and as long as I’m captain, we never will. We won against Slytherin fair-in-square this season, why can’t Hufflepuff?”
“You’re delusional.” Sirius rolls his eyes, but then they catch on you interestedly. “Prongs, I think you’ve stupefied her.”
James turns back to you, brown eyes warming with concern. “Sorry, lovely, I didn’t even ask before moving you. Are you comfy now?”
You can feel your face igniting. This thing with them is so new, and you feel always on the brink of doing something that will spoil it. You don’t know what liberties to take, what to say or not say, whereas the boys seem relentlessly self-assured in every respect. You like having your legs spread across James, but part of you feels like you’re not allowed to like it.
“Oh, yeah, um,” you stammer, “I’m good.”
James looks unpersuaded. You don’t blame him; you haven’t done a great job of it. “Are you sure?” he asks. “We’re taking up more than our fair share of space, we can move over if you like.”
You shake your head emphatically.
Mirth sparks to life in Sirius’ eyes as he recognizes your state; it’s the beginning of his favorite game. “What is it, baby? Cat got your tongue?”
“Pads,” Remus chastises, though his own countenance holds evidence of mild amusement, “leave her alone.” He turns his attention to you. “Does it make you uncomfortable when one of us touches you like that, dovey? It’s not a problem if it does, we can stop.”
“No!” you exclaim, half-desperate. “I mean, it’s not not nice, I just didn’t…”
James strokes the skin of your ankle in a way that you’re sure is meant to be reassuring but only unnerves you further. “Didn’t what, sweetheart?”
“I just—I—well, you know—”
“Not sure we do, sweet thing,” Sirius drawls.
“I just—I don’t know,” you say, growing frustrated. “I’m not sure what the rules are, or the…what’re they called? The boundaries, or whatever. I’m not making any sense, sorry.”
“No it’s alright, don’t apologize,” Remus says. “You’re saying that you weren’t sure if you could touch us, right?”
You nod mutely, wondering that the room hasn’t gone up in flames from the heat coming off your face.
Remus nods in turn. “Right, well that’s understandable. None of us have bothered to check in with you, have we?” You’re unsure whether you’re supposed to answer, but Remus goes on, fixing you with a painfully kind look. “I don’t have any reservations about it, and I don’t think James or Sirius do either. Lads?”
“None at all,” James agrees, and Sirius sends you a wink.
“Touch me any way you like, dollface.”
Remus gives you an exasperated look about that, but there’s a good heaping of fondness in it. Then his expression softens again. “What about you, sweetheart?”
You take a moment to fit the words into your mouth. “I’m good with that.”
James makes a sound of teasing endearment, tugging you by the legs so you’re nearly in his lap and squeezing your knee affectionately. “Our shy girl. You know you can tell us these things, don’t you?”
“I know,” you sigh, letting your head come to rest tentatively on his shoulder. “I just…I can’t always—it’s like my mouth won’t cooperate.”
“Do you get nervous, honey?” Sirius wheedles, pouting when you try to use James’ form to hide from him. James chuckles, obliging you by setting a hand on your face, covering you from Sirius’ view. “Why would that be? Are we so scary?”
“Don’t torture her, Pads.” James strokes your cheekbone consolingly. “If she never talks to us about anything again, I’m blaming you completely.”
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bodyguard reader panicking when yan suddenly has a nosebleed bc they think yan got poisoned but it’s bc yan caught a glimpse of lace when their bodyguards shirt rode up is so funny to me
If there was one thing your boss hated more than betrayal - it was lying about it. Your former colleague would be the perfect example for what happened to those who lied through their teeth; seated in the center of their office tied to a beat up chair with an increasingly more broken jaw. You stood at your employer's side, patiently awaiting their next order as they cleaned the blood off their rings like the loyal soldier you were.
"Y/n? Be a dear and grab my pliers for me out my box? There's still a new molars in the back."
Nodding, you walk over to the chest by the far wall as your boss drops down in their seat, swiping specks of red off the rim of their mug as they bring it to their lips. They watch as you pull the storage key from around your neck; the swell of pride steady in their chest - pleased with the jubilation you would never be on receiving end of their wraith or blade. You dedicated yourself to them as they did you, unpersuade by rival offers of money or frame. You were the perfect companion - they only wished you would open yourself to them more.
Their gaze sets on your back and the curve of your spine as you bend. A wiser person may have brought issue with the cut of their guards shirt showing off their midriff, but your boss wasn't the type bother nor complain. Nine time out of ten, they were pleased with it - until they caught someone else staring. Their eyes follow the roll of your tight shirt against your muscles and the reveal of something intriguing hugging your waist as your belt weighs your pants. Fuchsia frills weaved into the band of the brighter, hotter pink of your underwear. Lukewarm coffee shotguns down their windpipe as the full, floral print is unveiled - near see through stretched thin against your skin.
You down the tools and rush over to your boss' aid as they gasp and wheeze. Noting the flush of their face, you instinctively make a grab for their mug - pitting their face to your bare stomach and the cool fabric of your undergarment. Their lips graze your navel as you squat to check on them.
"Do I need to call the doctor?"
They inhale through their teeth. "I'm fine - I'm fine....just went down the wrong pipe.
You stand; relieved, looking back at your captive curious of their flushed expression. Your body takes one last look at your waist before joining your gaze at the traitor.
"Sweetheart. Please bring me my gun."
#yandere#yandere oc#yandere x reader#yandere x you#yandere headcanons#yandere insert#yandere scenarios#yandere blurb#yandere imagines#yandere drabble
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The job of a convincer is to persuade the pizza eaters to go for the burger. For this, Shenker-Osorio says we should borrow from the right, whose most visible avatars deliberately set out to alienate their unpersuadable opponents.
When far right figures say grotesque, unhinged things about “groomers” or “Jewish space lasers” or whatever, they’re trying to trick their opponents into repeating the statement: “Can you believe these bozos want to give teachers AR-15s?”
Getting your opponents to repeat your message increases the chance that it will be heard by someone who finds it persuasive and switches from burgers to pizza.
By this logic, the left increases its chances of taking power by saying bold things that trigger conservative Red Scare paranoiacs and religious maniacs. When they run around and say, “The left wants to take away your assault rifles, making housing and college free, and replace your 401(k) with a guaranteed pension,” they do our work for us.
-Pizzaburgers: “Everybody hates this idea, so it must be great”
#us politics#manchin-collins 2024#no labels#problem solvers caucus#pizzaburgers#centrism#anat shenker-osorio
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but then…Gigi
Part 4 - A Big Daddy Elvis Fanfiction
Previous chapter link for context, picking up where we left off
I owe so much thanks to my friends for all their help and input and the joy they bring me, thanks to them and my precious followers this fluffy/wacky little universe even exists. I’ve never had so much fun on a collaboration before in my life, I love y’all so.
Warnings: 18+, sexual content and heavy themes… ok so this is smutty and fluffy, right? But still there are some things that might be offensive regarding narrator’s voice so I want to warn about those and distinguish them from my own opinions. For much of this part we are in Elvis’ head and, due to it being summer of ‘77 -it’s a bit of a rollercoaster in there. Please be warned there are throwaway lines reflecting poor self esteem, depression, misogyny, severe health issues and the use of the word fat to describe oneself negatively.
Enjoy
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Elvis feels a pang of sympathy for his boys’ hysteria when he runs into a crowd of fans as he himself sits panicked in the Stutz, engine off and his shades on, watching Gigi check that the coast is clear on the sidewalk and buzz into her apartment building -in just his jacket and panties. Her sandals are gone somewhere, too, probably back at Graceland. Only that anklet left on like some harem jangle.
Her sooties must be burning on the sunbaked concrete, maybe that’s why she’s skipping everywhere she goes like a damn foal. His blood pressure feels like it’s skyrocketing just watching this show and the fact she looks like she’s in her element terrifies and excites him and -getting to know Gigi is a dangerous hobby.
As shameless as a toddler that one, and every bit as unpersuaded about needing to give a shit about things like flashing her butt cheeks for all of Memphis.
Her tanned butt cheeks.
Which brings up all sorts of questions he’s too scared to ask and will have to address with Tammy. He’s sure she’s to blame for nude sunbathing, he just hopes that wildcat has enough decency to do it privately. Very privately. Hopefully in a bullet proof bunker if Gigi is with her. This girl has been directionless and fatherless for too long; Elvis’ mouth dries out in anticipation of being that guiding, molding, firm hand in her life -the rest of his body too sedated to respond normally although he feels that weird ass dribble his pecker has recently started to do when it’s very much willing but can’t physically swell to poke a gal. He thoroughly regrets not wearing underpants to catch some of this… horny… pre-cum…incontinence…the baby blue of his tracksuit showing a small stain on his leg. Just the size of a penny. Maybe a quarter.
He takes his glasses off and rubs at his sweaty eyes.
Gigi is standing in the opened doorway, waving him in with a huge, expectant smile on her face, and feeling something he hasn’t felt since 1955 sneakin’ into Barbra’s room, he lumbers out his side of the car and doesn’t even bother to make sure no one’s looking, even though she whipped her head around to clock their surroundings like top paid security for his sake. If someone sees and thinks he’s going into a college girl’s dorm to corrupt her then they’d be right, and it'll make far prettier gossip than what’s coming out in Red’s book next month.
He slips past her and she runs her hand along his chest as he goes by, giddy and fond. She waves to someone behind his back,
“Hey Paolo! Good afternoon!” Elvis turns just in time to see an old shriveled man in an undershirt waving wildly at her as the door shuts.
“Who’s that?”
“Our repairman. Sweetest little man.” Gigi gushes and Elvis motions for her to lead the way up the stairs while speculating with nauseating surety on what Gigi might be found wearing -or not wearing- when dear sweet shriveled perverted Paolo makes up a problem with her sink and comes into her apartment. “He’s taught me how to make Limoncello jello! You won’t find anything more refreshing!”
“How very epicurean for a regular, ole handyman.” he can’t help but grumble, usually highly self-aware and unbiased for the potential learnedness of common folks. He knows he’s one. But right now he wants to make a carpet from Paolo’s nose hair.
“What does epicurean mean?” Gigi doens’t without missing a beat as she unlocks her own front door.
Now they’re back on solid, Elvis-worthy ground, he can smile indulgently as he enters her space and explain, “Somebody who likes to in-duuulge in the luxurious and the sensuuaal, it was a whole philosophy.”
“Oooh, that explains why I didn’t understand.” she giggles, “I’ve flunked philosophy twice and I’ve got a whole pile of papers over there that’s supposed to be homework but a hero of mine invited me to go swimming at his place so, there they sit!” she shows off a rather alarming stack of papers next to the poorly made up bed, half hidden by the swim suits and cut offs strewn about the carpet. “Sorry for the mess, a lotta the girls got ready over here and wrecked it. Half of it is mine though, you should’ve seen the things they suggested I wear for you! Thongs, Elvis! Actual thongs! And here I was unsure if you felt just fatherly towards me or what so I- I didn’t wear a thong.”
Elvis takes a seat on her bed since he figures they’re now past being modest about what they’re gonna do and asks, “What’s a thong?”
“You don’t- it’s this sorta thing.” Gigi is a little shocked that this man of the world doesn't know such a thing and spins around a few times before finding a very small scrap of fabric and bending over, she picks it up. Elvis forgets what she was getting off the floor for a few minutes before she starts spreading the fabric strings apart and pronouncing, “This is a thong!”
Elvis squints his eyes as if trying to see a ship on the edge of the horizon or something, “I don’t get it.” he says at last, “How’s it work? Go around your neck?”
“No, silly!” she giggles even harder in shocked exasperation, “It’s panties.”
“No way in hell.” he sounds awed, “No way, how in tarnation does that work?”
“They’re like…very little, small, tiny panties!” she explains with a hyped tone as if the more enthusiastic she is the quicker he’ll get the mechanism.
“That -those ain’t gonna hold or cover nothin’.” he insists, “Now you’re the one pullin’ my leg.” he notices there’s a magazine with his face on it stashed under the teetering bedside lamp and makes mental note of that before leaning back against her massive stuffed bear.
“They’re not supposed to work, they’re supposed to be sexy?” she tries again before playfully putting them on her head and striking a pose.
“Sexy, hmm?” he rumbles, his eyes twinkling and she knows she’s got his interest at least, whether he’s fibbing ignorance on knowing about thongs or not, she can’t tell. Suddenly it strikes her that Elvis Presley himself is lounging on her bed, leaned against the stuffy she grinds herself on to the thought of him pretty regularly. Suddenly having his jacket zipped at all feels oppressive from the rush of heat that sight floods her with.
“If they were for comfort we’d just go without.” she laughs, “They dig up into your…” she looks about before dropping her voice and taking a couple steps closer to him, “butt crack.” she blushes furiously at having to name it and his fingers itch to do unspeakable things to this little girl.
“Show me.” he says, low and steady and a little removed, just cool enough to be commanding, just warm enough to make her feel (very) admired. He sees her sweet blush turn into droopy lidded arousal before his very eyes and with meek acceptance she hooks her fingers into her swim bottoms without a pause.
They drop to the floor in a nylon puddle between her legs. Just like that. Simple as that, her bare little pussy lips are peaking out from his jacket at him and she smiles gently at his shock as she hooks her legs through the thong’s leg holes and shimmy’s the stupid excuse for lingerie up her stems. “It’s just you, daddy.” she explains in a confidential whisper that melts his heart.
“Yeah, jus’ f’me, baby girl.” he makes a pronouncement of his own, hushed and boyish and her own heart feels too big for her chest at the way his blue eyes somehow soften in wonder at her exposed self. She had expected something rougher, ravenous, impetuous. Not this revenant appreciation that bends his whole frame towards her with open mouthed puffs of longing. He aches, wishing he’d brought his Polaroid to snap this memory forever, add it to his collection. A little something tangible he could thumb at it in the future and remember this night when an terribly hot, painfully young, big tittied woman had wanted him.
“Will ya do a lil spin f’me? Wouldn’t want that wedgie to go unappreciated, now would we? So sweet to try it on for me.” he coos and then hums deep and appreciative as she does a couple slow spins for him, that humm she’s only ever heard in amplified concert footage sending sparks to her very toes.
“You like them?” she asks, toes curling in nervousness for his verdict.
He lounges back and strokes his mouth a few times while cocking his head to the side. She’s breathing so heavy he thinks if he even blew on her she’d come. “They’re practical.” he decides definitively.
“Are they?” she sighs with relief.
“Mhmm,” he mumbles soberly, “quite. For what we’re up here to do, they’re practical.” he adds this slowly and doesn't miss her shudder or the way her eyes light up in relief that they’re getting to the point. He likes that she’s letting him lead, she’s a good girl. “Step closer baby.” he stays lounging so she does all the work and when she gets to the edge of the bed he keeps motioning with his fingers until she’s kneeling on it herself, clambering forward over his lap. “See, when a man makes a meal of a lady’s lil garden, s’real important to have unrestricted access.” he proves his point by slipping his index finger along that abominably small seam of fabric that’s poofy and filled out with bare labia lips.
“Daddy.” she wails at the contact, shaking apart already and that along with her little place has his head thudding some kinda way. She’s gripping onto his neck, near clawing whatever part of him she can grab, close to tears again like a child not getting what she wants. The art of the tease seems lost on her, she’s so hungry.
He’s gotta ask. “Honey, y-yo- honey you ain’t actin’ younger for my sake, are ya?”
“Oh no,” her face turns down again and he’s done it again, insulted her somehow, “you find me immature?”
“No!” he shouts and then tries to moderate himself, “No, no it’s jus’ that -you’re a baby, thas all.”
“Well,” her grin is guileless, “you’ll just have to bear with me, big daddy, I’m all so excited I’ve got Elvis Presley in my room! Elvis Presley! You’re Elvis Presley.”
“I-I-I am.” he admits, perturbed, “What’s wi- why Big Daddy?”
“Cause that’s what you are!” She says it like she’s assuring a pageant queen she won the prized title. “Elvis Presley’s about to eat my pussy.” she murmurs to herself as she kicks her feet and he recalls yet again that he is sat down on her fluffy pink bed for a reason. He tips her over into the sheets.
“So uh, you’ve thought of this before, hmm?” he smirks slyly and reaches out to clasp an ankle in his big, ringed hand, his tanned digits encircling it entirely and he thumbs at the veiny soft spot beneath the ankle.
Gigi moans at his slight pressure.
“That’s a pressure point for the reproductive system, did you know that sir?” she is as eager about information as he is, and clever too.
“So that’s why all the girls lose it.” he hums with a laugh, “No, Gigi, I didn’t know tha’, you like gettin’ rubbed?”
“YES!” she sighs so loudly it’s like a little wind tunnel through the room, “Though it doesn’t happen much.” That makes his heart hurt in sympathy and he adds his other hand to knead her toned calf, those legs of hers spreading jello, just like he calculated they would, “I love to rub folks though! Love givin’ people rubs.”
“Who do ya rub?” Elvis is cross at this new information.
“Oh, anybody who needs it!” she makes it worse.
“Lotta demand for that at Uni?”
“Yeah, so many sore athletes after games.” she is perfectly sober about it, while so enthused he wants to murder every person those sweet hands have descended upon in soothing kindness. “But I think you’re the best I have ever had do it to me, oh Lord you’ve got magic in those hands.”
He’s tempted to tell her how true that statement is but he can’t bear her laughing at him right now so he leans further across the bed and inches towards her knees with his squeezes and tries to elicit more of those moans.
“Oh god I can’t believe Elvis Presley is rubbing my legs.” she gasps again to the ceiling and it’s this youthful narration of her life happenings that makes him think of his Yisa and if he could he’d put both of these little darlings back into their fragile eggs to keep them away from the cruel world.
“So, you done thought of this before, baby girl?” he asks, casting a little smug look over at that ponderous stack of his records and the TV set stationed right at the foot of her bed. He knows the answer already, thanks to Tammy, but it nags him, the question of which Elvis she was touching herself to after her first visit to his house. Her closed eyes and near drooling mouth give him the idea that if he’s good enough at this, puts enough effort into being what he used to be naturally, she can keep those pretty eyes closed and he can morph back into whatever daydream she’s once had. He could give this pretty little girl a little time capsule and before she’s fully awake, slip away again, leave before she recalls it was the gift of an old man, his potency gone to seed but his love for women and their secret parts just as strong.
He bends over, gut digging into his diaphragm and knocking out his wind, presses a kiss to the inside of her knee. “Tell’me ‘bout when you thought of me.” he murmurs into her warm skin. He notices he leaves goosebumbs in the wake of his touch.
“Mmm?” she’s goners with just this firm kneading of her limbs, breathing heavy and sedated from lust.
“Have ya thought of me when you’ve played with yourself?” he’s a little sterner than he should be, just because he knows the answer and wants an honest reply.
“Oh yes.” she gives it, unabashed.
“Is it my movies? Ya watch my movies when ya touch y’self?” he prods, working up to that baby soft stretch of inner thigh that still seems like the most fragile of all God’s creation, like cotton Candy holding ligament and muscle together by some miracle. “Or ya prop up that record right there?” he pulls his head up long enough to point at the foremost record cover in the stack -Live From Madison Square Garden, it reads, and features him silhouetted against black, crouched in a white jumpsuit.
A more mature option; interesting.
Gigi opens her eyes and cranes her head to see what he’s pointing at. “Oh, yeah, sometimes that one,” she nods, “it’s the closest thing I could find.”
“Closest to what, the genuine article?” he snickers in judgment, “It’s goddamn cardboard, at least watch a movie like a normal pervert.”
“The closest to how you are now!” she pouts adamantly, “You’re so…smooth… in all your movies. Nothing like how I know ya when you drive past on the street.”
Well, that’s something else, even if Elvis doesn't quite get what that something is. It’s absurd, the fact she existed all along on some sidewalk he sped past. “How’s that now, honey?” he asks.
“I couldn’t find anything closer to what you are now!” she explains, “Nothing since Aloha and -well I like that one, don’t get me wrong but I,” she bites her lip and a skittish flinch settles into her eyes.
“What about that one, darlin?” he begs softly.
“Well I like how hairy and strong ya look but,” she doesn’t look down or away when she gets to her point, instead she bends forward to be nearer to him, to hold his hands as they lay on her legs, to peer into his eyes gently, “you seem too sad in it for me to -to use it like that.”
He’s touched, so much so he swallows hard and dips his head to kiss her knobby little kneecap. “T-that were a rough time in my life.” he admits and his voice has gone wrecked. It is odd beyond words how he feels like she’s a child to be protected but just like a child at a sleepover he can duck under the covers and admit his worst fears to her.
It all goes back to being proportionally heartbreaking as Gigi leans forward and makes him lean back, clambering methodically back into his lack as if she owns the damn space, holding his furry cheeks tenderly as she licks those luscious lips and slots them against his. This he is familiar with, nothing odd at all about this age old ritual of him being seductively depressed and a girl soothing it away with her tongue and hands in his hair.
He allows himself the liberty of stroking her bare back beneath his jacket, figuring if he’s gonna lick beaver he might as well do a little seducing beforehand, cherish her like she deserves, give them both the works. As much as he can give with this dull headache and the meds making him feel so leaden he could fall asleep in seconds. He takes a breath and tries to clear his head, focusing on kissing her well, kissing her better than any of those stupid young jocks ever managed.
Back at making a case to her that he could make her happy. He doesn’t know why he keeps trying that argument when a couple decades worth of broken hearts and homes behind him suggest otherwise.
“Wanna see what I used to pretend it was you?” she tempts against his lips as they surface for air, sounding so demure yet utterly unrepentant even as she confides, “After you petted me and sent me home I needed you so bad, couldn’t find anything that felt like you now, so I shut the tv right off. Grabbed my stuffy ‘cause he was fuzzy and had a belly like you and then I grabbed…here, wait here, don’t you move now!“
Her little butt is already bouncing out the room into the en-suite before she finishes the sentence and he is left to sit on the bed and await her return, processing the fact she had wanted hair and a corpulent figure.
Bizzare taste, definitely dealing with father issues, painfully sweet.
He groans in recognition that she’s entirely to his own taste.
She comes back holding the most bulbous bottle of shampoo he’s ever seen in his life. The size of his damn fist easily, bright yellow and shaped at the top like like a lemon an- hell it’s even named “Lemon-Something-Or-Other”.
“I used this!” she proclaims with a giggle that jiggles her whole body.
Elvis just stares, torn between impressed and horrified. “You’re tellin’ me that…thang…fit up your lil cooch?”
“Well, no,” she admits, mood immediately deflating in disappointment with herself, “but I’m working on it! Or maybe I don’t have to, now that I’ve got the real thing, as you call it!”
Gigi bites her lip and winks in an attempt to be seductive and it’s the most ludicrously jarring thing Elvis can imagine, he roars with laughter at her art of being a cock tease without trying and a total clown when she does try.
Oh fuck he’s in love. Yeah, already established that awhile back but, it’s just, it’s hitting him again.
“I think you’ll find the real thing a bit disappointin’ by comparison.” he wheezes, too amused to be insecure.
“Oh really?” she perks up in palpable relief, “Oh thank jesus! That thing’s huge and I was gonna try for you but- but -but it’s huge! And I was just gauging from what I saw floppin’ around in your tracksuit that night and I was trying to not be obvious, so I couldn’t exactly clock it real good but it looked awfully wide, like a paper towel roll when it’s halfway gone and this was the only thing I could find like it, I wasn’t going to use anything of Tammy’s and besides they weren’t fat either so I just…” She trails off with a shrug, still standing there before him holding the fuckin’ Lemon Drop Shampoo.
She’d tried not to be obvious, she says, but he’d caught her staring well below his belt half a dozen times in two days. “So,” Elvis is still wiping the tears of amusement from his eyes, “so ya used a shampoo bottle and a teddy bear.”
“Yeah.”
“And did it work?” his eyes darken at the prospect of hearing her tell him this naughty story.
“Sorta.”
“How can it ‘sorta’ work?”
“I came,” Gigi sighs, “but I felt so empty..after. Cried myself to sleep” her embarrassed giggle does not deceive him from the certainty that she’s telling the truth.
“Oh baby, what’re we gonna do with you?” he asks her and God Almighty all at once.
“Hold me, please?” she whispers.
“Course, baby. Nothin’ I’d rather do, get over here,” He holds out his arms and she cruises in at a deceptively fast speed, colliding back into his chest and tucking her face into the crease of his neck, she’s pressing kisses there into that sweaty fold and he rubs her back, traces the dip of her waist, the slow curve outwards of her hips, thumbs at the flimsy material of her panties. Feeling her soft skin and treasuring it. Wondering what she’s thinking and not knowing she’s thanking God she gets to be held by him.
“You make feel so safe.” her breath ghosts over his face and he’s not sure how it’s so fresh and lovely after scarfing down burgers and cherry coke but he can’t get enough and he grabs her face as gently as he can manage with this much wonder filling him in a rush.
He’s pretty sure she ain’t ever had a chance to kiss with tongue, she’s eager to slip hers in but she’s got that petrified immobility of a gal who’s never gotten the chance to give and take, just give while some stupid rash boy slobbers and knocks her teeth.
Elvis is quite good with his tongue.
He flicks at her tongue, he waits, taps her butt until she gets his prompt. She flicks. He trails it alongside her own, he waits. He taps. She mimics. They get a good commerce going and soon she’s squirming and writhing in his lap while he stays put, his patience and experience a buoy for her as she flounders with so much desire she doesn’t know how to cope beyond undulating against him and tugging at his hair, their mouths wide and uncaring, devouring.
It’s fun with a girl leveraging down on him from his lap, one might think it would put him at a disadvantage but it doesn’t, he turns her silly head with a firm hand at the nape of her neck, and she’s just a dolly up there for him to work against his mouth. Rather like how he’s gonna work her pussy if they make it that far. For now, there’s this age old dance and her pretty breaths.
He sucks her tongue and she lets out a cry that’s distorted by the absence of any control over her own tongue and suddenly he can feel her move more frantically, fumbling between them until he hears the zzzz of the zipper as she undoes her jacket front and frees her full breasts like the thin cloth was suffocating her. It becomes clearer what she needs when she continues to fumble between them, unsatisfied, until he feels his own taught closure opening and the fan air hits him and goosebumps spread and shame flares and then it’s unity. Their chests meeting, pressing, soft and warm and she shudders against him like she just touched a force field.
She mewls into his mouth again and traces his puffy lips with the tip of her tongue while he breathes. “Feels so right.” he realizes in a mumble.
“Mhmm.” she says as she presses more kisses to his panting mouth. Gigi reaches between them once more and he watches cross eyed from the closeness as she hefts one boob up and presses it between them more firmly, before repeating the procedure with the other until, until they are smashed to her satisfaction. Then she starts grinding, those fat titties of hers, against him with the rest of her- against his hairy, saggy man boobs, she’s dragging her nipples across him and worrying them red with his rough texture, her toes curling from the friction. Her nipples are pebbled and she’s crying out, can’t stop moaning or calling for God because he feels so good against her. Cradling her boob her fingers press selfishly against one of his own nipples and lil Elvis wants to fight against his induced state, desperate to twitch for this pretty girl’s attention. “Oh god, you’re so hairy, like a nest! So perfect and manly and, I’m gonna, let me, let me please, please oh god, feels so good!” she’s working herself up to a squealing frenzy going over one particular patch of ratted curls… from…rubbing her pretty nipples on his chest hair.
Elvis just sits there and computes, watches, like a green boy, Gigi’s cradled boobs, her gaping mouth, her long throat and her cramping widdle sooties. God, what he’d give to suck those curling little piggies.
He’s hot as a furnace, this man, and those coarse, wiry curls are zapping her already throbbing nipples until Gigi can’t seem to breathe, so much sensation crowding her senses but not where she needs. She grinds down on him, where they’ll join so perfectly, and she feels that perfectly fat cock of his wedged on top of his thick thighs that he can’t manspread for once with her on top of him. She reaches down and positions him through the silky track bottom until she can slide along, feeling the width of him parting her pussy lips even with the thong’s fabric obstructing. His pants are sticky to touch, even though he feels too heavy and floppy to be fully hard.
Elvis should kiss her again. Warn her he ain’t good for nothin’ before she gets her hopes up and he gets to humiliate himself like some useless old fuck.
“Daddy, daddy fill me up, daddy.” she beats him to it in the prettiest little beg he’s ever heard.
“Oh Gigi.” he groans compassionately before grabbing her hand and bringing it up away from his messy lil pecker, “I’s gone lick you, don’t you recall?”
“Yes but I’m past that, I need you inside me!” she gasps, grin growing by the second.
“Ah, yeah, well baby it’s a big deal, takin’ innocence and uh-“ he scratches the back of his head and she escapes his hold and her hand is back to it, squeezing his cock and it really does feel nice, in a head scratch sorta way. “Look, Gigi, honey, I’m sorry but lil Elvis is shy tonight.” he holds his breath as she slowly processes this.
She doesn’t retract her hand as she registers what he’s saying. “Aww, but I can kiss him!”
“M-m-maybe some other time?” he pleads like he’s asking a child to please let him get away with just five bedtime stories. Six is overkill and Daddy has work tomorrow.
She pouts briefly before bringing her sticky hand up to her mouth and licking her fingers like a barbarian. That sight alone almost fixes his damn ED. Gigi likes the light taste of him, humming in approval at the first taste like a baby trying candy for the first time.
“T-t-that means he likes ya, though.” he assures her like an idiot and she smiles around her digits.
She’s very sober and a little mournful, the way she keeps looking at him, not at all petulant or even the slightest bit contemptuous, just concerned and it primes some pump inside him to explain more than he ever should but he can’t seem to stop the words as they come out, “Had a migraine this mornin’ before ya came over and I wanted to be in ship-shape for some fun -fun with you- so I had to take some lil helpers for the head and they, well, they, they mess with…that.” he motions to his lap.
“Awww,” she laments, heartbroken as if he had to endure having his head sawn clean off, “you had a migraine? And you still had us over? Oh poor, sweet daddy!” she shifting in his lap to rub at the back of his head and into his hair and he tries to mumble assurances that it’s better now but they get lost in the glorious blubber of her frankly unnecessarily huge breasts that happen to be smashed in his face as she attends to his head. “I’ll put some oils on it- I’ve got a bathtub, we could put you in tha-”
“-Baby girl,” He laughs, excavating his chin from her cleavage, “it’s better now, I was just explainin’ the faulty mechanics. I ain’t always so stove up, didn’t want you thinking-“
“Oh I wouldn’t care!” she gushes intensely and he’s very worried that streak of the insane fan in her is larger than he thought but it’s too late, she’s caught him in her big tittied, huge nippled, anklet wearing trap, “I’d lick you and suck you and wiggle you inside me soft no matter what, all my days! I don’t care!”
“T-that’s real touching.” he murmurs in a daze. She’s perfect, every man’s wet dream - and he’s the damn lucky bastard that gets to have her. And he can’t even make full use of her.
“I’m gonna give you a back massage with some marjoram oil-“
“No, no you’re not.” he grabs at her to keep her forcefully on his lap, “I don’t need no hippy potions, I ain’t no witch’s experiment or an ole man. I’m here to eat beaver. Or…baby seal, with that bald thing.”
“You sure? I-“
“Gigi, be good.” he puts his finger to her lips and she freezes like a chastised bambi. “Good baby girl. Now you lay back f’me and spread those pretty legs. A man needs room to work his magic.”
“Ok.” she agrees in an excited whisper and tips out of his lap sideways onto the sheets, giving him a full view of her -nearly- naked self for the first time, completely serene and without artifice. He knew she'd be even worse without clothes, worse for his obsession and his indulgence and everything else but this -this is an Angel.
God, he really adores women. Best idea ever to make ‘em, and to make them with fat boobies and lil holes to rub peckers into and sweet faces to paint slimey and cute widdle toes to rub your balls against.
“Ok, let’s see what we’re workin’ with here.” he smirks and gets on his belly with a grunt, heaving himself up the bedsheets and in between her long legs, taking his fingers and moving aside that stupid little string they call underwear these days. “Oh lord, look at that.” he appreciates the pretty pink beauty of her and the smooth pale skin of her kitty, so delicate and girly and -he’s a little smitten. More than he expected. Which was an oversight with the way she keeps blowing his hopes out of the water.
“You’re the prettiest thing I ever did lay eyes on, sweetheart.” he swears with his whole heart, shuffling in closer and kissing her thigh.
Gigi cranes her neck and unsatisfied with the narrowed visuals says, “Wait, lemme prop up.” and stuffs a few pillows behind her back and sits up, legs spread wide and her smile pleased like she’s about to watch her favorite film, “Ok, now I can watch you. Go ahead, daddy.”
“Umm, alright.” he clears his head once more at the thought of her wanting to watch and dives in. Somehow he gets the feeling if he doesn’t go for it she’ll come in seconds anyway she’s so high strung and then he’ll have barely gotten his taste.
Furry, silky, warm -that’s how his hair and head feel beneath her hands, his fuzzy sideburns and his hair so little styled after the pool fluffs and tufts adorably and his cheeks puff out with his vigorous exertions and his sideburns chafe her thighs and his hands are everywhere at once -Gigi watches all these things and marvels in her heart at it. He’s very voracious about it while still having a great deal of -nuance- to it. Like a man who is in a watermelon eating competition, he may look rabid but if he’s won a few then he must have a calculated method down amid the mess.
The predominant feeling is comfortable intimacy. They are both surprised by it, she by the naturalness of watching the most famous face on planet earth smeared from her pleasure and rapturously content with her taste, he with the pleasant rightness of her legs squeezing his shoulders snuggly and her hands petting his hair away from his sweaty forehead. His scalp sweats the more he works and she rubs his neck as if mindful of the lurking migraine, as if she can only thank him for his touches by returning them.
She praises his tongue in breathy awe, “so long and pink and wet and oh-“
Nose buried in pink and wet and sweet womanliness Elvis hums his agreement. Peeking up through his lashes he can see the one hand not cradling his head is industriously tugging on those dark, large nipples of hers. He grinds himself against the bed on pure instinct. Another day, another night, he’s gotta get those large nipples of hers in his mouth.
She calls him beautiful. Again and again. “Beautiful, you’re so beautiful, worse in person, more than I ever imagined, in my wildest-“
Again and again. Beautiful, she says. More than dreams. More, he’s more and more till Gigi’s praise dissolve into shrieks and pants, screams that whimper out into the low apartment ceiling as the afternoon sun dims, as he keeps going until they build again. And again, her hips are nothing if not insistent on grinding up against his mouth. The room smells of sweat and pleasure and sun-in. She’s vocal in her gratitude, persistent in returning his touch, petting him to say thank you when she finds she can’t form coherent sentences.
Eventually there is no more.
Just peace, and him, heaving back his breath against her thighs in a pussy-drunk stupor, and her shaking from seizing one too many times. His scalp is burning beneath her hands, his neck too. Inflamed and angry, she thinks of how much he loves to give. Wished she’d looked at the clock, something to tell the girls about. Just how many minutes, hours, days? he’d spent pleasing her.
“Good?” he asks in a hopeful little slur and the pink of his cheeks and the shiny glimmer on his nose is so childlike and content in his pouty snooze that her heart melts and she curls over him as best she can and squeezes.
“It was everything.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” she breathes into his burning ear, “I’m hooked.”
His laugh rumbles the whole bed, “Me too, baby girl.”
Their skin is sticky and tacky, they adhere to each other in their embrace. He is soothed by such a clasp as theirs while the longer he lays on his stomach the more keenly aware he is of how it hurts. Now’s the time to roll over and mention something about needing to get back. Now would be it, but for some reason the words don’t come and he lays on his knotted gut, suppressing winces and biting his lip against the pinches, trying to recall the sweetness of her, what made this worth it. Her breath fans his neck, wafting across his cheek -cuddle bug, he thinks, fond. Home, he should go home, but never has it felt so utterly foreign. Like a figment of what he wants and needs, like Christmas morning without your mama. A house is just a shell without heart. He wonders if his boys have got the front den cleaned yet of barbecue and would-be-in-laws.
“Do you need to get off your…head?” Gigi whispers softly and it startles him. She’s got a point, all his blood is rushing to his brain the way he’s laying.
“Probably should.” he grunts and slowly, like a pair of cats, they uncurl from around each other to be face to face for the first time since they shared such pleasure. They’re both a little pink and their smiles are too wide. He wonders at the happiness she’s releasing, marveling that he put it there. He’s got to be careful or it won’t be too long before this little girl realizes she’s got him wrapped around her finger already.
She rubs her nose against his. Another way to kiss.
She asks him if he needs a drink.
“I’ll help you with your philosophy homework.” He promises instead, it’s a reason to see her again. And soon. A reason to see her again and a hint it can’t be tonight.
Tonight he needs his pills, his bed, an enema and god knows what else just to make it till morning. He could cry from how badly he wants to be spontaneous, to go to a girl’s place, make love, cuddle like this and when he says he has to go and her eyes well up with tears at the prospect of his absence -he’d like to be able to say he can stay.
“Hush it’s alright, I’ll stay. I’ve got you, no one’s gonna ever leave you cold again.” something like that. Instead he says he can help with her test. Instead he tries to fool himself into being something less than heartbroken at how even the simplest thing in his life has to be a big production.
“Will you really?” Gigi’s face lights up at his piss poor offer.
“Promise.” he repeats.
“And will you promise me you’ll let me repay you?” She presses slyly, her hand petting down his chest and over the swell of his gut. Some childlike weariness in him wants her to rub it better. He remembers feeling the same way as a child regarding his mother’s touch and despite the fact that Gigi’s a baby girl - his baby girl - he trusts she’d make one Gladys Love Presley proud, doing her best to take care of him.
“Mmmaybe.” he looks down at her with playful suspicion.
“Promise me!” she demands, kicking her feet and flipping over to look down at him, swinging a leg to straddle him again.
He can’t help the wince his face flashes at the pressure of her hands from that high vantage. She flings them off him like she’s been burned, likes she’s the one who got hurt. “Oh shoot, sorry, sorry.” she gasps, her eyes wide and blue and tearful, “It’s bad, huh?”
As if not being able to get it up weren’t chastisement enough for his ego, now there’s this. “Uh huh.” he grits and the stab passes for the moment.
“Do you have something for it?” she hopes, “Do you need to go home?.”
There’s the out he needs. Didn’t even have to say it himself. Melancholy descends like fog over his soul but he reminds himself it is what is, he’s better off than most. So what if he can’t have sleepovers on whim or shit like a normal human or skip having his blood pressure checked every goddamn morning -he has a lot, and he got to eat Gigi’s silky smooth bare pussy. Today was a good day. Not even a wash, it was a good day, she made it a good day.
“Yeah, I need to get home.” he sounds every bit as despondent as he feels about it and he hopes she’ll take that as the compliment intended.
“Ok!” she chirps without missing a beat, jumping up in nothing but his open jacket, skipping out the bedroom door, left turn into what seems to be the kitchen.
Well, she handled that better than expected. Elvis almost hopes she’s still orgasm-happy and it doesn’t reflect her readiness to have him out of her place. He idly flicks at the stack of papers to get some impression of where the test is stumping her. He fidgets with his zipper and closes his jacket back up, coloring at the memory of letting her expose him like that.
She comes bouncing back within the minute holding a glass of water and presenting it with authority, “Now you just drink this daddy, it’s got fennel tincture in it and will help your stomach. You just drink that while I pack my bag. I’ll be fast, don’t worry,” she goes on as he tries to compute what she means and sniffs her concoction warily, “I pack light anyways and we can always come back for the rest of my stuff later.”
Come back. For her stuff. Don’t worry -she packs light.
The fennel wafts around him, the smell of licorice and fairgrounds and his mama’s hand in his and daddy winning him that stuffed tiger. Fennel, for his stomach. He shakes his head. His tongue feels fuzzy.
Come back. For her stuff. She packs light.
She is coming with him. That’s what she must mean, he realizes as he drinks her awful drink and watches with teary eyes her bare ass bend over to grab jeans from a dresser and throw them in a duffel bag. Like Graceland is summer camp.
Come back for the rest later, she’d said. She is coming back with him, just knowing she’s welcome. He didn’t even have to beg, to ask, to suggest, to hint. Send a limo, nothin, just eat pussy and now she’s gonna live with him. Let her press her skin against his own just once and suddenly, he’s never gonna be lonely again.
She bounces into the bathroom and comes out with the damn lemon shampoo, to match the lemon conditioner abandoned on the floor.
Cheap drug store shit.
“Hell no, you’re not bringing that stuff into my house.” he lays down the law, his one condition and the first time he’s vocalized any acknowledgment of her entitlement to his hospitality, “You’ll use mine till we get you sorted.”
“I like the way you smell.” she admits, dropping the bottles there in the middle of the floor. That's that sorted.
It’s still not sunk in fully as Elvis drives his quite recognizable beast of a car through Memphis’ now dark streets, while Gigi sits beside him with her white stack of papers catching the street lights glare as they pass. His giddy joy at her willingness and her entitlement to stay with him is overshadowed by the cold lump in his throat, panicking about how to keep a shred of dignity intact or retain an iota of her attraction for him when she becomes aware of his routines.
“You’re gonna teach me how to help, right?” she asks very soberly from her side, as sober as he’s ever seen her.
“Whatcha mean, baby doll?” he tries to keep his tone light.
“You’ll teach me and show me how to care for you, right?” she presses again, “I wanna take care of you, like you take care of me.”
Simple as that -for her. He grunts out something she mistakes for a yes.
Elvis puffs harder on his lit cigar and feels like he’s gonna choke, ends up rolling his window down, gulping in fresh air as Gigi does it on her side too, hanging her head out the window and whooping into the night. He wonders what might distract her while he slips away this evening, maybe a movie or maybe the hot tub or maybe the horses. Maybe Tammy is still there like a bad penny and will keep her distracted. Tonight Elvis would welcome that. Only tonight, and his hand tightens on the steering wheel in frustration over his own worn out body and how it just can’t walk this stuff off anymore.
She’s still hanging out the window, she looks so young like that. His vision blurs.
Somehow Gigi’s feet have ended up in his lap by the time Sam’s letting them into the front gate. She wiggles her toes under his belly, rubbing at the soft skin. Grinning at him suggestively, like a fat man’s belly is the most sexy thing imaginable. He wants to snort.
“Think they saved us any barbecue?” she grins.
“No, it’s all in Gingersnaps’s hair and I ain’t touchin’ that ever again.” he allows himself to be a bit of bastard, it can’t be wrong when it makes Gigi giggle in maniacal glee in the passenger seat, secure now in having her Daddy’s attention. “I’m in the mood for peanut butter anyway.” he retorts.
Hope y’all enjoyed! Your “bugging” and “screaming” is music to my ears, fuel to my fire and keeps me writing, please never hold back -this is a safe space for feral little Elvis loving rodents…like you and me.
If you’d like to be tagged in this particular series please drop a note below. I’ll admit I’m disorganized and have trouble keeping all the requests sorted when they’re scattered, what I do check regularly are the requests in the notes for chapters -and I do manage to get those added. So, if you’ve put in a request and I’ve failed ya, or if you’re new and would like to be added, please pop a note below. Xoxo
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#elvis fanfiction#elvis presley#elvis fanfic#elvis imagine#elvis x reader#70’s elvis#Elvis#elvisaaronpresley#elvis photos#elvis the king#70s elvis#elvis fans#Elvis smut#austin elvis imagine#big daddy Elvis#big daddy elvis fic#but then…Gigi
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sergeant beef having scratches all over their back & it’s really just because they were an idiot and fell on some rocky place and slid down but nat would see and get so mad lol
Omg I love this, anon. Sergeant Beef is such a himbo. 😭
I wrote a short little scene because I couldn't help myself lol.
"Let me hop into the shower really quick and then we can watch a movie," you tell Natasha, pulling your shirt over your head and pausing when you hear her gasp.
"What are those?" she asks, tracing her fingers down your back.
"Huh?" You try to crane your neck to see what she's point at. "Oh. I took the recruits out to the hamster wheel this morning," you say, referencing the infamous trail where recruits ran for hours up and down the side of a mountain. "I tripped over a snake hole and fell on some rocks."
Natasha stares at you and you know she doesn't believe you.
"Seriously!" you emphasize. "Ask Wilson, he wouldn't stop laughing at me." She continues to look unpersuaded. "Please, you know I'm not seeing anyone but you." You open your arms for a hug but Natasha remains stiff even when you press her against your chest.
"Come join me in the shower and I'll show you I'm still yours?" you ask, and that's finally enough to crack a smile.
"Just don't slip on the soap like you did last time," she teases.
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AN: They're so cute. 🥺
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In what fucking dumbass world do you live where you could conceivably construe western media as having a "pro-Hamas bias" like you're just fucking stupid. A complete and utter piece of shit idiot. I would've killed myself in your position rather than wake up everyday to the sheer weight of dumbassery you have going on
As convincing as that argument is I'm unpersuaded by it.
I live in the real world where the atrocities Hamas commits daily against Israel are barely mentioned in the media.
Where everything Israel does is exaggerated to the nth degree.
Where you know everything Israel allegedly does but nothing Hamas does.
Where the media constantly talks about the genocide Israel is allegedly committing against the Palestinians but they have nothing to say about the Israeli genocide Hamas is attempting.
When the recent "hospital bombing" happened in Palestine that "killed 500 people" how fast did it take you to hear about it and how fast did the media report it was Israel’s fault? Right away, right?
When it turned out the hospital hadn't been bombed and it was Hamas' own rocket that hit the parking lot and no one was killed how quickly did the news get corrected and the media spread the word? Oh, you still hadn't heard about that?
Interesting that our not pro-Hamas biased media didn't get that out quite as quickly as they got out the news that Israel bombed a hospital when they had actually done no such thing.
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as that anon message you got shows, the term "liberal" gets hurled around a lot as an insult on the left. what would you say are the necessary and sufficient conditions to be a liberal? i think having a straight answer for this would help remedy this sort of behavior
not sure what anon you're referring to. regrettably I don't think you're going to get people to stop using terms in loose or disagreeable ways no matter what, it just is the nature of political terminology (definitionally up for contestation) and language in general. part of the difficulty here is that the same term gets used to describe a political system, an ideology or hegemonic worldview, and a form of political identification
but as far as necessary/sufficient conditions go I like Charles Mills' formulation:
an axiology: committed to individual freedom to pursue the Good, governance by 'consent', the guarantee of specific political and economic rights (non-exhaustive list)
a social ontology: equal moral persons who are atomized or individualized and whose individuality, particularly their self-interested pursuit of their own Good, makes a functional society
a theory of history: endless progress, the accumulation of knowledge and the application of it to advancing human well-being (though this can be more or less Panglossian)
and would add a couple of my own:
a political methodology that gives priority to reform and positive law
an economic worldview that emphasizes the efficiency of money and markets and affirms private property as a central right (often *the* central right)
my own sort of working definition of liberalism writ large is that it's a kind of aristocratic legalism which has a key value of "security" (this is inspired by the work of Geoff Mann and Mark Neocleous), an investment in predictable, consistent outcomes that also expresses itself as a fundamental anxiety about the tenuousness of these institutions and of "civilization" as a whole (an interesting point of overlap between Keynes and Hayek). that's what I kind of see as the throughline between the combination of money, markets, law, and reform.
I would say that the elements listed above which automatically send up the yellow flag, for me, are the political methodology and the theory of history - either a sort of blinkered optimism/false realism about the ability to endlessly patch up our existing institutions or someone who has bought into a kind of linear historical narrative of constant improvement
even though I am not a market socialist and think that is probably excessively "liberal" for my own tastes, I think it is plausible to hold that position without being a liberal, if that makes any sense (it may not). inversely, the axiology of freedom, universalism, &c., often get cited as exclusive to liberalism, but I really don't think they are and remain unpersuaded by the various factions (commie, lib, postcolonialist, and so on) that have argued otherwise. not that I think ideas of freedom, equality, etc. are above conceptual critique per se, but I think I wouldn't assume somebody is a lib because they truck in that language.
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So having never read the Twilight books, but being a big fan of the Twilight fics by yourself and Vinelle, I get the impression that there may be a certain degree of gaslighting and/or misunderstanding going on around Bella and Edward's wedding, their "wedding night" (Edward sleeping with Bella while she's human), and Bella being turned.
I think my understanding is that Bella wants to be turned (preferably by Edward), would like to sleep with Edward (although I'm not sure the degree to which she's set on this being before she's turned), and is very ambivalent to if not against the idea of being married. Edward absolutely does not want Bella turned by anyone, doesn't want to risk sleeping with her while she's human (and therefore is really against ever sleeping with her at all), but does want to marry her if they're going to be together at all (although he'd rather she run off with Jacob to live her "human future"). I'm unclear what exactly the rest of the Cullens understand about all this.
If it's not too much to ask, could you explain your heretical take on what's happening here?
Ah but this is a delightful ask.
And look, @therealvinelle, praise!
What Happened in Canon
You've pretty much hit the nail on the head in regards to Bella and Edward but I should sum it up/make it explicit.
At the end of New Moon, after having vanished for six months, Edward begs Bella to date him again and she agrees. However, Bella wants to be turned into a vampire and immediately has his family vote on the issue. The vote is mostly in her favor, though mixed (with both Edward and Rosalie voting against it), but ultimately Carlisle says he will turn her regardless of Edward or Rosalie's opinion.
Bella, is disappointed as she has always wanted Edward specifically to be the one to turn her. Edward, knowing this, promises to turn Bella himself but only if she agrees to marry him first.
Bella does not immediately say yes, not because she doesn't have feelings for Edward/wish to be with him for eternity, but because she hates the very idea of marriage (she never delves too deep into this but it's highly likely this is due to her being a product of a disastrously young marriage/messy divorce).
The pair spend a few weeks bargaining with each other. Edward asks Bella to consider all the opportunities she'll miss by being a vampire and what she wants to experience while human. Bella considers this, but is unpersuaded by the idea of attending university as a human and doesn't want children (something Edward explicitly brings up as her not being able to do if she's a vampire/living with vampires). However, she decides that she would like to experience making love as a human with Edward. That's it. That's the only thing Bella wants to do as a human and then she can happily turn. This is bad as Edward is highly likely to accidentally kill her in bed. There's then a lot of negotiating about how far the pair can go physically, the marriage, and turning Bella.
On top of this the Jacob love triangle subplot is going on where Jacob's trying to a) convince Bella to stay human and not become a man-eating demon b) tell Bella that she actually loves him and not Edward. This doesn't go anywhere for Jacob save that Edward speaks with him about how, actually, he'd be sad but quite happy if Bella ran off with Jacob to live a human life.
Ultimately though, it all settles with Bella agreeing to marry Edward after all (and have sex with him while human) and Edward then agreeing to turn her but planning to postpone it as long as possible (which doesn't go well as he accidentally gets Bella pregnant with a demon).
So that's our main couple right there, but as you ask, what about the rest of the Cullens.
What Do We Know About the Cullens
Sadly (and this truly is sad, as goddammit I want this so badly) there is only Midnight Sun from Edward's perspective and not the entire series. What I would give to know what terrible shenanigans Edward got up to in Rio or exactly how "talking to his family about how to make love to a woman" went.
So, we only know what Bella knows and what Bella knows is never much as, per Midnight Sun, Edward will not only skew information, leave information out, but will intentionally mislead if not outright lie about what goes on behind the scenes for his own purposes.
(He glossed over a lot of what went on in the Twilight period, a lot.)
Bella doesn't think much about what the Cullens do or don't know or even their opinions. She knows generally that Rosalie dislikes her, she thinks Jasper dislikes her, and she thinks the rest like her or at least like Edward. Bella... doesn't think too much past that.
Which means what I can point to are various things that happen:
Alice plans the wedding (a thoroughly ridiculous and hilarious occasion that sounds like a horrible time for all)
Alice also sends the Volturi a wedding invitation because she saw that they had to be waylaid or else they'd come crash the wedding and say "So, is Bella actually turned yet" and a terrible time would be had by all
Rosalie has spoken to Bella about not turning into a vampire and Bella kind of blew her off
Edward reported that he went to each of his brothers and his father to ask them about sex.
At the wedding, Bella tells Jacob she plans to make love to Edward while human, and Jacob publicly blows his lid and has to be carted out of the wedding with everyone watching (including the Cullens)
Also at the wedding, Bella gets really weird about Jacob and spends about ten minutes slow dancing with him while Edward slow dances with his mother. Everyone was watching, including the Cullens.
Two weeks into the honeymoon, Alice calls Bella because she's disappeared at which point Bella drops "I think I'm pregannanant" (but the way she says it... they may or may not think it's Jacob's...)
To be a completionist, here's what Edward mentions of the behind the scenes with his family on the topic of "making love to a human woman":
He took my face between his hands, still introspective, "I spoke to Carlisle after you and I made our bargain, hoping he could help me. Of course he warned me that this would be very dangerous for you." A shadow crossed his expression. "He had faith in me, though--faith I didn't deserve."
I started to protest, and he put two fingers over my lips before I could comment.
"I also asked him what I should expect. I didn't know what it would be for me… what with my being a vampire." He smiled halfheartedly. "Carlisle told me it was a very powerful thing, like nothing else. He told me physical love was something I should not treat lightly. With our rarely changing temperaments, strong emotions can alter us in permanent ways. But he said I did not need to worry about that part--you had altered me so completely." This time his smile was more genuine.
"I spoke to my brothers, too. They told me it was a very great pleasure. Second only to drinking human blood." A line creased his brow. "But I've tasted your blood, and there could be no blood mroe potent than that… I don't think they were wrong, really. Just that it was different for us. Something more."
Which... there's a lot Edward's not relaying to us. That conversation with Carlisle sounds extremely paraphrased and to me like a very reluctant "well, you have very good control, Edward" and "you should think very very very carefully before having sex. Please."
I think the Cullens have been experiencing emotional whiplash since the start of the saga. The entire series takes place within the course of two years and they barely ever have any idea what's going on.
Edward's suddenly in love, Edward has human girlfriend?!, Edward doesn't have human girlfriend, Edward attempts suicide, Edward is back with human girlfriend who isn't dead?!, We're turning human girlfriend?, they're getting married but Edward doesn't want to turn her...
Midnight Sun they spend the entire novel having no idea what the fuck's happening and constantly trying to get Edward to tell them anything. Edward refuses.
But what they do know at this point is that ultimately, even if Edward doesn't follow through, Carlisle will turn Bella. Some (Alice, Jasper, Carlisle) are probably thinking a much shorter timeframe (lest the Volturi murder them all), Rosalie still wishes for Bella to remain human, and Edward is uh... thinking several decades if at all.
The Heresy
I imagine they're a little confused on why Edward and Bella are publicly marrying if Bella's going to have to disappear and fake her death soon. That will just make Edward the prime suspect, as it's always, always, the husband and Edward doesn't look good on paper (erratic behavior, isolated house where Bella could disappear, quickly marries her after a large absence right out of high school).
(They don't yet realize, mostly because Edward's the bridge between the Cullens and Bella, that Bella doesn't realize what disappearing entails. She truly thinks she can pretend to go to college and then never speak to anyone in person again and that nobody will question why they only hear her through email.)
I imagine they're also confused about the Jacob thing but don't want to go digging into it too much as that's for Edward to handle. And... he seems to be alright?
As for sleeping with Bella while human, I imagine all think it's a bad idea, but Edward has framed it in such a way that they blame Bella/don't want to say anything. Bella's insisting, it's the one thing she wants as a human, Edward has to do this for her...
So, I imagine they try to tell themselves Edward has good enough control and... try not to think about it (I imagine there's a lot of staring at Alice during that honeymoon period, waiting to see if Bella's been pulvarized or not yet).
Basically, the Cullens are that dog floating in space who has no idea what he's doing.
EDIT
Anon reminded me that we don't know what Carlisle said.
After anon corrected me again, I edited the post to include the scene.
#twilight#twilight meta#twilight headcanon#twilight renaissance#edward cullen#anti edward cullen#bella swan#anti bella swan#jacob black#the cullens#carlisle cullen#meta#headcanon#opinion#kyledascourge
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[Start ID: 4 pages of HLVRAI narrative doodles following after the Science Team's first meeting with the "Gubb" (AKA the Spore Launcher in Half Life terms).
"LOOK, GORDON! Our dear Darnold has befriended a FIEND!" Dr Coomer announces cheerfully.
Darnold says: "Oh! She's perfectly harmless, Dr Coomer. There's no need to worry-"
"A FIEND-" Dr Coomer repeats, but seems to cut himself off by asking, "What will you name her?"
Darnold looks down at the Gubb in his arms: "Ah, well, we already have that covered. This is a "Gubb"."
Somewhere behind him, a still upset Bubby mutters: "Hubb"."
But Darnold is unpersuaded and repeats over Bubby: "A "Gubb"."
Dr Coomer claps his hands together: "Why, that's WONDERFUL, Darnold!"
Dr Coomer continues: "But will you name her?"
Darnold raises an eyebrow at him: "Her? Oh, uhmm…why would I have to do that? She-" he chuckles, "I think there might be a bit of a misunderstanding…"
In his arms, the Gubb stretches with a yawn and then begins to knead at him, settling down for a nap.
Darnold explains: "This is a temporary solution for the both of us. A, a symbiotic relationship, if you will. I'll take her along until we find a safe spot to set her down, and until then…well, until then, I suppose I'll take comfort in her company."
Tommy looks concerned: "But Darnold, you won't be able to call her to you if you lose her! You'll just- she won't know that you're looking for her…specifically. You'd be calling for ALL the, uh, Gubbs!"
Dr Coomer nods in agreement.
"Oh…ah, that would be a problem," Darnold concedes. He places a thoughtful finger to his chin and hums: "Hmm…"Sasha"'s a good name, I think."
"What a beautiful name!" Dr Coomer exclaims.
"Mm, thank you," Darnold replies, satisfied. He had secretly gotten the name inspiration from Heavy's minigun "Sasha" from TF2.
Separate Scenario: A headcrab zombie rushes at the Science Team and immediately gets blasted to pieces seemingly out of nowhere.
Darnold, stares in stunned silence, Sasha still poised in his hands. Her mouth is opened in the direction of the blast, residual smoke billowing out from the Gubb's maw.
"Oh WHAT?! She can do that??" Gordon yells in surprise, still shooting at incoming creatures with his gun-arm.
Darnold stutters: "Uh! I didn't-"
Ignoring his nervous tone, Gordon continues: "Damn, uh, good job, man! That might've actually been the first round you've shot!"
Dr Coomer flashes Darnold a praiseful smile, clutching his assault rifle to his chest: "My, Darnold! What a lovely violent daughter you've raised!"
Darnold turns Sasha around to look into her face, speaking carefully: "Sasha, I understand that- well, these aren't the MOST ideal of circumstances, but exploding fellow scientists is NOT good work ethic!"
End ID.]
Previous parts found here: [Part 1.] [Part 2.] [Part 3.]
#i uhhhhh i don't have a caption this time sry :(#when your adopted symbiotic daughter is violent but you're a pacifist#hlvrai#hlvrai darnold#hlvrai coomer#hlvrai bubby#hlvrai gordon#hlvrai tommy#snail's art#id#tw gun
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Transformers/MTMTE x Humans Are Space Orcs
~~~~~~
“What the hell?” Those were the words that left Rodimus’s lips upon seeing their saviors. They had been caught in the crossfire of a firefight upon jumping into another universe. One of the ships, twice the size of the Lost Light, had hooked the ship to their own and attempted escape. The other ship had tried to follow, but was repelled by some nasty particle beams their captor ship used.
The captor ship had invited them to board, promising no harm and wishing to ask question. So a party, made up of Rodimus, Megatron, Ultra Magnus, and Drift, boarded the other ship. What they were not expecting… were humans.
Cybertronian-sized humans. The shortest among the welcoming party was only a few feet shorter than Rodimus. A dark-skinned human, with dreadlocks that reached their waist and a height that rivaled Megatron, was the first to greet them.
“Welcome aboard the Queen Nzinga. I am her captain, Tejumola Adeyemi. But you may call me Teju, as my crew does.” They smiled, white teeth showing a kind of charisma the Cybertronians were unused to.
“I am Rodimus Prime, captain of the Lost Light. This is my second, Ultra Magnus, and third, Drift. And this is my…co-captain, Megatron.” They grew tense, afraid of how the humans would react to the ex-warlord’s presence. However, the crew made no sign of surprise or disgust. In fact, they made no expression at all.
Captain Teju nodded. “I apologize for the damage you may have suffered from our fight with the pirates. It was not our intent to cause any harm. We were attempting to repel them when you appeared.” Teju’s eyes narrowed. “However, it was rather surprising that you seemed to… come out of thin air. Were your sensors not working? You should have been able to see the firefight from the observation deck.”
“Haha,” Rodimus grinned, trying to pass off as nonchalant. “Yea, our… systems were having problems. Our ship is in need of repair, but it’s nothing we can’t handle.”
Teju nodded, though he looked unpersuaded. “Simply ask and we shall provide. Isabella Madrigal is our head engineer,” he gestured to the woman, the shortest among the three humans. Dark hair tied in a bun and wearing oil-stained overalls, she smiled at the four. “She will take care of your repair needs.”
“And Garrison Johnsonn is my Third,” they turned to the third of the party. “He will take care of any non-repair needs.” A male human, with blond curly hair and big blue eyes grinned at them. He then made some gestures, moving his hands to make intricate signs.
Teju nodded, watching Garrisons hands. Then he made similar signs. He turned to the four. “Garrison is Deaf, so if you need to speak with him, make sure you keep your mouth visible, as he can read your lips. He always has a writing device to communicate if you are having trouble.” A beep sounded, and the captain glanced down at a holoscreen that appeared around their wrist.
“With that, I must take my leave. We have our own injuries we must take care of. I will send my Second down to negotiate any further details.” Captain Teju nodded to his two colleagues, then left.
For the next hour, Rodimus and his colleagues worked out the kinks with the two humans. Isabella proved her knowledge on their quantum engines to be vast, and Megatron couldn’t help but think that she and Nautica would get along well. The four learned that the hand signs Garrison was using was a visual language used by non-verbal humans, and was eerily similar to chirolinguistics and other forms of cybetronian sign language.
Teju had given permission for the Lost Light crew to come aboard and mingle. Some didn’t waste anytime upon hearing about the Cybertronian-sized humans.
Whirl lost his mind. And he also drove Garrison nuts. He had jumped on the human, badgering him with question after question. But from what the others could tell, Garrison couldn’t tell Burr was speaking. He just stared wide-eyed at the taller mech waving his arms and shoving his yellow optic close to his face.
Ratchet put a hand on Whirl and signed to Garrison, surprising the human. Without missing a beat, the blond man began to sign as if it was a choreographed dance. Ratchet matched him. At Rodimus’s open-mouthed envy, Ratchet revealed he had downloaded the language and learned a good bit during his time on earth, as there were many soldiers either deaf or had lost their hearing in battles.
Nautica fell in easily with Isabelle, as Megatron had predicted. They chattered away, discussing quantum mechanics, physics, engine schematics, and other things. It seemed they were speaking in their own native language.
After a while another human came down to greet them. A female, nearly as tall as Teju, with tan, freckled skin and honey brown eyes. The warmth of her natural colors was quickly cooled by the freezing expression on her face. She and Megatron could have been related by how intimidating she was.
“I am Rune DeLago, Captain Adeyemi’s second. I am here if there are any directly serious matters that need mine and the Captain’s attention.” She looked to Isabella and Garrison. She signed whilst speaking. “You two are needed downstairs. Your apprentices are making a mess of the engine room, and the cargo hold is in equal distress. We can’t waste anymore time.”
As the two waved their goodbyes and left, leaving the Cybertronians to the steel-faced woman. She looked them up and down in silence, scrutinizing every detail about them. Her next words took them off guard.
“I know who you are and why you are. So do not bother trying to hide your identities.” Her eyes narrowed. “My crew comes first and if you threaten their well-being, I will not hesitate to terminate you. Is that clear?”
Those present were taken aback. To hear a human speak with such authority and dangerous aggression was strange. Especially to Megatron. He had seen the race as nothing more than pests in the way of his previous goals. But now… these new humans made him uneasy. He was suddenly reminded of why one of his original goals was to wipe away organic species. They were a threat to his kind.
Rodimus spoke up, his usual attempt at nonchalance coming across as arrogance. “Of course we don’t mean you any harm. We’re autobots, our job is to protect your race. We intend to keep-“ He was cut off by the woman’s scoff.
“Don’t quote your factions precious code to me. I’m aware of it. The humans of your universe may have needed your protection due to significant physical differences, but in this universe it is very, very different.”
This universe. Your universe. She knew they were time jumpers. That’s what she meant. Megatron was going ask, but Rune was already ahead of him.
“To put it quickly, your kind does not exist in this universe. If Cybertronians ever did, they died out long ago.” It was like Megatron’s spark had been hit with a brick. “The war of your universe never happened here, and if you dare to bring your silly prejudices and issues into this one, it will not end well for you.”
“I don’t think we’re the ones with prejudice here.” Drift said quietly. Rune’s razor sharp gaze cut to him.
“You’re right. I’m not fond of your kind. And I don’t care about your view of mine. Behave and we won’t have a problem.” Her gaze landed in Megatron, and he felt his joints tighten. “I don’t care about your pasts and who you were. Respect my people and I’ll respect yours.”
She glanced down at the holoscreen on her arm, and made a clicking sound. “I have duties to attend to. Inform me of anything you need and I’ll inform the captain. Other than that, you are free to explore our ship. Teju is open to those who are friendly, but do not broach his kindness.”
She walked away and out of the bay, leaving the mechs in the quiet. Megatron was left with an unresolved feeling. How in Primus’ name did she know so much?
“I wanna shoot her face off.” Whirl mumbled.
~~~~~~
Sorry this took a while to post! I actually had to end it here cause it was getting too long, and I had planned a whole plot line. Got carried away with dialogue, and tumblr is no place to post novels. So if this gets enough support I consider writing part two. Or maybe I’ll do it just cause. Idk.
#humans are space orcs#humans are deathworlders#humans are space australians#humans are weird#humans are crazy#transformers#idw mtmte#tf mtmte#maccadam#megatron#rodimus prime#transformers blurr#transformers drift#ratchet#asl#fanfiction#fanfic#my writing#flash fiction#my fiction#writing
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"[Constance of York] became the first member of the house of York to conspire against the Lancastrian monarchy.
At about the feast of St Valentine in 1405 Lady Constance abducted Edmund and Roger Mortimer, the great grandsons of Edward III’s second son, Lionel duke of Clarence, from Windsor Castle. Her plan seems to have been to take them into Wales where Owain Glyn Dŵr and Henry Percy, first earl of Northumberland, were plotting with the boys’ uncle, Sir Edmund Mortimer, to rebel against Henry IV once more. However, she was caught at Cheltenham and taken before the royal council. She then tried to blame the conspiracy on her brother Edward which has earned her the condemnation of modern historians. Although York was briefly imprisoned at Pevensey for failing to reveal what he knew of the plot, Henry IV seems to have been unpersuaded by Constance’s allegations. Constance, like her brother, escaped the bloody fate of recent rebels, presumably as a consequence of the combination of her royal blood and her sex [...] Nonetheless she had certainly forfeited any chance of arranging a marriage for her son Richard."
-J.L. Laynesmith, "Cecily Duchess of York"
#lmfao#We know so little about her and she's still more interesting to me than her idiot nephew#constance of york#historicwomendaily#henry iv#edward duke of york#15th century#english history#my post#queue
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My labor, and my leisure too (pt. 2)
This is significantly longer than I'd planned this section to be, but I couldn't justify breaking it up. As before, unedited and un-beta'd. The next (and I think final) part is underway.
First part here
******
Was this how the kids had felt during the briefing? Banging their fists on the walls of her certainty, trying to find a way to break in? She missed that. She missed being inside the walls. Now there she was, trying to claw her way through to Nicky and Joe. And it wasn’t working.
After the initial shock subsided, she and the kids – the other kids, she felt like a frightened child again – barraged them with questions. Surely there were things they wanted to do. Surely they wanted more time. Hadn’t Nicky talked about looking forward to seeing Joe going grey, seeing his laugh lines deepen and spread? Hadn’t Joe spent centuries mapping out the house he wanted to build, on a real planet somewhere, with no vents or circuitry to worry about gumming up with graphite and charcoal dust? What about the garden they could grow once they didn’t have to move around all the time? What about the pets they could have? The kids? The lives? They could have another century, with modern technology. Wasn’t that worth something?
But they were… not unmoved, they were both crying openly. Unpersuaded. Nile was beginning to suspect, unpersuadable.
“That was only ever a fantasy,” Joe said. “A fun way to pass the time. We always knew that.”
Nicky added, “We have spent more of our lives in space than planetside, now. Where would we go? There is no home to return to. There is nowhere that could become home, without all of you with us.”
“But you can’t –“ Jerrah’s voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. “You can’t have thought this through. It’s been less than twelve hours! You’re still in shock, you shouldn’t be making these kinds of decisions yet.”
“If it’s our time – “
“Don’t you dare,” Nile growled. “Don’t you fucking dare say that, Nicky. Not now, not here.” He bowed his head and held his hands up in surrender.
“Twelve hours is more than Lykon got,” Joe said quietly. “It’s more than Booker got.” God, Booker. For the first time in almost three hundred years, Nile was grateful for having lost Booker (relatively) young. She could not have borne his grief on top of her own.
Joe went on, “But you’re right, it doesn’t have to be decided right now. We’d be spending at least a few more days on planning anyway. And the optimal window isn’t for a couple of weeks.” He grinned with some of his usual sparkle and winked. “You’re stuck with us for a little while longer.”
“This is not the way we wanted to tell you. But we could not let you give up this mission, not when there’s another way.”
“Well there’s still some disagreement about whether that even counts as another way – “
“Enough.” Nile cut Lijie off sharply. “We’re tabling this for now. Jarrah, go back to your quarters and review my calculations. Maybe I missed something. Lijie and Gert, pull up the notes from when we first started planning this. See if anything we’ve learned since then gives us an option other than a direct assault. Use the dining room. You and I,” she said to Joe and Nicky, “have some more talking to do.”
The three kids stood up, reluctantly, from the circle on the floor they’d all ended up in. Nile could see each of them looking for excuses to stay. “Come on guys,” she said. “This is a lot to deal with, and we will keep discussing it, and we will work it out together, but sitting around crying isn’t going to do us any good right now. We’ve got work to do.”
Slowly, they shuffled out. Joe opened his mouth to speak, but Nile held up a finger to tell him to wait. When the door had closed and she judged that the kids were far enough away, she scooted across the floor, wedged herself between the two men, drew them close to her, and burst into tears.
“You assholes,” she said as she felt them mold themselves around her. “You absolute bastards.” This was how they (and Andy, Quỳnh, and Booker) had held her when her mother and brother died. When Andy, and then Quỳnh, and then Booker had died. When their hope of ever returning to Earth had died. They’d been with her through thousands of years of loss, theirs as well as hers, and she sobbed until she was hoarse.
"I'm not ready to be the oldest," she murmured into Joe's shoulder.
He stroked the fuzzy stubble on her head. "Yeah, you're only what, 2600 years old? 27? You're just a baby."
A thousand times as old as she'd been when she first became immortal, and she felt no more prepared to handle this than she'd felt then. "Yes," she said, "just a baby. So I'm not ready. I'm not ready to be the only one who remembers Earth the way it was. I'm not ready to be the only one who remembers Andy. I'm just...not ready. To lose you. I can't do it."
She felt the press of lips against the top of her head. It could have been either of them. I'll have to be strong for the kids, she thought. I'm not going to have anyone whose first instinct is to take care of me, instead of expecting me to take care of them. I'm so old, we're all so old, it shouldn't matter. But it does, it still does.
"I've never been ready," Nicky admitted. "Not for any of it. Not for Andy or Quỳnh. Certainly not for... I still wake up sometimes and forget he's gone.”
"What happened to all that 'if it's their time' business?"
He laughed ruefully, and she felt the breath of it on her ear. "That is what I believe. It isn't always what I feel. And I remember my first death. I'd known I would die there, but when the moment came..."
"That animal need," said Joe. "Wanting more, always more. Of life, of feeling, of the people you love. You'd think it would be sated after living so long, but you just get more things you want to keep doing."
"So how can you just... throw it all away?" How many times had she questioned them in that plaintive tone? How do you, how can you, how could you. Needing answers about immortality that she wouldn't be able to understand for centuries to come.
"We're not throwing anything away. We're uh... " Joe screwed up his face, looking for the right word. "We're donating it. To people who need it more."
"The life we want to keep living is this life here," Nicky said, "doing what we have always done. Not a house and a garden, with neighbors we can't relate to and children we'd have to lie to. And there is no way to last another hundred years doing that. So..." He shrugged.
"Dying with your boots on," Nile muttered.
"Precisely."
She sat up and leaned back against Nicky, rubbing her face. Joe patted her leg in the way that meant "it sucks and I'm sorry but it's time to get moving." Joe had a rich and complex lexicon of physical affection, and she'd been fluent in it for millennia. She wondered if she'd live long enough to forget it the way she'd forgotten American English.
He said, "It's a happy ending, really," and she wanted to argue with him. But what could she say? "It would be better if it was just one of you, so I wouldn't lose you both at once?" That had been their nightmare for thousands of years. And she knew full well that losing one meant losing the other in all the ways that mattered. "You should give up the things that matter most to you so I can put off feeling sad for a little longer?"
She sighed. "No it isn't. It's just the best one available. If there has to be one."
Nicky wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on her shoulder. "Even for us, there has to be. Even when we aren't ready."
She closed her eyes and recited the lecture she'd given to each of the kids, more than once. "We do the things that have to be done, that no one else can do. It's all right to be scared - you can do it scared. It's all right not to feel ready - you can do it unready. You can do it grudgingly, resentfully, exhaustedly, sadly. But you've gotta do it. Because we fight for what we think is right, and the only thing we're less able to do than stay dead is walk away."
When she opened her eyes again, Joe's gaze was there waiting to lock with hers. "Only one part of that has changed, Nile. We still can't walk away."
You can do it unready. You can do it sadly. "Ok," she whispered. "Ok."
#the old guard#the old guard fanfiction#my fic#nile freeman#yusuf al kaysani#nicolo di genova#kaysanova
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THE GLORY FIRE OF DIVINE TURNAROUND
In Acts 26:16, when Saul met Jesus in the explosive glory fire, Jesus "appointed" him to bear witness of Him.
The Lord is releasing a glory fire (fire of the Lord that brings sudden breakthrough and divine turnarounds) as in the days of Saul, and out of that fire He is "appointing" a generation of the Sons of Thunder (see Mark 3:17).
Thunder (in the reference in Mark 3), in the Greek means to roar. These Sons of Thunder, who will be released throughout the earth, will roar with the voice of God and shake the earth. They will walk in power and turn the world upside down for the Kingdom.
"Who has an arm like God? Or can thunder with a voice like His?" (Job 40:9)
"The voice of thunder was in Your whirlwind, the lightnings illumined the world; the earth trembled and shook." (Psalm 77:18)
"But the thunder of His power who can understand?" (Job 26:14)
With these three Scriptures we see that Thunder refers to the voice of God, the earth shaking, and His power.
GET READY FOR YOUR APPOINTMENT -- YOUR HIGH CALLING IN CHRIST
This glory fire will be released on Believers who are praying and believing for divine turnarounds and breakthrough in their own lives. But in this breakthrough they will be released into new levels of the expression of His heart -- an appointment greater than they first expected, for this appointment is to be a Son of Thunder!
For those that have been through the wilderness of humility and the fires of faith, the Lord can trust with the thunder of His voice and power. They are a vessel ready to be catapulted into moving forward in their Christ Calling in explosive fire and glory that will bear fruit that remains for His advancing Kingdom.
THE GLORY FIRE OF DIVINE TURNAROUND -- PENETRATING HEARTS!
"Divine Turnaround" is where a situation is heading in a certain direction, with a predicted outcome, and that situation is suddenly intervened upon by a divine supernatural force that causes the outcome to be the opposite. Paul was in unbelief when he was on the road to Damascus. It was only the glory fire of God that penetrated his hard heart and brought him to his knees.
Sometimes we think things are hopeless and impossible, we think our circumstances are unfixable or our loved ones are unchangeable; but one encounter with the glory fire and everything is turned around.
This glory fire will pour out over the Believer and unbeliever alike. These unbelievers are ones that have had prayers prayed over their lives for seasons upon seasons, and now the Lord is interrupting their course like He did with Saul and changing the course and direction of their lives. He is penetrating the darkness they are in by His glory fire, calling them into His heart, and setting them on course for Him.
THE SPIRIT OF ELIJAH
"And he will go before Him in the spirit and power of Elijah, to turn back the hearts of the fathers to the children, and the disobedient and incredulous and unpersuadable to the wisdom of the upright [which is the knowledge and holy love of the will of God] – in order to make ready for the Lord a people prepared [in spirit, adjusted and disposed and placed in the right moral state]." (Luke 1:17 AMP)
The Spirit of Elijah mentioned in Luke 1, is an anointing of fire that brings restoration and reconciliation. It is an anointing that turns the tables and draws those that are distant from God into the heart of their Father. This explosive glory fire of divine intervention will draw a hard-hearted, unbelieving generation into the wisdom of the upright, according to Luke 1:17 – to LOVE the PURPOSE of God for their lives. These ones will prepare the way of the Lord, preparing a people made ready for His coming.
We are now in the days of divine turnaround, of wrongs being made right, of courses of destruction being turned to mirror life and life abundantly. Get ready for your loved ones to come into the Kingdom and be appointed as a Son of Thunder! For God has not forgotten them and His arm is not short that it cannot save.
ALBERT FINCH MINISTRY
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